November 17, 2009

ELIZABETH ROSE

“I don’t know why we are here, but I am pretty sure that it is not in order to enjoy ourselves” – Ludwig Wittgenstein

So dear readers I have had some crazy ass insanity over the weekend. However on the flip side I have learnt a valuable lesson about risk taking, or at least I have for the rest of the day.

This weekend a chap from Australia came to stay, as he was in Chicago on biz and fancied seeing Toronto. I met him in a bar in Vegas and although I think he’s a nice enough guy I don’t find him at all attractive, so I had in no way sent out signals that this was to be “that” kind of weekend when I offered him the spare room. He arrived on Saturday in the early afternoon, and with the help of my female neighbor “Jo”, we polished off a bottle of rum before 6pm. We then started on the vodka red bulls and soon after, another one of my friends (let’s call her Ruth) joined in on the festivities. (As an odd aside all three ladies in this story are British).

Within a few hours we were all quite steamed, and the Aussie started dropping lines like “when I move to Toronto” and “when you meet my family” etc on me. I became concerned at this point that he was hopeful for more than was on offer over the weekend, but our happy foursome continued to drink.

In an apparent effort to hedge his bets, whenever I left the room, he proceeded to letch all over Ruth, to the point of where she actually felt sexually harassed and seriously debated punching him. When our party of four left my apartment to go to dinner Ruth pulled me aside to inform me of his distasteful behaviour. While she and I were talking he tried to put the moves on Jo, right before barfing on the pavement. (Dear Readers – all this happened before 8pm.)

So, the three of us took him back upstairs to the spare room (i.e. the den that I also use as a cat toilet so fairly apt), and left him there.

We three girls had a nice dinner (which I paid for as my apology for the pervert I had introduced into the evening). After dinner Jo headed off to bed, while Ruth and I went out dancing.

Second time ever in Devils Martini! More fun than I would have expected for a cheesy meat market of a club – but possibly it was all the rum, vodka and wine fuelling my enjoyment. Eventually the red bull started to wear off, and Ruth and I jumped into a cab. As the cab driver pulled away from Ruth’s building, I got a booty call from a lovely chap named Mark, who I hadn’t seen since May. So I headed to his place instead of returning to the Aussie, who had started texting to find out where we were (Can he can join us for brekkie? etc).

After some much needed lovin’, I headed back home hoping beyond hope that the weird pervert in my apartment had magically disappeared. Alas no, my fat Aussie friend was up when I returned, and ready to go for breakfast. Actually, he wanted me to get him breakfast since his hang over was “all your fault, Elizabeth”. I told him I would speak to him about the previous night’s events later, as I was planning to get some sleep before the rugby started that morning.

I didn’t see him again till around 2pm, as I managed to avoid him for the rest of the morning. Then he sat down on the couch next to me, bright as a button, and asked me where I was taking him that day? When I asked him if he was going to apologise for last night, he got defensive and said his behaviour was my fault, because I gave him the alcohol, blah, blah, blah. Then when I explained that both Ruth and Jo were annoyed by his aggressive behaviour, he got upset because “I’m not like that”, and still didn’t apologize. Instead he CRIED (there were actual tears) and then started whining. It was at that point that my hang over rage kicked in and I asked him to leave, because “you are really very annoying”.

Even so, I was only mildly irritated, until he called me later on. The Aussie thought we needed to talk about it, so “we can still make a go of this relationship” and went on to tell me that he’s “very serious about us building a life together”. At that moment MANY alarm bells rang in my head. So I informed him that I no longer felt comfortable with him staying in my apartment, because in addition to being weird and annoying, he was proving himself to be a delusional pervert.

His response: “I HAVE to stay with you because I can’t afford a hotel room” (FYI – this man was a tycoon who is breaking up his journeys to and fro Oz with a stay in Hawaii – because “it’s too far to fly for just business”). Upon hearing this all my sleep deprived red-bull hang over annoyance really came to the fore, and I hung up on him. I then courteously booked him a $25 a night motel in the worst part of town. (They also take bookings by the hour. I told the reception girl the deal, and she promised to put him in the midst of all those rooms.)

He called when he was in the lobby of my building, and I wandered down to hand him his stuff, along with the hotel address and $50. He was still crying and not being a proud man, he begged for forgiveness, telling me “I know we can make this work”.

This guy was seriously delusional.

Anyway, after that entire fandango I got an early night. My phone rang at 3am and it was the lovely Mark again, who happened to work at a big 5 star hotel. Apparently as a staff reward for being good at his job he had the presidential suite that night. He’d had a bit of a dinner party earlier with friends and was wondering if I wanted to have sex in a hotel room that costs four grand a night. Can you guess the answer?

I stole a loofa, and slippers, and we did it on the balcony.

So the moral of the story is – what happens in Vegas should really stay in Vegas, and never turn down the chance to do it in a bed Bill Clinton has slept in (so long as he isn’t in it at the time).

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