One ticket to the shit show/Be Careful Who You Cougar

I make all this fuss about needing followers and then take 5 days to put up a new post. I have begged you to come to me, then shirked my duties. I am behaving like a typical heterosexual male, and for that I apologize.

Basically, I've been coming home late and slightly stressed, and haven't really had anything blog worthy--or so I thought.

The first random surprise was last Sunday, when I received the following textual eruption:

[blacktress!] how r u?i nicked your no from jason,hope u don't mind,if u do dont worry, just don't txt back.howz life?what u been up2?sos bout other wk,i was a mess.simon

What the hell?! I was so confused reading this; it took me about 10 minutes to decipher the abbreviations before I could even assess who was sending it. I mean, I don't know any 12-year-old girls who like to abbreviate and have Lisa Frank posters on their walls--who could this be? Once I cracked the DaVinci Code that was the text itself, I still had no idea which Simon would be calling me and apologizing. I know one Simon here in Oz, but he's a random gay man I met at a bar who pulled out his iPhone and facebook-friended me on the spot. I haven't seen him since that fateful night, so I'm sure there was nothing "the other week" he had to apologize for.

I racked my brain for nearly an hour before I realized that Simon was the 20 year old I accidentally cougared it up with!!! OH EM GEE!!!

What was he doing texting me? Not only had it been over a month since our one and only interaction, but neither of us had a particularly good time. Besides, what's with the abbreviations?! I know he's young, but has he really not mastered T-9 prediction?

Once I realized who it was, I laughed wholeheartedly, and texted back, saying it was okay to say hi. After all, I don't dislike him as a person, and was very interested to see how this was going to play out. I mean, what excuse can you possibly have for falling off for a month? And why would you want to get in touch with me again after I scurried out of your home, getting a ride from your flatmate?

Unfortunately, writing back has led to a ridiculous series of texts that amount to nothing. I really don't like the concept of text message conversations, and it really gets my billy goat when people text back and forth. If you're interested in seeing me again, make it happen. Pick up the phone and ask me out for a malt at the soda shoppe like it's 1956 (only without the pesky racial segregation). Come to my home, state your intentions, and let's share a drink with two straws.

Do not text me all week asking we "what r u up2?" and "howz your wkend?" I don't really want to give you a play-by-play, cause we're not mates. Besides, what are you getting at? He clearly wants to see me again, but lacks the testicles to ask me. This doesn't really bother me because I'm still in mourning over my redhaired loss and so uninterested in getting embroiled in drama/getting my feelings hurt that even a silly 20 year old offers no hope for fun.

*****Note: it has taken me 2 days to write this post. In the interim, I went to The Colombian, a gay bar on Oxford Street, where I was told I was gorgeous 50 times, and "oh my god, when you smile you look like Whitney Houston!"
For serious. Luckily, he amended it with, "pre-crack Whitney, late-80s, 'I wanna dance with somebody,' so it was okay.
Anyway, the 20-year-old showed up at the bar. I will go on*******************

So, he rocks up with two of his English friends after a day of drinking at an outdoor music festival. I have no ill will towards him, so we do the hug and fake cheek-kiss and I meet his mates. He's clearly so wasted and I wonder how wasted I must have been the first time we hooked up. Other than a winning smile, he is a hot mess of a man-boy in every sense of the word. He says to me, "long time no see, stranger!" and then scolds me for not responding to his asenine texts. I explain my stance on textual eruptions, and he proceeds to ask me the same questions over and over: "When are you going home? What are you going to do when you get there? Are you going to miss Sydney?"

My friend arrives, and the club is so loud I'm able to stand 10 centimeters from him and explain to her exactly who he is without him paying attention. Her response:
"Um, he's gay."
I KNOW!!!!
"And he's clearly on a pill of some sort."
I KNOW!!!
Dude, The Colombian is like a Studio 54 wannabe 25 years too late. People are taking E like it's pez, and then getting overly touchy in a way that makes me fear for my womb. I mean, we arrived at 6pm and it was already full on--who starts using a hallucinogen before it's even dark outside?

My gal pal and I left, and I waved goodbye to the crew. We get about 3 blocks up the street when a flash of bright pink appears in my path. Simon has run after us!
"Wheerrrrreeee aaaaarrreee youoooooouuuuu going?" he asks, all strung out.
"Um, we're heading to another place, but we'll be back." I think it's okay to lie to people I don't really like when they are intoxicated, because they won't remember.

Content with this response, he leaves us alone. My friend looks at me.
"Total shit show," she says.
I KNOW!!!