Tales from the Dating Front Line

"Can I ask you a question?"

Um.  Sure.  Just make it quick, I'm on my way home to pack for my holiday.  On second thoughts...

"How do you cycle in high heels?"

I'm wearing heels, sure.  But these are sensible for me, a mere two inches, and they even have a wide base, and lace up.

"Er. I put them into the toe clips and away I go..."

He's caught me when I'm leaving the council offices, and I have no real choice but to walk with him as we both depart, hopefully soon to go our separate ways.

In the 200 meters between the exit and my bike, I've found out he looks after his mother; he's the youngest son; he used to do martial arts but never really got into that "athletics stuff"; he smokes; and he's an Actor.  Fleee!  Another aspiring actor!

He hangs around my bike as I unchain it, and continues to talk at me.  He tells me I'm striking, and I have a Good Energy; I'm a phoenix, a sign of rebirth; how he's going through a rebirth himself at the moment; how he was a family man and that's what ruined his acting career the first time, and how it consequently ruined his family life, although he's a Good Father.  How he now has an opportunity to make a new life.

I end up giving him my real name and phone number just to get rid of him.

He kisses me goodbye, on both cheeks.  Then hugs me tight - argh! I'm English!  I can barely touch friends, let alone strangers!

He tells me we have a lot to catch up on when I get back off holiday - the only time I got a chance to talk I hastily told him I was too busy for a drink tonight, and might not even be able to answer his texts because I was going away tomorrow.  He suggests we start running together.  Tells me he has a really good therapist who's helping him to quit smoking.

He kisses me twice again, as I edge away.  This time, the second is alarmingly close to my lips.

I get on the bike, hoping to be a lot less subtle about fleeing.  He tells me he wants to watch me ride away.

He asks if I'm married, and I foolishly tell him the truth - I am not married.  He says he hopes it will happen for me one day.  Maybe he and I are destined, maybe he's the one I'm waiting for, maybe if we got married we'd live happily ever after. I tell him I'm seeing someone, and he says he is too, but it's just practice.

Then he kisses me twice again, the last very definitely aiming for my lips, which I sidestep at the last second, narrowly avoiding falling off my bike.

I cycle away as fast as I can, given I'm on the pavement next to the council building and there's a traffic warden just itching to dish out some sort of penalty to me, despite the lack of car.

At the next junction, he catches up with me, and I have to ride in front of a car to get away.

I went straight home, and the first thing I did was wash my face.  Three times.  

I went shopping for a car.  I should have thought of this earlier - what better place to meet guys?  You have the sales guys falling over backwards to serve you, and men of all ages looking for things they shouldn't really own.

The sales guy I was dealing with was quite cute - tall, built, great voice.  Sadly the first second thing I noticed was the wedding ring.

After window-shopping for cars and guys, I finally got back to my poor, soon-to-be ex, the MX5.  And there's a note under the wiper.

Living in London, my initial thought was terror - even parked on private property it's not safe from evil traffic wardens!  I calm myself down, assuming it was a notification that the car had been valued (at approximately three pound fifty seven pence).

But no.  I'd pulled.

It was the phone number of the guy who valued my car, and a note requesting that I get in touch for a drink some time.

I was so flattered, I very nearly texted him to say "Thank you for the compliment, but I'm <insert excuse here>".

I get chatting to a tall, handsome Italian at the bar.  OK, a friend forces me to start chatting to him, because otherwise I would never have managed it.

Turns out the guy works at Abercrombie & Fitch, and although that place is in darkness most of the time they still have certain standards on the appearance of their employees.  Also turns out they don't pay their people very much.  So I offer to buy him a drink (get me, the generous girl-about-town).

Whilst waiting - for an age - for the barman to pay attention to us (I don't think he took kindly to the peremptory way the Italian snapped his fingers at him), he asks me how old I am.  Now, I'm all for cutting to the chase, but this is a bit up-front for me.  I consider lying, or skirting the question.  But I decide if it means that much to him, I'll probably save a lot of time by simply telling the truth.  So I do.

He walks away from me, and doesn't even wait for his drink.  

