I’ve already mentioned in an earlier post that before I left, everyone wanted me to find a hot Spaniard. Well I one-upped it; a hot Dutchman.
I met him last week at El Camborio. I don’t remember exact details, but from what I remember, Lauren and I were dancing and I saw him a few feet away. He peaked my interest because he reminded me of Cam Gigandet, (the O.C. version not the twilight one but not as cute). One of our friends was super drunk so we went to the bar to get her a glass of water. When we all got back onto the dance floor, I saw him again and I decided to pounce.
Eventually after dancing for a few minutes we started making-out. Let me just throw it out there, from my experience, when it comes to kissing, the Europeans have it down. Anyway we go outside so he can smoke a cigarette and we continue talking.
His name is Daan. He’s from Amsterdam, he’s a painter and he’s 28.
We didn’t really talk about anything to serious the rest of the night because we were too busy sucking-face and what not.
At the end of the night he asked for my number. Unlike the other Spanish douchebags I’ve met, he remembered my name so I figured he was worthy of it. Weather or not I was gonna call him was another story. Turns out I didn’t have to.
The only other thing he did tell me was that he lived closed to my school. Of course when I heard this I thought to myself, “oh god, I’m gonna run into him sometime when I look disgusting.”
It’s funny what thoughts the universe picks to manifest.
The next evening, I was walking home from spin class and just when I get to the church, I see some guy staring at me. Guess who?
He looked had a big ol’ smile when he saw and so I guess I couldn’t have been too sweaty and gross. Lauren thinks I was giving off a lot of pheromones.
Daan: So we had a good time last night, yeah?
Me: Yeah it was really fun…
Daan: Do you want to do something tomorrow night or something?
In the back of my head I had to remember that Liam Neason isn’t my dad, but he didn’t give me any vibes like he was gonna steal me and sell me into white slavery so of course I said yes. He then proceeded to stick his tongue down my throat. Hot.
He picked me up at 9 in front of my apartment. I didn’t tell him what number our door was, just in case he was a stealer. So I walked down and again was greeted with a nice lip-bite. We started the night at a bar that looked like an abandoned building, but when you opened the door, there were pictures of old Hollywood actors and blues artists and a jazz instuments lining every inch of wall space. It was very eclectic and exciting. We had a couple of drinks and talked about our lives.
I found out that he has been living in Granada for seven month. Before that he lived in South Africa when he was 17, then studied animation for a year in London and worked in a hostel in Rome. He has two sister and two brothers. He’s thinking of moving to Cadíz. His parents are divorced and he didn’t graduate high school. His mom used to have a pig, but his dad got rid of it when she went to go visit him in SA.
I do know his last name, but it’s impossible to spell it. I think it’s spelled Van Ballershoigernvghcjg…
Anyway after drinks we got a slice of pizza and went to another random place. The atmosphere looked like a hip club, but they played lame oldies music. He dances like a two-year old, which was just precious. By this time it was about midnight and he wanted to check out a blues concert happening in the bar across the street. He asked me if I wanted to go to a party, but it was in a warehouse and we’d have to take a cab. At this point I remembered my friend, Ashly’s advice, “don’t get into cabs with strange men” and it sounded sketchy, so I lied and said I didn’t have enough money for a cab.
However, in the end I don't really like him that much and I think we're just gonna be friends. I do not want a boyfriend and I do not want him to be my boyfriend. That would mean getting attached and that sounds terrible. But no matter what happens, it's a fun story. Something like this never happens to me back home...