h1

so sexy.

September 3, 2009

Tonight I have had sort of 10 cocktails & far too much food, so I’m not feeling at my intellectual peak.  However, I’m going to blog anyway!  As much as I’m feeling buzzed off the alcohol and also off having had a lovely evening with my friends, I do have something to say.  We were at Giraffe in Cabot Circus from 4:30 until 6:15ish drinking drinking drinking, and Karina has a friend who works there.  I will save his embarrassment because I don’t actually know how to spell his name, but he was foreign and incredibly cute (and talkative too!).  And perhaps it is part of the whole façade mentality that I have, where you have to project the best possible image and attitude of yourself at all times, but I found myself trying my hardest to be cool and aloof and funny all at once.  He probably didn’t even notice, but it seems to be a “flirt autopilot” with me.

And then, at Frankie & Benny’s (where we consumed all of the aforementioned food), a group of guys came in while we were eating dessert (cinnamon waffle crunch mmm-mmm), and my head nearly span off its axis.  Again, I blame the drink, but I can’t help but notice when someone is attractive to me.  Normally, I try to act as nonchalant as possible, because I don’t expect any comeback off it, and it’s just the same as when you know somebody is checking you out, you act as if they don’t exist because you don’t want to call attention to them nor give them the slightest impression that they have a chance or that you think they could possibly be on your level.  I don’t know if it’s a strategy of playing hard to get, or just being as ice-king as possible (I prefer to believe it is the latter), but I would never expect someone to return my stares, and I would never acknowledge anyone’s interest or flirtations with me.  Perhaps it’s just another one of my counterproductive “I want a boyfriend but I refuse to settle for just anyone, but why am I single?” stratagems.

Which gets me to thinking, I have many, many celebrity crushes.  Singers, actors, models, Brazilians, footballers… I have been addicted to them all for many years now.  And perhaps that is why my standards (and the standards of those people who are like me) are so high, perhaps too high… We expect visual perfection.  We expect floss and ice.  We expect the finest things. We expect a heart of gold within a body of sin.  And when we go on dates and take people out, that is what we try and provide to the best of our ability.  But all too often, somewhere along the line our expectations are just too high, and people fall short.  I think it takes two, and perhaps I should be more realistic as much as my date should step up to the plate and put in a bit more effort… but then in real life, after a phase of disappointment, I start to relax my standards and appreciate the “everyman”. Be they scruffy, unshaven, slightly damaged… we become more accepting of flaws before we really stop and think what we are letting ourselves in for.  All too many times while I was working at the Perfume Shop, dates of mine would stop by to meet me after work / during lunch / to say hi, and my friend Henna would always tell me after they left “What are you doing? Did you see how he looked? You could do so much better.”  And ultimately, between immature boyfriends and disinterested players, she’s been proved right every time.  Despite my attraction to guys whom I might more feasibly find in Bristol, and feeling that this attraction is a bit more realistic and accepting of real people’s flaws and quirks… I’m disappointed every time, so I go back to the high celebrity standards and looking out for those model-ready rich boys.  And the cycle begins again.

I’m not really sure what I’m trying to say in this post, beyond a dual acknowledgement of the hotness of so many guys in the Bristol area (the genuinely hot and the somewhat hot), and the fact that so few are truly eligible for me, be it because of the flirting games and unspoken protocols that exist or because I put up with too much shit before realising it can’t go on.  If Karina’s friend wants to call me, he definitely can 😉  But you know, I’m sure that it wouldn’t work.  And that’s more than just the alcohol talking.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: