I've pissed off more women in the last three weeks than in the whole of last year.
It’s when you find yourself in Barcelona taking part in a marketing apprenticeship with people from America, Switzerland, France and Catalonia, that your journey really starts shifting gears and you get into all sorts of weird adventures.
Since the Swiss and Catalan dudes are very much into ego destroying and meeting women, I’m making strong headway in that department. And since the women around here are fiery and angry and aren’t afraid to tell me to fuck off, that’s also a learning experience.
And since it’s Barcelona, the adventures involve women.
This one girl followed us home from the club on one of the first nights in town. I was a bit tipsy and happened to compliment her cleavage because frankly, I thought it looked kinda sexy. She made a wild spectacle of it, flailing her arms and cursing foul play because of my insultingly sexist comments. It was so overly dramatic that I found it ridiculously comical.
This drama queen obviously had some bolts loose, and me being the asshole sort, I of course needed to provoke that a bit more.
Because I have a sick sense of humour. Deal with it.
Of course the mature thing to do would be to avoid these sorts of people in the first place. But no one ever blamed me of maturity, so there we go.
One of the Americans was not so enamoured by my choice of words. In his world, you should try to please people, because saying what you really think might offend someone. He schooled me about being respectful to women. I giggled into my drink.
If people choose to get offended when I'm amazed by their appearance, is it really my problem?
It seemed like the classic situation of wanting so desperately to get laid, that every bit of common sense and self respect might as well be thrown out the window. And since it was ruined by me, I became the asshole.
This guy had seen me get rejected multiple times chatting up women on the street. In his mind, my approach was way too direct and would only cause bad feelings to people. “You can’t just compliment women on the street!” But the ego prevented him from trying and seeing the larger world for himself.
Instead, he offered a bunch of lame excuses as to why the street approach wasn't for him, because it didn't seem natural. Ironically, paying huge sums of money to get into closed nightclubs and getting wasted and dragging someone home and waking up to a hangover after horrible sex, IS considered natural.
Each to their own, I guess.
As it happens, it wasn’t the only time Ms. Loosebolts followed us home like a stray dog. Again, American dude was doing his best trying to please this little princess, dodging the “I will leave”-ultimatums. With admirable talent, I might add. I thought I’d just step back and observe from a distance to see how well the sucking up strategy would help in the getting laid-department.
Sadly it was quite obvious that the only thing getting laid that night would be doormats beneath dirty trodding feet.
I moved out of the line of fire. We went into the other room to discuss nudity and how it affects people’s comfort levels. This topic arose from the fact that I didn’t have any pants on.
As is the standard level of clothing in a living room.
Then Loosebolts escapes from the kitchen, somehow finds us in the other room, and puts up a fiery fistfight for womens’ rights everywhere. Her argument basically was that since women get commented on if they are nude, then men shouldn’t be allowed to be nude either.
I thought that was ridiculously stupid. Not to mention insulting towards men AND women. I called her out on her insecurity about her body or something. Can’t quite recall, I was a bit tipsy and had had enough of this person’s bullshit. These sorts of idiots are the people who give feminists a bad rap. Not surprisingly, she stormed out. Fucking drama queen.
And, since I made the one girl leave the house, I was the fuckhead of the evening.
I was pointed toward an open door and given a chance to defend myself by two people looking less than pleased. Feeling like a poker player asked to rebuy after losing multiple stacks to bad beats, I figured it was better to shut up and exit the building.
edit: We spent some time talking over this matter with American dude. I should emphasize at this point, that we're living in tight spaces, getting to know each other in a stressful environment surrounded by hot women. Feelings will heat up.
I probably went overboard with this ad hominem rant, and for that I apologize. To American dude and my readers.
I obviously have a personal issue with these sorts of situations that lead me to lash out. It's something I gotta work on.
But that crazy lady can fuck off.
