24 hours ago, I was just waking up with a dull hangover, after a night out with my trip-mates and 50 other hostellers.

Rewind.

We had finangled our way onto the train, after being bussed from terminal to terminal at the airport, looking for the train station. Our luggages were huge and awkward, so we had to take up six seats for the four of us. Vin Diesel asked for some Spanish lessons during the ride, and I obliged, teaching him the most important phrase of the trip: ¿Dónde está el baño? (Where is the bathroom?)

The lady beside us giggled as she watched our exchange. Finally, when she could hold it in no longer, she joined our conversation. She didn’t speak English, so I was the only one who could talk to her, but I quickly realized that my Spanish was in bad shape. We were getting off at the same stop, so she led us out of the subway station and gave us directions to our hostel. It would be a 10-minute walk, she said. But with our luggages, it took closer to 20. By the time we arrived at the hostel, my hand had blisters from dragging my suitcase. It was appallingly evident that we had overpacked. Our heavy luggages were going to be our Achilles Heel on this trip, no doubt about it. Already, in my mind, I was making an inventory of everything I’d brought and trying to figure out what I could throw away. But I could part with little. Most of it were clothes, and I wanted to save my clothes for Paris, our last stop. So, for the time being, I will just have to try to survive on this trip with a 50 lb suitcase that I can’t even get up the stairs. Thank god for male trip-mates.

After arriving at the hostel, we unpacked as we waited for our two other friends to arrive. Soon we were joined by IndianPrincess and Jack Sparrow. IndianPrincess was a classmate of ours who was on exchange in Manchester this semester. She was staying with us for two days in Barcelona, because she still had classes. Jack Sparrow was from University Town with us, but because he had joined our trip last minute, he had gotten a separate flight two days earlier, so he was already in Barcelona.

We went for a walk down Passeo de Gracia to Placa Catalunya, then to Las Ramblas. We decided to go to a tapas restaurant for dinner, which I had found online (based on reviews) before we left. We walked through the winding alleys of Barri Gothic, with vertical buildings rising up on all sides, each with intricate balconies protruding from thousand-year-old stone walls. Each alley was as enchanting as the last.

The air was humid and sweet; we often reminded ourselves to take deep breaths of the Barcelonian air, which we described as the sweet smell of Spanish cologne of beautiful Spanish men. After several twists and turns, we discovered the restaurant wasn’t where it was supposed to be. I was the only one who spoke Spanish in our group, so I used my rough Spanish to ask for directions and eventually found our way tone off a side street of Ave del Portal de l’Angel.

Tapas were decent but relatively expensive. We realized it was a mistake to find a restaurant in such a touristy location, everyone else eating there were also tourists who spoke no Spanish (although there was only one server in the restaurant who spoke any English).

We went to a grocery store after dinner to pick up some food for the next day. We were all shocked to discover that alcohol was (far) cheaper than water! The cheapest bottle of wine we saw was only 0.82 Euros! The 2 Euro bottles we got would be considered mid-level wines in Canada, and definitely passable for our pre-drinking purposes. We bought 9 bottles for the six of us, thinking it would last us two nights. We were clearly under-estimating our drinking abilities. A few hours later, we were opening our seventh bottle and all quite drunk.

That night, we went out with the hostel. They took us to a hole-in-the-wall bar and somehow managed to fit all 50 of us in (we were joined by a group from their sister hostel). Time works differently in Barcelona (Spain? All of Europe?), as I’ve come to realize. Peak dinner hours are around 9 pm, and people don’t go out to clubs until 1 am. We were pre-drinking from 9pm to 11:30pm at the hostel, then stayed at the tiny bar from 12 till 1am before walking to the club.

The dance club was packed and we ran into a friend of ours from school. At one point during the night, Jasmine started dancing with a French dude, leaving me all alone. As I turned to look around, I realized all my other companions were dancing with someone as well. I felt awkward and extraneous on the dance floor. This would have been one of those moments where I could have gone into the bathroom to cry, if I were melodramatic. What I can tell you was that I wasn’t happy to be stranded on the dance floor of an anonymous club in a city I’d been in for less than 24 hours, an ocean away from home and any semblance of familiarity.

If this was a club back home, I would have just called a cab and gone home. But I didn’t remember the hostel’s address. I didn’t even know the closest intersection. All I knew was that this most definitely wasn’t home.

I stuck it out for another hour, after which I told my companions I wanted to leave. Most of them weren’t ready to leave yet, but because no one wanted to be left behind in a club in Barcelona (we had no idea where we were because we had just followed the leader – drunk – to walk there), we all ended up leaving together. It was a 20-minute walk back to the hostel, but I was just glad someone knew the way.

Our first day in Barcelona was incredibly long. When people I’d met asked me when I arrived, they were all surprised to hear “Today!”
“So, today is your first day in Europe?” They’d follow-up, wide-eyed.
“Yes!” I’d reply, equally wide-eyed.
Each time, I could not believe that less than 24 hours ago, I’d been in Toronto, doing absolutely nothing, and now I was chatting up some Australians, Germans, and Dutch boys in a random bar in Barcelona.

• Number of cigarettes: 5
• Number of lesbian kisses: 2
• Number of lap dances: 1
• Number of unattractive strippers: 6
• Number of attractive strippers: 1
• Number of slices of pizza: 3
• Number of units of alcohol: what do you think?

Zee is back from Australia for a few days, so we called up our old crew for a little get-together¹. Zee transferred there for medical school in early January. It was pretty sudden and there wasn’t much time for proper goodbyes. I hadn’t seen EnigmaticRebel for over a year, but when I called him up, he was game for anything.

Originally, we planned a low-key night at my place. Order some food, open up a few bottles of wine, and catch up on each other’s lives. That was not at all how the night went down.

Although we had said we were staying in, I knew that going out after dinner was fair game with this crowd, especially after a few drinks. So, as I was getting ready, I decided I might as well get ready for anything².
When Zee and DubaiGirl saw me, they decided they wanted to dress up too. And what was the point of dressing up if no one was going to see it?

