Wits End

Two words, online dating. You know things have gotten really bad when you sign-up for a dating site; even worse is when you take out the credit card. Upon arriving in Singapore I was put up in a hotel in Chinatown called, Hotel Re!—notice the exclamation. Exploring Chinatown and the faces that passed me by ignited a fear in me. Where were all the men? Would I grow to be attracted to the Chinese? Will I ever date in Singapore? Do nunneries exist in South East Asia? Little did I know that the horizon of Expat men was just over the hill.

However, being a naïve American I frantically signed up with all the dating sites possible to see what my options were. An hour after creating profiles and ads, I was flooded with e-mails. It felt like I was taking in hundreds of job applications and narrowing it down to perspective business partners. I first met up with an Aussie man, Dan. Note to self: Aussies drink like a fish. Things went well until I introduced him to my friend at a nightclub. I went to use the restroom and I came back to find his tongue down her throat.

Next, I met up with a British bloke, Eddie, he was pretty cute. We drank a few drinks at The Clinic, a bar where you can drink out of iv’s and sit in wheelchairs (liver transplants aren’t included). We had good conversation, shared laughs—it was going well. Then while waiting for a taxi I noticed a gorgeous Thai woman eying him. With a vengeful glare, she approached Eddie, said his name and sashayed her way back giggling to her ladyboy friends. There was an awkward silence between Eddie and I. He laughed uncomfortably and said, “ Ummm...I'll be honest with you, I met her at Orchard Towers.” Pause. He continued, “Ummm... she's been calling me, but I haven't been returning her calls.” Translation: uummmmm...I f*$#ed a prostitute.

After that, I interviewed a handful of accountants, bankers—men who lived their lives in suits. My eyes usually glazed over in conversation and I’d watch the sweat roll off their face from the humidity. For some reason, when I would tell them I hosted a Donkey show they became very interested. Seconds later they would say things like, “Oh yes…well in Thailand there’s this great place I know of…we’ll go there.” Or “Oh you haven’t been to the bar with the movie screen that’s on the rooftop that plays house music with the drinks with the umbrellas? I’ll take you there.” Or how about, “Oh you play the ukulele? I’ll introduce you to my friend who is a part of the Singapore Ukulele Underground.” Woah, woah—promises on a first date? Actually, make that “meeting.“

I was at my wits end with online dating and trying to create chemistry and then… I found him. A French man, Jean, full of passion, zest and life! He had gorgeous tan skin with long sandy blonde hair and blue eyes that’d make you melt like butter. Not to mention, he knew every line in the book.

“Euhhh Natasha, I must say, you are dze second actrease I’ve met in my life.”

“Oh really? Who was the first?” I asked.

“Julia Roberts.”

Jean was so stereotypically French I’d giggle till my cheeks were red.

“Euhhh Natasha, you know, you have a light in you. No, no, don’t look away. You do, not many have. I can see these things yes…yes.”

I must admit, the times we met up, my ego left full. One evening we were at a bar called “Home,” that overlooked a miniature jungle. “Euhhhh, Natasha, would you like to go for an evening stroll?”

“Why not,” I thought, so we held hands and he led me down a path less taken. There amongst the froggies and enchanted forest we laid down and gazed at the stars. Before I knew it I could hear the sound of a zipper and I sprouted up faster than Warner Bros's Tasmanian Devil.

“Euhh Natasha, don’t go please, it’s so romantick –the moon, the stars...”
“And not to mention the side of the road!” I said as I stormed off.

One thing is certain, no matter where you are in the world men will always try to get into your pants...and if not yours, your friends’.