We were hanging out on boardwalk, and we noticed this girl sitting by herself. She was a cute brunette, with that sort of elegance and grace to her posture.
We got to talking, and got along surprisingly well. She was a traveller from Miami. We joked about eating lunch and having bits of food stuck in teeth. I told her about my happenstance meeting with a dancer in Budapest, also from Miami.
“You’re joking, right?” she stopped me.
“No, quite serious. Why?” I raised an eyebrow.
“I’m also a dancer!” she laughed.
Well, apparently I have a talent for finding the Miami dancers. It must have something to do with dancers having a strong non-verbal language, which seems to make a strong impression on me. Also, I'm hot for slender-bodied brunettes, so that helps.
I was so amazed by the good vibe and this funny coincidence that I completely forgot about rule number one.
Not surprisingly, she flaked on our date, because she was getting married. To her credit, she actually answered my text rather than just disappearing. I wished her well on her travels.
Check out Tessa @ http://www.travelwheretonext.com/
So there was this cute little feisty thing that sailed ashore with one of the Americans. (Yes, they actually came with a boat from Italy.) We shared a bit of a rapport instantly, as she had that sort of temperamental sense of humour.
Saw her again on another night. We talked about sex, relationships, society and funny little mind games. We seemed to be getting along fine, so I asked if she’d like to get out of there. But there was a cockblocking angrier woman in her company. Couldn’t quite get a read on their relation, so I didn’t push it. We were having fun anyway, so no matter.
Her angry friend left elsewhere and she joined our motley crew for an after party at the office. It was getting late, and she needed to get back to her hostel because she had the key and needed to let angry friend in or some such thing? NOW was my chance! So I asked to walk her home.
We walked to her hostel to do the whatever with the keys and kissed in the stairwell. I was so close to just throwing her over my shoulder and dragging her to my mancave, but we agreed to meet up the next day with more possibilities for that.
I kissed her again and left for the night.
Our plans got muddled and we didn’t meet the next day.
But no worries! Because in the modern world, when plans change, you can easily contact the person and let them know about it.
That is, if you would have their FUCKING PHONE NUMBER. I’m so used to phone numbers leading nowhere that I don’t even bother with them anymore. So much in fact, that I forget the main function of phone numbers: logistics and convenience. Which leads us to rule number 2.
Yeah I was pulling my hair out that night. We met again the next week but the ship had sailed. She was ice cold and for good reason - sorry for fucking up!
After tasting some delicious sangria, we began our journey towards the electronic music festival on the hill. This involved taking the Barcelona metro, which was a bit of an unknown to all of us. Even buying the tickets was a bit of a hassle.
Go down the stairs. Find big ticket dispenser. Big ticket dispenser comes in two colours. Why? Who knows. I get a 10-trip ticket in the end, hopefully good enough for four people, and run back up the stairs because I’m on the wrong side.
And there she was.
My world stopped.
This glorious figure was walking up the stairs with a sort of energy that I’ve never seen before. I had to say hello. She was amazing. I felt an immediate connection between us. It was magical, even.
If there is attraction, you can feel it in the first few seconds. That's why it doesn't matter what you say when you meet the first time.
Our exchange was probably two sentences or less, but we agreed to meet up for tea later. She had to go see her friends and I had to go see my colleagues, who were annoyed that my antics were making us late.
I spent the concert evening with my head in the clouds. A high resulting from something other than whatever they were smoking, mind you.
Later that week we met up for lunch. She took me to the rooftop of a hotel. Sunshine, smoothies, and this Spanish girl. We talked about psychology, egos, and how society forces us to become something we might not like in the end. She had just come back from a similar journey I’m on, and told me about how her perception of her world had changed.
I was completely smitten by this creature.
So warm, cute, thoughtful, funny. We kissed after talking for an hour. Not because it was some sort of move or some sort of play. I just felt like it was the complete right time.
A lunchbreak sadly passes by lightning fast in this sort of company.
