Nothing worth writing about has happened recently - so from that you can tell that I STILL haven't gotten lucky with Chris. Seriously?! I'm thinking of abandoning the wait-and-see, don't-seem-too-eager approach and just going in there. What's the worst that could happen?
Surely it can't end up worse than my day today.
I've spent the last few days in Christchurch, hanging out with my sister and Hadleigh. In a completely random stroke of luck, I also ran into Nayuha at Hoyts Moorhouse. Few will remember Nayuha, but he's an old friend of mine from Canterbury, who's Japanese. He's amazing. It was quite by chance that we even saw eachother. I saw a familiar-looking Japanese guy sitting around at the cinema while Hadleigh and I were going to see "Yes Man" (awesome, in case you were wondering), and thought I might as well call out his name, just in case. Well, the look on his face was priceless, but it was nothing compared to the extreme joy I felt at seeing my old friend. While I had an amazing weekend, Nayuha truly was the highlight.
We also hit up Orana Wildlife Park, where I got to handfeed a giraffe (photo on Facebook). That was pretty cool.
This morning, I caught a flight out of Christchurch back to Auckland at 8:40am. Not before being apprehended by security because they thought my makeup brushes were concealed weapons of mass destruction, of course. Sigh. I love Post-9/11 travel. Upon my arrival in Auckland, I walked to my car, which I parked, ever-so-slightly illegally at the McDonald's on Leonard Isitt Drive, before realising I didn't have my keys.
Is it possible that such a ridiculous thing would happen to ANYONE else?
Once I got in touch with Hadleigh, I walked back to the terminal with the goal of him having my keys and wallet put on the next flight to Auckland. No such luck, again presumably due to extreme Post-9/11 security measures. Thanks, Osama. To add to my awesome string of events, I was stung by a bumble bee. Ho, hum.
Rather than having the keys same-day couriered to me, Hadleigh booked me another flight to Christchurch, an hour later.
"Can't you jump on a plane up here?" I asked tearfully.
"To be honest, I don't really want to." he replied. Well, no shit. Did he actually think I wanted to fly back to Grimechurch?
Whatever. By 1pm I was airborne again, heading back to where I'd just come from. 2:30pm I arrived, collected my keys and bought souvlaki from Dmitri's, the best souvlaki place outside of Athens (I should know). It was here that I saw Max, who was a classmate of mine and Nayuha's back at Canterbury. How odd! In 2006, Max became ill with tuberculosis and I remember being convinced he would die. It was pretty frightening, but he seemed pretty healthy today.
At 4:30pm I took another flight back to Auckland. I was exhausted, pissed off, needing a stiff drink and not great company. As luck would have it, I sat next to a lovely, albeit chatty woman from Wisconsin. And you just know it's good karma to be nice to people from there. It's where Greg Graffin is from, after all.
So, about two hours later I was finally back at my car, with my keys. It's never felt better to be in Bayswater.
Rex and Steph can't believe how slow-moving the Chris situation is. Neither can I, to be frank. I let well-meaning friends convince me that he wanted to get to know me before anything happened, and maybe that's the case. Maybe he DID want to sleep with me, and now he doesn't. But if that's the case, why does he invite me around there?
After the cycling expedition on New Year's Eve, I also went over on New Year's Day. He was SO hungover I left feeling the effects of it. Then on January 2nd he text messaged me quite late in the evening asking me if I wanted to go watch a Pink Floyd DVD. Sensing that alcohol was part of the equation, I obliged - wearing my beautiful new close-to-red top. Once again, my fool-proof plan failed, and even though he asked me to rub moisturiser on his back (hello?!), NOTHING HAPPENED. Come ON, man. Play the game!
"You rubbed moisturiser on his back? And nothing happened?" Rex asked me tonight, disbelievingly.
"I know, right?! I mean, what the hell? I'm pretty!"
"So you didn't like, nibble on his ear or anything?"
"Should I have? I mean, what the hell!"
So I say "what the hell" a lot, but it's the phrase that most accurately sums up my frustration about the whole thing.
What the hell is going on?