XXXI. The Guy Who Became A Good Friend

“I’m giving it my all, but I’m not the girl you’re taking home, ooh
I keep dancing on my own”

– Robyn –

Have you ever wanted someone or something really bad, so bad that you are blinded by the hyperfictional scenarios you create in your own head? I have this deadly combination of a mind that travels to random places around The Milky Way from a regular interaction between two human beings, a heart that beats at a superluminal velocity from the slightest human touch, and a brain that turns into a hopeless romantic from a meaningless heart emoji. I am often blinded by the fantasy of dating “my person” that I fail to read the obvious signs of disinterest from my knight in mediocre armor. And let me tell you, my friends… this feeling sucks major balls, and there’s nothing I can do to avoid being in this sticky situation unless I decide to completely avoid human contacts and turn myself into a cat lady. I guess I like my men like I like my coffee: incapable of loving me back.

I was introduced to this German guy by my best friend when we were having our regular wine and dine session (yes, it’s the same girl from chapter XVI, and yes, we love our red wine. Go ahead and judge us, see if we give two shits about your judgment *noisily sips my Cabernet Sauvignon*). And let me tell you a thing about this guy so you can better understand my struggle; this guy is a certified hottie. He’s the guy you could easily picture walking on the runway at New York Fashion Week, while I’m the guy you could easily picture working as the production assistant who applies makeups on the model’s abs to make them more “camera ready”. He’s the kind of guy who walks into a gay bar and receives free drinks from thirsty guys within the first ten minutes of casually bopping his head to the tunes of Ariana Grande (true story, btw). Simply put, he’s out of my league, so I decided to go through the night with low expectation and high libido. I mean… you can still sample an item even if you can’t afford to buy it, right?

As the night went by, I progressively became drunker with the intention of losing my inhibitions so I could step up my flirting game. Instead, I ended up experiencing temporary memory loss and puking all over the bathroom (don’t worry my friends, I’m a professional ho and I’m no stranger to acting like a responsible adult with a negligible drinking problem). So when I woke up the next morning with a text from my GQ model, I was gagged. I thought, “was I really drunk last night? how do I not remember giving him my number?!” So I naturally asked my friend about the shenanigans we pulled last night, only to receive an equally confused response:

“I sent your number to him last night but I can’t remember why. Wait, you puked in the bathroom last night? OMG, me too!”

Accurate representation of my friend drunkenly judging my thirsty ass that night.

*And now, read the following excerpt with the voice of a psychotic bitch. Don’t lie, we all know that one bitch and you know exactly who I’m talking about*

Was I wrong to think that he had any interest in me when he was the one texting me first? And it’s not that I asked him to (or maybe I did and I was very drunk to remember anything, but that’s beside the point). Am I delusional to think that there’s a slight possibility of him trying to get in my pants when he texted me worrying about my well-being that night? Or is he just a ridiculously nice guy who also happens to absolutely win the DNA lottery game? If that’s truly the case, the world is sincerely an unfair place, and I’m merely one motherfuckin’ lucky bitch who has the one in a lifetime opportunity to witness a unicorn in the flesh with my own two eyes (#blessed).  And who doesn’t want to be loved by a unicorn?!

We ended up texting each other almost every day and I wish I could share our actual conversation because it was confusing as fuck. It’s not that we constantly had intelligent banters as he’s one of those guys who is a master of giving late responses, yet he never failed to keep in touch with me every day, occasionally saying overly sweet shit like “selamat malam!” (good night in Bahasa Indonesia) complemented by a fatal combination of hearts and kisses emoji. I mean… who does that?! It’s like the first verse in the universal bible of dating: “thou shalt not send heart emojis unless thou wanted to bone” However, unlike Eve, I eagerly fall for the temptation of the forbidden fruit and swallowed the entire apple in one fell swoop because I’m a sinful bitch with a questionable moral compass.