The following Sunday we got together for a cuppa tea. I was feeling a bit off, having worked on a marketing project for the whole day.
Smart thing to do would’ve been to stay at home and meet up at a better time. But no, having my judgement completely impaired by this person, I wanted to meet that night.
She told me about her interests in an independent Catalonia. It’s funny when you listen to someone intently and create this bubble with just you two in it. Even La Rambla, one of the busiest streets in Barcelona, was nothing more than background buzz outside our little bubble.
Another reason for a horrible date time was that she had a prior engagement. We kissed passionately at the parking lot. I wanted so bad to get her naked.
Continuing in my quest for blunt honesty, I whispered that into her ear.
Then she left.
Haven’t heard from her since.
No reply to messages or calls. I've been fucking kicking myself for making her feel hot like that, knowing there was no chance of taking her home. Guys, never ever escalate if you have no chance to take her back home! You'll lose some fine people to biological tendencies.
So she ghosted me. Didn't even drop me a message to tell me to bugger off. That's just harsh. =D
I wanted to cook dinner for her. I wanted to climb a mountain with her. I wanted to drive scooters to the beach with her. I really let myself get carried away by this woman.
And I fucked it up.
I'm gonna join camp America soon. It's not like I'm getting too many points being honest these days!
Which brings us to rule number three.
p.s. kudos to the dork who keeps catching me when I fall.
I can’t believe I’m back in budapest. I mean.. of course I can believe it, and I wasn’t gonna make this into a sort of cliché “what goes around comes around”-type of post, because that’s not what it is.
Being a pragmatic logical minded nerdy type, I wanted to visit the city again and see if my perception had changed. Sure enough, it all smelled the same, and things were still where I left them nine months ago. I even had a sense of nostalgia, sitting in that rickety carriage of the Blue Line with the morning dew in my face.
Something was altogether different, though. I couldn’t quite place it.
It’s good to be back on the road, that’s for sure. Gets the idea juices running flowing even. If you ever find yourself stuck when writing something, walk around the block. If you find yourself stuck in life, walk around the world.
Due to horrible logistics on my part, I arrived at 4 am in the fucking morning. (I gotta stop doing that, seriously!) The driver was kind enough to take me to Ferihegy (Ferenc Liszt nowadays, I hear), where I could sit around until morning, and waste some hours doing nothing. As expected, no sleep was to be found and I eventually ran into the situation where I needed to recharge my phone.
So I sat down at one of the only sockets in the area and plugged in. for entertainment, I stared at the nearby analogue clock to see how many percentage points the battery would gain per minute. Then I had the weirdest deja vu. I had been sitting in the exact same spot just nine months before, doing the exact same thing.
The same spot. The same clock. Same phone, even. But different world.
So I’m on my way to Barcelona, with a more clear aim in mind. I’m determined to make this work, and my reason for existing is clear. Unlike nine months ago, when I was scared. A tiny (if large) Finnish boy arriving in a big city in an entirely foreign culture. Did the clock signify something different back then? Nah, it’s still just a clock and I was still killing time waiting to get to bed. But I wasn’t coming from a small town in Finland scared of everything new.
I’m coming from the world.
It’s been a strange nine months for sure. Not that the world had gotten smaller, but the people have turned from foreign strangers to just other persons on the road. I wasn’t apologizing for my existence anymore. My own reality had changed, and along with it my perception of the outside world.
My escape from Zagreb didn’t exactly go smoothly. My airbnb from the previous week was sketchy at best, mostly due to bad planning. No wifi and a shoddy apartment. I didn’t want to repeat my planning mistake, so I looked into travel arrangements three days before departure.
Hey three days is well planned in my book!
I checked train schedules at the station. Apparently trains to Budapest went twice a week, on Tuesday and Saturday. That was rather strange to me, but since the lady said so, I didn’t have a reason to doubt. Besides, I preferred a bus. Strangely, they only had ONE bus working that connection.
