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.