Originally my plan had been to go to Body Pump class at the gym from 10-11, and then at 11 get on the Tube and go to the club so I could meet The Boyfriend Who Looks Out For Me for our squash game at noon. Yet after that crazy late night out in Cambridge the night before, I barely managed to run to the Tube at 11:20 PM, arriving at the club just at noon, with just enough time to frantically change and make my way down to the squash courts.
Yet, it was still a good game, even if I got my arse handed to me on a platter. We actually had two games, and I didn't even bother keeping score, but my squash partner did so quite accurately so I would know exactly how badly I was losing. We had some good chatter going during the game as well, although I was surprised when I mentioned that I would be seeing the Giant Australian later at the rugby game, he didn't comment on it at all. It's funny, because with boys I'm not interested in, I often enjoy getting their opinion on the guys I like, but I couldn't get any commentary here. I wonder, because he dotes on me so much, it really IS all platonic, right?
After the game I went home, showered, changed, IM'd the Young Dutchman to moan about how the Boyfriend Who Looks Out For Me had insisted on keeping score (the bastard!), and then went out to join the crowds where we would be watching the rugby. Dressed casually but cutely, hoping to strike the right balance of not looking like I'd made an effort, but devastatingly attractive all the same. After all, this was my chance to not look all sweaty and gross after a run when I saw him, right?
Arrived at the venue which was jam-packed, but still managed to find everyone and wedge myself in with the crowd. Wondered if the Giant Australian would show up at all, and so was relieved when I got a text from him asking where the group was. Yet when I looked around to potentially answer, he turned out to be right behind me! I guess there must be a delay on my phone!!
So we got to chatting and he introduced me to his childhood friend who was in town visiting for the weekend from Amsterdam (after he'd had to cancel a trip to Egypt due to all of the political unrest there at the moment). The friend offered to buy the next round of drinks, and the three of us stayed in a round-buying group for the rest of the game.
Admittedly as we started standing there chatting, the thought did occur to me, "Maybe if I drink more, he'll seem less annoying". He's just so loud at times, shouting "Unlucky!" repeatedly during the game and just being slightly obnoxious. In truth, the alcohol did help, but in retrospect perhaps the fact that I felt need of it to like him should have been a clue.
I was surprised when one of the guys in the group, Princess, mentioned that the Giant Australian was recently single. I hadn't even known he was dating anyone. But I guess that sort of explains the prolonged period of silence and then suddenly contacting me out-of-the-blue in January.
England won the game (after our dear Johnny Wilkinson came out onto the field), and then after the game we all decided to walk somewhere to go for dinner. Amazingly, we found a Belgian place that agreed to take an on-the-spot seating for 14 people, on a Saturday night. I never would have dreamed that was possible!
We did have to wait a few minutes for our table to be ready however, so we made our way into the restaurant's bar. I had to make a quick pit stop at the ladies, and so was delighted to discover when I returned that the Giant Australian made a big point about how he'd bought a drink for me. What a gentleman! (Okay, we'll ignore the part where you will note that this is standard practice for any guy I know in Clubland, but it was particularly nice for him, especially when you consider I wasn't even there and he just did it to be thoughtful).
Once our table was ready and we went in for dinner, Matt (my favourite person) insisted that I needed to sit with him. So I did, even though it put me on the very opposite end of the table from the Giant Australian. Perhaps good I suppose, in that it kept me from paying too much attention to him, even though I felt myself behaving like a toddler pulling on her mother's skirts, demanding, "Pay attention to me!"
I did enjoy the conversation at dinner with Matt, Pork Pie, and Lex, although I did find Matt's girlfriend's sister (who was also in the conversation) to be ridiculously naive in her political views. I suppose she is only 20 however, so I should cut her a break. Yet she's a classic example of why people find political discussions from college students to be overly self-righteous and annoying.
Matt did prod me to give online dating a go, and I said he could write my profile for me... I think it really bothers him that I'm one of his favourite girls and I'm single. Although as I like to point out to people, it's not really for lack of options, it's just that I can't find the RIGHT guy, the one that I don't need to drink around to find him tolerable.
