Bye Malta, me love you long time, no matter how much you slap me in the face

So to close the Maltese story…

No love no glory ūüé∂ūüé∂

Putting aside the hopes of great holiday love, it was rather fantastic. The sea, the views, the weather. Leo, William and their friends were really nice and funny. I had a good time. However, there were some interesting fails, which I’ve learned to laugh off rather than get frustrated and bitch about the holidays from hell.

First interesting fact is that, out of all 365 days in a year, the Maltese public transport decided to go on strike for one day, which was of course the day of my arrival.

Apparently they have never went on strike before, they just kept threatening for years, but it’s always been resolved somehow. But not when I’m around it ain’t mhmm.

Consequently, William was late but I used my time at the airport very efficiently, accessing the free WiFi and swiping left and right like a crazy Tinder bitch. Let’s just say, the choice in Malta is much more better

William was about an hour late but arrived just in time, cause my fingers started to hurt from all the swiping.

We had to take a taxi and it took us ages, because the traffic jams were horrendous. Imagine, the whole island suddenly having to take their cars out to go to work or anywhere at all.

I booked a hotel which was really close to the clubs but was one of the cheapest I could find. I didn’t expect much but when the description said “studio with a kitchen area” I did expect more than just a metal sink. At least a bloody fridge. But fear not, William and I used a bucket of cold water to chill our alcohol. Camping style. I did have very low expectations about the accessibility of Internet in ¬†rooms, but even the reception area didn’t have wifi. And the reason why I needed wifi so much brings me to another fail.

On my way to the airport, my phone started behaving super slow and I noticed it is asking me to instal an update. Since the bus to the airport takes an hour anyway, I thought it’s a fantastic idea. It wasn’t. After 30 min of staring at “Verifying update” I got super bored and came up with another amazing idea! Why don’t I just turn it off and on again. I know, don’t judge, it was 5am okay.

So this forced reboot during a software update, believe it or not, screwed up my phone so that it didn’t see any SIM card. My plan was to get a ‚ā¨5 Maltese SIM card with 3G and freely enjoy a GPS man hunt. Didn’t quite work out. Instead, I had to steal wifi from bars and restaurants and it just doesn’t work well for meeting guys, men are just too much effort these days, you need a 24/7 Internet access.

Instead, I found a restaurant very close to my hotel and the beach, where I had one coffee and in the next few days just sat outside on the pavement like a homeless gay crack whore, using their wifi. I was very pleased they didn’t turn it off when the restaurant was closed.

Still, my online presence wasn’t fruitful at all. Some all-talk-no-action sluts, some creepy sluts (who sends a pic wearing white undies with yellow stains ffs…), some nice guys who were too busy , some other nice guys who replied when I was already boarding my flight back. Meh.

But I can say Malta is a strange place for gays. A lot of local guys who mostly live with their parents, a few expats who sleep with locals but then fly away, a lot of tourists who do the exactly same thing but fly away much faster. It must be the case in most tourist destinations. However, the only thing you can usually do in Malta as a foreigner is to teach English, learn English or be a tourist.

To close the story in style, my bus TO the airport broke down half way and we had to take a replacement bus. Because it just can’t be easy and simple.

All in all, I don’t know if I’ll ever be back again and even though I didn’t find myself a husband, it was worth going. It just had to be done.


Malta – Sunny All The Time Always Beach Party

Malta vintage map

So here it is, I’m writing a post from sunny Malta. I’ve just decided to sit down on a bench at this lovely little bay because I spotted an uber hot topless boy swimming around in his water taxi, looking for passengers who would like to swim to the other side of the bay.

Coincidentally, his swim-shorts (way too loose, by the way) match my eye colour. We should totally get married. Actually, I am not entirely sure he is a water taxi driver, maybe he just likes¬†swimming around like a peacock / attention seeking hoe. Either way, I wouldn’t mind taking a ride…

