The red flags, oh the red flags…
Yes, it has finally come! My new post. For months I have been thinking that it wasn’t such a big deal I stopped posting. I mean I am still single – of course. I haven’t really had anything super worthwhile to write about. I have been going crazy over my channel and trying to get it as famous as possible so I can finally be location independent, work from anywhere and hopefully have more success in finding the man of my dreams than in freezing Toronto with its equally lifeless robot people who barely exchange eye contact with each other.
Until, today I stumbled into my junk mail and realized with a shock that I had messages upon messages of support, personal stories and touching words. When I abandoned blogging for my channel, I thought that my page would soon lose its flow and grow weeds, and when I discovered all your messages I told myself that no matter what – I will continue writing more stories. Actually, I would do it right away… or a few hours later. So, I took out my laptop and here is my semi-latest story.
A couple of months ago, I realized I needed a break. I realize it all the time. Actually I always need a break. Don’t we all? Some of my girlfriends don’t think they are entitled to one due to work or school, but all I ever think about is lying on the hammock on the beach, not going to yet another club, lounge, bar and feeling bored and restless, which is how I feel a lot lately.
Long story short, I ended up in Miami with a German girlfriend Marta, who I met while backpacking in Argentina. That night her and I went to the cheesiest club of all “Mango’s” and had our two other hostel roommates join. As soon as we walked in men surrounded us like prey. I guess they sniffed out fresh blood of newly arrived foreigners. I managed to break free from the grasp of a puny and sweaty Chilean guy before he managed to kiss me and went to watch the show, wondering how I was going to get home now that all of the girls were occupied.
Just at the moment when I was getting bored of standing in the corner watching a Michael Jackson show, I saw an enormously tall, blond and built guy coming into the club. He was joined by a much shorter bright blond man (who might I add looked just like he stepped out from a Nazi movie!) As someone who has an unhealthy obsession with the Germans as caused by my very first experience, I got excited and tried to get close to them. Finally, I did something I would probably not do back home. But as you know, we are at our best and riskiest self outside our comfort zone.
I touched the Nazi lookalike on the arm as he walked by me and asked, rather stated. “You are German, right?” He stopped in his tracks and asked me “Why do you sink vy are
German?” What a difficult question, indeed. He was really intrigued so we talked for a bit. He went off to find his friend and as I went around the club, I ran right into both of them chatting to Marta, who was standing right by the tall friend. As soon as he noticed me, he stopped the conversation with her and introduced himself to me excitedly.
Hanz was a teacher from some village in Bavaria and he was on a sabbatical to travel the world. He was staying one more day and then he was off to Asia, lucky bastard. He looked like a very German basketball player with a cute face and an incredible physique. He was just my type. Physically, at least, because I wouldn’t say we had some great connection or anything. He was trying hard to give me backhanded compliments, to be funny and to challenge me every step of the way. Marta thought he was a full of it asshole.
“You know!” she told me with her harsh tone which she used most of the time. One time when we were late to return the bikes she yelled “Vy are late!” so much that I actually got terrified. She could sound like a lieutenant sometimes. “You know. I found your German attractive at first. But zen! Zen I realized he was an idiot!” Of course, I knew she was into him so I took her harsh comments with a huge grain of salt.
There was something so endearing about him waiting for me in the crowded dance floor as I came back from getting water. He was just waiting there, unsure in what to do and as I touched him on the back, he turned around with a child-like smile, excited I came back.
As we danced, he bent all the way down to be at level with me, kissing my forehead and I closed my eyes against him, feeling so content I actually felt sorry for myself. I was so tired of being alone. So tired of fooling myself that these flings would lead to anything. I was no longer after an exciting time, a fun and memorable adventure. I wanted a future. I have always wanted a future, but now it was clearer than ever. I missed the security of someone hugging me close, of being next to me. A feeling of a strong man I could lean against – physically and emotionally. I danced with my eyes closed. I wanted to savour the feeling of it. We kissed and kissed and danced some more.
At the end of our night, he told me he regretted meeting me so close to the end of his trip. He wished he could have spent more time with me, because I was just his type. As much as it disappointed me as well, I knew we at least had one more day left. One more day to let him fall for me, to possibly continue into something more. Who knew? I was always open for a chance like this. These were the only chances I got. I was always meeting someone on vacation and falling for them. It always ended up in something. I don’t know if I was attracting this, but it was a repeat of my life.
“I would invite you back” He told me “but I’m staying in a hostel…”
“Who said I would go back with you?” I asked him playfully. “I can be kissing you the whole night and it means nothing else.”
“I like that you have standards” he said. He seemed to be fully into me, or as much as he could have been after one evening together.
As soon as I got back to the hostel, my phone pinged with a message from him. Marta climbed onto my bunk and we whispered girlishly: a 30 year old me and a 35 year old her – two idiots who really yearned for love. Hanz wanted to see me tomorrow, but mentioned he would love to get a hotel room. I wasn’t planning on sleeping with him, but even if I were I wouldn’t want it to be so open, so out on the table. It was much too programmed for me.
