Curveballs

Life throws me curveballs.

I had the meet with the Swedish guy who said hi through couch surfing today- he's nice and sweet- not a psycho axe-murderer as i had initially worried.

We had coffee, walked a bit round southbank, saw a free play, had nasi lemak and char kuay tiau for dinner at a malaysian restaurant. We did find common stuff to chat about, and i think i went into my insano chatty mode (i must figure out if there is a discreet mode i can put myself on and an intelligent mode so i can not sound like a silly chatterring twat). He listened, and it always bothers me slightly when people actually look at me when i talk. Like really look at me, in my eyes and pay attention to what i say. I guess im used to being ignored so much, or dismissed as a background noise that when someone actually is really looking at me when i talk i get a bit thrown off. Im used to difficult audience and so when i get a captivated one im at odds at how to act. But im a trooper and i do what i do best: chat.

After dinner we met his friends for a drink.
His friends are these two totally hot french guys. I didn't meet any hot french guys in france, i had to meet them in london. Like in yum yum hot. One's white, tall, with aristocratic features and has that haughty arrogance which i find so attractive and the other is gorgeously tanned and simply beautiful to look at and really easy to talk to, with a bone-melting french accent. Now i understand the thing about french men. Its not just the accent, its the stuff they talk about, their mannerism. And the way they look at you.

I'll be honest- i looked a mess. I had not touched up my lipgloss, my face was shiny and my hair was falling outta my braid. And i wore a manky T-shirt.

I hate curveballs- i can never hit them right.