Text Etiquette; or, the pandora's box of nightmarish strategy games.

Borrowed from this wonderful post.

Over Christmas, between the leggings-ripping amount of food, the mind-boggingly complicated board games and the hallucination-inducing amount of alcohol, my mind has flitted back occasionally to my current situation with Ben. Read all about it here. In a nutshell, he's gone AWOL. MIA. Behind Enemy Lines. Vanished.

This is not a unique situation. Plenty of people, it would seem, suddenly stop texting/replying to the texts of someone they're dating. This is now the second time it's happened to me. (Remember Spencer?) Putting aside the horrendously cowardly (not to mention downright upsetting) act of simply deciding to ignore somebody, it throws up a new set of challenges - when to text, what to say, or rather, perhaps, when not to text.

Putting aside the obvious faux-pas' of texting someone when you're drunk, (especially if they're losing interest... I have done this in the past...) the early stages of dating someone is always fraught with 'should I text them now? When did I last text them? What should I say? 1 kiss or 2? Big Kiss (X) or little kiss (x)?'* or even, if you've managed to get a little conversation going, 'When should I reply? Straight away or leave it a few hours? Will I look desperate if I reply straight away? Will I seem like I'm not bothered if I wait til tomorrow?' It's a bloody nightmare, and we've only got ourselves to blame.

*Don't get me started on the use of text speak/grammar/punctuation in text messages. The days of limited credit, therefore having to fit everything u wan 2 say in a msg so u nly spnd 10p are well and truly over. We've all got unlimited texts now, right? If it means your message is two messages long to me, because you're using your words properly, good for you. Any guy that texts like a 14 year old girl to me is instantly canned, unless they have redeeming features such as a private yacht. Harsh. Fair.

Now, being a child of the 80's, I don't remember a time when there was only one telephone to a whole street (or some such nonsense that my mum spouts) and 'If you wanted to speak to a lad, you had to pick up t'ruddy telephone and call him, and just be lucky that your sister tisn't listenin' in' (my mum isn't northern, but it adds to comic effect I feel.) But I suspect that actually, this mightn't have been such a bad thing. Do you remember phone calls? Calling your friends and loved ones, hearing their voice? Such a novelty now! The advent of texting (and twitter, email, this all applies) means that while it's convenient to reply whenever you want, in the exact way you want, you get the opportunity, nay, the advantage, of swinging the conversation, ergo the power in the relationship, your way. Like a guy, but don't want to seem too keen? Don't worry about your spluttery phone voice or urge to ramble about your guinea pig during a live conversation - just expertly carve yourself a new identity through the power of the electronically-sent written word. 'Why yes, my grammar and spelling is excellent. No, I haven't replied to you for several days. It's just I'm so busy with my wonderfully busy life, which doesn't involve any rodents, that I forgot about you. Dinner tomorrow? Perfect. I'm not even using text speak. It's so 2003. See you then, [little kiss].'

You've got hours and hours to come up with a witty and flirtatious reply to that cheeky little text he sent this morning. But you weren't using those hours panicking about what to write back, oh no, you were running errands, baking, doing your nails, driving a rally car, and simply 'forgot' to check your phone, or so you imply. Never mind that you spent your entire lunch hour debating the use of the smiley face he put, with your colleagues. 'He might just be smiling because he likes you', 'But who uses smilies anymore! It shows he must be really immature!', 'No, I think it's a sarcastic, pitying smile, look at the way he's written it, just after asking if you have any plans, bet he's saying that you're bound not to have plans, poor you, maybe I'll relieve your loneliness, fake smilie :)' 'Maybe he just doesn't know how to end his message, a smiley is a nice thing to do,' 'No it isn't, shut up Janet.'

And so on.

Texting is dangerous, and not very conducive to a new relationship. We also get told conflicting advice all the time. One of my good friends is a champion of the 'treat 'em mean keep 'em keen' approach - never texts after the first date, and always waits at least 24 hours before replying. Another friend favours the honesty method - reply when you want, text him when you feel like it. Not too much, but don't be a bitch about it.

Both of these methods have their advantages. Playing the game, as it were, keeps them on their toes, and yes, the cliche is true, if you act a bit uninterested, it will probably keep them interested. I've done a scientific evaluation* of my male friends and they all agree, in the early stages, they get annoyed with girls who are too willing/available.  BUT. If you back off too much, a) it's exhausting and b) they will probably think that you actually don't like them all too much, and will move on.

*Conducted in my local pub using the scientific method of 'banter'.

Being yourself, or rather, texting back soon-ish, when you actually want to, can work well because they see that you do like them, and it just makes the whole damn thing so much easier. However, again, if you start getting too familiar over text, texting every day, people get claustrophobic and pull the plug.

What to do? It's a nightmare. I bloody hate it. Why can't everyone just text people when they want to, be honest, and for god's sake a phone call every so often won't hurt. Talking to people is nice. Remember that nice voice they had on your date? You can hear it again if you call them! Have a little conversation, away from the Qwerty keyboard. It's great. A bit scary, but great. Same rules apply though, don't keep calling every day. One of my housemates is seeing a girl who used to call him up to randomly talk about something she just saw, etc. This is lovely, if you're actually together. If you've been on 2 dates, not so much. It's all about the boundaries - unfortunately, they constantly shift and change, and people are very different. Working that out is half the fun.

So my current problem, with Ben, is that after our (excellent) second date, I have text him twice, to no avail. Between dates 1 and 2 we texted upwards of 30 messages to each other (so my phone tells me). We had some good little conversations. I feel I had the right balance of texting back soon-ish, and waiting a day or so. At the end of Date number 2, he said, I quote, 'we should text more.' The next day, 24 hours after our date (again, a good amount of time, I feel) I asked him what he was doing for friday night. No reply. Wednesday, so 6 days after our date (again, playing by the rules here, no crazy stalking) I text again, hinting about meeting up again. Zip. Silence. The cold, agonising, deathly march of silence.

I'm still trying to work out what it all means. It's very possible he simply doesn't like me that much, but that means that not only have I massively read his signals wrong (the kissing! All of the kissing!), he's also a coward for not replying and saying something, anything. Even a simple, I'm not sure where this is going, or, I've met someone else, will suffice. Nothing. He also may have lost his phone - but he could contact me on tastebuds, where we met, and drop me a message. He's logged in since. (It tells you.) No message. I also (slight stalker here but blame technology again...) found him on facebook, since I know his surname, just to check... well, honestly, just to check there were no condolence messages on there that might hint he's been in some kind of terrible life-threatening accident. Luckily, thankfully, he seems fine. I didn't add him 'cos I'm starting to get the hint, but interestingly, and weirdly, we have a mutual friend. It's tempting to coax his backstory out of her. I WON'T. But damn you, technology, for being so frustrating.

Honestly, I think I'm just going to have to let this one go. It saddens me no end. If our dates were a bit 'meh' then I wouldn't be so bothered - I've phased many people out who I liked but felt no real connection to. But this felt... different. He seemed more into me than I did to him, and I was quite into him. I'm very very surprised this has happened, if I'm honest. Between dates 1 and 2 he checked THREE TIMES to make sure date number 2 was on. THREE. So who knows. Who bloody knows. I won't text again. Probably.

What's your stance on the Great Text Debate? Are you a Treat 'Em Mean, Keep 'Em Keen-er? Do you hate all technology and prefer the good ol' fashioned love letter? Have you been on the end of a crazy text stalker? Have YOU committed the cardinal sin of text-shunning somebody? Do tell. We're all friends here.

A second Very Good Date; And the ensuing silence.

After my first date with Ben, which went very well indeed, a clash of schedules (Christmas is a busy time!) meant that we couldn't have our second date until exactly 2 weeks after the first. We had been texting quite a bit in between though, so the gap didn't feel like it was a problem.

We met at Embankment and walked over the Hungerford bridge (totes pretty, I love the Thames at night) to the southbank, and discovered that the German market was on. Amazing. We had a little wander down looking at all the pretties (our dates keep seeming to have a German theme - strange) and had some mulled wine as we walked, which was needed because it was absolutely freezing.

I was a bit worried (I worry too much, evidently) that the first date may have been a fluke somehow – that we had so much to talk about because we were both a bit nervous, and maybe the second date just wouldn’t live up to it. Or that we’d talked about everything and we’d be sitting in silence. However, we were chatting away in no time and everything felt just as comfortable and natural as before. Phew!

I was also a bit worried that maybe between the first and second date, I’d built him up a bit too much in my head and when I’d meet him for the second time, all magic and attraction would be gone. Luckily, this was not the case. Still as cute as ever, still had loads to talk about, lots in common, and absolutely one of, if not THE nicest guys I have dated in 2011. Ending this year on a high, definitely.