Zagreb isn’t THAT small, and you’d think people make the trip to Budapest all the time. This all seemed highly unusual. I decided to wait for a Blablacar-connection to open up on my day of travel, since public transportation was giving me a huge middle finger at this point.
But Blablacar stayed silent. So one day before my departure, I went to buy a bus ticket.
The bus was full.
No trains, bus was full, and no Blablacar connections. This was worrying. Was I stuck in Zagreb?
There was one car leaving on the previous evening with one seat left. Not ideal, but I took it. So my airbnb host went ballistic for changes in itinerary. And I mean ballistic. The way a five-year old goes ballistic when something is displeasing. Sigh. Some people and their tiny comfort zones.
Of course I apologized for my sudden change of plans, but she would have none of it and spewed her personal issues at me like an abusive wife. I don’t take well to bullshit, so I gave her a colourful rendition of how customers are supposed to be treated, and how her personal issues are not my issues. Well, getting thrown out of an airbnb-apartment is a first.
Later I learned that there’s two trains daily. What the fuck.
Eventually I made it to Budapest though. Having had mostly zero sleep that night, it was wonderful to finally get to my apartment. This time my host was this lovely little lady – pretty much a polar opposite to the previous one. I finally had some time to catch my breath and gather my thoughts. We even had a fun chat and she told me stories of her tourist-guide days from the seventies.
Nine months before, you might recall a certain nightclub incident between two attractive girls and myself. Turns out, that the next day, on my way to the casino, I accidentally ran into the girls on the metro. I mean, you gotta understand that Budapest isn’t exactly a tiny city. That was.. an incredible coincidence.
I wanted to see this one particular lovely lady, but she was mostly busy and had no time for even a cuppa tea. Shame, that. I always felt we had a bit of a connection and I wanted to find out more about that. But these things happen, timing doesn’t always work out.
It seems that fate had a different idea of timing, though.
I was heading downtown with the metro. Just random stuff, I wanted to see the refugee crisis at Keleti Palayaudvar. But as I was hopping off the train, I met a familiar face. It was the same woman.
“We gotta stop meeting like this.”
“Haha! So cool to see you!”
So I had my 15 minutes with this lovely lady.
Be seeing you on the Blue Line next time I’m in town, Agi!
So I turned 31 that night. I had this grand plan of hitting a nightclub hard and turning it into a massive birthday party. It would’ve been glorious, but for some reason my motivation in this admittedly brilliant idea waned quickly, and I decided to rather go out and play some poker in the good old Universum Poker Club. After all, games would be good on a Saturday night.
The last metro had gone already, so my only choices were the rather skanky blue line-bus or a taxi. Being the stingy type, I picked up some cash and sat in the bus. I’d take the metro back. Perfect plan. What could go wrong?
The bus turned out to be the wrong one, as I quickly realized, following the path from my trusty Spidersense Maps (c). But it was the correct general direction, and a bit of walking wouldn’t hurt if the end goal would be me sitting at a poker table. After 40 minutes of sitting in a doddling creaky bus avoiding drunken Hungarians, I finally found what seemed to be the nearest bus stop to the casino.
Nearest being 2 km away.
Time for a skipping walk then! After all, I’d be playing poker in no time. This would all be worth it. Hiking through the dark eerily empty Budapestian suburbs would ALL be worth it. Don’t look at those guys, they’re probably not dealing anything shady in that alleyway. That odd looking figure? It’s totally probably not Slenderman. Just keep a good pace.
Ahh Duna Plaza, finally. Just cross the road and you’re there. Wait.. how do I get in the casino when the mall is closed? Oh, must be through the parking hall. Just to the second floor and.. why is it so quiet?
Why is the casino hallway so dark?
Wait. IS IT FUCKING CLOSED??