The next day, he texted me good morning. The guy was clearly hooked, but at this point all I could see was that he was hooked on having a good night. Having just come back from Latin America, I’m sure this blond Trojan man would have zero problems getting women. I’ve lived in Latin America. I know what the blond hair and European passport would do to a woman. This made me even more wary.
Hanz mentioned that he was going to a basketball game but would love to meet after. He was still set on the hotel, but I wouldn’t budge. I told him that if he wanted to see me, he would make it happen without a promise of sex. As we went out that night, I was not mentally there at the party. I kept on trying to get wifi signal (even going so far as running across the street to a taco place), glancing at my cell phone every two minutes and letting all conversations drift past me in a haze. Finally, he texted me back and told me that they were back at the hostel and wouldn’t be able to go as far as our neighborhood. However, he surely would be glad to book a hotel for us.
Again, the damn hotel.
Apparently, the hotel would be ‘much more affordable’ if it were booked in advance. German logic indeed. Affordable is the most seductive word, is it not? How can a woman not fall to her knees at the word affordable, right? Also, if throes of passion came upon us or in his words “If we became hot and bothered” we would find no ‘affordable’ hotel in Ocean Drive at night! Gasp. Hey ladies – want passion in dating a German? You got it! Affordable is the key! Book ahead and the passion is at your feet.
It is not to say that I haven’t considered having sex that night. It’s been a while, I was really attracted to him and my skin has been so bad lately, apparently good sex would clear it up a bit. I’m not joking, I read that somewhere and actually narrated it to my roommates who looked at me like I was slow in the head. Anyways, why not? But the point is even though Marta proudly produced some terrible condoms and handed them to me for later and that I was really starting to consider it, I could not for the life of me have such a pre-planned evening, where the man did not spend one minute on actually seducing me, on talking to me, on taking advantage of the beautiful Florida scenery but right away booking the hotel. It felt cheap and predictable.
I suggested over and over that we meet, talk and then possibly I would agree to it. I made it so, so easy and even then he did not want to meet unless I gave him a warranty that meeting with me would equal to sex (or money back guarantee). And just because I tell you everything, I will admit that at one point I almost succumbed. I wanted a chance to stop a taxi, slip away from this terrible party and drive up to where he was waiting for me. It almost seemed romantic. That is until Marta ripped the phone away from me and hissed “You are not doing zat! Are you CRAZY!? He should put the effort.” Of course. This was the girl, that once told me to dump the guy because he didn’t buy me a drink in South America. But she was right. I was losing my sense of self here. My pride. Once again my desire to feel something beautiful was really me heading off to bed with yet another 2 day guy. Tomorrow he would be off booking hotel rooms in Asia. Probably more affordable ones, too.
So, I changed my mind and stayed at the party. At first I said “screw it” and danced my heart out. Then I cried my heart out. Let me just say – I wasn’t fun for anyone that night, least of all myself.
When we got back to the hostel, I realized that he had been writing to me. Even though we never met, he still couldn’t stop. He was angry at himself, at us for not meeting. He regretted missing the chance to be with me. He was questioning why we let it all slip away. I was sick of going round and round as my whole night has already been ruined by him so I wished him a good night.
Yet, even the next day as he was leaving back to Germany he kept on writing me. He couldn’t believe it. If we could have, should have, would have.. If we just had… If, if, if…
Once back in Germany, he wouldn’t stop. I was his type. I was the woman he was dreaming of. He might have been stupid in being so organized, but he couldn’t help it. The poor lad was German. It was in his blood. He was crazy for me. He couldn’t stop admiring my photos. He regretted everything.
And I let him continue writing that. I’m a very soft girl and when I fall for someone I can ignore all the red flags. In this case – there were so many red flags I could have re-built communist Russia. I still imagined that, who knew? Maybe I was the woman of his dreams. But how could I be? He met me once for two hours. Not only that, he failed to spend time with me had it not been on his terms. He didn’t want to have a romantic evening with me if it didn’t lead to sex. This was not an ideal no matter how you twisted it.
He didn’t stop writing for a few weeks he was back in Germany. At the end, I got enough of the round and round talking of could haves and should haves and told him that had he wanted to see me, he could come to Canada and stop wondering what if. He laughed it off and said he had no time before going to Asia.
But at the end, it got too much. He would always comment on my appearance and talk nothing of substance and when I called him out on it, he got angry and said he wouldn’t do it again. This perfect looking guy with happy traveling photos on Facebook and an array of friends seemed quite troubled. Getting angry when I wouldn’t answer back to him, sending me enormous text messages and arguing like he was my husband of 5 years – all of this had to stop.
The best was when he decided to send me videos of himself singing. Apparently, apart from a teacher he was also a ‘musician’ who made his own original videos. One was of him dressed as the devil and the other of him dancing with a mannequin. When I told my friend this story over sushi, she told me “Man, Mia. You have to start writing about your crazy stories.” Ha!
Hanz is still traveling Asia and has stopped writing to me for now. I have a feeling he will somehow reappear in my life and finally get around to booking that hotel. Of insanity. At least he will have enough time to book an affordable one.
Do you have stories of mentally unstable men you have met? Share them below!