Glass Tiger

Okay, this is the rest of the story from the previous post:

Saturday night I went out with Amanda (the new SME from Canada who I met through Lindsey), who's nice and down to earth. We met up at Coffiacad, had a few drinks, and she texted a few people to try to get them to come to this new place Hacienda, which had gotten mixed reviews (Ant loves it, Lindsey hated it). So one person she described as the "sales validator" for her account, named Arman, showed up. Prior to his arrival I questioned her intensely as to who this guy was, since I knew someone by the same name and I had seen him in a group of people with her. He used to work for my program and lived next door to my boss at the time I was staying at her house, that's how I got to know him.

Arman is a nice enough guy, but a loose canon, someone you don't tell your personal shit to, if you know what I mean. He's a little...much. You know- baby mama drama, custody drama, work drama, etc, etc.

Anyway, sure enough it was him. He rolled up, ready to have a good time. His first question to me "Where's Ives?" Uh, my guess would be sleeping off the 12 Red Horses he probably had for lunch (not that I'm bitter or anything...). I had to spell out in several different ways that we weren't together and hadn't been for over a month.

Like many Filipinos, they're innocently breaking your heart going on and on about something you CLEARLY don't want to talk about/ hear about: "I mean, I totally thought once I heard you were coming that Ives would be here too. I was like "oh, Ives will be there." I thought I saw you guys together on campus the other day." And so on. EEURGH.

So great, half the campus thinks we're still together. "You broke up? What happened?" Arman, never known for his tact, got the skeleton outline I give acquaintances "we just weren't compatible". I mean, do we really need to get into the whole "Boyfriend decides he doesn't want to be in relationship, misses to inform girlfriend of such?" No, we don't.



Anyway, we head over to the club, which is fronted by twin doors covered in quilted white leather (a bold choice in dirt- heavy Philippines). Inside was what would be, for the US, a typical bottle- service ultra- lounge, and was for Clark the nicest, highest end club in town. The particulars were typical to me: an army of SKYY minions in white shirts emblazoned with the luxury vodka logo taking drink orders, well dressed Beautiful People slouched around, acting bored, pounding dance music, etc, etc.

The major draw was the literal parade of stunning men this place churned out. Amanda is also single (for now) and we roped Arman into being our runner/ wingman/ translator/gaydar and he asked us "who's your type". I looked around. There were several cuties- some fresh faced Bieber types, some big Samoan bouncers, some otherwordly, delicate, exquisite types. There was one guy wearing all black-a slightly loose black button down and black slacks, just a bit shorter than me, with the finish and poise of a young Ramses- just drinking his beer and watching the crowd- eyes moving, occasionally becoming animated as suddenly as an electrical shock, his face splitting open with a huge smile. And a number one crop for hair and Van Dyke beard.

I pointed to him. "na ang isa". That one.

Arman nods sagely. "Just watching everyone, just standing there. Just like Ives. I gotcha. I know your type."

Is anything more annoying than being pegged so succinctly by someone you're not super crazy about? Not really.

I had to laugh. I really do have a type. James Dean. John Bender. Jordon Catalano. Too cool for school. Tragic. Serious. Bad news. Smells like leather, wool, and cigs. Lots of scars. Doesn't talk much. Heh. Howwww predictable.

So I dropped the idea of getting Arman to talk to "that one". There was a super cutie behind me who was smiling at me, raising a glass, so I flirted with him and gave him my number despite his rather ham fist-ed flirtation attempts (Exhibit A: I was wearing an empire waisted dress and he asked, a little nervously, "Are you pregnant, Miss?" HA! And I won't be wearing that dress out again! This is not as unreasonable as it sounds. One out of every two women over here are expecting). He was texting me the next day, and today, and we'll see. I mean, he's 23 and works for a gas station. He needed help from Arman to understand that Amanda and I didn't live at the Holiday Inn, we were just going there to chill and he was invited. So unless I want to bring Arman on all of our dates ( and I DON'T) it might be a case of too little English to get the train started.

So we danced and admired the scenery and I left around 2 AM. It was fun, and just what I needed. Nothing makes you feel like you gotcha bounce back like not being able to pick just one hottie at da club. Heh.

Later, babies.