Hate the player, not the game

It’s always very exciting to get interested in someone new. I love the game – the looks, the smiles, the flirty talks, the carefully crafted text messages, and all the other little things – to try to figure out whether that other person is interested in you, and whether you yourself are really interested in him.

To me, there has to be a little chase. It’s a thrill to try make an impression and to give out the best possible image of you, and to see how the other one responds. What’s crucial, however, is to find an equal match. I lose my interest in a second if everything is too easy, if I don’t have to make a bit extra effort.

Until now, I’ve never lost my interest because the game would’ve been too complicated. Yeah, until now.

Lately, I’ve been playing around with this one guy, who pretty much corresponds the typical example of whom mums warn their daughters. He’s ridiculously good looking, well behaved, and overall comes across as a really nice guy. We work at the same place (oops), so we see each other quite often. The way he seeks his way to me, the way he talks to me, he really makes me feel like I’d be the only girl in the world – there’s a fire in his eyes, and be damned that smile that’s so hard to resist.

The problem is that he seems to be fascinated by roughly anything as long as it’s wearing a skirt and a little lipstick.

After a few weekends of drunk dialing scored somewhere between interested and very interested on Sally's scale, last Friday we finally happened to meet in a club. I had been guessing that he might be the player type, but boy hadn’t I realized he was such a high roller.

I saw him at the entrance with one girl under his arm. Half an hour later he seemed to be buying a drink to the second, and a while later he didn’t seem to mind the third one trying to French kiss him. It seemed as if he’d done that all on purpose right in front of me, glancing at my way to see how I’d react. Oh, and did I mention he’s still officially in a relationship? (Although be it on the final stretch.)

Honestly, I don’t think I’m up for that. Apparently, I have a limit on how much I’m willing to gamble, and this one just doesn’t seem worth the risk.

Post by Jo

Equality Sucks

One thing that makes dating really fun is being a woman. It means not having to pay for anything.

I know there are two separate schools of thought about this among woman in the western countries. There are women that regard it disgracefully old-fashioned to have a date to pay their dinners and vodka tonics. And then, there are selfish and hedonistic women that don't bother making all the feminists of the world pleased with their actions, since they rather just enjoy the role of a princess that's being honored and served well.

As you might have guessed, I'm definitely the latter type. I do manage my own financials pretty well, but still, especially after having lived in the Southern Europe, where it's seen as loosing face for a guy if a lady pays something herself, I respect a man that pays on a date. 

A few days ago I went on a date. (Yep, I'm still seeing The Guy I was panicing about the last time.) But what made this special, was that I really wanted to pay for my own stuff. I would have felt uncomfortable letting him pay. 

I have tried to analyze why. I'm pretty sure I really like him, but it has never been a problem letting a guy that I really like to pay my stuff. How could I ever get a wedding ring with five digit price tag, if I was uncomfortable letting a man spend his money on me? Ridiculous.

But this time I was. Probably since I feel so equal with him. That there is no power or status differences between us two. We play on the same league. We have a similar Aura. 

We are as cool, as funny, as good looking, as emotional, very alike. 

It's doomed to fail, isn't it?

Post by Sally

Type, antitype, blood type, E-type…

Today I started thinking about types. I was sipping a late afternoon espresso with a friend of mine, and after the discussing the hot topics of the day such as Beyoncé changing her username on Instagram, I told my friend whom I went out with the other day.

“Really? Wow… I didn’t think he was your type!”, was the reply she gave me. 

Well. Neither did. This guy and me have nothing in common except a hilarious sense of humor and a big ego.

But what the hell is my type anyway?

During the previous year I have dated a bunch of guys. A tattooed consultant, who cooked a really good lasange. An Italian businessman that was 15 years older than me and drove a ridiculously expensive car. A curly haired snowboarder who, all of a sudden, quit his day job and moved to Australia. An overweighed comedy actor that smoked a lot and was drunk at least three times a week. A blonde-haired male Barbie that was such a perfect gentleman and so by the book that Disney could’ve created him.

My first boyfriend was a long-haired bass-player and the latest one a start-up entrepreneur.

So you get the range. There is no type. There is not a single common feature that I would identify about the men I get interested in.

But yet I consider myself open-minded. Untamed. I surprise even myself with my feelings. Last time I told my friends that I’m really not interested in the guy I just met at the party, as he is really not my type, I ended up being crazy about him after three days (and well, getting my heart broken after three weeks).

So I guess it’s something abstract that I fall for. It’s the bang. The uniqueness. That’s my type. Or maybe I’m just the kind of girl that one day dies for sushi and another day for bouillabaisse. Haha.

Post by Sally

Ps. With this guy, I like his enthusiasm about old school rap music and his ability of not to give a fuck.