A week after my shameful bathroom puking incident, he took me out on a romantic date he asked me to hang out and let’s just say that the gloomy weather that day couldn’t cool us down because things were getting hot. I mean… tell me if I was being hallucinatory for thinking that he wanted to get in my pants, but does sitting down by the beach while watching the sunset and slurping on coconut sound like something that comes straight out of a Nicholas Sparks novel? God knows I tried my hardest to not salivate all over that defined abs of his. However, I could tell that he was hiding something that held him back from attacking my lips with his, and I thought, “what’s holding you back, my love?! Just attack me with your lips; my body is ready for insertion!”

Let’s fast forward to one week after our official “first date” (a bitch can be hopeful and call a friendly meeting a date, can’t he?). We decided to spend our Sunday afternoon chilling at the beach, and by we, I mean yours truly, the mouthwatering Schweinnshaxe, and my borderline alcoholic friend. Being confused by his advances, I entrusted my friend with a mission to uncover the mystery behind his game of tug of war, in the hope of setting my fragile heart free from its continuous wishful daydreaming. As the three of us were in the water after downing a can of beer (yes, I’m that bitch who forces encourages people to chug their alcohol in order to lower their inhibition), my friend launched her attack by asking him a subtle yet probing question:

“So how’s your life in Germany? Are you seeing someone right now?”

Don’t we all love a subtle sister?!

To which he replied with a grin:

“Yeah, I have a boyfriend in Germany and we’ve been living together for a couple years”

My heart sank. At that moment, I would rather walk into the deep ocean to the point of no return. It felt like my heart was the Titanic crashing into a giant iceberg, slowly and inescapably drowning into the freezing water. I thought, “of course he has a boyfriend! what was I thinking?! there’s no way an insanely hot guy like him would be available, and even if he was single, there’s no way a guy like that would be into me!” Instead of having an emotional breakdown on the spot, I immediately excused myself to the bathroom for a smoke break because I didn’t want to make a fool of myself (but let’s be honest here, I already looked the part). But for someone with a massive ego that could only be rivaled by Donald Trump’s, I decided to act cool and pretended that everything was alright. Damn… I even told him that I was happy for him and his boyfriend. Someone should have given me an award for Outstanding Actor in A Comedy Series already because my life is a joke.

Smoke break: saving people from emotional breakdown since 1865

With that being said, although the frequency of our flirtatious texts gradually went down, we still exchanged hearts and kisses emoji here and there. We occasionally went to the gym together, had lunch and dinner together, and we also partied together… you know…. just like a regular couple casually doing their routine. Like, how was I not supposed to catch feelings?! But I think there was a time when he was spotting me while I was doing bench presses when I finally had an epiphany; I don’t think I actually love this guy. Yes… he might be the literal definition of the word “gorgeous” and he has a personality that needs no Instagram filter, but the more I get to know him, I felt more comfortable having a platonic friendship with him (okay but I definitely won’t say no should he want to get down and dirty with me because I’m not blind). I didn’t really feel that spark that you usually see in romantic movies with him; maybe that’s because he wasn’t trying to pursue any romantic relationship with me. What can I say, I love the feeling of being chased except by the cops (also a true story and I’ll tell you more about it later).

That leads to my question for this chapter: can two people who physically attract each other get into a platonic friendship? (I’m not talking about this chapter in particular. Stop coming for me and calling me a delusional bitch). From my personal experiences, I either end up sleeping with the supposed friend, or someone always ends up getting hurt for wanting something more. More importantly, once you sleep with someone, is there a way for you to pretend that nothing happens and move on with your relationship as friends? Or maybe I’m just an overly emotional bitch and I’m overanalyzing this shit because this is confusing as fuck to me. But for now, I’ll just settle with being friends with my German model, the kisses on the cheek, and our occasional drunk cuddling session. I guess I’m like a brand new BBQ sauce at Costco; everyone wants a sample but nobody wants to own one.

Story of my life, searching for the right, but it keeps avoiding me…

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