So yeah. After personally finding out that the poker room is NOT open on a Saturday night, I took a cab back downtown and went to have a glass of wine and regroup. Real wine, mind. Not that spritzer shit. It was 2.30 in the morning. A vodka shot later I decided that this was enough adventure and made myself homeward.
Who the hell came up with the idea of closing a poker room on a Saturday night, seriously..
I happened to pass by the Szimpla Bar, this cool ruin pub that everyone keeps raving about. I figured I’d never been in there and I probably wasn’t going to return to Budapest any time soon. So I headed in!
The bar was quite cool, and would probably be a great place to hang around more often. I wandered through the grey mass of bar patrons and was ready to leave when, like a brilliantly shining light, this gorgeous brunette on the other side of the room grabbed my attention.
I felt my feet taking assertive steps that way. Here we go again..
She turned out to be a dancer from Miami. An incredibly smart and insightful dancer as well. I felt she had this relaxed grounded vibe. We had a cool conversation about pursuing our own dreams and living with our passions. What an enchanting girl.
Not single though. (WAAAAAGGHHH)
Nah, not really. I was leaving the next day, and I wouldn’t have wanted a one night stand with this person anyway. We exchanged facebooks, which I never do, and shot the shit for another 45 minutes before the first bus left. It remains to be seen if our paths ever cross again.
Awesome birthday. Awesome time in Budapest. Next stop: Barcelona.
In the drudge of my security guard times, I used to daydream of driving sports cars, meeting beautiful women, or even having a chance to put some creative talent out there. It was a never-ending pattern of waking up to that horrible alarm sound, kicking myself all the way to work, not getting paid enough, listening to complaints about every various meaningless thing, and then doing it all over again.
It’s a reality shared by many. Enjoyed by few, but accepted by most. After all, escaping it only happens in American movies or when you win the lottery.
After a month of grueling work trying to please a bunch of editors and actually focus my thoughts on paper, I got my first article done. This won’t mean much to someone who isn’t a writer, but after 10 years of writing mostly unscrutinized freeform gibberish, it’s rather mindblowing how much only a month’s worth of learning can improve your text. I find I’m constantly reinventing JTBL to reflect not only my jumbled disarray of thought, but also my improved writing skill.
But after tons of heeing and hawing, it’s done and published! Check out some mind quieting exercises at Goodlife ZEN!
Completely delving into the writing process was demanding, and not just mentally. I spent hundreds of hours huddled up against my computer, neglecting exercise and healthy eating habits.
And approaching women.
Huddled up in my writing cave, I crept into my small hole of comfort, online chats, and PORN. I found myself not only subperforming sexually, but also becoming foul-mouthed and angry. I was slipping back into that frustrated bitter boy that I was some years ago. No worries, I thought. A few days of approaching girls on the street will take care of this.
So I went and took a walk in Zagreb, renowned for its ridiculously high amount of gorgeous women per capita, and felt … … nothing. No need to open my mouth. No need to go and explore. No playfulness. This was worrying, if even scary.
Time for some heavy detox. I figured the first to go should be porn, since it’s like the spearhead of the online lifestyle, and the main reason to avoid speaking with real people. Just two days without porn, and the effects were profoundly noticeable. I felt more energized, more alive, more vital. This was fascinating from a psychological standpoint, and more research revealed something I had suspected:
Teach your brain to only get aroused by porn, available at the click of a mouse, and suddenly you won’t recognize real people as sexual interests anymore. Scary huh? That’s not all. See, porn becomes boring after a while, since it’s .. rather repetitive, and our brains regard it to be highly more rewarding than the natural stimuli. In other words, it’s like eating chocolate so good that you forget the taste of real food. Enter Rule #34. The evergrowing desensitization leads to more hardcore porn and larger quantities of it.
A week of strictly no porn, and I’ve gone back to my habit of chatting up woman-creatures on the street. Life seems more colourful somehow, and sex is so much better. =)
I took a deep breath, grabbed my grocery bag and made a decisive action towards her. This girl was something of the legends – a brunette with a godly shape and face to match. Even in Zagreb it’s rare to find such a woman. I absolutely had to find out about her.
