Now that I’m done establishing that coming home sucks, that people are rude, opiniated assholes (including myself, obviously), and that no one should judge anyone based on their weight – or you know, not judge people full stop (unless you’re one of those people who doesn’t wear socks in their sneakers, we are all judging you), it’s time to get back to what I know best: talking about boys. Since my return home, I’ve managed to embarrass myself twice, fall in love five times, mess with approximately 23 boys on apps, and go on zero actual dates. My friend said I’ll never find a guyif I keep on being such a dick to them, but honestly, when I get to send awkward gifs and really bad jokes, I don’t even want a boyfriend anymore. It is deffoway more fun to laugh at my own jokes, all alone, eating ice cream, desperately trying to get my cat to acknowledge how funny I am. Way. More. Fun.

However, on a slightly less depressing note, I did actually get asked out once this fall. I’m pretty sure he only asked me out because he lives in Amsterdam, so the odds of us actually meeting up are quite slim, but I’m just going to go ahead and count it anyway. I know you must all be very disappointed right now, as you were probably hoping I’d elaborately explain how I managed to embarrass myself twice, but I’ll save that for a rainy day. Sucks to be you. 

Anyway, I met Flying Dutchman (how wildly original) in New Zealand, and we instantly hit it off. Maybe it was because we spoke the same language, maybe it was because we got to talk trash about other people without them knowing, or maybe we just actually got along for no particular reason (just kidding: cheap cider was definitely the particular reason). We kept in touch, always checking if we were actually flirting with each other, and said we would meet up once we were both back in our respective Dutch-speaking countries. When I got back and messaged him, it kinda went like this:

L: Hey, Dutchman, I’m back, want to meet up?
FD: I don’t know, didn’t you say all Dutch guys were arrogant losers?
L: No, I didn’t!
FD: Come on, be honest.
L: To be fair, that does sound like me, yeah.
FD: I do want to see you anyway.
L: Yeah, I figured.

We kept talking, and I said I would love to see Amsterdam. It’s quite stupid really, I’ve seen Sydney and Wellington, but I’ve literally only recently been to Paris, and I’ve never been to Amsterdam. He replied saying I’d positively fall in love with the city, especially since it is full of hookers and bicycles. Does this guy not know me at all? Or does he know me too well? Whores, bikes, drugs, alcohol, art, and boys, I guess there’s worse things in life. If you’re wondering, I’d say: fuckboys, hoverboards, being completely sober, ditto, arts and crafts classes, and well, boys – they’re simultaneously the best and worst thing. 

I don’t know if I’ll make it to Amsterdam anytime soon, but I guess there’s comfort in knowing I’m still dateable-ish to guys in different countries. Maybe the trick is being far enough from them so they don’t have to deal with me all the time, but still close enough so there is actual possibility of meeting up. It’s an interesting theory really, one I’ll probably never research since I’m stuck in Belgium and don’t have enough money to casually go on dates in different countries. Is starting a GoFundMe campaign to find a boyfriend a bit much? Asking for a friend of course.