Eventually we headed down to Strada (one of my fave places to eat around that area) and after a little wait for a table, headed in. So far, so good. I had picked the location (Southbank at this time of year is always a failsafe) so only fair I pick the restaurant I suppose. Dinner was lovely, had quite a bit of wine, chatting away as comfortably as last time - the first date was definitely not a fluke.

We talked about all manner of things, as you do – even touched on the subject of my ex. Now. I don’t usually like talking about Robert (or Edward, or any of them really) with guys, especially ones I really like. But he asked me why I went to the Uni that I did, so, as I’m an honest (sometimes too much so) person, I just said the truth – that I didn’t get into my first choice, and my second choice was the one that Robert was going to anyway, so I put it, and got accepted. I touched briefly on how/when we broke up, the cheating, but honestly didn’t want to talk about it too much. He seemed fine with it though, didn’t physically recoil anyway, and was talking to me about it. I also talked about that period of my life in general, and some bad things that happened; but he actually asked me questions about it etc, so it was fine. It was only afterwards that I slightly regretted talking about it (you never really want to talk about things like that with your date do you?) but I suppose the wine just got me talking. That and I felt so comfortable around him that I guess I wanted to open up. He seemed genuinely interested and cared about what I was talking about though so I’m pretty sure he wasn’t weirded out.

In fact, he didn’t scarper straight after dinner, he asked if I wanted to get a drink somewhere else so we headed to another bar until closing time, which was nice. It was about 11.30 and I had work the next day so realised I should probably head home! We walked along the Southbank back to London Bridge (further than we thought!) in the wind and the rain but despite getting a bit rained on it was lovely – and he stopped to kiss me a few times which was all very romantic and wonderful - things that just don't happen to me.


Eventually got back to the tube and said our goodbyes – again with several kisses, tee hee – where we realised we probably wouldn’t see each other until the week between Christmas and New Year at the earliest,  as he was going home a few days later. So agreed we should do something then, after I mentioned that I’d be back in London around then. After we realised it would be a while before we would see each other, he said ‘We should definitely text more, I feel that we don’t text enough!’ Which, coming from a guy (sorry guys) is nothing short of miraculous! Amazing. In my opinion, we were actually texting a fair bit anyway, but he obvs wants to up the game. This I fine. This is better than fine.

So we parted ways, I was drunk and happy (hooray) and went home to bed. The next day was Friday, so I text him that evening (as he said we should text more!) to ask him what he was up to, and say what I was doing. Just a general chit chat casual message. Normal. One kiss. Good punctuation. All that.

What happened next? Nothing. Abso-bloody-lutely nothing.

It’s now Thursday (1 week since the date) and I haven’t heard anything from him AT ALL. What’s the deal? If he hadn’t have said about the whole texting-more thing then I wouldn’t be too bothered (although still, no contact at all?) but he specifically said, let’s text. Let’s text more. Let’s do more of the texting thing.

So, I debated a long time over whether to text again – after all, he was busy that weekend, going home, seeing friends, he may have forgotten to reply. Erring on the side of optimism, I decided to text one last time, yesterday afternoon. My message was essentially, Hey, you’ve been a bit quiet, are you enjoying being at home? I’ve got my Christmas Party tonight, hurrah, let’s try and meet on the so and so of December if you’re in London?

Still nothing.

So. He’s either lost his phone and can't contact me (unlikely, facebook exists), has been in a terrible accident (hopefully not…), or evidently hates me. I can’t fathom a reason why he’s suddenly ended all contact otherwise.

Thoughts/opinions would be gratefully received. I really like this guy and would love to see him again but perhaps it’s over before it even began…

Possibly the greatest first date of all time.

At least I actually wore shoes.

Last week, I got a message on Tastebuds. This isn't a rare event, I get them a lot. This one however, was normal. No weird quips, gags or strange questions. Just a hello, how are you, fancy going for a coffee? Also, the guy was hot. And I mean, I actually sat up in my chair and said 'Well hello!' out loud, hot. This, does not normally happen.

I replied straight away. Of course. We had a few back and forth messages over the space of a couple of hours, seemed to have a lot of things in common, swapped numbers, and arranged a date. For the following Thursday. So far... so ridiculously, incredibly easy. Did I mention he was hot? He was hot. I couldn't actually believe my luck. We shall call him Ben. He suggested a German bar near London Bridge, unless I fancied something else. No, I love the Germans, let's do that. Perfect; he had suggested a place thus taking control, but also left it open in case I protested. Tick.

Thursday came. It was pouring it down. I was wearing stupid brogues with a lace panel in them (like so) so I had wet feet by the time it came to the date. (I didn't reveal I had damp feet throughout the date. I've learned this is not acceptable first date talk.) We met at London Bridge station, and when I finally spotted him over the mass of umbrellas, he was giving a foreign couple detailed instructions on how to use the Jubilee line. Waiting patiently to say hello, my first thought was not 'Hurry up it's raining', it was 'Oh look at him being all polite and helpful, that's so lovely, <3 <3' and other teenage thoughts. Seriously.

Said foreign couple scampered off and we said hello. Did I tell you he was hot? Hot IRL too. Even avec umbrella. We walked down Borough High St and came to the destination, which I'd never even heard of - but it was great. A barely-noticeable door leads down into what is essentially an underground, bright, jolly, German themed pub. Wooden benches, german beer, barmen in lederhosen, the lot. I have no idea what it's called though, I was too busy staring at Ben's wonderful face talking animatedly about bands we both like. Turns out pretty much every festival I've been to, he was there. We like all the same music. Talked about work, annoying housemates, snowboarding, cancer (note to self, stop talking about cancer on first dates, FFS), films, Uni, the woes of not being at Uni anymore, many other things. He bought the drinks, we drank them, before I knew it, it was 9.30. Literally been chatting for hours and didn't even realise. He suggested moving on to somewhere else, so we did. I did not want to go home, whatsoever. Also, side note, why do people suggest moving on? It's not a pubcrawl. I have no problem with it, I was just cosy, and frankly didn't want to go out in the rain. Interesting.

We went on to some sort of chain pub down the road, had another drink (I bought this one, only fair) and carried on. Genuinely did not feel like a first date, we had so much to talk about. I remember somehow getting on to the subject of best ever Playstation games and talking about FF7 for a while. He seemed staggered I could converse on such geeky topics. If only he knew. Amazing. Threw in a bit of Metal Gear Solid for luck too. (Both equal, best ever Playstation games in my opinion.)

Basically, the date could not have gone better, given my past luck in first dates through Tastebuds. He walked me back to the station, and there was kissing. Oh yes. And this time, not strange, first date awkward kissing, but a proper, decent, I think I just died a bit inside kiss. Not too intense, but there was effort there. Essentially a very good first kiss. I was a bit giddy. This could also be due to the fact that I was indecently drunk - 3 large glasses of red wine on no dinner. He gets a slight minus point for getting me drunk. Actually, no, he doesn't.

We parted and I half sauntered/stumbled/glided on to my train, no doubt with the most sly, drunkard grin on my face. Best. Date. Evah.

The issue next, of course, was if/when to text, and if there was to be a second date. There MUST be. There's no way he could not have also felt we really clicked. I text him the very next day (Dangerous! But it had to be done) and said I had a lovely time, etc, let's do it again. And he replied. And agreed. Said we 'gelled'. Yes. Yes we did hot man.

I left it over the weekend, then realised on monday that the only free night I had for 8 solid days (blame Christmas party season, and unfortunately a funeral) was the very next day. Do I text again requesting a drink that soon?! I didn't want to let it slide. So I did.

And he bloody didn't reply for about 12 hours. MASSIVE PARANOIA.

Turns out he left his phone at home. Gah. But he couldn't do that night anyway, so we've rearranged, for exactly a fortnight since the first date. I shall inform in due course. I'm feeling good about this one (can you tell?) and super worried I will somehow balls it up. We shall see. Argh.

The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy.

Since setting up this blog, and my twitter, I've realised I've entered quite a large community of dating bloggers; I didn't realise there were so many out there! It's been quite a journey of discovery.

One interesting situation presented it to me; a fellow online dater/blogger DM'd me on twitter, a male no less. I had originally thought dating blogging would be an exclusively female activity, but it appears not. He asked if I fancied going on a date; at first I was wary (not knowing his face or name - where did this feel familiar from?) and questioned whether he genuinely wanted to date me, or whether it was just material for his blog. And also, surely it would be weird, going on a date together, knowing we were both to be written about, their real feelings bared to the world? Neither of us could be completely honest, surely? The whole point of my blog is that I can be candid about the people I meet, with no worry that they will see it because it's anonymous, and hopefully no harm is done. Etc.