As you can tell from my sexual frustration, I did not get laid and I am being very well-behaved. Fml.
Anyway, spotting this hot young man made me realise I really ought to post something on my lovely Around the World in 80 Mens. So, my dear readers (reader? friend I forced to read? paid to read?), here’s my¬†sunny Maltese post!
As we have already established, I am currently in Malta. And just like many countries around the world, Malta has a little romance story of mine connected to it. More than one, actually. But let’s start from the beginning!
It was back in 2011, when I was young and stupid and decided to FLY to Malta FOR A DATE. Because why would I just go to a local Costa to meet a guy who can actually physically be with me, that would be so mainstream. So, I decided to fly to Malta instead. I booked it two days before the flight date, slightly over ¬£250, a rather costly date. But at least I have something to write about on my super popular blog with 3 subscribers (including myself, clicked something by accident and can’t be arsed to fix it).
I found the guy on Facebook. Let’s call him Fred, shall we? He was a friend of my female Maltese friend. Knowing how lonely and messed up I am, she suggested I add him on Facebook, because cause he is gay, hot and single. And so I did! We talked for a few weeks and it seemed we clicked, so I was like, oh let me take a 4 hour flight and go for a date, why not?!

Okay, before you judge me, bear in mind that in the city I live there’s absolutely no one mutually interested in me, so this desperate move was quite justified¬†(see previous posts, nothing changed).

So I flew in to Malta for two days (lol) and he was indeed cute and he seemed to be all over me, which at times was a bit too much. For example, he told me that I am … wait for it… beautiful like a – direct quotemagical creature.

Yes, I am a bit of a sexy gay elf/centaur, ain’t I? A hot gay unicorn mhmm.
I know, I know… I should have know there’s something not quite right¬†the minute he said it.¬†But hey, it does make you feel unique when someone calls you¬†a magical creature! And he was really cute and nice.
Also, I absolutely fell in love with Malta! When booking my flight, I never actually thought much of the country. I’ve never even googled how it looks – it was just about the date. I remember my (embarrassing) shock when I came out of the airport and saw palm trees. I had no clue it’s so exotic. AT LEAST I KNEW IT WAS AN ISLAND.

geography fail 2
It was December, but it was sunny and beautiful. The narrow streets of Mdina, the Silent City, looked surreal, like something out of a Disney cartoon.

I’ve never seen something so beautiful. This was before I went on a road trip ¬†South of France, which cute towns curved in rocks or built on majestic hills also look like a surreal fairy tale. It was my first encounter with such architecture and I was very excited. So excited, my Maltese friend actually told me I should stop “behaving like a fucking Japanese” (bit racist, isn’t it?!), because I was talking photos literally on every corner.

My visit¬†came to an end and it seemed to go well. Fred¬†said he’d like to come over to England in January to see me, he hold my hand while driving etc. etc.

I flew back to the cold wintertime England and a day or two later, I woke up for work, as so many people do. While I was going through the icy pavements towards the office, my Fred¬†messaged me on Whatsapp saying he is actually not interested in me anymore, that he has this thing where he gets bored of people and he doesn’t want to hurt me later on, so we shouldn’t talk. I was shocked and confused, typing dramatically while walking to the office trying not to be late. I will always remember that early winter morning, mainly because I slipped on the bloody black ice and wounded my hand so badly I have a scar to this day.


It bled like hell and a day later it got infected, smelling like a damp room. And it’s not just a scar, no, it’s¬†kind of… wait for it.. HEART SHAPED scar, reminding me not to fly 2000km¬†for dates and that men are unpredictable fucktards.

Soon after this failed Ryanair date, I was determined to give Malta another go. After all, it’s such a beautiful country and I love the Maltese accent. I think it’s second most adorable thing after Frenglish (English with French accent). I found another cute guy on Facebook, so in a manner of a psycho stalker, I sent him a friend request. Let’s call him Leo. He accepted my creepy friend request and we stated to talk. It’s cute cause at first he wasn’t sure I was gay, so kept making references to girls. He played the piano (so very cultured), he was really cute, he was well-read (he could read!) and most of all we shared the same crazy sense of humour. We could share YouTube links and laugh our asses off at things that normal people would find awkward or beyond comprehension. We talked a lot. I remember at some point Leo¬†told me that he talks with me much more than with any of his ex boyfriends. It was early 2012 and we were both busy studying, wrapping up the academic year. I was mainly panicking about my going-nowhere dissertation.

I think it was for Valentine’s Day (or maybe for his birthday in March) that I sent Leo¬†a Shakespeare mug. He sent me his a beautiful copy of his favourite book, Wuthering Heights.¬†I was really excited when he¬†said he will visit his family in London in few weeks so¬†that we could meet. I was really looking forward to it.

