Double-dating drama

"I'm a living dating-disaster!" I blurted out after recounting the whole OG/French Guy situation from the top, and punctuated the affirmation by loudly blowing my nose in the fifth one of the pile of Starbucks napkins I had accumulated on our table for the occasion.
"Hun, I don't know what to say, really, appart from the fact all this is not very lady-like..." was Andy's only answer to my distress.

I should have known he wasn't the best person to get great relashionship advice from, seeing that his love life is even more chaotic than mine. But I figured out, since I had been there to buy him cosmopolitans by the dozen while convincingly repeating that women were an awful species when his last boyfriend left him for a girl, that he was still the ideal candidate when I'd called him earlier this afternoon for an emergency Starbucks session (way too early for alcoholic drinks, I very responsibly thought).

"God, their caramel macchiato tastes like shit after those bloody Strepsils! Well, I reckon that now I've made my own bed, I'll just have to lie in it. Big question being: which bed???"
So, for the second time, we went through all the texts messages I had been getting from both parts since this morning, in the aim of reading between the lines and draw conclusions from the number of "x" at the end of each. The two middle-aged women at the next table seemed to find it tremendously hilarious and I surprised myself by managing to keep my mouth shut and not tell them to go and buy themselves vibrators.

My big problem was -is- that I somehow got my expectations really high regarding French Guy. To the point I was ready any minute to get rid of OG in exactly the time needed to text: "I've met someone I'm serious about. Wish you the best. Bye!" Being a pro at predictive texting, believe me, it's only a matter of seconds.
So, when by 11:30 this morning, French Guy still hadn't called, I sent him a sweet message asking about his plans for tonight.

Before French Guy even replied, (was it Destiny's way of getting itself known to me?), my phone beeped. OG urging me to drink lots of fruit juice and water, "xxxxxx".
It's fair to say I had been playing the not-entirely-untrue 'I'm too ill for that" card, letting him hang in there, at least until I'd figured out how serious things were with French Guy.

When the latter eventually replied, it was to say that he was too knackered from his week-end in Paris to face a night out, and suggested I'd come over for a DVD night in. Point. No "x". None whatsoever!
Pissed off he didn't even bother to send me one when I had let myself go to the point of sending him a full triple-set, I texted OG straight away, assuring him I would be totally recovered from my cold by tomorrow night. Maybe a bit presumptuous to be entirely honest...

Yes, I know, I'm completely neurotic, and happily confess my two main psychotic issues:
-impulsiveness;
-control freakiness which goes hand in hand with over-analysing.

So, here I am. Two consecutive nights. Two hot hook-ups. Two different guys I've already slept with.
Am I ready to push my limits that far? Apparently so.
But I so wish I could just go with the flow without desperately needing to classify them under either each of the following categories:
-hot dial-a-shag buddy
-hot guy to nurse my romantic side with.
( the good thing there beeing that both options can objectively be qualified as hot!)
and without the -completely pathetic, I admit- need to analyse the number of "x". This, and trying to work out what their feelings for me are...

Double-dating is definitely a lot of trouble to go through if you ask, but it looks like the most sado-masochist part of me is very eager to find out exactly how much trouble there is in store.

One thing at a time.
Right now? another Strepsil.
Tonight? French DVDs.
Tomorrow? Argh! Who the hell knows???