However, he finally convinced me, and I agreed to have him Rate our Date. That probably gives you a clue as to who he is (I guess the anonymity goes out the window here, but it's a mutual agreement).

As I had some catching up to do with my blog still, it was going to take me a while to get to the point where I could blog about him, chronologically. After a couple of dates (and reading his posts, which were, thankfully, lovely) I realised I didn't actually want to write about him. I knew I wouldn't be honest, so what was the point? Knowing he would read it would skew my opinions and generally make the whole thing useless. And never quite knowing if the dates were real or just feeding the blog. Or was the blog feeding the dates? It was a strange, cyclical, self-fulfilling prophecy I was faced with, and frankly, my life is complicated enough.

So why am I talking about it? I guess just to address the weirdness of this whole dating blogging thing. What happens if I meet someone, as is the whole point? Do I stop? Do I keep writing behind their back? What if they find out and hate it? I don't want to hurt fictional future boyfriend's feelings. Do I come clean and say, I've been doing this, but I'll stop because I really like you, here, read it, or do I just quietly let it slide? Or even, delete the whole bloody thing?

It's a difficult situation. One which I'll cross when I (hopefully) come to it.

It's funny though. Doing this has made me realise that even though I'd rather not be single, I'm finally starting to enjoy it, after 4 years. 2011 has been a year of many dates (I never dated, properly, before this year) and I've met all kinds. I've also realised that while my life is not perfect, it's pretty good, surprisingly, and it's been so long since I've shared it with anyone that I'm not sure how to actually do that anymore. I'm such an independent(mostly), confident(ish) person now, how would I cope with the sudden shift of having to think about someone besides myself for once? Being in a relationship is great, but what if it means I can't wear *that* dress anymore? One would hope that your partner would never dictate things like that, but I just don't know. Am I actually ready to be not single yet? It's a scary thought. It's been so long, I'm quite used to just being by myself, going out when I want, being with who I want, whenever. I think it'll be a really strange transition.

So while I'm not going to blog about my dates with Mr Rating, they were nice. Lovely. Not weird. You know. He's a great guy, not sure how much I like him yet, but I'm not one to give up. 3rd date will probably happen.

Will that do?

This must be how it feels, When the feeling goes.

Nobody mentions the side effects of leaving the country are more than just slight sunburn...

At this point, the end of September, I'd been on about 5 dates with Spencer, and things were looking great. I really liked him, he was easy to get on with, and above all he was pretty damn attractive.

(Don't berate me for saying 'above all.' No-one can deny that this is important. You can have an amazing connection with someone, but if you don't fancy them, well, that's the end I'm afraid.)

As I mentioned in my last post, I went off on holiday for 2 weeks. This was to prove the end for Spencer and I.

It's funny, because at this point, I told my mum about him. I was on holiday with her you see, so it seemed a natural conversation. The difference in our generations never struck me as much as when she said, 'Oh so you've finally got a boyfriend then?' Well, no mum, actually. 5 dates does not a boyfriend make. She couldn't fathom it; in 'her day', you go out with a guy a couple of times, and you are 'going out' with them, logically. Hence, they are your boyfriend. It seemed such a simple time! Now it's horrible who-texts-first dramas, seeing someone, dating someone, sleeping with someone, being with someone, and you might never call them your boyfriend, ever. It's bloody exhausting.

So I said, no, he's not my boyfriend, just a guy I've been seeing for a few weeks, and I really like him. Cue mother talking about 'Oh you might be able to spend New Year's with him!' and all sorts. Cue me slipping into excessive cynical mode and flatly denying it might ever get to that point. Which, in all seriousness, it might have never. There were a few things about him that I didn't click with, etc. But by this point, my mum was berating me for putting my walls up, 'getting down about everything again'; (this is not 2007, mother), and 'just be careful that you don't put out negative vibes and put men off. Maybe that's your problem.'

Christ. Pass the sangria, will you?

Anyway, mid way through the holiday, I text a couple of my friends to say hello, and also Spencer; asking how his week had been, the usual. He replied gloating about the weather (it was that insanely hot week in September, I had missed it, fortunately I was on an equally hot Turkish private beach) and such. I replied again. All fine, no alarm bells, nothing. I was looking forward to seeing him again, and secretly was planning my next move; i.e, maybe I should invite him over for dinner, watch a film, see if he wants to stay over... you get my drift. This is a big deal for me. I haven't had sex in 3 years. It's now been so long that I think I've stubbornly sworn to myself that it will not be a one night stand. I hate them anyway. And this level of non-self-inflicted celibacy has seemed to have become something symbolic; to be ended only when I feel it ought to be. And so forth.

So I had decided he was to be the lucky boy to break my streak of drought. He knew the day I was supposed to be getting back from holiday, so I was a little surprised when he hadn't contacted me after a couple of days of me being back in the UK. Nada, nothing. After 4 days I finally cracked and sent a short message, something along the lines of, How are you, can't believe how cold it is in the UK now (ie hinty hint I'm back), that sort of thing. Absolutely nothing.

I didn't hear anything from him for a week.

By this point I was frantically asking any female within 10 metres of me what the hell I should do. Text him again? Ask him what the hell was going on? Facebook stalk him? Maybe he's lost his phone? Maybe he's met someone else? Maybe he's had a terrible accident? Oh god what should I do?!

I did what any girl does in this situation. I watched He's Just Not that Into You, taking fervent notes.

Turns out, if a guy's not texting you back, He's Just Not that Into You. If he never complimented you, He's Just Not that Into You. If he never invited you round, or introduced you to his friends, He's Just Not that Into You. If he's still friends with his long-term ex, he's probably, very, Just Not that Into You.

So, I decided to cut the crap and just text him, asking him, with a little irony, hey stranger, where have you been? Fancy a drink this week? PLEEEEAAAASE?! (I didn't add the desperate please.)

Nothing. 2 days later, he finally replied. 'Hey, sorry I haven't got in contact, while you were on holiday I sort of got back with my ex and now we're together again. Sorry. Would be really cool to still meet up for a drink as friends though?'

Gah. My gut feeling was right all along. There was something more about that damn ex of his. And do you know what, I was way more upset about it all than I thought I would have been. Perhaps because this has now happened to me THREE times in my life (guys getting back with their exes), perhaps because he was the first guy in three years that I actually liked. Perhaps I just don't like getting my ego bruised. And so, the drought continues.

Also, I was a bit angry at how much of a coward he'd been. He'd clearly just been ignoring my text because he didn't know how to break it to me. Well, I'm sorry, grow up. Don't leave me hanging and worrying, it's not fair. I thought it was hilarious how he wanted to meet up as friends too - I'm sure his girlfriend would love that!! I told him as much, good luck with everything, goodbye.

So we're pretty much up to date. I wanted to hibernate forever after that, but decided to a) delve back into online dating and b) set up this blog. Time to start blogging in the present I feel!

On the Brink; or, That Elusive 4th Date.

So after a weekend of thinking about Spencer (quite a lot) but not texting him (it's that old chestnut, who texts first? Do you go straight in or do you play it cool for a few days? So many questions), he finally messaged me and asked if I wanted to meet up again. I did, I did!

It was so nice to look forward to, not dread, a second date, and be excited and nervous at the same time. I hadn't felt that in so long; that awkward, scary feeling when you still don't know someone properly but really like them.

Our second date was a few drinks at a cocktail bar; which turned into chinese in China town. Spontaneous but I really liked that he suggested it. It was really pretty walking along under the lanterns, the food was great (but felt so full, way too much to eat!) and he offered to pay too, which is always really lovely, I do like being looked after. We chatted more about our families, ambitions, things like that, and we sort of skirted into the issue of his ex girlfriend. I think we got onto the subject of what he did last Christmas, and he said he spent it skiing with her family. I did the whole concerned, 'oh, so why did you break up in the end?' thing (If he brings up an ex, you can't ignore the issue, may as well strike) and turned out he was with her for SEVEN years and they ended up just drifting apart. "Oh, but we're still friends, I see her every month or so."

Do you now? Hmmm. #alarmbells

I have no issue with anyone being friends with an ex, to a point. But I also know that when you have been with someone for 7 years, and you've been broken up for 7 months, and you're still friends, there must be some feeling there. For both or either party. I kept my silence but it did niggle at me.

After that we had a little wander down Shaftesbury avenue, held hands (!), had a few (a lot) of kisses, generally feeling quite giddy and happy. The holding hands was a big deal as I hadn't actually held hands with a boy I'd liked for... years. It struck me as a strange feeling until I realised that fact; the reason it was so strange was because it was alien to me. Like driving again after not driving for 8 months; you know what to do, but it's weird. An actual boy was holding actual hands with actual me, and meaning it. It was nothing short of a miracle, I tell you. Could this be it? The beginning of something really exciting?