So, following my recommendations, we ended up at a fairly upscale restaurant downtown. My friends thought the food was fantastic, but I, of course always being the food critic, thought it didn’t reach its full potential. Over duck, pasta, and risotto, I told them about my recent deflowering incident. This led to a length discussion on sex, everything from oral sex and foreplay to girth, stamina, and technique (I wanted to know, compared to ‘average men’ and ‘average sex’, how good/bad my first time was). Given the upscale setting that we were in, ER was unsettled by how openly we talked about penis sizes and blowjobs.
“SassyGirl, you’re scaring me.”
“Why?” I asked innocently.
“You’re the manliest person I’ve ever met! Most girls would be a lot more sensitive about losing their virginity, but with you, it’s like you just went to a hockey game!”
We laughed, and then I said, “But seriously, how big is big?”

After dinner, we drove to Zee’s and started drinking. We continued the discussion on sex, this time involving ethnicity (black vs. Asian). When I was satisfied with the information I solicited from my friends, I came to the conclusion that the reason the boy I slept with didn’t realize I was a virgin was possibly due to his own ego – i.e. that I was tight and he was too big for me, and therefore I bled. Because obviously it wouldn’t occur to him that a virgin would ask for a booty call.

We went clubbing at our favourite new club, but it was surprisingly empty (maybe because it’s exam period for all the university students). However, it was ladies night and there was a bachelorette party there, so we actually had a good time dancing with the girls without being bothered by creepy men.

By the way, did I mention that Zee is a lesbian?

That explains how we ended up on the patio, kissing each other. And by we, I mean all four of us. I don’t really remember how it started. One minute we were smoking, the next minute DG was asking whether kissing a girl was any different from kissing a guy. And I piped up that I had never kissed a girl before so I wouldn’t know. Next thing I knew, DG was kissing me.
“How was it?” Zee asked.
“It was… wet.” was all I could say.
Then, Zee kissed me, and it was also… wet.
DG and Zee also swapped kisses, and at some point ER got some lip action too, so he wouldn’t feel left out.
“Why is it so wet??” I whined loudly.
I heard laughing behind me, and that was when we noticed the bouncer standing right beside us, staring bug-eyed. We all laughed awkwardly.
“Wow, I can’t believe we just kissed our friends,” DG said, “and we can’t even deny it because we have a witness!” .
“I definitely was not expecting to see that,” the bouncer admitted with a chuckle. “I’m feeling pretty lucky tonight.”
Although we’ll never see him again, on someone’s camera, there is a picture of us with this bouncer.

After clubbing, our feet were tired but my friends weren’t ready to call it a night.
“I want to do something sketchy tonight!” DG kept announcing, over and over.
“We’ve already kissed each other, isn’t that sketchy enough?” I asked.
“Let’s go to a strip club!” Zee piped up.
My friends liked this idea, but I was definitely not up it. In the cab, they tried to convince me to go with them, and even the cab driver joined in.
“Come on SassyGirl, it’ll be an interesting experience,” DG said. “Plus, I need you there with me while Zee and ER ogle.”
“You know I’m all for new experiences, but I have a feeling this is the kind that will leave a scar in my memory. I just don’t want to see fat old ladies with their clothes off³. It’ll be burned into my mind and I don’t want to carry that image around for the rest of my life.”

Despite my protests, I was somehow dragged into the strip club with them. It was dark. There were a lot of men, the kind that leer at you from the edge of the dance floor, they were here in packs. The women were trashy, to be expected, but unexpectedly unattractive. Most of the women were fat (like literally, pregnant-looking), and the skinny ones looked like anorexics (wrinkly skin stretched over small bones). It was like they had gotten all the ugly girls from the club to come here and take their clothes off. Were the men really enjoying this?
Zee didn’t seem to mind and asked one of the anorexics for a lap dance. It was over pretty quickly, and in her state, Zee didn’t remember much of it, other than the fact that the woman told her she was allowed to touch her. “The way her boobs looked like balloons on her chest, I didn’t want to touch them at all,” Zee said to us later.

We ended the night at DG‘s place, with a delicious feast of pizza, wings, and shisha.

Our night went from fancy upscale restaurant to trashy strip club, but I would expect nothing less from this particular group of friends. We’ve always been known for being spontaneous and ridiculous, and if I remember any of our nights together, it will definitely be this one.

1. Zee, EnigmaticRebel, DubaiGirl, and I were in the same residence in first-year university. We partied a lot together, knew each other’s sketchy stories, took care of each other as we were adjusting to life at university, and have basically become the kind of friends around whom you have no inhibitions.
2. Plus, I have a habit of over-dressing. Always. Which is not a habit I mind at all.
3. Zee had been to this strip club before, and I’d heard things from others, that it did not have high-quality girls. In fact, some of my guy friends went more for the breakfast buffet than the women. Apparently most of them were overweight or way too old to be in this line of work. I wanted to spare myself from ever seeing saggy boobs, thank you very much.

This was the exchange BI and I had on Saturday night. She bumped into me as I was leaving The Club. I must have had a stupid grin on my face, because she guessed right away that it was boy-related.

“Why don’t you just pick one?” BI asked incredulously.
“They’re leaving tomorrow, what’s the point?”
“That’s even better! You should take advantage of tonight.”
“Believe me, I have had enough attention tonight to last me months. I’m good.”
She could see that I meant it, so she let me go.

I went home feeling particularly pleased with myself. Sure, I was flattered by all the attention I had received, but I couldn’t be too attached. Because it felt too good to be true, it couldn’t be real. And I wanted to walk away before something brought me crashing down to earth.

Rewind back four days and I’m standing in the middle of a crowded banquet hall, greeting forty-four students from eleven different countries and glad-handing eleven advisors (professors that accompanied them) from their respective business schools. It was the beginning of The Case Competition, and I, as one of the main organizers, was feeling relieved to see that everyone had made it and that Opening Ceremonies went without a hitch. I had been planning this competition for months, emailing back and forth with their advisors and business schools, so I knew their names by heart and was only now meeting them in real life.
They were an incredibly friendly group, not to mention astoundingly good-looking. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we had invited a group of international vampires as opposed to business students.

Although I was exhausted for the next four days, running around from 8am to past midnight every day, going home only to collapse on my bed for barely five hours, it was totally worth it. The delegates that came were all open to new things and eager to make friends. Everyone was having a great time, and I was having just as good a time becoming fast friends with all of them, which was exactly as I expected.

