Thursday 24 November 2011

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...?

Monday 21 November 2011

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.

Saturday 19 November 2011

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!

Tuesday 1 November 2011

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.