She was talking on her phone. I decided I wouldn’t let it faze me and bravely said hello. With a slight caution, she held the phone aside and said hello, unsure if I was a lunatic.
-I thought you were gorgeous and wanted to say hi. What’s your name?
She hung up the phone and smiled.
We chatted for a few minutes and I asked about her dreams and passions, like I usually do, but what followed was something I would’ve never expected in a million years.
“Dreams?” she giggled and continued, “You realize I’m still in high school?”
“Yeah sure you are.” I laughed, trying to get a handle on the situation. Strange joke if ever?
“Nono, I’m 15 years old. I know I look 17, but I’m 15.”
I stared at her blankly. She wasn’t kidding. Look 17? Geez woman you look at least 25!
“Well, I gotta go now. Nice talking to you!”
She scurried off to where ever, and left me standing holding my groceries and gaping jaw.
Seriously. I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.
In the grand scheme of things, I’m rather new to the concept of polyamory. Feeling-wise anyway. I’ve grown familiar with the idea of not particularly caring that the women in my life have other partners. All I care about is that they’re having fun, and their encounters, sexual or otherwise, are those of safety and respect. Sounds idealistic maybe, but it’s my reality. Jealousy after all, is nothing but the fear of loss. If someone’s having sex, it’s completely the opposite of my loss!
Hurt my loved ones though, and there’ll be hell to pay.
It remains to be seen how it works in real life. Just recently I’ve ran into my first question mark in this philosophy. My time in Zagreb has an expiry date, and future travel plans are uncertain at best. It’s becoming painfully obvious that I won’t be seeing a particular someone in a while. All I can do is shrug it off with the knowledge that there’ll be more awesome people to meet elsewhere.
But it’s no secret that I’ll miss her curious world. I hope our paths cross again soon.
I spent last weekend at the countryside visiting friends. Save for the foul catholic odor in the atmosphere, the country air was a fresh change from Zagreb’s rather stagnant atmosphere. I wasn’t there to preach my liberal extremeties, but rather sit around and have a glass of wine with friends. (With perhaps a tiny bit of advice here and there on how to get unstuck and live one’s own life.) Circling around lifestyles and offspring, it wasn’t long until polyamory made its appearance in our various conversations. I kinda knew the topic was a no fly-zone in dark ages-ville, but since my situation was very topical in that sense, I thought it’d be fruitful.
I’ve long been a proponent of taking care of my own shit before taking on the responsibility of a child. That’s to say, I don’t want a kid if I can’t provide them with a good home. If I can’t, I’d rather be childless. Regarding kids and polyamory, it’s a bit of a questionmark. In my ideal world, all it needs is a great woman and a safe home for the kid. She should be fine with other great men in her life as well, who would be fine with the kid. That’s enough variables to cause a headache.
Traditional ideas of marriage fly out the window long before, of course. Not that I really care – marriage is bullshit. But since we live in a society, that official side would have to be handled in some sort of civil way. So yeah, a bit of a questionmark. Not today’s problem, thankfully!
I got about half way through explaining this idea, and the reply was a patronizing, almost defensive “Oh when you find the right woman, you’ll settle down and start making babies.” Coming straight from that place of ‘we as a couple are collectively relationship experts and qualified advisors for polyamorous lifestyles’.
Ready for retaliation, I raised my forefinger of supreme knowledge, drew a deep breath of ranting magnitude and …
I looked at the young couple and their baby rolling on the floor in their lovely little home. I’ve learned not to push my own dogma uninvited, and this was the correct time to shut the hell up. They needed to find their own happiness. If that involves my coaching, I think they’ll let me know.
In any case, fuck settling down. I’m heading to Barcelona for a job internship!
Now, how’s that for waking up to your dreams? Next stop, sports car.