Crash and burn

Again, I have to take you back a few days (after all, it was this week's events that inspired me to start this blog).

On Monday, I got a text message from the male model. He wanted to go for a drink on Wednesday.

I met male model earlier this year, sometime in May. I was out having drinks with friends from work and so was he. It was either Will or Flame that noticed male model (Will is gay and Flame knows my type well, that is, young looking). So there we were, all three of us, checking out this tall, dark and handsome hunk. I had already polished off a bottle of Sauvignon and was moving swiftly onto my second. I was ready to talk to him and start a beautiful romantic life together. Ah, but my chance of this was starting to fade as I see that he is about to leave. Quickly, I rummaged through my bag to find a piece of paper and a pen. On one side, I write my name and number. But what of Will? Should he not have a chance with this phenomenal specimen if women are not to his liking? Of course! So on the other side, I write Will's name and number. I make to chase after him, but my alcohol-fumed body and disorientation get the better of me. I fall back on my chair and land with both legs pointing to the sky. But with such an immense task at hand, I force myself up and sprint toward my future other half. Gasping for air and clutching this all-important piece of paper, I catch up to him and tap him on the shoulder twice. Once I place my destiny in his hands (and maybe that of Will's), I run back toward my friends a proud woman, a woman having carried out her mission.

Male model texted me the next day (to the disappointment of Will) and I went out with him for about a month after that. He then took off to South America for two months during which time we had very little contact. In no way did I feel this to be a great loss. He had a stunning face (and boy did he know how to give amazing felacio) but he was boring as fu*k. Every time we went out, I had to drink to myself into a stupor beforehand so as to make the night interesting.

Anyways, male model texted on Monday to ask if I wanted to go for a drink on Wednesday. Why did he want to see me? The last time we had contact was when I texted him to tell him I probably gave him Chlamydia (I hope he managed to find a doctor in Chile, Peru or wherever  he was when he read my message). "Sure, let's go for a drink. Oh, and I'm moving back to Toronto next year", I reply. I continue: "I'll be in touch again tomorrow to confirm time and place". On Tuesday, I texted male  model to ask about time and place. No reply. On Wednesday, I texted male model to ask about time and place. No reply. Oh male model, what happened? Did you suddenly remember that I gave you an unpleasant STI? Or did the prospect of me leaving next year upset you to your very core?

So I didn't hear from male model and my Wednesday evening was a complete waste. At such last minute, all I could do was hop on my scooter and head back home. In fact, an evening at home would be quite nice. I could curl up with a book and a cup of cocoa and get myself an early night. So on my scooter I get... and crash...

Ladies who lunch

I must go back a few days and tell you about this past Sunday (17th November). My friend K, soon to be Mrs J, wanted to go for Sunday pancakes at an American Grill she'd read good reviews about online. I'm not the type to say no to pancakes with bacon and maple syrup (yes, to be eaten together), or to the chance of getting together with my closest girlfriends for a good old catch up and gossip session. So I arranged the date, the time and made the restaurant reservation. S was the first one there (punctual as usual, which bodes well for her as S is also my boss) and I was second. The other three were running late (unusual for K, but to be expected of L and V). "Rather than wait for the others to come, why don't we just go in and wait for them at the table?" I said. We climbed the stairs that took us up to the main dining room and at the top we were welcomed by the waitress. As she held six menus, one a wine menu, she led us into the dining room and toward our table. As I followed S, who was in turn following the waitress, I saw from the corner of my eye a familiar looking face. As I did a double take, I realised it was indeed the familiar face, the face of M, my ex-boyfriend.

Let me pause the story here and give you a brief description of M. Simply put, he was the perfect boyfriend: kind, generous, confident, funny, smart and sexy. He had a great family, he was a genius in the kitchen and best of all, he didn't come with any baggage. I'll tell you why we broke up at some later date, but for the time being, I only want to get across how much he meant to me and how much losing him devastated me.

Anyways, so there I was, face to face with M again, 20 months since we broke up, and four months since I randomly bumped into him on the street (well, he was on the street and I was waiting for the red light to turn green on my scooter). Our first freak encounter was awkward to say the least and this time around fared no better. I went over to his table, gave him a kiss on the cheek and a hug, and asked him how he was doing. "Fine thanks, and you?" was he reply. "Oh I'm fine too. In fact, I'm moving back to Toronto next year, but there's my boss so don't say anything." "Erm, ok. Well, we're leaving soon (indicating to his friend, a male thank goodness). I'll come over and say goodbye". "Ok then, speak to you in a bit." I went over to the table where S was and whispered that I had just been speaking to my ex. I was shaking all over and nervous. The only thoughts occupying my mind were: "In this huge city of London, why the fu*k am I running into M at this random restaurant, why the fu*k didn't I wear something better, and why the fu*k did I feel the need to tell him about me moving?!"

K and V arrive almost immediately and I fill them in on who's sitting right behind us. K knew M from when we were dating and I'd talked to V about M on several occasions so they understood my state of distress. Where was the waitress with the bloody wine??

A full five minutes of K staring in M's direction, me having gotten through most of my glass of wine, V trying to calm me, S not having a clue as to what's going on, L still slowing making her way to the restaurant, and there was M about to leave. He walks over, takes in the entire table (he always had a way of engaging with everyone around him) and gives me a quick hug. He tells me he'll call me sometime.

Of course, I know that was his way of ending the conversation pleasantly. He's not going to call; he had no intention of calling, but that didn't stop me from checking my phone all day. On my way home from the restaurant, I put in my earphones and listened to music that inevitably reminded me of M.
I cried the whole way home and dreamt about us getting back together that night as I slept.