Then in March, I flew for a conference in Baku, Azerbaijan and through some strange series of events, I met my Azeri (future ex) boyfriend. It was unexpected. It happened fast. When I went back to England,¬†I had to focus on finishing my dissertation, which was honestly going nowhere. I was convinced I will just fail my degree, I’ve spent too much time on research and not enough on actually writing the crap up. I was used to writing my research papers a night before the deadline and getting As or Bs, but you can’t really do it with a 50 page long dissertation.

So the day¬†came when Leo¬†came to¬†London. And I just couldn’t go, I was too stuck with my dissertation and too scared that if I take a weekend trip to London (5 hours drive), I will just screw up my degree classification. I might have been¬†right, because I ended up at the very borderline of a 2:1 degree. Either way, I¬†was rude and didn’t meet him. Later on, I somehow started dating the Azeri guy, who I already met and who moved to Central Europe. I wasn’t sure if it was the right choice. It just happened.
So now, after nearly 4 years, I am back in Malta. It might have been my recent¬†drama about potentially having cancer, which made me realised that I would really regret not meeting Leo before I die (how very dramatic). I also had¬†another Maltese friend on Facebook, who I wanted to meet and let’s call him William. He was also funny and a very¬†nice guy. But¬†before you think I have some Maltese fetish, I’d like to stress out that William is just a friend, nothing romantic.

To be honest, after I started dating my Azeri bf, Leo¬†also became far from romantic. Somehow¬†our relationship moved from cute and romantic to¬†bitchy and¬†constantly insulting in a fun but mean way. It¬†changed a lot, didn’t even notice when.

drag race

Either way, we’ve been talking online for close to four years and I finally came to visit. He’s actually cuter than his pics. He’s just as nice as I remembered and just as funny. However, he didn’t even hint any sort of interest in me. Can’t blame him, it was me who didn’t drive up to London 4 years ago. And who knows, perhaps nothing would develop from that anyway. But it does make me wonder… Where would my life go, if we did meet back then. To be honest, it made me a bit sad towards the end of my visit. Consequently, also made me look like a boring sad quiet bitch, but oh well.

sad rose titanic

What was particularly sad was that, on our first night out in Malta, he just started dancing with this tall German guy, snogging him and then going to his place for a fuck… I guess I can’t blame him. Perhaps I’m just not attractive in real life.. I know things changed a lot in the past four years. And it seems he hooks up quite frequently and casually… I mean, we all do hook ups, but it just seems he’s really into it. Also, apparently he knew that German guy before, so it seems to be a regular…

It’s weird, because four years ago it was all quite romantic, sending each other presents, and now he tells me stories like “I went down to fuck with this guy but he was weird but at least he had¬†a big dick.” So not sure what else was I expecting.

It just made me very reflective about life and change and the choices we make…

Also, on my second night out we bumped into Fred the You Look Like A Magical Creature guy!! In the past years he became a bodybuilder and did his law degree abroad. Funny thing, because I’ve been told¬†he never goes out to that gay club and he just came back to Malta anyway. Trust my luck. He was quite cute, it was a bit like from Gwen Stefani’s Cool music video, just less romantic and shorter. And me not having a bigass fancy mansion or a leopard print dress.

It was quite entertaining to see his shocked¬†face . He was like “WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MALTA?!” And I was¬†like “I’M BACK!”

That night I randomly disappeared and woke up alone in my hotel room. I must say I did have a black out, but I am sure¬†I know what happened. It’s an old safety mechanism.

I got super drunk, I felt sad and forever alone, I realised the guy I like is not into me and I won’t find any alternative for the night so, to save myself the embarrassment and sorrow, my body automatically goes into a shut down and run home mode. It automatically ends my night out. I just magically get home safely. Like a magical creature haha
I am really quite disappointed because I went out twice and haven’t even kissed a guy.

I had this thing every time I went out to¬†London’s Heaven club, where I refused to leave ¬†without AT LEAST kissing a guy. Once I actually kissed a guy on my way out next to the cloakroom. Purely to tick the box. I feel I should to do the same in Malta.

And Then There Were None


A short but quite hilarious update.

As you may recall, I have recently made some new gay friends, two of them quite cute. I made out with one, but of course it turned out he was moving to London the next day.