We texted a few times, and then arranged another date the following week, this time to see a film. 3rd date territory was new to me, I'd only ever got to 2 dates and it was clear I wasn't interested. We saw Rise of the Planet of the Apes (hilarious film, not terrible, but quite ridiculous) at Leicester Square Empire - if you've ever been there you'll know it's a great little cinema, really small intimate screens. I could tell he was trying to edge over to kiss me during the film but I relented - nothing against him, but really, I hate kissing at the cinema. It just feels very teenage-y, and besides, I actually want to watch the film! I don't like kissing in public (too much) at the best of times and if a couple are getting off in front of me, it annoys me. So I was kind of skirting away, ha. Afterwards we went for a few cocktails, but as it was a wednesday I had work the next day so had to leave early-ish. But another successful date, really enjoyed being with him.

The question now, which I still don't really know the answer to, is when does it move onto 'this is the guy I am seeing'? 3 dates still feels like you've only been on... 3 dates, obviously, but at what point does it move to 'I am spending lots of time with you, therefore you are more than just a guy I'm dating, but you're not my boyfriend yet because as far as I know you are dating other girls.'? It felt like we were just moving into this territory. The dates were going well, the 4th date was very similar (we went to Zizzi's, had a walk along the southbank, lovely lovely) and it really felt like it was on the edge of something; like the next few weeks would tip it over into 'officially seeing each other' category.

The problem was, I was about to go on holiday. I've got friends who have been seeing guys, then they go away, and when they come back, because they haven't seen them, everything's weird and wrong and one or the other has lost interest. It's like starting a fire, you have to look after it a bit and feed it and stoke it otherwise it'll go out. Unfortunately, I was about to go on holiday right at the point where it could go either way with this guy.

There were a few things not right. First of all, outside of our dates, we wouldn't really talk that much, except to arrange more dates, which were religiously once a week, it seemed. A few texts here and there but not a lot. He wasn't very observant (didn't notice when I had my hair cut! Boohoo), didn't really ever actually compliment me, and our conversations were fine but not particularly deep or groundbreaking. He had only just moved to London, so it was down to me to arrange where to go on dates, as he didn't really know anywhere. This in itself was fine, but I would have liked if he'd gone, let's go for dinner, I'll have a google and see what's good. Just once, at least. Also, the fact that he'd only just moved to London gave me a thought at the back of my head that, a guy in his early 20s just moving to London, perhaps doesn't want to meet someone in the first month of him being there. Maybe he wants to play around a bit. Who knows.

So we saw each other the day before I went away for 2 weeks, and he texted me the night before saying have a good time, see you when you back, etc. So far, so good, right?

Right?

Some Late Summer Excitement...

A mere two days after my strange and ultimately fruitless date with MyLifeYourHands, life took an unexpected and exciting turn. I met up with my cousin, who was down in London for just a day, for some drinks with her and her friends. I'd never met her friends but when I turned up, it turned out they were all boys. One boy in particular, was V hot. Vee vee hot.

We were all chatting, and I was telling my cousin about my recent dating tragedies - the unfortunate live tweeting of the last date, and the man with the penchant for hair pieces. I was saying that it felt near impossible to get dates in London, the normal way (what is the normal way), which was why I was doing online dating. In real life, in bars, wherever, I just don't get asked out, ever, I was telling her.

"I'll take you out." Said hot man.
I laughed - yeah right.
"No seriously, give me your number, we'll go out."

*angels sing*

And this is how I met Spencer. He had only moved to London 3 weeks prior to this, and was genuine in his wanting a date with me. He wanted to get to know London - and have someone to do it with, I suppose. That someone could be me!

We spent the rest of the evening chatting, mildly flirting, and when we all walked back to the tube we hung back and walked together. So cute, so teenage-y. I was loving it. Actual male attention from someone outside of the internets! I'm not a loser! I'm vaguely nice to speak to in real life! Other dramatic statements!

A few days later, I got a text from him, asking if I wanted to go on that date? Hell yes. Spencer was hot. Sort of rugby-type (not huge and muscley, but nicely built), light brown hair, funny, from Bristol (ie good accent), worked in finance. CHING. I joke, I joke. I would have actually preferred if he had a more creative profession(he wasn't creative in the slightest) but then I always go for creatives and they're all jerks. This is me trying a new approach, remember?

As he hadn't been in London very long, he said I should pick where to go as he hadn't a clue. Now, I usually prefer if the guy picks, at least on the first few dates, because, being a tad old fashioned, I like to be impressed. Plus you can tell a lot from someone by their date choices. But, I forgave him, because I remember what it was like to be new to London. I suggested the Southbank, as it's one of my favourite places, and you can't go wrong with the choice of restaurants there.

This is another thing - I think I've mentioned before that I don't like having a meal on the first date. But, because I'd already met him, and really fancied him, this felt fine. Strange, I thought. But good. We ended up going to Strada - we both liked Italian and it's a good location, right by the bridge.

We had to hang around for a table for a while, being a weekend, but it was still warm at this point, and we had an outside table. It was a really good date. The right amount of awkward, I felt relaxed but also was really in to him.

The one thing I'd say was that conversation wasn't as in depth as it had been with Mylifeyourhands for example - but perhaps he was nervous. I like to have random, or quite deep discussions on dates, but this felt like we were kind of just skirting the surface. Not exactly lots of awkward silences, but we weren't stumbling over each other to speak. Perhaps I analyse this too much though; as has been proven, great conversation and interesting anecdotes do not a great date always make.

After dinner we walked down the Southbank, over Westminster bridge and found ourselves a lovely cosy pub to continue the chat. It was a really good first date, and I loved that I'd met him offline, as it were - such a rarity nowadays. It was nice getting to know him from scratch. He'd graduated the year after me, was enjoying his job although wasn't exactly what he wanted to do (he didn't know what he wanted to do), he was living in Balham, commuting out to Epsom - slightly annoying for dating in central London but nothing major. He'd been travelling and had some great stories, and he seemed to be enjoying London. I liked telling him about what I do; he seemed genuinely interested even though he didn't really 'get' graphic design etc.

All through the date I was thinking, yep, definitely going to kiss you at the end. Definitely. No two ways about it, I really fancied him. And amazing that I was even considering it - all my other dates I'd been on, ever, I was never that bothered. Or just plain wasn't attracted to them by the end of the date so didn't want to. And we did, and it was perfect. Everything you want a first date kiss to be. I was grinning from ear to ear on the train home, was actually so happy! I texted my best friend and told her the news, hoping and hoping that he'd want to see me again. Maybe, for once, this was actually going to go somewhere...?

The Guardian Columnist; Round 2.

Neither of us are as beautiful as these cinema-loving smiley people.

After our previous date, I didn't hear anything off MyLifeYourHands for a few days, until he texts me one night asking if I want to see a film the following evening. He had been invited to a press screening (glamorous lifestyle, jels) so wondered if I wanted to be his +1, and was I free? Yes I was... so I agreed, and then asked what film it was. Probably should have asked what film it was first, in retrospect. Turned out to be Friends With Benefits - you know, the one where the impossibly and depressingly beautiful people Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis agree to be fuck buddies with hilarious and poignant consequences. Ho ho ho, retch retch retch. But, I'd already said yes, and, I secretly enjoy terrible romcoms. A lot.

Actually, the film wasn't half bad. It was quite self-aware, knew that it wasn't breaking any new ground, had a funny, fresh script and made me laugh. I generally hate seeing romcoms on dates (oh the pressure), especially if there are sex scenes - I think I'd rather watch a sex scene with my parents than with someone I hadn't yet, but potentially could have, but you're not quite sure if you will, had sex with. Minefield. Field of mines.

It was fine though. He didn't do any lean-y over, hold-y hand shit during it (although didn't even attempt to... sulk), in fact he seemed slightly more interested in his phone. And this continued throughout the date actually, which perhaps should have set off more alarm bells than it did, but perhaps I am naive, or gullible, or just not as observant as I should be during a date with someone who writes about dates for a living.

It sort of went like this. He took a call straight after the film, from his editor or some such, (which is fine - phone calls are allowed...) and then apologised and said he had to tweet about the film for a bit, as that was his end of the deal for seeing the film for free. Fine, I said, no problem at all, especially as he explained there was no signal in the screening room and he was supposed to tweet throughout the film, so he had some catching up to do. Aha, that explained the phone checking.

Between the tweeting, our conversation was as engaging and interesting as ever, and I had a good time. We went on to a nice pub, had some nice wine, etc etc. I assumed the phone activity would stop after a while (how much can you talk about Justin Timberlake? Jeez) but it didn't. One minute we'd be talking quite animatedly about some topic or other (orange juice I think was brought up at one point) the next he'd literally trail off mid sentence to check his phone.