What I didn’t expect was that I would be such a hit with the gentlemen. For example, for most of Friday, I hung out with the German team because I found them to have a surprising sense of humour. Friday’s events included going on a brewery tour, dinner at the campus restaurant, and having an egg drop challenge. By the end of the night, NGB was asking me out. I couldn’t believe it. Although he was cute, I didn’t like him that way, but I didn’t turn him down immediately. He was leaving a day later than the rest of his team, so he wanted to take me out on his last day. I said I would check my schedule and get back to him.
The fact that he asked me out after only hours of getting to know me was shocking, not because this sort of thing never happens, but because I was starting to take the game-playing tactics of most North American boys for granted. I mean, PLB liked me for months and yet he was still pretending not to like me until the very last moment. Here, it would take months of flirting and text-tagging and pretending not to be interested before a guy would ask me out. But it took NGB less than eight hours, and he was very upfront about it. He wasn’t hiding the fact that he was into me. In fact, it was written so clearly on his face, his actions, and of course his up-front question, that by North American standards, I’d say he was completely smitten.

The next day, the other boy on his team, SGB also made up his mind to tell me he liked me. Wow, two boys in two days? This never happens to me.
What really boggled my mind was the fact that their two other teammates were by far the best looking girls at the competition. They were fair, perfectly-proportioned, tall, beautiful, long-haired German goddesses. Next to them, I looked like a gorilla. So how was it possible that these two German boys both set their sights on me? I couldn’t make any sense of it.

On Saturday night, after the case competition was over, we booked out a VIP area of The Club and everyone was in full party mode. The Brazilians and New Zealanders were going absolutely wild, and everyone else was caught up in the frenzy. I danced with more gorgeous boys in one night than I have in my entire life. There was the incredibly tall and unbelievably well-featured Mexican, the handsome Norwegian that looked like a sculpture, the strong Brazilian that could pick me up with one hand, the dancing Mexican that spun me round and round, and the unbelievably good-looking slim Norwegian boy who I spent most of the night with. SNB was the second best looking boy at the competition, second only to his teammate, the Sculpture Norwegian. When SNB started dancing with me, I could see all the girls (and even some of the boys) watching us. I was thoroughly embarrassed, made even worse when one of my co-volunteers, a guy, came up to us and shouted to me over the music, “Hold on to that one, he is way too good-looking.”

Maybe BI didn’t understand why I would pass up an opportunity to make the most of a night like that, but by 1am, I knew it was time for me to leave. It was almost straight out of Cinderella, as if my clothes would turn to rags and my carriage would turn into a pumpkin if I stayed any longer. On nights like these, I want to end on a high note, and there was nothing that could possibly happen to improve my night. What BI didn’t know when she ran into me was that I had already received more than my fair share of male attention:

• Dirty dancing with the hottest Mexican I have ever seen: check.
• Being the only girl to be picked up and spun by a Mexican, a Brazilian, and a German in front of everybody in the club: check.
• Flattery from a ridiculously good-looking Norwegian: check.
• Kisses from a ridiculously good-looking Norwegian: check.
• Confessions from two cute Germans: check.

Of course, I was the epitome of “that lucky girl” that night. But what made me smile the morning after was not just because I felt flattered, but because I realized that there was hope.

After all my experiences with boys in university, and all the shows you see on TV like Sex and The City, I was really starting to believe that all men played games. That no one would put themselves out there and be true to their emotions. That even if they liked you, they wouldn’t admit it unless someone put a gun to their head. That even if they admitted they liked you, they wouldn’t do anything about it.
All of these mind-games were making me beyond frustrated. I think one of the reasons I have been relationship-less this whole time is that I haven’t met anyone that made me feel like the hassle of all those mind-games was worth it.
And now, within a few days, I had met at least three eligible, absolutely date-able boys who were not afraid to say they liked me and do something about it.

Of course, I haven’t forgotten the fact that they may have felt they had to move quickly since they were only in Canada for a few days. But nonetheless, it gave me hope.

The question I still haven’t been able to answer however is, why the hell did they pick me? Seriously, the girls at this competition were just as stunningly beautiful as the boys were handsome. I have never felt less attractive in my life than when I was standing next to them. Of course, I still loved them because they were friendly and interesting. I mean, they were beautiful and had good personalities. As far as I’m concerned, they were perfect.
Yet these boys (more than one, incredibly) were smitten by my charms. Was it my friendliness? My humour? My weirdness? Regardless of the reason, they were willing to put themselves out there even if they weren’t quite sure whether my over-friendliness was flirting or just the way I am¹.

So, clearly, there is hope. Just maybe not in North America.

1. I.e. I could have been overly friendly because I’m Canadian and that’s just the way we are. Or it could have been because I was one of the organizers and I had to set a good example for the other volunteers and be a good host.

…

“I got a feeling that tonight’s gonna be a good night
That tonight’s gonna be a good night
That tonight’s gonna be a good, good night”
DG and I are now in the middle of the dance floor, shaking and moving to the rhythm. We both have huge grins on our faces, drunk and happy. We sing along to this familiar song, knowing they’ll ring true tonight.

…

She grabs my hand and pulls me up to the platform. We dance around each other, as if we’re the only two people in the club. I’m oblivious to the two guys coming up behind us. Before I know it, she’s pulling me off the platform and pushing through the crowd. I look behind me just before we disappear into the crowd, the guys are looking embarrassed and their friends are laughing.

…

We laugh as we run away, returning to our spot in the middle of the dance floor. After a few minutes, I see a guy trying to dance with her from behind, so I put my hand around her shoulders and spin her to a different position. She sees a guy coming up behind me, and spins me away as well. Both guys leave feeling confused and rejected. We laugh. Tonight was going to be about just us girls.

…

On the way out of the bathroom, we run into a friend of mine, who had just arrived with some other people I partied with in first-year. We start dancing with them, our dancing duo now turning into a trio. The third girl, MG, spots a recently vacated stripper pole and points to it. I shrug my shoulders and we get up there, knowing that the rest of our friends are watching us. But when Lady Gaga comes on, all is forgotten and we just dance.

“I want your love and I want your revenge, you and me could write a bad romance.”

…

The three of us are dancing in the middle of a circle that our friends have formed around us. I feel a hand on my waist and a solid chest against my back, the faint smell of aftershave hovering above me. I throw my arm up in the middle of the song and accidentally hit the side of his head. “Sorry!” I gasp, as I turn around. I look up to see a tall Asian boy, one of MG‘s friends that I’d met once. I remember him to be good-looking, but tonight he is smoldering hot. DG winks at me and moves away with MG. TDH places his hand firmly on the small of my back and I melt into him, our bodies moving in sync to the music.