Seems that cute, poor, Italian boys aren't interested in women with well-paid jobs that are 13 years older than them.

I was dating this guy.

He romanced me in a foreign city, and we continued back on home ground.  I was promoted to being his plus one at events.  Then we were spending weekends together.  We even talked about shopping for home furnishings together.

And I started having strange emotions.  Instead of trying to be what he might want me to be, I wanted to be me.  To show him all the different parts of my personality.  To really open up to him, let him in like I hadn't let anyone in for a while.  I wrote him e-mails trying to explain how I felt, because I couldn't do it face to face yet. I saved the e-mails in draft for the right time to send them.

One day, during this tumultuous time, he invites me out to dinner.  Sits me down.  Takes my hand….

And dumps me.

It's OK.  After a couple of years, I got over it.  

My Twat Attract seems to be fully engaged at the moment.  All the wrong sorts of men are crawling out of the woodwork of my past to contact me.

I met a cute guy!

He's not wearing a wedding ring.

We got on like a house on fire.

...

Two very different men.

Two nights.

One weekend.

"You bored me

With your stories

I can't believe that I endured you 

For as long as I did"

Well, I guess your experiences are to learn from.  I remember breaking up with this one and my ever-supportive, ever-caring best friend (who I am still very close to despite having gone through a LOT of men since then) saying to me "Don't worry, it's normal to fall out of love with people".

I found it impossible to explain to her at the time that I'd never loved him.  I tolerated him, I craved him, but I never loved him.  Although I'd miss him when he wasn't there, every time he walked in the room I remember my heart sinking: "Oh.  It's you."

And when my concerned mother asked me why on earth we were together, my answer was "there's no-one better".

Eventually I finished with him (for the third time - why can I never make the first time stick?).  When he realised it was really over, he confessed that he was planning to "make the arrangement more permanent" at my next birthday.

How terrifying! Someone I purposefully picked fights with; who annoyed me with every move, every word he said; who I had spent the last 18 months trying desperately to push away, not only didn't notice the hints but thought we were perfect for each other.

No wonder I find dating tricky.

I've been dating this guy for a few weeks (don't get excited, this is an old story).

He seems terribly keen to tell me his ex girlfriend has been chasing him a lot.  I'm not interested, this is not a competitive sport for me.  I won't rise to the bait and remind him of my virtues over hers, that's up to him.

"She's lost loads of weight too!".

"That's daft," I say. "It's not like you dumped her because she was fat."

"Well actually..."

What, really???

I met this guy at a pub quiz.  Actually, he was was the quiz master (get me and my obsession with men in positions of power). We hit it off and... well, my dry spell was broken.

He was pleasingly keen, e-mailing and instant-messaging me, and asking me out for a drink, but due to circumstances beyond our control I didn't see him for a few weeks.

I met him again at the next event.  I thought he was going to be there, so I turned up with my heart thumping and my eyes open for him.  

He was there!  And he came over to greet me immediately, invited my friend and I to join those who had already arrived, and performed introductions.

"And finally, this is <insert name here>".

"Hmmmm" think I.  She looks familiar.  Oh yes, that would be his girlfriend.  Thanks for the heads-up dude.  Thank goodness for Facebook stalking, because he sure as hell didn't give me any indication of the big fat mess I'd walked into - I'd assumed during my stalking this was an ex.

"Would you like a drink?" says he, steering me to the bar alone.

No thanks, I'll buy for me and my friend, since you have your girlfriend to buy for.

Boys (and girls too, let's not be sexist).

I'm out drinking (again).  It's technically a work/career thing, but then I'm lazy like that with my social life.

After the customary McDonalds - theoretically to prevent the impending hangover - I stagger to the bus stop.  Squinting at the numbers on the buses makes me realise just how inebriated I am.  Is that a "10"?  Meh, it looks ten-ish, I'll take it until it turns off in the wrong direction.

I prop myself up in the back corner of the bus.  This had better be the right bus, getting out of here in a hurry will be an issue.  Especially as a young man has followed me all the way to the back and sat right next to me despite a number of empty seats.

Not bad looking.  As far as I can tell.  Tall and dark hair, and under 50.  That's about as much as I can really guarantee.

