Foreign Relations

It took me approximately one month in New York to stereotype foreign guys as either total Stage Five Clingers or irrevocable womanizers. This is because I, like most Southern girls who migrate north, often found myself at Pianos, a Lower East Side bar that played amazing Middle School Dance Music (aka 90s R&B) and was always brimming with cute guys. Cute, foreign guys.

Eventually after a few of these encounters I was able to judge, within minutes of hearing a faraway accent, the type of guy he was. If I were to give him my number, I'd either receive a million unanswered texts messages within 24 hours, or after being wooed all night, I'd never to hear from him again. There was never any middle ground.

It was with this hesitation I geared up to be surrounded by "foreign guys" while I was in Berlin. Then it really dawned on me that wait, actually no, I would be the foreigner. (Which taking into account I am rarely if ever considered "exotic" I was kind of excited about. Even if it meant I might be creepy, but what else is new?)

Anyway, after a little of Column A and a little of Column B, when I left Germany I was breezy. I planned to avoid the inevitable horrible long-distance whatevership, and for the first time in a long time (ever?), I genuinely did not give a shit about guys. I had zero desire to deal with the effort and expectations necessary. I looked forward to only focusing on myself. Only looking forward.

Sure I had the best last week I could have imagined in Berlin, but what did that mean? There was an undeniable connection, but how did that make a difference when we were thousands of miles apart? Only forward, I thought to myself.

But then we continued to keep in touch. He said he would come to visit, and he did. We explored my city. We had fun. When I suggested he stay a few days longer, he did. There was no stage five clinging, no aloof game playing. It was perfect.

He's gone now, but we've been in touch. A lot. And there have been talks about potential trips together. (No surprise that I didn't seem to leave my wanderlust behind when I left Europe.)

To be honest, I've been torn about what to do. A million concerns scroll down my mind. My mother's voice racing through my thoughts. The general apprehension I feel toward any guy who boldly professes his interest so early on haunts me. (After hearing the same thing from more than one idiot who was anything but genuine, I just can't believe it counts for much.)

But then on the other hand, I can't help but simply examine the facts: A handsome, smart, passionate, successful, caring, thoughtful Greek guy wants to pursue me. Maybe it's okay to just go with it and see where we end up?

So that's the plan. We'll just see where we end up.

(Cough cough Greece cough cough!!!)

I want to go to there.