…

DG and I are waiting in-line at coat check, our faces gleaming with perspiration.
“Tonight was awesome,” DG says emphatically, her eyes shining. “This was the best clubbing night I’ve ever had!”
My expression mirrors hers as I nod. “Yeah, this was amazing. Girls night out at its best. I danced so much!”
“And did you see who you were dancing with? For an Asian guy, he was hot!”
I giggle, “I know, I couldn’t believe it when I turned around and it was him. Especially because we were dancing with all our friends, I didn’t think he would single me out.”
“That’s what makes it even hotter,” DG says with a twinkle in her eye.
As we exit the club, I say to no one in particular, “Tonight was a good, good night.” And I mean it.

I had a conference in The City the last few days. In order not to miss class, I went to an 8:00AM class on Thursday morning, then got on the train for The City. On the train, I ran into a classmate who was also heading into The City for interviews (it’s summer recruiting season for him). I had wanted to sleep on the train, but no luck. Instead, he spent two hours running his mouth off about all the interviews he had¹. When I got off the train, I wanted to take a taxi to the hotel, because I didn’t want to walk the two blocks with my luggage. Yeah, I was tired and lazy. But the taxi driver wouldn’t take me! He said it was too close, I should just walk. So he literally dumped me on the sidewalk.

By the time I arrived at the hotel, the cocktail reception had already started. I checked into my room to realize that I had roommates. Three roommates, no less. Was this a joke?
When I realized the conference organizers weren’t joking, that I was expected to share a bed with a complete stranger, I was not amused. Two of my roommates were in first year, and my bed-mate was in fourth year. They were all from the commerce program of The Other University.
I quickly staked my claim by unpacking my stuff over as much area as possible (their shit seemed to have exploded all over the hotel room and bathroom counter – although I should have expected that when I realized there were going to be four girls sharing one very small bathroom), and changed into a business casual dress for the reception.

At the reception, I realized that of the 100 delegates, about 15 were external delegates (including myself). That means that only 15 people were from another university, and the rest of the 85 people were from The Other University. The Other University and The Business School are rivals, so I tried to avoid the question, “So what school are you from?” lest the mob descend on me on the first night.
It got worse. I also realized that most of the delegates were first and second year students. I was probably one of four upper-year students.
Let me explain the gravity of the situation. I was in enemy territory, surrounded by nearly 100 people who did not go to my school and did not like my school. I was also surrounded by nearly 100 people who were barely of age and were running around asking for fake IDs so they could go to the evening bar festivities. They were so naive that they had no idea what the difference between finance, accounting, and consulting were, and was under the delusion that they could get a career in any industry they wanted. I wanted to strangle them.
Suffice to say, this was not my scene.

So I didn’t know anyone. And could barely hold a conversation with anyone (without wanting to strangle them, that is). But there was an open bar, good food, etc. So I inhaled every plate they served during dinner and drank too much wine. There was a keynote speaker after dinner, some important know-it-all from An Investment Bank, trying to influence the impressionable minds in the room that investment banking was the true, and only, definition of success. During the keynote speech, I texted WAF: “Get me out of here.” So we made plans to meet up after I was done.

While everyone else was getting ready to go to some pub, I started putting on a glittery top and a sequin skirt. I was clearly over-dressing, so my roommates asked me what I was doing. “I’m meeting a friend of mine at a lounge,” I replied.
“You’re not going to the pub?”
“No, I don’t drink beer.”
My roommates seemed confused that I wouldn’t want to participate in the conference’s event, but how could I explain to them that I didn’t see myself having fun with first-years who were engaging in underage drinking and were probably going to go crazy because, let’s face it, this was probably their first staying-in-a-hotel drinking opportunity? My two first-year roommates had invited all of their first-year friends into our hotel room and were passing around a 60 Litre bottle of vodka. Point proven.
I hurriedly got out of there and hoped that I wouldn’t return to a pile of vomit in our hotel room that night.

WAF and I ended up at a post-modern sushi lounge in the Financial District. It was filled with suits from the nearby banks. At one point, a 60-year-old man with a head of white hair and an expensive suit tried to give both of us a hug and invite us to drink with him. We quickly declined².

When I returned to the hotel room, my roommates were already back and asleep. I checked around quickly for vomit, and finding none, passed out on my side of the bed.

Friday was a packed day filled with keynote speakers and workshops. To give the conference organizers some credit, the keynote speakers were all extremely entertaining and knowledgeable. I learned more about international business and the global market in the last three days than I have in my entire academic career so far. Dinner was at an Irish pub hosted by A Consulting Firm (not the one I’m going to be working for), and surprisingly, the food was fantastic. Possibly the best Western food I’ve ever had. Dinner conversation was with a cute private-school boy who was in his third-year at The Other University and considering offers from several consulting firms.
That night, once again, I skipped out on the conference’s evening festivity and went clubbing with WAF. The club we went to had great music, but the crowd that night was very Euro trash, so we danced to our hearts content with each other and called it a night.

Saturday was dedicated to a case competition. Since I do cases every day, three times a day, at The Business School, this was a piece of cake for me. But The Other University does not teach with cases, so everyone else struggled to analyze the given case in the 3.5 hour time frame. My assigned team had the same trouble, but luckily, they listened to my wisdom (for the most part), and – long story short – we won first place in the case competition.

Since the final presentation was in front of the entire delegation, I received a lot of attention for my presentation skills. After dinner, two boys came up to talk to me. The first was one of the original founders of the conference, a fourth year from The Other University who was going to work for An Investment Bank in New York City. The other, also a fourth year from The Other University, was a Korean boy who was going to work for Another Investment Bank in Tokyo, Japan. Both were very eligible bachelors, at least according to the criteria of: Asian, smart, and potential wealth.

Saturday night, the conference had organized a semi-formal event at a club. Since I had never seen the club, I decided to go with them that night. I pre-drank with a few girls of my fourth-year roommate, who luckily did not make me want to kill somebody (or maybe it was the amount of alcohol I consumed that dulled the killing urge). By the time we got to the club, I was spectacularly drunk³, and ended up dancing with The Korean I-Banker. We spent most of the night together, although I left early because I was dead-tired.

Somehow, I was not hungover on Sunday. It helped that I had some greasy food before bed the night before, and of course, pigged out during breakfast to “re-nourish” my body. The conference finally ended at noon. My parents drove down to meet me for lunch, and after a quick trip to the grocery store for some veggies, drove me back to University Town.

And on Sunday night, I slept 12 hours, to make up for the lack of sleep during the conference. It was kind of amazing.

