Alright, there has been a request for more details about the snogging incident. As a side note, I still maintain that "snog" is quite possibly the ugliest word in the English language. But anyways, so there we were, at some strange sort of restaurant that turned into a bar after-hours, forcing people to squeeze in and dance amongst the tables where they could, when we met a group of Irish boys from Cork. I am 100% incapable of telling you any of their names because I could not understand a single word any of them were saying. I'm not quite sure what the problem was - I've been exposed to my fair share of accents over the years and I usually do quite well - but in this case, it was a big, giant FAIL. The minute they opened their mouth, all's I heard was Charlie Brown's teacher: wah wah wah waaahhhh. Me: "I'm sorry, I have no clue what you just said". Irish Boy: "Wah wah wah? Wah wahhhh waaah wah". Me: ????? A couple of them kept trying to talk to me as the night went on, but I was just like "Dude, it's not even worth it."

Which brings me to scarf boy. Who apparently did not care that I did not understand him. After all, who needs words when you can snog? And that is what he tried to do for the rest of the night. To be fair, I did think he was cute at first. And when he asked me to dance just a few minutes after Leyla dared me to kiss someone, I thought "Hey, this is going to be easy". And so, kiss him I did. For a grand total of ten seconds. Maybe I've been lucky, because up until now, I've never kissed anyone that literally disgusted me. I always figured people were exaggerating when they said others were bad kissers. Now, I know that is not the case. The man was a bullet kisser. Did everything you are not supposed to do. And so I pulled away and said "Maybe we should just dance instead". To which he replied "Wah wah wahhhh".

Interpret that as you will.

Luckily, a few minutes later, Elisabeth came up and said she could no longer find Leyla & Mel, providing me with the perfect excuse to get away. They came back with a few Eton boys, and then some more Irish boys were found. Meanwhile, I was avoiding scarf boy (who was circling like a shark) to the best of my abilities. He finally caught me at the end of the night, and since I couldn't understand him, we just sort of stood there staring at each other and smiling stupidly. Which left me wondering how on Earth people fall in love without speaking a common language?

At one point, I understood something that sounded fairly close to "Facebook" and realized he was asking for my name. For whatever reason, I gave him a fake name (which I have now edited out - don't need the poor man googling it and coming across this post) and said "Look for (fake name) from Minnesota - I'm the only one!". Which was a complete lie because there are about a million girls named "fake name" in Minnesota. But I couldn't help myself, he had three strikes against him - he was on the shortish side, a terrible kisser, and oh yeah, I COULDN'T FRICKIN' UNDERSTAND A WORD HE SAID!

Poor ol' scarf boy. Who is either called Fred Claus or John-Paul. Still not really sure....