***

Oh for the Last Time!

Not too long ago, the girlfriend and I swore never to date local, ever again. This was after the most unfortunate incident of a bastardy ex making a last ditch attempt to get laid though what I wouldn't be wrong to say constituted as blackmail.

But time and again, someone would come along and make us go, 'just maybe'. Usually, it'd turn out to be a very, very bad idea. I don't know whether it's a fault on our part- perhaps. Why is it so many other girls get along fine with them, but not us? I've long decided that it's not so much a fault in our characters as it is with expecting different things.

Anyway, through some uncanny mechanism or other, the local guys of subject lately seem to be of one sort. The pretentious, indy film making, artish fartish sort. And it's a pity really; meeting someone you suppose is worth talking to just because they might share an interest in similar artistic endevours, and they turn out to be so full of themselves eventually (art snobs, basically.)
One of them even had the cheek to tell my girlfriend she wasn't the prettiest girl he's been interested in; and did she know he'd dumped cuter girls then she? Oh, oh, and I thought being an artist was synonmous with being both unemployed and deep. Apparently it's only the former in this case, sadly.

Lets see. So that's how you court a girl? By trying to convince her that you're so fantastic she must snag you while you're available and enjoy every moment she can because you're capable of dumping her anytime?

Ah, whatever. Whining about the local fare is becoming tedious. And like I said, perhaps they are all guilty until proven innocent in my perspective, therefore I have a penchant for seeing all the bad bits with much more ease. But I genuinely thought the arrogance was rather blatant in this particular one.

One really, really weird thing I noticed in the local fare I generally attract is how they always try to impress me with the people they know. Well, just so you know, your dangling carrot of celeb connections cannot beat the appeal of the sizable one in my boyfriend's pants. But bad jokes aside, I genuinely doubt their claims. Flaunt it, and your probably just another star-chaser.

Someone texted me yesterday, asking if I'd be interested in writing a romantic comedy for a feature film. I said I'd try, and then asked for the dead-line. For some reason, he absolutely refused to tell me anything and insisted I called him because alot of the information was classified (but all I asked for was a dead-line for the first draft!). And he kept on calling and calling and insisted that until I talked to him, I was not going to get any more information. I suppose I was being absolutely anal about not picking up the phone, but if he was going to behave silly, I didn't see any worth in entertaining him.

***

I got to know another Yank of late. (My apologies if that's a derogatory term, I like using it.) I suppose he's a particularly extreme case, and I am currently having a hard time trying to decide if the attention he's paying me stems from 1) a recent break-up, 2) the end of a celibacy vow 3) insecurity 4) the need to get laid. I genuinely don't know. But it would do the locals to take a note from his manual. Oh he's a little too full of shit to be believable entirely, but I must admit, at points I'm nearly convinced of his sincerity.

And maybe he is, really. But I'm a terribly weary when it comes to men full of sugar coated sweetness.

After some nit-picking about the male species over text messages, he told me that not every prince rides on a white horse or stays in a palace.

"Well, no. You're right. Over here they ride petite asian girls and stay in River Valley condominiums."

xoxox