If you didn’t bother reading all that, the important things to note are:

• I did not mention PLB once. That is because, as of last Tuesday, I gave up on him. In a nutshell, he was playing mind-games and I was not having it.
• I won a case competition! I wouldn’t have had a chance in hell at The Business School, but going up against The Other University was a piece of cake. And of course, it made me feel really smart.
• I hooked up⁴ with a future investment banker in Japan. I don’t know if I will ever run into him in Asia, but it’s nice to know there’s a possibility. Plus, he’s Korean. I don’t know what it is with me and Koreans. It must be fate.
• I realized I am only attracted to ambitious (but not arrogant) boys. WAF had always said that she was only interested in boys who were going to be as successful, if not more successful, than her. I didn’t agree at first, but after this weekend, I think that is true for me too, whether I like it or not.
• Good food and open bar can cheer me up in any situation.
• I’m exhausted, it is Monday, and I have a very packed week ahead of me. TGFC (Thank God For Coffee).

How was your weekend?

1. He had literally gotten every single interview. He had second rounds from every single investment bank as well as the top three consulting firms. This kid was impressive.
2. Although some of the other female associates there were enjoying all the male attention. Many of them had more than one guy fawning over her.
3. As always, no one could tell because I don’t know how to be a sloppy drunk even if I wanted to be one.
4. Like I always remind my readers, my definition of hooking up does not involve sex.

One of my classes is called “Global Strategy,” taught by a Taiwanese professor with a very thick Chinese accent. Half the time, I can’t understand what he’s saying, and I’m Chinese! It doesn’t help that listening to him speak makes me want to laugh. I can’t even hold it in, it’s that bad. His accent is so classically Asian, he can’t pronounce ses for the life of him, and he kind of makes up his own sounds when he doesn’t know exactly how something is pronounced. Like “strategy” comes out sounding like “training” – I mean, how do you even do that?
But even without the accent, he is a very amusing professor. In our first class, he was trying to convince us of the necessity of this class by showing us the extent of globalization (foreigners invading our home environment even if we don’t have any intention to go abroad).
“You wake up in the morning, you put on your underwear, made in China. You put on your jeans, made in Bangladesh. You put on your t-shirt, made in Pakistan. You drive to school in your car made in Japan. You buy a coffee, imported from Columbia. And then you get to class and you realize, your professor is imported from Taiwan!” (Imagine this whole monologue with a thick Chinese accent, the kind that Russel Peters imitates.)

Anyway, other than school, I have been trying, unsuccessfully, to get things back on track with PLB. I knew a month-long break at the start of a (potential) relationship would be hazardous, and I was completely right.
Actually, it’s more my fault that his. Ever since we came back from the holidays, I have been really awkward around him. It’s not like I want to be, but I just get really nervous around him, because now we are both fairly aware that we like each other¹. He was in my first class when I came back, and I didn’t prepare myself at all for that, so I barely acknowledged him there and left right after class. The second morning (we had the same class again), he did come over to talk to me, but I wasn’t really helping the conversation and avoided his eyes the whole time. The same sort of thing happened over and over again as we ran into each other over the next few days; I would be too nervous to flirt or say something remotely interesting, even if I told myself not to freeze up.
I was hopeless, and my awkwardness was going to ruin this!

Last night, I decided to try to redeem myself. I was going to Zee’s going-away party², and afterward, DG and I were going to The Club (the club that The Business School students go to every Thursday night). He was going to be there, that much I knew. So I drank, a little bit more and a little bit faster than normal, at the going-away party, so I was sufficiently drunk (but not sloppy) by the time we got to The Club. He was one of the first people we ran into, but it was in passing so I didn’t get to talk to him. The rest of the night I spent switching between the dance floor and the table where he was sitting. But every time I went to their table, some guy I knew would spot me and come over to talk to me. Many of them were my classmates from last year, so we’d always be very excited to see each other (one guy even picked me up and twirled me around – he’s really strong). I don’t know how it looked to PLB, that every time I sat down, a new guy would come to the table. Somehow, I wasn’t sure the jealousy card was a viable strategy for me at that point. In between guys, I tried to have a conversation with him, but it was hard with the loud music. I did find it more easy to talk to him, and flirt, now that I had lost my nervousness. But still, he did not make a move.

DG got frustrated and decided that I needed to redeem my self-respect, so she dragged me away from him for nearly an hour. When we went to the washroom, we ran into him at coat-check. He was leaving?!
I waited outside the washroom for DG so that he would have an opportunity to talk to me. He did come over, explaining how he had an interview the next day so he didn’t want to party too hard tonight. Understandable, but I was still disappointed. We hugged a couple times, but he seemed no more interested in me than any other guy I’d seen that night.

DG was more upset that PLB left than I was. “What the hell is wrong with him?” She shouted, a little too loudly. A guy nearby overheard us and said, “Forget him. I would never ditch a girl like you.” I rolled my eyes as a signal for him to move on³. Why was it that, today of all days, when the last thing I felt like was hooking up with a random guy, guys would hit on me so aggressively? Even the cab driver had offered to go out with me to “make that guy jealous.” (Yeah, I was pretty creeped out. I mean, obviously cab drivers eavesdrop, but isn’t it a cardinal rule to pretend not to be able to hear the passengers? Much less getting yourself involved and hitting on a girl at least ten years your junior?)
“Come on, let’s go get you a guy,” DG said as she dragged me to the dance floor.
“But I don’t want a guy,” I whined, although I didn’t think she heard me.

In the end, DG found a guy, and I went home alone. Am I really that pathetic? I guess I am.

1. God, I hope so. Because if I’m just making things up in my head again, I am going to feel like a huge fool.
2. She’s going to Australia for medical school at the end of the week.
3. Later, that guy found me on the dance floor and I literally had to push him away and tell him, “I don’t want to dance with you!” before he got the message.

After the show, I rushed over to an Italian restaurant nearby where SRF was celebrating a belated birthday. I was obviously late for dinner, but they poured me some wine and we had a jolly good time. I arrived just in time to explain to the dinner party why the wines they had ordered didn’t taste good (I had become the resident wine connoisseur to my friends ever since I went on those wine tastings last year). My alcohol tolerance is an embarrassment now², but that hasn’t stopped me from drinking.