Most people would probably be like 'Yo, dude, what's with the phone?' (if they were ghetto), but I am not ghetto, nor am I particularly brave in social/date confrontations. What was I supposed to do? So I sort of ignored it, after all - it wasn't particularly annoying me, he seemed fairly interested in what we were talking about, but at the same time thinking, well, I can't say anything, otherwise he'll write to all his Guardian readers (there are a lot) and say I was some kind of whiny phone-hating orange-juice loving romcom-cynical short irate blonde girl. Or something.

Like I said, the actual date, minus the phone situ, was great again, but I quickly realised he definitely didn't like me - and that I was just someone available for his +1. Which was fine, really - I have been on many dates, you don't want to marry them all. The phone usage confirmed this to me. So imagine my surprise, my shock, when at the end of the date, he went to kiss me. I know! And, because of this confusion, it turned into a weird side of mouth kiss, then cheek kiss, and oh god he did actually try to kiss me and I didn't kiss him because I thought he hated me but he doesn't and wtf boys are WEIRD.

I got home, and check twitter. This is a usual thing, just as a pre-bed, oh good the world hasn't ended, I can sleep, sort of thing. This is my main twitter account I'm referring to by the way, not my @SingleGirlStory one - I hadn't started this blog back then. And what do I discover as I scroll through the past few hours? Mylifeyourhand's tweets are quite frequent tonight. Very frequent. He's talking about a date. He's talking about OUR date. LIVE. That's what he was doing! He wasn't just talking about the film, he was discussing me and the things I was saying! With his scary Guardian twitter followers! This was not in the contract. I was fine with being written about in the column (as was clearly not going to happen here, and never was) but this was live - and, by very virtue of twitter, conversational. I usually have no problem with strangers listening to my musings (case in point, this blog) but on my terms. Not secretly! Argh!

If he had said beforehand, listen I have to live tweet our date, I would have been a bit, hmmm... ok, and I would probably have been fine with it - I understood his column totally and was quite willing to be part of the circus of it. I would just say, can you let me know what you're writing or let me know when you're tweeting, so I don't think I'm boring you; or, more importantly, I wouldn't have said all these stupid off the cuff kooky things that make me look like a crazy, in the first place. Not so cute now is it, single girl? All these things you were saying to what you thought was one person, but was actually about 2 million! (Slight exaggeration. I don't actually know how many followers he has. More than 10. Less than a million. Probably.)

He said some nice things, yes, I won't deny that - something about my shoes matching my glasses (totes intentional, er.. yeah) and how hot I am (may have made that up) etc, but also berated me for drinking my wine too slowly (it's a worknight, I'm not an alcoholic?) and also twisted a couple of things I said - I assume to make it more interesting for his followers. I recall the hashtag #shouldIbeworried? being used.

Oh yes, you bloody well should. Fuming, was I. He hadn't referred to me by name, or twitter handle, at all, which was good obviously, but it was more the fact that I seemed to have been used for entertainment for his twitter followers. As far as I could tell, I was only good enough for a second date if various people throughout the land could all get involved and share and discuss my quirky conversational strategies. Fail, utter utter fail.

Anyway, reading through, he also tweeted about the disastrous end of date kiss, admitted it was disastrous (thank god) and asked his followers whether he should text me now to apologise or wait til tomorrow? This was weird. Should I just watch and wait and see. Should I just text him so taking the decision off his hands? And why was I stuck in this vortex of weirdness? Why?

I figured I may as well text. I didn't want to launch into an angry text tirade (I wasn't that angry - just a little shocked I suppose) so just went for the softer approach - said that I've just seen your twitter, I didn't realise you were live tweeting, that's why I didn't kiss you because I didn't think you were interested. And yes the kiss was weird but if I thought you liked me I would've kissed you back. Maybe next time. Or something along those lines. He replied, apologised, the usual. The end.

I went to bed in self-annoyance and a little alcohol-induced upset, cursing my bad luck with these strange men and strange dates, and cursing this stupid hellhole people call 'being single'. It's bloody difficult, that's what it is!

The next day I woke up and I was fine. Silly me.

I'm still confused as to why he tried to kiss me though - because he can't have liked me that much if he was tweeting about me - but I guess I'll never know. I was annoyed at him for a while but I forgave him because I think he is actually a nice guy; just perhaps got taken in by the power that his column gave him. And I got an amusing story out of it too, didn't I? Maybe he was forced into doing it and felt guilty and that's why he kissed me. Aren't boys strange?

Moral of the story: Don't go on dates with boys who write about their dates. I realise this is ironic. Maybe, don't go on dates with boys if you know they write about their dates. Ignorance is bliss.

The Intriguing Case of the Guardian Columnist

From the rather fab Sell! Sell! blog

After the non-disaster-but-still-failure of Phillip, I cooled off the ol' dating for a while. I was getting increasingly despondent about the lack of decent guys anywhere; and what messages I did get, all seemed to be sent by idiots. Here is a small selection of the gems I received:

"Crumbs... you're a bit of a cutey aren't you!" (Are we in the 1950s?)

"Well, I had said I'd stay away from sweet things this year, and then I went and messaged you!" (Delete.)


"i spy with my little eye a mcfittie" (This sent from someone who's profile picture was him with a beard of foam.)

"Hi" (Genuinely, that was it. Not even a full stop, let alone a 'how are you'.)

"Hi !" (See above.)

And many others along those lines. Good for making me laugh, not good for making me not single.

Over summer I just focused on work and friends and having a good time really. I don't really get approached in bars... ever. It's weird. Not that I particularly want to be hounded, but it would be nice to get some attention. Still. Never mind.

So late August-ish, I wasn't really looking, but an interesting proposition popped up. I had been following the My Love Life in Your Hands column in the Guardian for a while, and also had been following him on twitter too. Along with some 'helpful' tweets from a friend, we struck up a rapport and in no uncertain terms I suggested, hintedy-hint, that I was single, he was looking for dates, nudge nudge. Anyway, if you're unaware of his rather charming column concept, every week he had a decision to make, one which the general Guardian readership made for him. One week, it was chosen that he join the dating site DoingSomething.co.uk, of which, lo and behold, I was also a member of. After a cryptic twitter DM, asking that he might need my help, he sent me in the direction of his profile.

Now. By very virtue of his chosen profession (anonymous Guardian column writer), we had agreed, theoretically, to perhaps meeting, before I even knew his real name, let alone what he looked like. To protect his identity (and the fact he still operates behind the My Life Your Hands name, and that I bear him no ills) I obviously won't tell you his real name, or anything really else about him, that isn't important to the story. So we shall just stick to calling him MyLifeYourHands, akin to some kind of robot-droid name from the future.

I'm pretty relaxed about writing all this though, and I'm sure he is, because of course, a clause of me dating him would be that he would write about me. How the tables have turned! I ummed and ahhed, but thought, why the hell not. It was anonymous, after all. Also, I'm a slight attention seeker, being a Leo, so, I would get to say that I'd been in the Guardian! Sort of. Aha.

However, all was not as it seemed. The next message from him (slightly edited, it was a tad long) went along the lines of...

"I have a slight problem insofar as that I have some work coming up this week and it's playing havoc with my column deadlines.
Basically, I need to make sure that I've got someone to go out with as a result of signing up here sometime this week, so that I have a story to write whilst I'm away.
What would be amazing is if I could use you as my safeguard in this whole thing. Someone that I can rely on if I don't meet someone on here 'naturally', as it were.
I know that is an obscenely horrid ask - not to mention desperately unromantic - but, as thanks for being my back up, I promise I will definitely take you and buy you drinks, regardless of what happens.
I'll happily answer any questions, I've got nothing to hide so I will be totally honest and upfront with you
What do you think? Could you be prepared to sign on for that?"

My first thought was, gee, he doesn't even want to actually date me, for me, at all. It's just fodder to fill the column inches. I am NOTHING (dramatic swoon). But then I thought, as is typical to me, I shall prove him wrong! I shall go on a date with him and it'll be the best damn date he's EVER BEEN ON! And Guardian readers will all be like 'Oh em gee this girl is amaze!' (All Guardian readers are from Essex in this story.)

And, in his defence, at least he was honest. He didn't have to be honest at all. Seeing as he wrote an anonymous, albeit nationwide-ly-published column about girls, without telling them, he didn't have to tell me. So, I agreed.

