Chloe G. Wilde - Guys around the Globe

He went on and on, and after a while I asked him whether he had finished with his monologue. I told him that I didn’t want to hear any more about his ex, nor did I want him to compare me to her constantly. He started apologizing immediately, telling me that I was right and that I was incomparable. Yes, I know, you moron. By that point I already had the feeling that everything I said was being weighed and compared to his ex, which is quite an annoying feeling. He had issues with Balkan women in general, to him they are all golddiggers and whores, and inwardly he kept comparing our time together to all of his negative experiences with his exes from this region.

Now you might be wondering how I know what went on inside his head. Well, he didn’t hide the fact that he was comparing me to his negative Balkan experiences, he did it openly, telling me how great I was, that I was different and so on. I won’t go into more details here, because it’s simply stupid. At one point I got so fed up that I told him that if I were a golddigger, I certainly wouldn’t have chosen him. Yes, this was harsh, but he deserved it and somebody had to bring him back down to earth. He replied to my statement with his favorite calf stare.

Above monologue also included the remark “Man ist ja sparsam aufgewachsen”, which basically means that his family was very frugal, careful with money and all about saving money, proper German/Austrian attributes, of course. But the whole phrase itself is extremely annoying to me because of the subject “man”. There is no equivalent for it in English, in French it would probably be ‘on’, it’s the third person singular not denoting anyone in particular, an empty phrase, as empty as the things he was saying. To me, the mere use of this empty ‘man’ showed his narrow-mindedness and limited world-view. It’s difficult to explain this, but for me his statement simply brought back many negative memories linked to my childhood as an immigrant in Germany and it reminded me why I had left the country many years ago. This, however, would be a good topic for an entirely different book, so let’s move on.

The following morning I felt sick, like a truck had run over me, which might have been a psychosomatic reaction to his bourgeois bullshit or simply a cold. We merely exchanged a couple of text messages that day since I had cut the use of this communication channel as I found it quite boring. Given his excessive texting he obviously doesn’t have much work to do during the day and sexual fantasies seem to be his favorite topic, preferably described in coarse slang. What a stark contrast to his proper, square appearance and attire. He frequently fantasized about threesomes with another woman, he kept searching the web for escort girls all over Europe and kept sending me pictures of them, describing in graphic details what he would do to them. It never became reality, of course, despite the freezing temperatures. You find this last remark strange? How odd would you find it if a guy told you that he could not get a hard-on if the outside temperature is above +25C? That’s exactly what he told me at one point and I almost fell off my chair laughing, but I suppose he was serious. Luckily my Austrian experience came to an end before the summer.

We didn’t communicate until the next day (so it’s Tuesday and we’re supposed to leave for the coast on Friday), when he asked me whether I was feeling better. I told him that I still felt like hell, and he immediately asked whether we should cancel our trip to the coast, which I found a bit odd. But at this point everything in relation to him had become odd. I told him that it was up to him if we should cancel the trip, to which he replied that he had just cancelled our hotel. I answered that it was fine with me if that’s what he wanted, and the melodrama began.

He asked me why I was so upset with him (once again I wasn’t upset, but annoyed) and that he hoped that I’d tell him the reason one day, but that he was annoyed now. He went on and on, until I asked him what had possessed him to come up with this imaginary scenario in his head. His only reply was “It doesn’t matter. Forget it”. Which is what I did. He had probably expected that I would start running after him, declaring my endless love and need for him, but he got the wrong person for that. At our ‘reunion’ dinner he had told me that he liked me a lot because I was not as ‘clingy’ as most other women who wanted to get married immediately. But obviously he didn’t believe his own words and obviously he had hoped that I was just bullshitting when I said I didn’t want a relationship. Too bad I mean what I say. Well, most of the time. I deleted him from my life, and two days later I got another text in which he wanted to know whether I was doing better and that he hoped we’d stay in touch. My only reply was that he was obviously crackers, which he blessed with an “ok”.

But it wasn’t over yet, because for the next 1.5 months we were off and on. You might wonder why (and I’m still wondering myself), but the only explanation I have is that the sex was actually very good with him. And it might have gone on longer if it hadn’t been for his asshole behavior and sudden mood changes, for his arrogant episodes. During these episodes he’d bitch about the country he was living in and where he was making a great living (the country of my ancestors), to him Balkans were all stupid monkeys and golddiggers. It’s not like he’s stupid, far from it, certainly no IQ issues there, only some serious EQ deficiencies. I’m not even sure if I would describe him as merely ignorant, but he does have some sort of mental condition, if you ask me. But what to expect from a person who claims at the age of 42 that he learned everything he knows from Asterix and Obelix. Another equally as irritating statement was the straw that finally broke the camel’s back and set a new record: the quickest quarrel and subsequent breakup ever.

We had just started out on a day trip to the coast, he was once again in his ‘I am-a-superior-Arian’ mood and was trashing what is essentially my country. The night before a friend had organized a champagne tasting party at her place, and as Freak and I hit the road that morning, he asked me how last night had been. So I started telling him how we had tried out Serbian and Russian champagne, to which Fritzl replied immediately that it was typical once again how Balkan women referred to anything bubbly as champagne, how they have no idea what genuine champagne is, bla, bla, bla… Basically the same old crap all over again.

First I reminded him how he himself had referred to some weird Austrian bubbly as champagne, and I was about to bring up the Dom Perignon incident, but rather chose to counter using his own weapon, namely blatant generalization. I told him that all Austrians are narrow-minded and have a limited horizon. I have no idea what had possessed him that morning (and thankfully, I’ll never know), whether he was being a complete dick because he didn’t want to go to the coast, but he retorted immediately that we should cancel the trip, that he’d turn around and drive me back home, which I deemed a great idea.

I was seething and couldn’t stand to be around him any longer, so at the next red light I told him that Balkan women also knew how to ride a tram and got out in the middle of the road. The new record set here was the fact that this entire fight took place over a stretch of road of no more than 1.5km! We had just embarked on our trip and managed to end this mindfuck within 10 minutes. Not bad, huh?

And this is how little wimpy aquarius tried to tame the bull, but little did he accomplish. Honestly, there is nothing worse than some moron who acts like a child who didn’t get his favorite lollipop. I’m not being arrogant here, but I’ve been around, I’ve lived in many different places and I’ve seen a lot, so for some little Austrian country boy to start playing games with me and to think that he can get me that way is simply pathetic. I did feel sorry for him many times and I gave him a number of chances, but then I’d remember some of his stupid, derogative comments and I would be no longer sorry. Or I’d remember his pathetic attempts to impress me by promising me a ride in a Porsche or by announcing that he would buy me Louboutin heels for my birthday. Nice gesture, right? That’s what I thought until he added that he would buy them because he was a big fan of ‘bed shoes’, which is Austrian pampa slang for ultra-high heels, and that he wanted to see me in them. All of this might fly with some dumb little maiden from some alpine pasture, and with his kind of attitude he needs to find himself some Heidi who is willing to hang out with him in the Alps, where they can jointly bitch about all those inferior people around them. Amen.