We went to The Club³ after dinner⁴, except there was also a fashion show launch party there that night, so it was packed. I ran into a lot of people I hadn’t seen since second-year. Every time I ran into someone that night, they offered to buy me a drink, so two hours in, I had already had five drinks, none of which I paid for. It didn’t help that one of my friends from TheBusinessSchool had bought a private booth and bottle service and was handing me vodka tonics whenever my hand was empty. Free drinks are the worst way to stay sober (if that makes any sense).

Then I ran into YAR. Remember YAR? He is now in TheBusinessSchool, a year below me, and we had had lunch together a few weeks ago. I remembered that I still owed him lunch since I let him pay last time, but in order for it not to be a date, I’d insisted that he let me pay if we went out again. So I offered to buy him a drink when I ran into him, thinking this would absolve me of my obligation to take him out to lunch. Since our date two years ago, I had realized that it probably wasn’t a good idea for us to get involved. Besides, we didn’t leave things off very well last time, since he kissed my friend after taking me out to dinner. I was also under the impression that he currently had a girlfriend. Unfortunately, by the time I bought him a drink, I was far too inebriated for my own good.

Ironically, as a result of my buying him a drink in order to get out of buying him lunch, I ended up sleeping with him.

He asked me for a dance after I bought him the drink, and even though I said no, he ended up convincing me anyway. After a little grind and bump, he held my hand and led me away from the crowd. We talked for a while in my friend’s VIP booth, and he told me he wasn’t seeing anyone. Another friend of mine had mentioned that he got back together with his ex, but it must have been old news, because YAR said they tried the long-distance thing and it didn’t work out⁵.

When I said I wanted to leave, he left with me and we shared a cab together. I told the cab driver we were making two stops, but somewhere along the way, it turned into one.
How did this happen? I swear I’m not some sort of slut, but it’s hard to convince even myself sometimes.

I ended up sleeping over at his place, and of course, nothing happened. At least I still make sure to set expectations straight before entering a guy’s home, drunk or not. All we did was sleep, although I didn’t do much of that because I was throwing up in his bathroom every half hour. Yeah, not fun. After this many nights of partying though, I’m very good at handling myself in the morning, so it’s not as gross as it sounds; I didn’t make a mess. He slept through most of it actually, snoring the whole time. It was kind of hilarious to hear him continue to snore even though I had just climbed over him to get to the bathroom for the umpteenth time. That guy can sleep through anything it seems.

The morning after was not fun, not just because of the hangover, but also because I realized I should not have agreed to sleep over. He is my 学弟, my younger classmate, and I would still be seeing him around. What had I done?
I know he has always liked me, but how much? Was he going to date me seriously? Granted, last time we went out, I didn’t take it seriously either, but that doesn’t mean I won’t notice if he doesn’t call. He knows I’m a catch, and a difficult catch at that, so shouldn’t he have held onto me when I gave him the chance?

Goddammit, I have exams to study for. What the hell am I doing?

1. You have no idea how great it feels to actually be making progress with my life list. I encourage everyone to make one!
2. Case in point, chugging that glass of wine during intermission made me tipsy for the second half of the play.
3. It is the official club of TheBusinessSchool because we go every week.
4. I wasn’t dressed for clubbing, and hadn’t planned to go out originally, but in my tipsy state of mind, I was easy to persuade.
5. Although, I was recently on his Facebook and she is leaving messages there like nobody’s business. What’s up?

More importantly, I get unimaginably bad hangovers now, and each time, I swear I’m never going to drink again – it’s that bad – and then, a week later, I find myself at another pre-drink. What is up?

I think somewhere between October and now, I realized that I have more sex appeal than I used to. I mean, I used to be more desperate and naive¹, and while that might be appealing to some (har har), now, I am an older, more confident version of myself. I’m also ten pounds heavier, but surprisingly, that hasn’t stopped guys from hitting on me.

So on Thursday, I shimmied into an outfit I had bought a long time ago but never wore because I didn’t think I was skinny enough to pull off a body-hugging dress. And yes, I haven’t gone to the gym in three months, and yes, I eat ice cream almost exclusively, but I still wore it, and I wore it proudly.

I arrived at my friend’s pre-drink only to realize that it was a major sausagefest. I knew most of the guys there, so the flirting was kept to a minimum. The guys were taking shot after shot of absinthe and aged whiskey and tried to drag us down with them. I had some of the whiskey, which was okay, but I didn’t touch the absinthe. A limo arrived to take us to the club, and one of the guys threw up in the limo. That definitely killed some of the atmosphere. But once we were in the club, things picked up again. There was a joint event held by the Asian clubs happening, so there were a lot of Asians there, many of whom I knew from first and second year. The downside of knowing most of the people was that I was more uptight than I otherwise would have been; I didn’t want anything happening that people could gossip about. On the upside, guys I sort of used to know kept buying me drinks, so I didn’t end up spending much money at all. As a result, I was quite drunk², but I kept it together and even took care of some of my friends.

All this partying and “meeting guys for one night only” almost feels like I have given up on finding a boyfriend. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I’m going to be moving to Singapore in less than a year, so anything that starts now will have an expiration date (I don’t do long-distance relationships). Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that I’m going to be graduating soon, and this may be my last chance to act like a reckless 20-year-old.

Whatever the reason, I feel like I should just embrace it. Once I graduate, even if I do go clubbing, it won’t be the same. I won’t be surrounded by horny university students³ who just did eight shots in an hour at a pre-drink. Alas, partying in university has just become another thing in my life with an expiration date.

1. Sad, but true. It was especially bad in first year because I was so curious to explore this “party world” and I was getting over MFL.
2. I was more drunk than I think I’ve ever been, in fact.
3. And if I were, I’d just be the creepy working woman among the young’uns.

Even though I was functioning on two hours of sleep, I could not have been more awake. I did not have a drop of coffee the whole day.

After the two interviews, I spent the rest of the weekend worrying whether I would get a call for a second-round interview. On Friday night, I went out with some girls for Zee’s birthday. I hardly enjoyed myself as I was constantly checking my phone. Eventually, my friends made me take some shots with them so I would loosen up. By midnight, I was so drunk I couldn’t see straight, partly because I needed to shake off the stress of interview week and partly because I hadn’t drank in months and therefore my alcohol tolerance was nil. We picked up tons of guys that night, which is something I haven’t done since first-year. In first-year, I would have been flattered by the attention. It would have been a novelty to have a guy hit on me, buy me drinks, and want to dance with me all night. Now, I was indifferent to it. Even when I was dancing with a guy who looked like Justin Timberlake, all I could think about was my couch at home. I extracted myself soon thereafter and hopped in a cab, without even bothering to find my friends (I was sure they were each grinding some guy though).
On Saturday, I nursed my hangover while nervously waiting by the phone. On Sunday, I worked most of the day and wondered whether my phone was broken.