It turned out that he was speaking to two other girls on there too, so I needn't have been his backup in the end anyway. And, in turned out that the Guardian readers, in their wisdom, picked me for him to date anyway, so all wasn't as bad as it seemed: http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/poll/2011/aug/25/my-love-life-in-your-hands  I'm the 'one with the cutesy screen name'. It's not that cutesy! =/

On Doing Something, there's this cool little feature to 'Spin the wheel of date', which picks your date venue/activity for you. Actually really fun. Our spinning brought us Tea and Cake at the Coach & Horses off Greek St - I love tea. I love cake. Good times.

So the time of the date arrived. I was very nervous. Admittedly, he wasn't really my type from the off - his profile picture confirmed that before I met him - but, he wasn't unattractive. And I'd learned recently that 'my type' is probably the 'wrong type' anyway. The date was actually reeeaaally good. We had great conversation, talked about anything and everything (from male strippers to the perils of old age) and generally had a lovely time.

Here is what he wrote about me. He refers to me as Rebecca - that's not my real name. My name is much nicer. Not that you'll ever know what it is.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/poll/2011/sep/01/my-love-life-in-your-hands

So there. A glowing, however short, review. I do like being referred to as 'spiky and sardonic'. I might put that in my email signature.

I wasn't sure if there was loads of chemistry, but enough, and we could definitely be friends, potentially more, if I could get over the nagging feeling I was being used for literary hilarity/killing time. It struck me (and he sort of alluded to it on the date) that he was getting tired of the endless procession of dates and pressure to always have something to write about. And, as was well documented on the column, he had already met someone he really really liked - she was just in a foreign country, and he had obligations to see the column come to a natural close. BUT, we had a lot of fun. I worked my ass off trying to prove that I could be more than just 'back up'. So, I did hope we would have a second date. Time would tell....

Read Round 2 here!

Same Story, Different Guy.

Bonjour catastrophe-loving followers! Hope you all had a good Halloween? I did - but I can't share until I've caught up with all my dates so far. Can't very well do things out of chronological order can we? That would be totes confusing.

Photo taken from here.

So, after the utter disaster that was Cameron Huntingdon and his wig wearing ways, you'd think I'd have been scarred for life on the whole online dating front, right? Well, no. Bravely, I decided to march on, even after metaphorically taking a huge hit on the front line.

Also, I'd already arranged a date with another guy before the wig horror, so I couldn't really back out. But MAINLY I was taking a huge hit on the front line.

This is one of those stories that isn't particularly a disaster, just a classic dating story. I met Phillip* on Tastebuds, as per usual, and after a few messages and liking the look of his profile picture (he only had the one... I should have been/am now always wary of people with only one picture) we agreed to meet for a drink. Learning from the last date, I didn't factor any dinner into this equation - a drink usually means an easier way to escape. Also, I'm not a fan of dinner on the first date with someone you've never met before.

We had a lot in common, it seemed; he too was a fellow creative type, and ran his own review website. We liked similar music too, which is always a plus. I decided it would be nice to meet along the Southbank - perfect first date ground; lots of people to watch, loads of options for food and drink, quite romantic (Thames and all) but, selfishly, really easy for me (and him, actually) to get home from!! Ha. We met at the BFI - They have a bar on the top floor with great views of the Thames, pretty cool.

I was meeting him after work, running a bit late. Finally got there and met him - I had a sly check, pretty sure he wasn't wearing a wig. Check. However - he was tall. Reeeeaally tall. Probably my fault for not checking his profile properly, but he was about a foot taller than me. I'm not a midget - average at 5'4" - but he must have been over 6fit, definitely. I like guys to be a bit taller than me, but anything over 6ft I don't feel comfortable with. I don't like being constantly looked down on, or having to stand on tiptoes to kiss, and - this is generally speaking - taller gents usually appear on the lanky side. Now, I do like a skinny guy, but tall and skinny - not really my cup of tea.

Never mind, I thought, lets not rule him out yet. It's not on looks alone! He was not, however, as attractive as his profile picture, and I realised later this was probably because his picture was in black and white. Everyone looks better in black and white. I should have realised this. He did look mostly the same IRL, but he had a tad bit of the spotty face going on (not judging - just saying - I get spots too) but that's really hard to be attracted to when he's not ticking all the other boxes. I was genuinely disappointed. Le sigh.

Despite my shallow observations, we had a really lovely date, had a few drinks, walked along the Thames, then went for some cocktails in a cool bar elsewhere, and got on very well. Really well, I can't fault him, he was lovely company and I felt very relaxed and at ease. But - and here comes the cliché - there just wasn't a spark. (We'll probably discuss the spark another day - I'm not even sure it exists.) I wasn't staring at his face, eager to get to the end of the date to kiss him, nor was I daydreaming about the next date. He was a really nice guy, and I could definitely have seen myself being friends with him, but there you go. What can you do? There just wasn't the physical attraction, and, no matter what anybody says, no matter how amazing someone is, if you don't fancy them, then there is probably no romantic future.

However, at the end of the date, he leant forward to kiss me, and I - taken by surprise, but also hoping maybe it would provide a breakthrough (I so wanted to like him) - kissed him back. I didn't pull away because I wanted to know, once and for all, if there was going to be a spark. Anything. But no, in fact, the opposite. I walked away feeling a little bit... grossed out. THAT'S not supposed to happen when you kiss someone, is it?! He wasn't a terrible kisser, it was just.. not right for me, at all.

Anyway, I relayed this to my long-suffering friends, and my housemate, in particular, came out with the p-bomb: "You're way too picky!"

ME? Picky?! What? I... didn't believe her at first. Surely not - I can't help it if I didn't feel anything for the guy! My gut was telling me he wasn't right for me, but I was so worried that maybe I am picky - god help me - that I listened to her convince me to go on a second date with him.

"You might learn to like him", she said. And then regaled me with the tale of her current boyf, who at first she didn't like that much at all but now is madly in love. Humph, I thought.

Anyway, I listened to her, grudgingly, and when he text me again asking me out, I agreed. At first, actually, he asked me if I wanted to go round his house for dinner - but that was super alarm bells. a) I had previously learned he still lived with his parents, but apparently he had a 'free house', hence the dinner b) nobody calls it a free house anymore, not since we were 15. c) We all know what he was after d) he lives proper out in the 'burbs of Greater London and frankly, I couldn't be arsed.

So we met for a drink again, in a pub this time, and again, the date was fine, but I just couldn't find it anywhere within me to like him romantically. I tried, honestly, but sometimes, things just don't work out. He walked me to the station and I quickly realised - quelle horreur - that he was going to kiss me again. I did not want to. BUT - you can't not kiss someone on the second date, if you've kissed them on the first date! Surely.

I admit it - I panicked. When he zeroed in for the kiss, I sort of pulled back, said something along the lines of "No... er.. sorry..." Or some such other nonsense. His face said it all - pure disbelief/pain/horror. Oh god. I said 'bye and ran away.

All the way home I felt sooo guilty - I should have just explained, listen, I really like you, but just as friends, that sort of thing. Not recoil in disgust and run away like a weirdo when he tried to kiss me.

I texted him a week later, after Easter, to see how he was etc, (was feeling a tad guilty) but no reply. I genuinely would have liked to keep him as a friend; I don't know a huge amount of people in London, and he was cool. Alas, he has never spoken to me again.

This kind of story seems to happen a lot to me - they seem to like me, I just don't feel anything back. Do you ever get things like that? How do you know how you feel? Are you scared you're a bit too picky for your own good? What if you'll never feel anything for anyone ever again?! (OR is that just me?)

And the moral of this story? Always trust your gut, and ignore friends who think you are picky. You are not picky. You just know what you want. Probably. Maybe.

My First Dating Horror Story; The Crazy American, Part 2

And so, on with the story! Read Part 1 of this comedy of errors right here.

You might remember we somehow ended up in Starbucks. I'm not one to be defeated early (oh no) so we sat down and got chatting. I had realised early on that even though he said he was American, his accent was... strangely not. I asked him why this might be. "Oh, it's a really complicated story, I'll tell you when I've had some caffeine in me."

He drinks his soy latte. (Ew.)

"Well, basically, my parents got divorced when I was young, they lived in America, my mum moved back to England and I went with her."

Gosh, that WAS a really complicated story, I'm so glad you had your caffeine fix to help weave your way through the intracies of the situation.

So we carried on chatting, quite interesting conversation, this and that, but I'd already decided pretty much that this was going nowhere. I wasn't really attracted to him (especially his crazy hair) and he seemed to be trying way too hard to come across as a bit bohemian/kooky/creative.

I asked him where he lives - he literally pointed out of the window and said "there." Wow, you've arranged a date 20 seconds from your house. I've had to travel 35 minutes to be here, and a further 30 minutes to get home. This is going well. He asked me where I live, so I told him, describing it as 'south of London Bridge' when I was met with a blank stare.

