Of Men and Creepsters

Out to Ladies' Night on a Wednesday night for the first time in about 4 years, in a different city, let alone country this time, was a lot less painful on my body than I had imaged it to be, despite my reservations and pessimistic predictions about the ordeal that I would have to endure the next morning at work. In fact, despite having free shots poured down my throat and gulping them down like I was some 21-year old hardly, I hardly felt any damage at all. At 27, I, apparently, can keep it together like the best of them can. At 27, I'm not sure it is something to brag about all that much.

But hey, I've been told I look only 24 on more than one occasion, so for the sake of the argument, I'll go with the notion and let myself indulge in free tequila shots despite vowing, over and over again, how I will never have tequila again.

The Banker is away for two weeks. He is visiting his family for Thanksgiving and I, despite all my suspicions and worries about his prowling around on the internet for God knows what, am beginning to notice that my missing him like hell takes precedent over any suspicions I might have had over the given situation. I gotta give him this - he picked a perfect time to be away, because this girl has been getting a taste of life without his sexy ass in her life and, believe me, it ain't all that pretty.

A prime example - last night at Ladies Night at Ku De Ta. A premier clubbing and drinking spot in Singapore and one of the top 10 in the world. In the WORLD, people. That has to count for the quality of the patrons that enter and leave this place, right?

Not at all. The whole place was swarming with creepy crawlers who kept their hungry eyes on alcohol-consuming, unsuspecting ladies in order to make their sleazy moves the minute a girl began looking tipsy.

I, for one, had at least two guys try to approach me AFTER I had several shots of Grey Gooze.

Oh. Hey. Didn't notice you there, buddy. Oh, you're from Norway? Sorry, nothing against Norway, but go back where you came from because you are just standing there, blocking the dance floor, sipping your watered down whiskey sour and, generally, being completely and utterly awful.

My friends were not having any better "luck" than me. Through the haze of the artificial fog pumped through the room at regular intervals, I saw the ladies get assaulted from different angles by men of all races, ages and nationalities. Creepiness, you know, knows no boundaries. If our nations of the world could unite under one common derivative only, it would be the ample availability of creepy male specimen across all borders and nations. Welcome to the true definition of globalization.

I ended up having fun with the girls despite everything. Occasional free drinks certainly helped the situation. But, through it all, I couldn't help thinking about The Banker. And what a truly fucking great catch he is. And what I want to do to him when he comes back to this country.

I texted him with a sexy and slightly filthy text message that I will keep to myself for the time being. He texted back with something that simultaneously made my heart skip a beat and made me wish that he could fly back to Singapore immediately so I could rip his boxers off.

And then it dawned on me... Maybe it's all going to be just fine. I've got a fabulous man who just happens to turn me on as much intellectually as he turns me on physically. What the fuck else could I possibly ask for?

Why worry so much, after all.