Today, I got a call saying I didn’t get a second-round interview. Fuckers.

—
EDIT: I just got a call from my second interview on Friday and I GOT A SECOND-ROUND INTERVIEW! In NEW YORK CITY!! Fuck yeah.
I had figured that since I hadn’t heard from them in so long (usually they get back to you within 10 hours of the interview), I was definitely not moving on to the final interview. The likelihood of a second-round decreases exponentially with the number of hours you have to wait. Well I waited FOUR AND A HALF DAYS but it all worked out. Three second-rounds out of six first-round interviews? That’s a pretty sweet ratio.

At noon on Friday, we were just finalizing our plans via a flurry of excited emails² when I received an email from LawyerMan asking if I still wanted to work for him as a legal assistant at his firm. I hadn’t heard from him since the interview, where he had made it abundantly clear that I was grossly underqualified for the position. I had interpreted the lack of communication as “I am too busy to even email you to let you know that, like I said at the interview, I don’t want you,” and left it at that. When I read his email, a simple one-liner asking if I was still interested in the position, I jumped at the opportunity and immediately said yes. I asked him when he wanted me to start. He said Monday.

Keep in mind that not only was I currently working, but I was in a different city! What kind of employer emails you on Friday afternoon to tell you to come in on Monday? Did he think I’d been sitting on my ass, twiddling my thumbs for the entire four weeks since the interview?
But of course I said yes, because I was afraid he’d change his mind. After all, this was the sort of opportunity that could really help me with my career, even if the opportunity came with an inconsiderate boss.

Luckily, my boss in University Town was very understanding when I explained the situation to her. I offered to finish my projects remotely and send my predecessor further instructions via email.
Then I went back to my apartment to pack and eat six eggs.

You see, the problem with last minute decisions to go back to The City is that I have to tie up loose ends in University Town. Which means, cleaning out the fridge even though I’d just stocked it two days ago with groceries. I am Asian, it’s not in my blood to waste food.

So on Friday night, I ate six eggs, eight yogurts, three bell peppers, two bananas, one apple, one tomato, and two pieces of tofu. I am not proud of this (ok, maybe I am a little). I decided to take what I couldn’t eat back to The City with me.

As a result of my decision to bring my groceries and as much clothes as I could pack with me, I arrived at the hostel on Saturday with three pieces of luggage in tow, each of which matched my body weight. Needless to say, I looked ridiculous, especially next to all the other hostelers who had traveled across the ocean with nothing but a backpack. But when has looking ridiculous ever stopped me?

After signing in with WAF, we went for a quick shopping trip before resting our feet at the Hard Rock Cafe patio. I slurped on a delicious concoction of Jack Daniels, Southern Comfort, black raspberry liquer, and vodka, aptly named Southern Rock, while my companion chain-smoked.

On our way back to the hostel, we stopped by the liquor store and bought a bottle of wine and rum. WAF wanted to split the purchase with me, but I didn’t really want to drink wine because it gives me horrible hangovers and I had a presentation the next day. I agreed half-heartedly and paid for my share, but when we got back to the hostel, I let her drink most of the wine.

Leaving her to oversee the pouring of the wine turned out to be a terrible idea. Between almost a liter of wine and a couple shots of rum, my companion quickly became drunk. WAF can usually hold her liquor quite well, or so I’m told, but I suppose being on the skinny bitch diet³ lowered her tolerance⁴. I should have seen the warning signs when she started whining loudly about BAD, but I figured she drank so much on a regular basis that a bottle of wine wouldn’t have done her in.
“Why doesn’t he want me?” She whined. “Aren’t I a pretty good catch?”
Like the dependable friend that I am, I answered her the way I always did, “Of course you are. He’s not good enough for you.”
She went on like this for a good half hour, even relating to me their sexual exploits. “To tell you the truth, the sex wasn’t even that good,” she announced loudly, as if I were a mile away from her, even though I was sitting less than a meter away.
I feigned shock, although I wasn’t really keen on hearing the details.
“I like it really rough,” she continued, “And he just didn’t know how to give it to me!”
I wondered if she was talking this loudly for someone else’s benefit, because surely she did not need this megaphone voice to speak to me. Perhaps she was drunk, or perhaps she wanted to attract one of the many male hostelers in the vicinity to join us – or maybe both. I felt a little embarrassed for her.

While I took a (much needed) washroom break from WAF‘s whining, she chatted up a 20-something geologist from Germany who had the misfortune to sit too close to us in the common room. She coaxed him into joining us for dinner in Chinatown, despite the fact that he’d already had dinner. I let WAF flirt with him, since she was drunk and I was not nearly tipsy enough. Plus, I got the distinct vibe that this particular Caucasian had no inkling of Asian fever, and I always trust my intuitions on these matters.

We finally found a suitable Chinese restaurant, but once the food arrived, WAF was unusually quiet. I figured she was just ravenous⁵, but in hindsight, I think she was starting to pass out from alcohol overdose.
She disappeared into the washroom for half an hour, which didn’t surprise me because she usually purges after pigging out like this (yes, this girl simultaneously suffers from every eating disorder on record), but when she still didn’t emerge from the washroom after half an hour, I went to check on her.

The first thing I saw when I entered the dingy two-stalled washroom was a bare bum sitting on the yellowing linoleum floor inside one of the stalls. A horrified Asian girl rushed past me, and I knew instantly who the bare bum belonged to.
“WAF?” I called out. “Are you ok?”
“No…” came a croak from inside the stall. “SG, I’m not feeling ok.”
I hesitated. I wasn’t sure what to do, since there was a stall door separating us and I could still see her bare ass on the floor. “What would you like? Do you want to stand up?”
A pause.
“I threw up,” WAF said. That much I had guessed already. “I kind of made a mess…”
“That’s ok, just come out, ok? Come on.”
I heard some shuffling from inside the stall and her bare bum disappeared. A moment later, the stall door opened.

I was not prepared for the sight of what came out of the stall.

WAF emerged, with puke covering the front of her body, from her chest all the way down to her hips and around to her bum. There were dirty streaks of puke on her black leggings, and on her hands, and in her hair where had ran her hands through her hair.
I quickly rearranged my expression to hide my shock, but it was honestly a disgusting sight. I couldn’t decide what was more horrific, seeing her covered in her own puke or seeing her with a bloody lip and mascara streaming down her face.