He then starting SINGING 'London Bridge is falling down.' SINGING.

I was like, "Er.. yeah.. that's the one..."

Christ.

By this point it was about 8,15pm, and I was thinking of ways I could escape. The lateness, just got out of bed look (he clearly obviously HAD just got out of bed), the weird hangover excuse, not knowing the clocks had gone forward, the nil-restaurant happening, Starbucks, having no money to pay for Starbucks and the singing, had all added up to a big fat GOD HELP ME. Uncreatively I just said "Well... it's getting late, work tomorrow, you know, I'd better go..." To which, he, incredulously, asked if I wanted to sleep in his roommate's vacant bed. How well does he think this is going?! (Side note: He was at one of those american-style Uni's somewhere in London where they share their bedrooms, hence roommate. So he was basically asking if I wanted to sleep in the bed next to his, on a first date.) I, baffled, said, no, thanks, still with the getting to work issue... you know...

I was quite prepared to be out until 10/11pm in a nice Mexican restaurant drinking wine, but no, I was in some form of Starbucks Hell so the evening had to be terminated quickly. He walked me to Kings Cross Underground, thankfully, a full 3 minutes away, and I said the usual (but completely untrue on this occassion) "Well, I had a lovely evening..." He then went a bit quiet and asked, "Is this not good?" At first, in horror, I thought he meant the date - had I hurt his feelings with my fairly transparent brush off? Was he going to suddenly demand my reasons for not staying later, or - horror - not staying in his room?! I obviously looked confused because he asked it again, but this time pointing at himself, his head.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

And with a tug at his hair, he pulled it off. It was a wig. HE WAS WEARING A WIG. Underneath, there was his normal hair I'd seen in his photos.

Spluttering, disbelieving, I asked why the hell he was wearing that?! "Dunno, bought it yesterday, thought it was quite cool, might wear it tomorrow" he said with a grin.

I literally waved and ran down the stairs to the tube.

The whole journey home I couldn't believe what had just happened - not only the wig, but the whole evening. Was it a joke? A set up? I'll never know, but it was pretty fucking weird. I started to feel a bit sorry for the guy - was that his way of being a bit different and impressing someone? Who knows. Who cares, to be honest.

When I got home, I had a message - "Underneath my real hair, I'm bald, and underneath that, I'm a robot hahaha!"

Delete.

My First Dating Horror Story; The Crazy American, Part 1

Time to continue where I left off; and this one's a good 'un. Just what you need for a cold and rubbish wednesday (halfway through the week, hurrah!), this is perhaps my best worst dating story so far. I'm doing everything in chronological order, and it's just as well to get this out of the way early.

Sometimes I can't actually believe this happened to me. But it did. I'm sure it'll end up as one of those London dating myth stories but it's completely true, and I die a little every time I tell it. But tell it I must.

The 'Crazy' American, Part 1.

So, we established that MSF hadn't worked very well, and my early attempt at Tastebuds wasn't brilliant when I asked the wrong guy for his number....

I hadn't given up on Tastebuds though, so I carried on searching, favouriting and messaging. Sure enough, I was chatting to an American guy, we'll call him Cameron Huntingdon* (His actual name was even more ridiculous, if you can believe it. Quite cool but also.... ridiculous.) Now, we'd only messaged a couple of times and suddenly he was asking me out! Well done, I thought. Quick off the mark. I assume Americans are much more forthcoming and confident about dating - dating is quite an american concept, I'll admit. He was a student, and 2 years younger than me, but he looked cute, kind of emo, short dark blonde hair, skinny, so I thought, lets give it a go. It's only a few years difference. So we arranged to meet one monday, near King's Cross, at 7 by a Mexican restaurant. So far, so good, I was quite excited on going on my actual first online date.

It got to about 6.55pm, and I called him because I couldn't find the place - it's one of those where there's little hidden streets behind streets; basically I just couldn't see it. He didn't pick up, but sent me a text shortly after saying "On my way, didn't realise the clocks had gone forward, sorry phone battery about to die."

Um. Two things here: first, the glaringly obvious one: You didn't know the clocks had gone forward?! This was the day after they had gone forward for British Summer Time, so a good 36 hours after: have you not watched the news? Listened to the radio in that space of time? Secondly: Your phone is about to die? Really? After we'd planned this date, surely you would remember to charge your phone. I know you're a student but come on... really?

I text him back saying Ok, but I can't actually find the place? He replied saying it was behind so-and-so, and eventually I found it. I was standing there for a while, until someone approached me... I didn't realise it was him at first because he looked so different! His hair was much longer, and it looked like he'd dyed it (badly) black. Plus he looked quite gaunt.. I like 'em skinny but he was almost that I could probably snap him. Not great.

So we said hello (got approached by a crying lady selling Big Issue, we gave her money, awkwaaaard) and I said "Soo... shall we go inside?" pointing at said Mexican restaurant.
"Oh.. yeah, I went out on friday night... feeling quite hungover so don't really feel like a drink..."
(I'm thing, well I DO. I'd quite like a glass of red actually!) "Oh ok, well... how about a coffee or something?" STILL thinking we would go inside lovely, welcoming Mexican restaurant for coffee and dinner then.
"Yeah cool, there's a Starbucks just round the corner." He said.

Starbucks. Brilliant. I get all nicely dressed up, with LIPSTICK and everything, and you propose to take me to Starbucks. Starbucks is where I go when I'm out shopping, or in the morning if I feel like it before work. Not on an evening date, surely? I'd let you get away with it if we were meeting at lunchtime during the week, definitely. But even on a Saturday lunchtime I'd be disappointed with Starbucks; take me to an independent cosy coffee shop anyday. But on a weekday evening? A pub, surely, at the very least. PLUS it wouldn't be so bad if I thought it was Starbucks all along. I wouldn't have bothered with mascara on my lower lashes, perhaps I would have stretched to only a light lipgloss. But I thought we were going to a restaurant! A fun, upbeat, Mexican restaurant!

"Ok, yeah sure." I said.

So in we walked to Starbucks. He seemed reluctant to walk to the counter... but perhaps he was doing an awkward, stuttering version of 'ladies first.' Perhaps. I ordered a skinny cap, of course, he got some kind of crazy soy latte concoction. He offered to pay for said coffees, "Why, thank you," I said, thinking, damn right, I wanted wine you weird, 4 day hangover-having person. He got out his wallet. He had all of £3. "Oh it's ok, I'll get these, no worries" I said. Thinking: a) you shouldn't have given your money to the sad homeless lady b) actually you should, and you should have enough to spare for a drink let alone a coffee! and c) this is the worst date ever.

I don't expect the guys to pay for the whole evening; on the contrary, I get a bit embarrassed. However, first drink, yes, I would quite like that to be bought for me, just to show your monetary prowess and impress me a little. No I don't live in the 19th Century. Yes, I wish I did.

Was I expecting to end up in a Starbucks next to Kings Cross, buying this lowlife waster student with terrible hair a soy-fucking-latte on a monday night? No.

So what happened next? I shall tell you. Subscribe or follow me on twitter and I'll reveal all in due course...

Update: Read the horror of Part 2 here. 

Starting at the Beginning; entering the world of online dating.

Image taken from Company.co.uk

Earlier this year, as I mentioned previously, I was cajoled by well-meaning friends into joining some online dating sites. At first I joined mysinglefriend.com, but the sheer size and scale of it put me off slightly; I just didn't get any dates there. It seems the majority of people don't pay for their accounts, and thus can't reply to your beautifully crafted messages... ever. Isn't that so annoying? At first I thought it was because I was doing something terribly wrong, until I realised that everyone seems to be there passively. Most people have a fear of paying for dating sites (me included) as it feels a bit like 10 degrees left of prostitution. Right? Or is that just me? Anyway. I prefer dating sites to be free, or at least with a hefty free joining period... even though you do get the weirdos on the free ones. It's a tough call. I may dip back into paying sites in the near future.

So, having no luck on mysinglefriend (despite my friend's wonderful description of me), the bountiful sphere of twitter (using my real-life account, which you cannot know, or I will have to kill you) pointed me to a few more boutique-style sites, and one particular caught my eye - Tastebuds.com

If you're not on Tastebuds, it works quite simply. It's linked to your last.fm account (you can use it without one though) and you just list all your favourite bands/musicians, as well as the standard 'about me' stuff. Then not only do you search for the type of person (age, height, smoker, bla bla bla) you're looking for, you also see who matches your music tastes. Simple, right? I've long held the belief that it's impossible to date someone who you don't connect to musically, even on a few levels. No matter how hot you are, if you think the epitomé of musical genius is N Dubz, we ain't going anywhere.