Matt's girlfriend joined us (and was laughing telling me about how much her dad had enjoyed seeing me a few weeks ago, how he had a "mini-crush" on me), and then we set about trying to figure out where we would go next. We hustled the whole group out onto the street, where we lost a few people, including Pork Pie (who planted a giant wet kiss on my mouth as he said good-bye to me), but still maintained a significant group presence as we headed on.
We stopped by one bar which was way over-crowded, and then went on to O'Neil's, an Irish pub which charged a cover, but was much more relaxed and spacious. The Giant Australian paid for my cover as we entered anyway, which pleased me to no end. He and his friend bought me drinks once there as well, although by the end of the evening I'd decided I'd had enough and quit out on the rounds.
We actually ended up dancing to loads of 90's hits I remembered from college, like Chumbawumba's "Tubthumping" and even some Third-Eye Blind. I absolutely felt like I were back in a frat basement at Dartmouth somewhere. It was actually loads of fun (I can't remember the last time I had so much fun just dancing, like I did at frat parties at Dartmouth), although I did find myself feeling a bit insecure about the lack of attention I was receiving from the Giant Australian. I could really sense my inner 5-year old, feeling like a small toddler tugging on her mother's skirt to demand, "Pay attention to me!" I like to think I hid it somewhat well (although already I was paying more attention to him this evening than I ever had before), but I was definitely irritated by the lack of attention I was getting.
I did comment to the Giant Australian at one point about how it was fun to be out with our running friends but to be able to dress up a bit (I'd checked my appearance every time I went back to the loo, and my make-up and hair had stayed looking perfect, no smudged mascara or anything), and he said to me, "I swear, you are just as beautiful when you've just finished a run as you are when you're all done up." So sweet, yet also troubling, that he really doesn't find me any more attractive with my hair and make-up perfectly done than he does after I've been running around and sweating like a pig? Jeez.
Finally at around 3 AM, the Giant Australian, his friend and I left the club, and we went to grab some dinner at McDonald's (I paid for that, at least!) I suppose I can tell that I was quite tipsy at this point because I was getting REALLY annoyed by the lack of attention. Still, we sat and had an amusing late night dinner at the McDonald's while commenting on all of the girls we were seeing in a group of young Essex-types dressed up in caveman costumes, and many of the girls were just walking around barefoot (on the streets of London!) because they'd abandoned their killer heels that were hurting their feet.
I suppose this was kind of 90's night, because I could remember being young like that, wearing stupid heels and short skirts, but something at this point in my life has made me move beyond it. Looking at these girls, I'd like to think that I actually look sexier now, rather than being trashed in a short skirt and bare dirty feet.
We then went to catch a night-bus, and caught one from Picadilly that would get them right to where they needed to go. Although I was tempted to hang out with them, at Knightsbridge the Giant Australian urged me to jump out and catch my own bus, the N9, which was tracking along with us. So when the next stop came, I got a brief kiss (I went for the mouth, I think he was going for the cheek), and I dashed down the bus steps and out onto the street.
Turns out I missed that N9, but another one came along within moments, so I was delivered safely home in no time at all. Yet, still feeling upset and ignored (I got a better kiss from Pork Pie than I did from the Giant Australian!) I made the mistake of glancing at my work e-mail and found a message from some executive that was quite nasty and angry, and even blamed me for something I'd really had no part in. Word to the wise, NEVER check one's work e-mail on the weekends.
Still, despite my upset at the time, I realise now as I recount this tale that the Giant Australian was actually quite good to me throughout the evening. He paid for me for over half the time, and despite having divided attention (obviously he wanted to visit with his childhood friend who was in town), he actually did spend a fair amount of time doting on me. I guess he's just not sycophantic the way I'm used to with so many of the boys from Clubland, and perhaps I need that dose of reality. Plus, it forces me to slow down and acknowledge the things I don't like about him.
When I got home, I texted him to let him know I was home safely, and he texted back that he was glad to hear it, and he'd see me for drinks when he was back in April. April? {Sigh!} So at least no worries about him being a distraction for a while!
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