Peering out of the window, trying to figure out if we're going the right way, I realise this guy is really rather close to me.  I look into my lap, and his hand moves towards mine.  We're holding hands.  How did that happen?

It must be my magnetic charm.  

By the time we get to my stop, we've been snogging since Harrods.  My psychic power must be set to broadcast, I've been craving a decent kiss for weeks.

He leaves the bus with me - he wants to come home with me.  You can't blame him for getting his hopes up, but there are limits to my inappropriate-pulling-behaviour, and that has to wait until I can at least focus on his face.  

So I give him my name and a fake number and kiss him goodbye.

Just got my first e-mail via MySingleFriend, and it's a rejection.

Maybe he's read this blog.

I'm not looking forward to it.

I know, I know, pre-judging someone based on the quality of their text-based communication is hardly fair.  So I'm moving past it and going on a date.  After all, he was tall, dark and handsome, right?

The omens aren't good.  Due to my ridiculous social schedule I've agreed to meet him immediately after trying to sell my car.  When the car fails to start and the buyer walks off in disgust, I'm not exactly in the best of moods.  Additionally, when I take my pretend boyfriend out for a drink to thank him for pretending to be my boyfriend while a strange man comes to view my car, and said pretend boyfriend states that txt spk is not acceptable when asking someone out on a date (and pretend boyfriend is under 25), my trepidation level hikes up another notch.

I totter down to meet my date in another pair of ridiculous shoes, and hope he's not disappointed that they're different to the ones that caused him to approach me in the first place.  I recognise him immediately, thank goodness, and he manages not to look too shocked that I've dyed my hair from blonde to red in the week and a half since we first met.

He's charming, relaxed, and has an endearing northern accent (Leeds).  He also smells great.  I start to relax - at least this one isn't going to be a computer programmer like the dates I've been going on from the Well Known Dating Site.

I remember rule one of dating - ask about them.  Refraining from going into a rant about my car I ask him how his day went.  I knew he'd had an interview, and it seemed to be a good way to get started.

Turns out, it was an interview for a position as an IT contractor.  Sigh.

I am not on dating websites or saying yes to dates from random guys to meet the sorts of people I work with and hang out with all the time.  Not because I don't like those guys, I do very much.  But I'm trying to broaden my horizons.

The conversation pretty much dies there.  He doesn't seem interested in talking about work, but IT people are used to having that glazed look when they start to talk about their jobs.  So I let him into my secret and tell him I'm a computer programmer.  But revealing this shocking truth doesn't have the desired effect, the conversation still falls on its arse.

The whole rest of the date seems to go this way, and I end up reverting to type and doing most of the talking - every time I try and get him to open up, it doesn't really go anywhere.

However the nail in the coffin was when he ordered his second (and final) drink. He orders half a shandy.  That's a half pint of shandy.  This confused me - I was sure he said he was northern.  And even if you don't want to get trashed on a school night, there are ways to reduce your alcohol intake whilst retaining your masculinity - for example, you could order a lime and soda and pretend it's a vodka lime and soda.

I'd love to say that he was smitten with me, and I had to come up with some terribly sensitive but honest way of telling him I wasn't interested.  But he took the wind out of my sails by saying at the close of the evening that he was only just getting over a one year relationship, and that we were both busy people, so it seemed like the sensible thing to do would be to maybe catch up again in a few weeks time.

I hate telling people I'm not interested.  But I also hate it when people don't seem to be that interested in me.  

I deleted my profile from New Scientist dating

"The quality of e-mail I am getting from members on this site is really poor.  Even <massive online dating site>.com, which allows any old person to mail you, has on average a better standard of spelling & grammar from the users who mail me.  The guys here just seem poorly educated and desperate.

Sorry.  I'm moving on to MySingleFriend.com, the guys there are much cuter."

...fails from New Scientist Dating will just take over this whole blog:

Hi  you said - "I'm looking for someone hot, fit, intelligent, fun and sexy. I know, it sounds like a tall order, but you're out there somewhere" Well what can i say youve found me. 

Really, I'm beginning to think capitals and punctuation are an endangered species.