The Problem with Presumption

ve been staring at the man infront of me for a good 5 minutes now. Dark rimmed glasses, clean shaven, crew cut hair, chubby on the side with a belly that he got from too much beer or being too lazy. He´s been asking too much questions as well and I feel like I´m on a job Interview or something.
He´s ok, I guess.
On a rainy Monday afternoon when everything is dark and gloomy, it is better to have someone to talk with over a cup of hot tea than stay in bed and think about home and realize that yes, I actually miss Carbon Monoxide from my polluted but definitely fabulous third world.

José (picture above) found my dusting profile in Gaydar months ago. Since I was busy with my so called life, I wasn´t able to check my messages there for what seemed like a decade now. Alas, I saw his 2 notes saying he liked my profile and that he would like to have coffee with me. After a brief exchange of email addresses and eventually numbers, he now sits before me.

He talks rubbish. He is projecting a pretentiously immaculate image whiter than Beyonce´s bleached teeth. I´m hearing enough but as a good, asian catholic girl, I crossed my legs, sipped my warm expensive wildrose tea and pretend that I fancy his nonsense.

The man is a housewife sans husband---He doesn´t go out. He likes to stay at home. Dinner with friends. Drink wine. Watch films. Paseos. Hates queens. Hates the darkroom. Hates the posers. Hates his ex-boyfriend. Blah blah blah blah...the works.

I am bored. So bored that if he asks me to sleep with him, I will. Out of boredom.

After thirty minutes of chatting about everything including gay websites and stuff, we finally called it an afternoon. Thank God.

His last statements were bombs that woke me up to my senses.

¨Jeno, thanks for the day, I had fun but you know how it is...there are people who attract you sexually and there are some who dont

I stopped and dropped my jaw.

¨And who the hell told you that I want to go to bed with you anyway, Mr. fat, balding , depressive , presumptuous fag?¨ I thought.

I told you I am nice so the only thing I came up with was this:

¨We didn´t have any expectations anyway but to have coffee. Did we?¨.

¨I´m sorry , that was as stupid thing for me to say¨ he said dramatically and we parted ways.

I assessed myself after the date. Did I look easy? Did I flirt (unconsciously) too much?

I was about to take Prozac out of low self esteem when suddenly the phone rang. It was him.

¨Jeno, can you give me the website for BEARS

Atkins works. Believe me.

Now, kidding aside. Why are there men who are so presumptuous that they feel like they are God´s gift to women? You ask for a light, they think you want to burn them in bed; You give them a smile they immediately think you want to give them a head; you go out with them for a movie, they automatically think their bed (or yours) is an extension of the moviehouse; they give you flowers and they think you would give them your bud.

What is the world coming into?

Confidence is one thing but too much confidence is another story. Sorry, gentlemen but DON´t FLATTER yourselves. You are not Brad Pitt nor Bill Gates (with all his money of course) for me to drool at.

The mirror doesn't lie. See yourself on it first before presuming anything. Like fresh air, it will do you good. I promise.

Resurrected...with fins.

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Bueno, bueno, the bitch is back with a basketful of chocolate coated eggs which can never turn into good looking babies (or rabbits, whichever you prefer) because he hasn´t got any ovaries at all.

While my third world countrymen in Filipinas basked and fried themselves under 45 degrees on the crystal clear beaches, I spat on the Spanish weather. It should be ashamed of itself. Costa Del Sol without the Sol at all! Rain and clouds shadowed the festivity this year and everyone contented themselves with watching THE TEN COMMANDEMENTS in Castellano at home. Huff! I know we must be holy at least for once a year but I´ve seen it at least 12 times already since I was 9 years old and yes, I know that I shall not kill, so thank you very much. I can kill your time though so here´s my super late update of my super abrupt vacation.

Growing Scales
Gluttony. Yes, I pigged out from Thursday till Sunday. I absolutely took caution of my A
tkins diet though . I lost 7 kilos already (hurray!) from 80 to 73 and still counting so I wouldn´t want to ruin my despicable eating habits over gigantic milky, chocolate-coated Easter eggs.

I ate so much seafood though. Just too much I think I´m gonna grow scales on my smooth Asian legs soon!

Thursday night, we had dinner in Torremolinos in our favorite spot, La Bodega, a small, old but spectacular Seafood / Tapas restaurant at the end of Calle San Miguel. It is a hit with Spanish and NO, IT DOESN´T HAVE PICTURES OF THE FOOD ON THE MENU!

We love this restaurant not only because the food is fresh, and definitely orgasmic but also because the price is easy on your faux-Louis Vuitton wallet. You can order media raciones (half -servings) if you like if you feel like you couldn´t eat any swimming or seafloor crawling animals.

As always, we ordered our favorite berenjenas fritas (thinly sliced eggplants dipped on flour, fried into crisps), brochetas de gambas (grilled shrimp in barbeque sticks with honey filled rolls of bacon), adobo, baked mushrooms, boquerones, and much more accompanied with a bottle of vino tinto. Nice. I admit I got tipsy with just 2 glasses of wine but hey, I don´t really drink much you know.

Traditional Spanish restaurant with Toro mementos adorn the place especially pictures of Spanish Torero, the mythical Manolete (his life has just been made into a film starring Adrian Brody and Penelope Cruz. Will be out this year, I reckon) We wined , laugh and dined and got sad because it was actually a despedida party for our friend, Jorge, who will move the day after to Madrid, for good.

Friday. Someone left but another one came. Our friend Eva from the Swiss alps came over sans HEIDI to spend a two week vacation. We went to another restaurant, oddly named Bodega as well although this one is quite different since Bodega 1 is fully pack already. Same menu but this time with Pulpo Gallego (Spanish Octopus). The octopus was so tender it melts in your mouth (not in your hands). Quite spicy but nevertheless lovely and one of the best along Calle San Miguel.

Saturday, My friend Satellite and I had lunch in Casa Juan, the biggest and the fullest restaurant in Carihuela. I tell you , you should go there at least an hour before the restaurant opens or else you will die of starvation waiting for a minimum of half an hour or so. The place is not touristy at all. Los Españoles flock there every night and the weekends so trust their instinct on this one. The food is amazing especially the succulent seafood and their salads are humongous! Service is quite slow because of the massive crowd,that is the only flack I can say. Pretty unisex toilets are clean and waiters are darn gorgeous. There you go, a total experience. All smoking areas. Use a gas mask if you don´t want to inhale nicotine although you can always opt for the open air mini plaza that is, again, if you are early.

Well, I´ve had too much of fins, scales, swimming and scrawling seafood, I want a pink, tender, juicy, fatty piece of steak now.

My legs are itching. I must be growing a fishtail. I´m changing my name to Ariel but I don´t know how to swim and it´s colder in Denmark.