In a lame attempt to get over jungle boy, I went out the other night and spied a super hot man, hat on head in Mojo's.
Several vodkas later, I mustered up the courage to talk to him. Well, not really talk, I kind of just blurted out "you're hot", which worked a treat.
He told me he was a barber from Brookland, New York who was just focusing his energies on being creative. Wow. I was in awe.
We exchanged numbers and agreed to meet on Monday as he had some stuff to tell me.
I was making up all manner of things in this over-excited head of mine, however nothing could have prepared me for what came next.
He was no barber. Oh no. He hadn't even have a set of clippers!
Instead, he told me, in all seriousness (well, i guess it's a serious matter), that he was a deported drug-pusher!!!! WHAT!?! How did that happen!?
He then asked me if we could still have a relationship as he showed me his outdoor shower, toilet sans seat and box of instant macaroni.
Um, now I am starting to sound like a snob, however it was a rather peculiar situation, particularly when all he had to offer me was a cup of Kool-Aid, which he assured me was safe and even offered to have a cup as well.
However, I appreciate his honesty and I am glad he told me about this sooner rather later. I am still debating whether or not to see him again. I would SO love to introduce him to my dad when he comes in February... or is that just cruel.
Thursday, 14 January 2010
The jungle boy...
So after four months in Guyana and a lot of crazy men, i thought that I'd finally found, well not the one, but a special one.
He was hot (it's not always my first preference, but it often helps), interesting - he lived in the jungle, so amazingly sweet, had amazing biceps, a hairy chest that rivalled Austin Powers and didn't wear underwear.
After striking up an acquaintance in Buddy's (not a cool place to meet, but still, i was drunk and he was hot), a flurry of feelings ensued.
We met every day, chatted endlessly and I really thought I was falling for him.
However good things don't last forever - hell, they don't even last three weeks it appears. No sooner was I considering changing my flight, my plans, my life, he asked to borrow some money.
One part of me wanted to think the best of him, however after listening to advice from friends, I started to believe he was just out for what he could get.
Things went kind of weird after that, partly because I felt I couldn't trust him and partly because he is an ass.
However, we continued to communicate and it all culminated the other day when we met, I screamed at him like a crazy woman, he threw in the L word, I screamed some more and then (oh, the shame)I shed some tears. In retrospect, I should have thrown something too - just for effect.
Anyway, he's gone now. Back to the jungle. To mine gold. He asked if he could come and see me before he left. I said no. I thought my aunt would give him the third degree. And I had flu. He then said he'd call and he never did.
Which suggests to me, he is an ass who should get the hell back to his excavator and hammock in the stupid jungle and stay there forever with Mowgli and Baloo the Bear (although that does sound fun).
The whole situation breaks my heart. Yes, he did break my heart. Infact he didn't just break it. He broke it. Ripped it out. Stamped on it. Then threw it in the dirty, stinking trench. And while I hope that he'll call, I know deep in my heart he probably won't... for the first time in four months my phone is tone and it's silent.
Like my soul, like my heart.
Oh dear, now I am being overly dramatic. I don't regret what happened. I enjoyed every second of those feelings, even the crazed ones. I guess this is what we live for. The extreme highs (which are way too often followed by the extreme lows).
What doesn't kill you, indeed makes you stronger, and if nothing else - it's great material for the book.
He was hot (it's not always my first preference, but it often helps), interesting - he lived in the jungle, so amazingly sweet, had amazing biceps, a hairy chest that rivalled Austin Powers and didn't wear underwear.
After striking up an acquaintance in Buddy's (not a cool place to meet, but still, i was drunk and he was hot), a flurry of feelings ensued.
We met every day, chatted endlessly and I really thought I was falling for him.
However good things don't last forever - hell, they don't even last three weeks it appears. No sooner was I considering changing my flight, my plans, my life, he asked to borrow some money.
One part of me wanted to think the best of him, however after listening to advice from friends, I started to believe he was just out for what he could get.
Things went kind of weird after that, partly because I felt I couldn't trust him and partly because he is an ass.
However, we continued to communicate and it all culminated the other day when we met, I screamed at him like a crazy woman, he threw in the L word, I screamed some more and then (oh, the shame)I shed some tears. In retrospect, I should have thrown something too - just for effect.
Anyway, he's gone now. Back to the jungle. To mine gold. He asked if he could come and see me before he left. I said no. I thought my aunt would give him the third degree. And I had flu. He then said he'd call and he never did.
Which suggests to me, he is an ass who should get the hell back to his excavator and hammock in the stupid jungle and stay there forever with Mowgli and Baloo the Bear (although that does sound fun).
The whole situation breaks my heart. Yes, he did break my heart. Infact he didn't just break it. He broke it. Ripped it out. Stamped on it. Then threw it in the dirty, stinking trench. And while I hope that he'll call, I know deep in my heart he probably won't... for the first time in four months my phone is tone and it's silent.
Like my soul, like my heart.
Oh dear, now I am being overly dramatic. I don't regret what happened. I enjoyed every second of those feelings, even the crazed ones. I guess this is what we live for. The extreme highs (which are way too often followed by the extreme lows).
What doesn't kill you, indeed makes you stronger, and if nothing else - it's great material for the book.
A new dawn
In the past month, I've experienced Christmas Guyanese-style, New Year Guyanese-style, worked way too much, put on five pounds (or more) and had my heart broken by a man from the jungle (which I may deal with in a seperate blog).
It's been eventful to say the least.
So Christmas was pretty cool here. In all honesty, it's not so dissimilar from the British Christmas, aside from the fact that there's that a lot more sun and a lot more rum! You eat a lot. Sleep a lot. Drink a lot. Throw in a bottle five-year-old and a few retro CDs, it's pretty much heaven, well my heaven.
New Year is party central too - however I was working and had women's problems. Oh dear. Instead of hanging on the streets of GT, supping five-year-old, I went home had three shots of rum, passed out in a drunken stupor, woke up, was very confused, then threw up. Nice.
And now it's 2010. Yep, 2010, the year when I am going to finally figure out what to do with my life...
It's been eventful to say the least.
So Christmas was pretty cool here. In all honesty, it's not so dissimilar from the British Christmas, aside from the fact that there's that a lot more sun and a lot more rum! You eat a lot. Sleep a lot. Drink a lot. Throw in a bottle five-year-old and a few retro CDs, it's pretty much heaven, well my heaven.
New Year is party central too - however I was working and had women's problems. Oh dear. Instead of hanging on the streets of GT, supping five-year-old, I went home had three shots of rum, passed out in a drunken stupor, woke up, was very confused, then threw up. Nice.
And now it's 2010. Yep, 2010, the year when I am going to finally figure out what to do with my life...
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