"Good morning ... =) Kaloload ko lang. Musta? --- Josh here," the text read.
I mentally scanned my memory and suddenly remembered a guy a couple of nights ago. Semi-kalbo, moreno, and tall, Josh caught my attention even before we entered the club.
"Ano sa tingin mo? (What do you think?)" I asked Chris, pointing him out.
"Puede," Chris replied, nodding his head.
Target spotted. Game on.
"Uy Josh! Kamusta? Ahhh ... How'd you get my number?" I texted back.
"Well ... it wasn't exactly hard to find. You were practically on everyone's phone book," Josh said teasingly.
What the fuck. On everyone's phone book? I am not on everyone's phone book. Or ... am I? Jesus.
"Ikaw talaga. Hey, sorry ha, about the other night," I said. "I got so drunk. Nakakahiya sa iyo. Naabala pa kita." By the end of the night, I had passed out and was softly snoring while everyone else was eating breakfast and Josh took care of me.
"Ok lang. You're cute when you're wasted and tired. Hahaha."
My God, I thought to myself shaking my head. Mga lalaki talaga. (These boys!) They'll say anything to get into your pants. I suspected what was coming next.
"How are you?" he continued. "I am bored. Walang magawa. Let's meet up?"
I knew it. Sigh. Men can sometimes be terribly unexciting. There are a thousand and one ways to ask a girl out and Josh chose the "I'm bored, let's go out" route. I don't mind if all a guy wants is sex, but come on. Excite me, thrill me, make me tremble.
I was about to decline but ... Josh was cute. In fact, he was very cute. The kind of guy I can ask to escort me to balls and parties. Might as well, I told myself. Sayang naman,
We agreed to watch Prometheus, a science fiction film I had been mildly curious about. I made an effort to look nice. I put on a nice shirt, dabbed some perfume and off I went. On the way, I suddenly wondered why I didn't have his number. If I like a guy, I normally would ask for his number, Something was pricking my memory, but I couldn't figure it out. Never mind, I said to myself.
I was idly fantasizing how the date will go. Are we going to hold hands? Kiss? How will his lips taste like? Will he ask me to go home with him? Will we have sex? What's he like during sex?
I was getting ... excited. First dates are always thrilling. There's always the mystery shrouding the person, the volumes of unanswered questions in your head, and the promise of a good fuck. I know, I know ... I sound like a guy ... waitttt, I am a guy. And I guess like any other guy, I think of sex 99.9% of the time.
You know when you're in the middle of dinner and your date is talking about his trip to Cambodia and how amazing the Angkor Wat was but in your head, instead of seeing temples, you're already mentally undressing him. Or how you're already planning the steps that will lead to both of you fucking in your bedroom. Disgusting, I know.
By the time I arrived at the meeting place, I was all hyped up. And then I saw him.
Waittttttt ... he looked bigger than I remembered. From where I was, Josh looked uhm ... a little chubby. I cautiously approached him. Yep. Definitely bigger than I remembered. Okay, I can probably let it go, I told myself. I was determined to have a good time and he does have a pretty face. I can do with that.
After the usual hi's and hello's, we began chatting and that's when I suddenly remembered why I didn't get his number. Fucking shit.
Josh baby talks.
God. I wanted to smack my face. Why, oh why?
Josh and I ended up having a lot of fun. We ate afterwards and he told me all about himself, his closeness to his mom, his friends, what he likes to do. We had several good laughs and he even brought me home. I could sense he liked me, but by that point in time, he was firmly segregated into the friends category.
"Hay honey, nakakainis," I lamented to Arlan. "He could have been really hot, bakit kasi ganoon siya. I mean, I just don't get men who baby talks."
"Hindi mo kayang palagpasin na lang? I mean, ok naman siya otherwise."
"Ang arte mo kasi. Kaya tuloy hindi ka nagkakaboyfriend."
"What? You mean, (gasp) it's me? I've always thought it's them."
"No, K. It's you."
That night, I got to thinking about all the failed dates I've had in the past three years. I've been pretty lucky since I somehow manage to meet guys every now and then. Most of them were great, they were fun, we had a lot of good times and I enjoyed being with them.
But there was always something lacking. They weren't smart enough, or cute enough, or they were too young, too old, too girly, too fat, too thin, too simple, too complicated. When things eventually end, I always say "Hey, it's me, it's not you". But in truth, I thought I was just being kind. Sparing them the hurt and pain; let me be the bad guy. It's my fault.
But now I wonder, is it really them ... or was I unwittingly telling the truth all along? Is it me?