The second one, Jimmy, came over to mine for tea and biscuits (how very 1800s) and announced he is moving to France


Off they go!

He also announced that he has a bf! Oh yes, cute Jimmy from the gay club has a bf and was extremely surprised he forgot to mention that before.  “I’m sure I told you!”, he said. “I’m sure I’d remember!”, I said.

I also started talking with this other guy who seemed funny and interesting. We were supposed to meet up for one drink on my Name Day, but after he asked me if all guys in my country have big dicks, cause he knows one who is 8.5 inches, I decided he doesn’t really deserve my time…


Last but not least, I’ve started talking with this guy I knew ages ago, who is cute and finds me attractive and has a sense of humour just as fucked up as mine. We scheduled a date for Tuesday. That was before it turned out he’s voting Tory and thinks immigrants steal welfare and should F off, that Britian should leave the EU and there’s nothing wrong with people like me “just applying for a work visa” … Right, cause that really makes me wanna go on a date with you. He didn’t take my leftist comments lightly. 


I don’t know if there’s something seriously wrong with all the guys I talk to, or maybe there’s something wrong with me.

Name Day Fail


I know I promised a travel post and I will post one shortly because I took a day off tomorrow.

A day off to recover from a Name Day Party, which never happened, so I will have plenty of time to post!

So yes, I was celebrating my Name Day today, “celebrating” being a major overstatement. I did bring a lot of baked goods to the office and everyone loved them. Somehow they managed to eat all the cakes and biscuits, which on one hand meant my baking worked out, on the other I had no leftover stuff to take home and eat during a sudden attack of loneliness and depression. Come to think about it, it was probably a wonderful stroke of luck. Apart from the praises for my stepford wife baking skills, I also received a bit of money and a lovely card with everyone wishing me a Happy Name Day (cute).

Just to let you know, Name Day is the day of your Saint patron, the one who shares your name. It’s celebrated in my country mostly as a way of having two parties in a year and twice the presents, while old people switch from celebrating birthdays to celebrating name days, simply because name days don’t emphasise any number ūüėŹ Name days are not really celebrated in the UK, but I successfully made it happen!

Not only did it happen, but guys at work, instead of the usual singing of happy birthday song, turned on an MP3 version of the traditional name day song, which lyrics no one knew or could pronounce


As you might remember from my previous post, I cancelled on the guy, who I was supposed to go out with for my Name Day. For those who can’t be arsed reading through all my posts (can’t really blame you), the guy was adorable, cute and funny, but obviously not into me, because he kept sending me pics of guys he found hot. Therefore, to save myself from hurt and drama, I decided to stop talking to him and call off the Name Day night out. He didn’t seem to care much

Today, he kept posting Snapchat pics of being drunk and partying without me… Awesome feeling, especially since my Name Day highlights included:

  • A failed hair cut, which makes me look like something between Justin Bieber and Elen DeGeneres
  • Cleaning my apartment in hope of having guests
  • Having no guests
  • Sleeping

Oh well. Whatever.

Where is the love?

Wherever it is, it defo isn’t¬†within a reasonable radius. It’s never been. I really don’t get why I can NEVER find any romantic, passionate relationship with someone who’s around the¬†place I actually live. It’s quite ridiculous. It doesn’t make sense. It’s like a freaking curse.¬†It’s not even funny.

beauty and the beast

I don’t even have an enchanted castle. And if I did, Belle would probably live in some remote village 2,500 km away.

In case you are wondering what triggered this sudden drama, it’s about the guy from a few posts below, the one I like and fancy, but who is clearly not interested in anything more than friendship, the one that sent me a Snapchat touching some random¬†guy’s leg sitting opposite him on the train, with a¬†message “mmm he’s so hot”. Yes, the one I said I’m getting over cause it makes no sense, unless I want to loose any remaining bits of self-respect.