I navigated her to the sink and handed her some towels. Lucky for her, I was not a squeamish person, but touching her puke-covered body was a little too much, even for me.
“Is it ok if I go home?” She asked me timidly.
“Of course!” I said, almost too enthusiastically. The party had been over when she had puked all over herself, and maybe even before, when she had decided to drink a bottle of wine and then ramble on about a boy that I’ve heard way too much about. “That’s absolutely fine!”
“I’m so sorry for ditching you. I feel awful.”
“No, really, go home. You will feel better at home.”
I asked if there was anyone she could call to take her home, or if she wanted me to call her a cab. She wanted to call BAD but her phone wasn’t working. She handed it to me, and I realized it was because she had dropped it and her SIM card was soaked with puke. I pushed aside my feelings of disgust and put on a brave face as I cleaned the puke out of her phone. When I put the battery back in, it was working.

“Do you want me to get your things from the hostel?” I asked as I handed back her phone.
“I don’t know… Do you think I should call BAD? I don’t want him to see me like this.”
Nobody should see you like this, not even me, I thought, but I kept my thoughts to myself. “Honey, if there was any time to take advantage of that guy, it’s now. If he can take you home, call him.”
I convinced her to let me go back to the hostel to get her things while she figured out a way to get home. When I left the bathroom, she was sprawled out on the floor, unable to keep herself together. I felt bad, but the German guy was still waiting in the restaurant for us, and I didn’t know how much more of WAF I could look at without puking myself.

When I emerged from the bathroom, I vaguely explained to the German guy what had happened without going into the details. I was nice enough not to embarrass my friend in front of a stranger, even though she was being an embarrassment to herself.
“I saw this coming,” the German guy said, as if it was no big deal. “She couldn’t even walk properly on the way here.”
For some reason, his statement made me really angry. Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you still let her drag you to Chinatown? Even though he was a total stranger who didn’t have any responsibility toward us, I still felt like a decent person would have something, especially someone who had seen many symptoms of severe drunkenness. If it were me, I would have at least asked, “Hey, are you sure your friend is all right?” just to make sure things were under control.

This night was feeling more and more out of control. I walked back to the hostel with the German guy and grabbed WAF‘s stuff. He offered to walk back to the restaurant with me but I told him WAF wouldn’t want anyone to see her. To be honest, I wasn’t sure that the German guy was as nice as he had seemed.
So, I was a little Asian girl walking alone in a sketchy neighbourhood after dark, but it was a neighbourhood I knew well. My friends have often warned me that my lack of fear for sketchy situations was going to get me in trouble one day, but at times like these, my baseless self-assurance helped a long way to keep me cool and collected.

It took me 40 minutes to get back to the restaurant. When I rushed in, I realized the entire restaurant had been alerted to the drunken girl in the washroom. There were four people crowded in the washroom doorway, one of which was a middle-aged woman, who I assumed was the owner (or the wife of the owner).
“SG!” WAF called out when she saw me.
“Oh, your friend is here,” the owner said. “Thank God, we just called the ambulance!”
I apologized profusely as I joined WAF‘s side. Ignoring the dried puke on her clothes, I looped my arm around her waist and guided her out of the restaurant. We hopped into a cab, then onto the subway, where she promptly passed out. It was an opportunity to rest my feet since I’d been wearing heels, and I had to practically carry WAF on one shoulder and her stuff on the other.

Her parents were going to pick her up from the subway station and take her home. I didn’t want to think how they’d react seeing her like this. They’d never even seen her drunk. It took nearly two hours before I got back to the hostel. I surveyed the damage. I was down $75 from buying liquor I hadn’t drank, paying for the dinner while WAF was hiding out in the bathroom, leaving a generous tip to the owner for having to clean up a puke-covered washroom, and covering the cab and subway fare. I also felt dirty and smelled like puke, but the hostel’s showers rarely worked after midnight. This was how I spent my supposed “staycation” from all the things that had been stressing me out.

As I waited on the empty subway platform, the feeling of being disappointed and stranded pervaded me, and this suddenly felt all too familiar⁶. I wondered if I was being too good of a friend. I place a lot of value in my friendships, but do I end up being used? Or do I just attract needy people because I can actually keep my shit together? This weekend was supposed to be fun, but I expected someone as smart as WAF to know how to have fun responsibly. Drinking without abandon is just selfish, because the onus ends up on me to clean up her mess and take care of her. Is it worth it to stick it out in this friendship with a problem-ridden drama queen? And when was she going to return the favour? Not that I’ve ever asked anything of her⁷; not that I’d ever let myself be in a position where I needed to ask this kind of favour, from anyone.
But no matter how needy and selfish WAF can be, I’m not ready to abandon her. I want to believe the best in her, that she would do the same for me if the occasion arose, and only hasn’t had the opportunity to demonstrate that friendship⁸. It is a naive notion, especially when my instinct is telling me that I’m getting the rotten end of this particular stick. But it seems too easy to only look for the “beneficial friendship” and jump ship when it doesn’t seem worthwhile. I don’t want to be one of those people, especially not to WAF, who so clearly needs someone to pay attention to her (lest she acquires more and more emotional disorders).

Surprisingly, I slept soundly in the creaky hostel bunk bed that night, and woke up feeling far less disappointed than I expected. I spent the morning acting as a tour guide to a Japanese girl who was staying at the hostel. She and I became fast friends⁹, and I welcomed the change of this uncomplicated friendship from the previous night’s drama.

So was Saturday night a Girls Night Out or Girls Gone Wild? You decide.

1. two summers ago, I had stayed at hostel with Zee and ER so I was comfortable with it, but this time we were staying at a different hostel, so I wasn’t sure if it would be sketchy or not. It turned out to be quite clean, although the location was a bit sketchy.
2. Both of us were at work and, apparently, not that dedicated to our jobs.
3. Anorexia.
4. Despite my best efforts of force-feeding her chips.
5. Food! Actual food! With meat and oil! I don’t even know when was the last time she had real food.
6. A year ago, WAF had also pulled drama like this.
7. Perhaps I should ask her to name her first-born after me.
8. Although, do I really want to be friends with someone who frequently, and selfishly, allows these occasions to arise?
9. I seem to be very good at charming foreigners, especially those from Asian countries.