the boy is mine

There have been times in the last several months when I have stopped for a moment and exclaimed “wow, that was surreal, who is going to believe that story?” Whether consequential or not, there has been a lot of drama in my life (most of which has been filtered and watered down before getting repored on Juice, so do the math).
Drama. I love it. I hate it. I love to hate it. Especially when it is standing between me and someone who is clearly Jups’-boyfriend-material. I was really starting to like Mark and not in the way that I liked orangetree (dreamboat, Utopian idea, Bohemian rhapsody) or eagle (clearly NOT boyfriend material, hot body). The boy next door, he of the great late night conversations and he of the balloons, was showing real potential. Until he wasn’t because she showed up.
She. Cue the somewhat-goodlooking flatmate. The jups is not easily threatened, especially not so by some 25-year-old dimwitted girl who seems nice and harmless and especially not by a flatmate since there is an unspoken code of decency when living with people of the opposite sex. Or so the Jups thought. Nosiree, flatmate clearly has some perverse notions because She is playing both sides.
I had the second best Valentine’s Day to date this year because though Mark was away, She kindly invited me over to her Valentine’s day celebration at his place. I was touched by her gesture and as we were talking about the dinner while shopping for groceries, I recieved an email from Mark and my stupid face lit up like a light bulb. She instantly knew and I didn’t try to hide it. I asked her if she knew for a fact that he was single. He was. So I gushed some more.
Now there are some basic decencies that girlfriends afford one another and one of them is that when you tell your girlfriend you like a guy, all things being equal, she must be instantly supportive. She wasn’t. She gushed “Mark is so waanderful, he is suchhhh a nice guy, so good-loooooking, of course you like him ….
… but anyway if he wants to be just friends with you, you should be friends with him”.
A thousand what-the-fucks exploded in my brain.
Then there’s the standing joke that Mark and She are married, blame the building staff for this (not that they know any better, right?). Anyway, the joke is so tired now that every time She refers to him as her husband, I want to eat my own tongue. Like on Saturday when I asked her what she was doing (she had asked to taste the food I was making for my date with Mark and I wanted to make sure she wouldnt crash the date) she said, she wanted to go ride. “Ride with her husband”. (Granted it would have been much much worse had she had omitted the “with”). Here’s what I don’t get, if it’s so ha-ha-funny and stupid that the building staff thinks you’re married, why don’t you correct the misconception? And more importantly, what ridiculous vibes are you giving out anyway for people to think that you are married? (dating, okay, but married?).
At this point, I would like to point out that she actually rang my doorbell when Mark and I were on our very intimate, very cosy dinner date last saturday. But that would mean that I’d have to get into that long-winded story and this is not the time for that story.
Several nights ago, I was at their apartment drinking with She and another girlfriend, and we talked about the balloon incident, I was eager to know what Mark had said about it (since he roped her in to blow balloons too). Never mind the fact that she didn’t share anything Mark said about me (assuming he did), she went to describe how insanely hot he looked blowing balloons,while fresh out of the shower, shirtless and in a towel.
My soul died a little bit when she said that.
Yesterday I had the misfortune of sharing a walk with her on my way to the gym. Being cautious, I did not bring Mark up and kept the conversation casual. Did she do the same? Hell to the no. Not only did she not ask me how my date was, but she also went on describe numerous instances of drinks with Mark, motorbiking with Mark, going to the beach with Mark. That’s how I found out that they’d gone partying on Thursday night after he returned from his trip to Shanghai. So let’s get this straight, she relentlessly invites me (phone, email, facebook) to parties and beach outings and what-have-yous with the rest of the italian girls but thursday night drinks with the supposedly awesome neighbour are not on the menu because that would mean losing monopoly over Mark. Fuckety fuck.
I did not tell her that Mark texts me every now and then and that we have insanely cute chat sessions. She wouldn’t understand. Of course you can tell me that readily available sex from the room next door trumps a late night chat, but I could only hope that he can do one of those things at once.
On the plus side, She’s only here until April; on the flip side, she is stoked to be living rent-free (you heard me) in a fantastic mid-levels flat and predictably loves Hong Kong and wants to extend her stay.
I am not naiive; normally I would assign a near-100% probability to the likelihood of them going beyond just sleeping under the same roof. But the fact that she has a boyfriend in another part of the world (selfish twat still wants all the men for herself!) and that Mark seems like he is not a gigantic slut gives me an iota of hope…hope that he will toss her freeloading ass out in due course.
After all, he keeps a good house (sans domestic help) and she broke three wine glasses in one go (criminal!) and he complained to me about it. It is only a matter of time.

2 thoughts on “the boy is mine

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