Well, I obviously have zero self-respect, because I kept talking with him on Snapchat, feeding my delusional hope and, WAIT FOR IT, I decided to go out with him¬†for a student party on my Name Day next week. I even took a day off work, cause it’s in a different city. I was even gonna stay at his dorm after the party…

All week I was thinking, that maybe it’s a stupid idea to go out with him, cause he’s gonna¬†look hot¬†and act¬†cute and I will¬†realize (yet again!) that he’s defo not into me. At the same time¬†I will probably realize no one¬†else in the club is. Then he’s probably going to¬†pulls some hunky guy (or two)¬†and leave¬†me feeling shit an drunk. Of course, my delusional side¬†was like, oh but maybe not, I won’t know if I don’t try.

whip yourself

So, last¬†night, he¬†sent me a topless Snapchat from his bed saying “good night”. Followed by one in the morning with¬†a pic of some bold truck driver carrying a box and a message saying “ufff hot” …. Making it quite clear that he’s either a slag or not really interested. Or both.¬†Oh for f*ck sake, what else do I need?

So I decided, again (but this time it’s super final), that I am not going to meet him or talk to him. I am defo not going out with him on my Name Day and wasting money on a failed depressed night out. I’ll buy nice shoes instead.

Also, obviously, it’s September, so there are new students on Grindr! And, obviously, none of them is my type. I did¬†find some new hot guys though, who are just plain dumb and/or arrogant.

no hope

Now, I do apologize for this boring crap, also known as my current love life. I promise the next post will take you to the promised land of my previous relationships, a sensual reflection on the affairs I had around the world, with¬†men and boys of different culture; stories, which ended as unexpectedly and dramatically as they¬†started…

titanic story2

Off they go! WeeeeeEe!

Just as Uncle Geoffrey summarised Bridget’s relationships with men, right in her face, off they go, weeee!


So Andy from my previous post just moved to London, two weeks after we met and a day after we made out. The second guy, his friend Jimmy, just told me he decided to quit his job and move to France by mid October. Just when I thought I made new friends (and made out with one of them). Excuse me, but am I destined to be alone?

In other news, I’ve been sleeping three hours a day and I might soon collapse and die. Can’t wait to grab a drink this weekend. And meet another guy who’s moving out in few weeks.

Making New Friends. And Making Out with Them.

Ok, let me give you some background to last night’s story.

I’ve recently moved to this city, where I only have one friend, who I can go out and have a drink with. He also happens to be gay. He’s a really nice person and I’ve actually known him for years. Most of my other friends here don’t drink or simply moved out to better places. The city itself is sort of creepy and, depending on the criteria, f*cking horrible.
So, creepy city and just one friend to go out with. I shall call him Steve. So he doesn’t sue.

Last weekend I was spending my Saturday night like anyone else who doesn’t have a life – I baked a cake, few dozen of cupcakes and then, at 1 in the morning, I started roasting potato wedges. Suddenly, Steve dropped me a text saying he’s out with some of his other friends in this super creepy gay pub, asking if I want to join them. I was like, maaaan it’s 1am, plus I’m busy frying potatoes.

After a quick thought I came up with the following:

  • The creepy gay pub is just 30 seconds walk from me;
  • It’s creepy so I don’t have to dress up in hope of meeting someone I like;
  • I might as well go for one drink to say hi to Steve and his friends and laugh at the gay creeps, like the evil bitch I am;

So I put some clothes on while the potatos finished roasting and I went out to the pub. At 1:30am. For one drink.

To cut the story short, I ended up clubbing till 8am and bringing three nice newly met guys back to my place for a morning coffee and freshly baked goods.

I made new friends. And they were adorable and seemed to think I’m nice too! God, sounds like I’m 12.

Anyway, I was thrilled I’ll have more than one person to go out with now. Steve is nice but whenever we go out it’s either no one talks to us, cause they think we’re on a date, or Steve ends up hooking up with someone and I have to sleep on the hook up’s sofa (I’ll do a separate post about that one, an epic fail story).

One of the guys who ended up having coffee at my place was called Andy and was half black, the other was called Jimmy and had black hair and dark eyes. The third, John, was tall and quite jiggly. Now, this information is crucial because I don’t usually find white blond guys attractive. I’m racist like that. And by the way, I’m white blond myself (does it mean I hate myself?). Also, coffee and cake are not code words. Nothing happened. I’m classy like that.

So, last night we went out with our newly met friends and Steve’s other friends, so it ended up being quite a big group. Andy and Jimmy were introducing me to to all their friends and they seemed to have already been talking good things about me before, which was kind of nice. Really lovely people.

