V Day! May Day!

I spent most of Valentine’s Day running around in the office, and the rest of it in the funkiest place in town ---when you’re lonely and problematic and want to forget the world --- Hibiki! It’s the only karaoke bar in Dubai that offers camaraderie among the regular customers. After a few months of spending our weekends there, we’ve come to love the small crowd of regulars who can really sing. . .
We have waiter Joan (a Filipino guy) who sings Josh Groban (without being asked to, he just keys in his song and no one really protests) while the speakers tremble.
Then we’ve got the fat British guy who sings With Or Without You, and towards the end of the song he uses the instrumental to sings a few lines of Orient Pearl’s Pagsubok. I found myself singing along last night actually. “Kaya mo ya-haaaaan!”
And then there’s this chubby Brit who sings Coldplay and Oasis like he was in his mid 20s. He’s far from being two decades old, I can tell you that.
And then there’s the Indian George Michael. Suave voice, always in a suit, and always reaching his falsetto notes perfectly. With the heavy gold necklace, of course.
And of course there’s us. The group of shrieking brown girls who sing anything from Carly Simon to Shakira to Spandau Ballet to Cher. And then we remember that we have work the next day and abruptly say goodbye to everyone.

Why am I writing about these drunkards on V Day? Because my drunkard wasn't with me. No Guillaume. He spent his V day drowning in whisky with Emmanuel at their flat in Sharjah. He drank and drank until he was drunk enough to excuse himself from celebrating V day with me, which I found very offensive. It's good that I enjoyed singing with the girls, otherwise I would have really let him have it. I told him to just sleep and make sure we'd meet before he left for Paris--- which was today---- or I'd really hate him.
And so I took a carlift to Sharjah to see him last night, and he graciously welcomed me with two bottles of vodka, two bottles of really good whisky, stale cigarettes, and after some time, burgers from (where else) Burger King. This is the point where I roll my eyes and ask myself why I like him.
Anyway Emmanuel brought his friend "Monster", a petite thirty-year-old Indonesian who looked like Ella May Saison but had the energy of Pokwang. She was really funny and I really liked her. She's the carefree type.
And then Guillaume had a little too much to drink for the nth time and explained why he didn't like V day. For him it was a commercial MO, a form of extortion, and not celebrating it would mean not conforming to the norm. Yeah yeah yeah. Monster tried to defend San Valentin, but he was too mashed to argue and too stubborn to concede. And so we left it at that. No V Day for us. He did say that if he wanted to be romantic he could do it any day of the year.
In fairness to him, he was definitely sweet this morning. He asked for my email address and memorized it. And while writing this I'm thinking that maybe there is also something wrong with me. I actually find memorizing my email address sweet. I mean, where are my standards of romance?
Back to this morning. Emmanuel drove him to the airport with me in the backseat, quietly thinking what to make of his vacation, how time apart could help us both, and if he'd really email me and think of me while he's surrounded by his family and friends in good ole Paris. He kissed me on my forehead and waved goodbye. That's sweet.
Oh I hate thinking about it. I don’t like thinking. Where do we go from here?
No one really knows. Guess I'll find out in March.