The Wrong Housemate:

After a few false starts (one guy messaged me calling me 'sweet cheeks'.  I mean, come on. This is not the 1950s. And my cheeks aren't that sweet. They're quite fleshy.) I ended up chatting to this guy called Mark*. Mark was hot. He seemed nice. I had actually seen him on mysinglefriend too, which led me to message him saying 'hey, I saw you on MSF too. Whaddya know?' Kind of thing. Turns out most people are on most sites, but that was cool. So we got chatting, and he mentioned that they were doing a 'Tastebuds takes back Valentine's' night at Zizzi's, which looked ace. A tenner for free cava and nibblys, and chance to meet other members. Ace, I said, I'll see you there.

Looking back, he was possibly just being friendly, as it took him a few weeks to reply to some of my messages, and he kind of skirted the question of going for a a drink. So yeah... kind of not interested, but I cleverly ignored that and plunged in headfirst. When I say cleverly, I mean stupidly.

At the event itself, I went with a friend from work (who was a veteran in the arena of online dating) and we had a lot of fun actually. Although it was kind of 80/20 girls to boys. I spotted Mark early on (fitter in real life, wahey) but was way too scared to talk to him. You must know - I'm generally a confident person, until it comes to approaching boys, then I turn into a jelly mess. I'm getting better though. But yeah, I didn't approach him. Suddenly, I was approached by another guy. Oh well, I thought, I'll chat to this dude for a bit, then go and find Mark.

This guy, Paul* we'll call him, was lovely but I just wasn't attracted to him. At all. However, bless him, he was really trying, so when he asked for my number... I basically said yes. WHY. I was too nice, and too drunk to think properly about consequences or to let him down so I just thought I'd take his number then forget about him. I should have just said I was interested in someone else. Because I was! Fail. Anyway, Paul got my number. A few sentences later and I asked what made him join Tastebuds? 'Oh, my housemate joined so I did too, for a laugh.' And he motioned over to Mark, who was standing close by. Er... what. You mean... fit Mark? Mark is your housemate?

'Yes.' Shit.

NOW WHAT. I can't very well say 'excuse me while I ditch you for your friend' but that was essentially my plan. In the end, I sat back down with my friend (in an attempt to unceremoniously ditch Paul) and re-hone on Mark. Paul sat with us. Bollocks. But then... aha! Mark sat with us too! Yays. I spent the rest of the evening getting wasted on cava and shuffling nearer to Mark. As we were leaving, I finally plucked up the courage to ask Mark for his number. It went like this:

"So... just wondering if I can have your number?"
"I don't think that's really a good idea." And looks pointedly at Paul.
Me: *scurries/runs away like my life depends on it*

Literally scooted out that restaurant as fast as I could. SO embarrassing. I think I even did the face in hands thing as I ran away.

I can only assume that Mark didn't tell Paul I asked for his number (whereas Paul must have told Mark, judging by his parting comment) because Paul proceeded to text me a few times. As I stated earlier, I'm a nice person (read: cowardly) so I didn't want to lead him on... but wasn't entirely sure how to say 'Yeah, I fancy your housemate, actually.'

But, he only seemed to text me at 3am on a saturday morning. Literally. It got a bit annoying, because he was clearly only texting when he was drunk. Awkwardness all round! In the end, I called him up on it, asking why he only text at that time? He didn't really answer. Eventually, he asked me out, and I was annoyed at his late-night texts waking me up so I just said, look, actually I quite like Mark. Sorry.

I don't think he replied to that. Mark, surprisingly, never replied to the last, grovelling, sorry-I-asked-your-friend-for-his-number message I sent him either.

And the moral of the story is: Don't give your number to the friend of the guy you actually like. It *might* give the wrong impression that you're actually a bitch.

The Story of a Single Girl; or, how this blog came to be.

So. I've been umming and ahhing about whether to start this blog for a long time. A few of my friends were all in favour of the whole anonymous blog thing - I have some amusing stories that they agree need to be set on the world. These will come, never fear. But, at the same time, I'm quite a busy girl. I already have my own website/blog (it's not huge, it's not famous, it's often neglected, but I won't share it as I obvs want to remain anonymous!), a full time job, a busy social life, and actual dating to fit in, let alone writing about the actual dating.

However. I've always felt that writing was very cathartic to my woes, and it's quite nice to start something new, fresh, secret and exciting to channel my thoughts into. The anonymous thing is quite exciting (I feel like I have a big secret!), and it also means there's less pressure, and no preconceptions that I feel I should conform to when writing. If I wasn't a graphic designer/creative, I probably would have gone into the writing/journalism side of things anyway. In short, words are good to me. I'm not putting any restrictions on myself; I will blog as and when something exciting happens. That might mean I blog 3 times a week, it might mean there is radio silence for a month. Never fear. I'm probably just swearing off men for a while.

The downside of trying to keep this anonymous is that while most people like me who date will share very similar experiences, anyone who knows me in my 'real life' and stumbles upon this blog may very easily work out who this is. We'll see. Hopefully they are nice and don't rumble me in public. I want to be anonymous more for the privacy of the people I date/have dated/been with, rather than myself.

Here's your backstory about Single Girl:

I've been single for just over 4 years. Christ, I think to myself, nearly every day, that's a heck of a long time. Then I do that mental chalkboard wipe thing and plaster a smile on.
My last relationship ended very badly, in 2007. Very very badly. We were together for about 2 years, and when he broke up with me, out of the blue, he admitted he had cheated on me over the past year with 3 different women. (I later wondered if this number was actually higher, but realised that wasn't actually the point...)
It took me a good year to get over it. Sometimes I'm not entirely sure if I ever will get over it, entirely. First love and all. I struggled with lots of dark things, and being at Uni didn't really help some of those dark things, but in other ways, being at Uni was the best place to be. But in the end, I came through, and was happy again.
Then I fell into the trap of sleeping with one of my closest male friends. Let's call him Edward. At first it was just fun and he helped me get over my ex, (we'll call my ex Robert) but I quickly started falling for him and he... didn't reciprocate. In fact he carried sleeping around with other women (he was one of those) and it all got very very messy. In the end, I told him that I loved him (fail) while in bed with him (more fail) and he said he 'didn't want a relationship.'

1 month later he was in a relationship. Not with me.

Woe. Despair. Crumble. Funnily enough, we still talk every so often, as friends. I'm not sure I ever let on how much that hurt me, to his face anyway. I see his girlfriend when I see him. She's lovely, and I don't hate her at all. (OK maybe I hate her a bit. But for completley unfounded reasons. The best girl won and all that.) This was just under 3 years ago.. and since then I've graduated, moved back in with my parents for a year, finally got a job in London, moved out of home again to London, started dating in London. Incidentally, Edward and girlfriend also moved to London at around the same time. So yeah, I still see him very rarely. It's difficult not to want to see him more. Not because I still love him (I don't) but because... we had a very close bond, a different bond to anyone else I've known, make or female. We are, to be clichéd, on the same wavelength. I don't think he agrees.
Tricky times, all not very conducive to finding a boy-type.

At the beginning of this year, 2011, my new years resolution was to 'not be single by this time next year.' A brave choice, but 10 months later, I'm still single. I signed up to a few online dating places, and have had sporadic dates, but pretty much all disastrous. This is my last attempt at getting some fun out of my situation, and taking my mind off the ever-increasing thoughts that I may die a cat lady. (I don't own any cats. Yet.)

I'm not a stunning girl (although have been told I am, which is nice, but I'm sure that's only in the right light with the right mascara) but neither am I a troll. I'm a middle of the road, averagely pretty, hourglass-y figured (not fat, not thin, booby, waisty, bummy) mid-20s type who is super bored of being single and really just wants to find a nice, engaging guy to visit galleries with, go to gigs, complain about the tube with, wander round local cafes and have lots and lots of sex with. How hard can it be?!

So this is my story of trying to find him. I hope you like it. It's all true.

Well hello there.

Everything's a bit work in progress at the moment - but hello anyway. This blog is the diary, story, of a single girl in London - and all her dating disasters (and sometime joys) along the way. As well as bits and pieces of life, observations (not all about dating and relationships) and the HILARIOUS things along the way. You know, the hilarious things that leave us crying at 2am. HILAR.

Everything in this blog is 100% true (unfortunately. You'll see.) But I have changed all names, including my own. (My parents weren't foresighted enough to actually christen me Single Girl...) It is completely anonymous because I'm not in the business of naming and shaming - quite the opposite. I do actually want to be un-single. Many things get in the way of this, though. This is my attempt at sharing my story and so alleviating a bit of the soul crushing difficult world of London dating, and hopefully a few like-minded girls and boys will follow me along the way.

I'll introduce a bit of my background in a few days - for now though, enjoy the suspense.