To sum last night up:

  • I’ve spent too much money and now I will eat pasta everyday for the next two weeks;
  • I got super drunk and made out with Andy, kissing him at the bar and dance floor and God knows where else; it felt good but awkward cause I thought he and the tall guy John were a couple (there’s a chance they are not, though, I’m still confused);
  • Jimmy (who is probably also cute, but who I only see when I’m extremely hammered, so hell knows) was dancing the whole night with another guy and I think I was jealous, but I’m so emotionally twisted that I’m not even sure;
  • I came back home at 5am with Steve, we were extremely drunk but somehow managed to make frozen pizza and pass out in bed. Tomato sauce all over my living room carpet.

And, surprise surprise, the new handsome guy I made out with, Andy, is moving out to London tomorrow. Story of my life.

So to sum up, I made out with a newly met guy who is moving out to London, the other possibly cute guy was hitting on someone else and I ended up home eating frozen pizza with my friend.

I think it’s time I go back to spending weekends baking and roasting potatoes at 1am … It’s safer.

Another one from my favourite He’s Just Not That Into You series

I think it’s time to stop living in denial. One of the very few guys I recently met up with who was both my type, cute, funny and didn’t try to have sex with me on the first day is Just Not That Into Me. Part of me hoped that he’s just busy and/or playing it cool. However, after he messaged me today on Snapchatt, sharing his experience on a train, finding it “hard to cope” with the hotness of this guy sitting in front of him, including a pic of his leg touching this guy’s leg, it’s probably time to stop lying to myself. Perhaps not sleeping with me on the first meeting was not a sign of decency but an obvious lack of interest.

I should have realized a while ago. As it happens, we will be at the same university this academic year and I tried to ask him out for a Fresher’s Week party:

FullSizeRender (1)

I’m obviously the one in green. Like mean girls. Like fucking Mean Girls. Not Danny and Sandy from Grease, not Frances and Johnny from Dirty Dancing, fucking Mean Girls

To be honest it was a bit confusing when he was sending Snapchatts of his chest saying “Look, I’ve trimmed” but I guess it was more like girls comparing their boobs or something like that… Either way, if I still keep having hope after today’s chat, I deserve to die sad and miserable:


But…maybe he likes me but thinks I don’t like him? No, he fucking doesn’t.

I should go to Fresher’s Party on my own like a strong independent gay man. I need to get a grip. I need to look fabulous and not care about all the guys who are not interested. I need to swing from the chandelier.


I will sum up with one of my favourite characters and favourite quotes from Girls 


Don’t you just love GPS

Before I give you some insight into my culturally diverse relationships, let me tell you about me & gay social apps.

Actually, as a person who is not out and tends to live in very religious locations, I met most of my bfs on the gay GPS hunting apps (the fact that I met some of them on gay WEBSITES make me feel like a fossil).

It all started with my friends assuming I’m a horny global hoe. I remember when I went to Pakistan and after coming back my mates were like “omg did you see anyone on grindr?!” The truth of a matter is, for some reason, I didn’t actually think about checking grindr. Maybe I was less of a global hoe back then, or maybe I was just too occupied with daily rituals of putting tons of mosquito repellent and sun cream. Imagine Sex and the City but instead of Abu Dabi you got Lahore, Islamabad and mountainous villages on the road to Afghanistan. I loved it though!

So, Pakistan was probably both the first and last country where I didn’t go online. Who knows, maybe I’d now be happily married, cooking curries and riding my donkey to the local bazar. Or kidnapped by the Taliban, featured in some horrible YouTube video. Actually, speaking of the Taliban, a few years later I managed to find an online U.S. army officer from a base in Afghanistan. He was super hot. Hmm… I might still have him on Whatsapp… Hm… Yes, because that sounds very promising, like all my interactions with men.

Anyway! My friends asking questions about Grindr in Pakistan made me go online the next time I was travelling in business, to a similarly distant country. That is how I met my ex-bf-to-be and started my longest relationship. Both in terms of duration and the distance.

However, most of my Grindr interactions at home go something like this:


Because why would I find any potential bf or a good date living closer than 1500 miles from me.

I have a theory that if I ever moved to New York, London, Berlin, Amsterdam or any other city from the Top 10 Gay Cities in the World, all sensible good looking gay men would just suddenly disappear. Vanish into thin air. Sort of like in Steven King’s Langoliers. Or the Left Behind with Nicolas Cage (horrible movie, by the way).