This morning I cancelled my date with The Nightingale. Whilst he was racking his brain for somewhere ultra cool for us to go for dinner, I was sitting on my bed crying my little eyes out. What the hell was going on? Surely internet dating isn't supposed to lead to second dates? I would never have gotten involved in it if the possibility of this had even crossed my mind. And surely not second dates so soon after first dates? So I was left with no option really but to retreat at light speed back into the safety of dating at a distance.
I lied, of course, and said I had to go into work for an emergency on the same scale as Bill Clinton having an affair with Monica Lewinsky. He was openly gutted. So, I suggested next weekend. Surely this would give me enough time to get over the panic I was feeling? He texted me to say that he hoped I had a good week and if I needed anything to give him a call. He is lovely isn't he.
I then did what any woman would do - I bought a pair of shoes, three plants, a bottle of shiraz and a box of chocolates. I feel much better now.
So here is my plee to all of you reading this blog. If any of you know of any foxy man with a hot body who is looking for a one night stand, please ask him to post a comment on my blog. Please let him know that after our one night stand, I have no intention of ever seeing him again.
Sunday 29 April 2007
Saturday 28 April 2007
Feeling peculiar
The Nightingale called. And I ignored him. I knew this would happen. I spent the next few hours deliberating over returning his call or ending his standing in the blog with immediate effect. But I have to say that I am feeling both perplexed and inquisitive so I called him back.
He suggested meeting up this evening (like a girl like me wouldn't have plans already?) but I suggested tomorrow instead. Obviously I'm busy tonight - filing my nails, filing my bills, washing my hair.
I find myself in a quandary. Do I even want to see him again? And if not, why not? I am beginning to view The Nightingale as a potential threat to the future of this blog.
I'm sure we can all remember the days when all we wanted was for our date to call us immediately and invite us out again. So why now, am I beginning to panic?
He suggested meeting up this evening (like a girl like me wouldn't have plans already?) but I suggested tomorrow instead. Obviously I'm busy tonight - filing my nails, filing my bills, washing my hair.
I find myself in a quandary. Do I even want to see him again? And if not, why not? I am beginning to view The Nightingale as a potential threat to the future of this blog.
I'm sure we can all remember the days when all we wanted was for our date to call us immediately and invite us out again. So why now, am I beginning to panic?
Friday 27 April 2007
The Nightingale
My choice for my second internet date was also somewhat of an experiment. Initially I had deleted The Nightingale from my shortlist, predominantly because he was holding a guitar in his second photo and my days of singing songs around the campfire are long gone. But then I changed my mind. I suddenly found it unbelievably sexy that the Nightingale is a full time musician. Possibly not as sexy as I find Brandon Flowers or Johnny Borrell, but since Brandon is married and Johnny is now dating Kirsten Dunst, I have been forced to look elsewhere.
So once again I met my date at a bar in North London. You have to love the blind date for what it is really...blind. You have to love it for those first 20 minutes of uncomfortable small talk with both of you trying your hardest to look cool, calm and collected. You have to love it for the fact that you both laugh at the fact that you are both using an internet dating site to meet people. In fact, you have to laugh that this is the same conversation you are likely to have with any internet date.
The Nightingale was lovely. He was unbelievably easy to talk to and 4 hours passed in the wink of an eye. This shocked me somewhat. In fact, it shocked me quite a lot. I couldn't help thinking that my blog today would be unbelievably boring. I mean, where were the porcupine phrases, where was the vanity, where was the weirdness? This wasn't going to work at all.
And then the Nightingale snogged me. Blog friends - it's been a long time since I snogged someone on a sofa in a bar. And it's been even longer since I snogged someone outside a tube station, pressed together, like 16 year olds.
And this left me wondering, when is one too old to snog in bars and on the road? 30? 40? 50? If I'm single at 60, will I still snog on the street? Well, one can only hope so.
So once again I met my date at a bar in North London. You have to love the blind date for what it is really...blind. You have to love it for those first 20 minutes of uncomfortable small talk with both of you trying your hardest to look cool, calm and collected. You have to love it for the fact that you both laugh at the fact that you are both using an internet dating site to meet people. In fact, you have to laugh that this is the same conversation you are likely to have with any internet date.
The Nightingale was lovely. He was unbelievably easy to talk to and 4 hours passed in the wink of an eye. This shocked me somewhat. In fact, it shocked me quite a lot. I couldn't help thinking that my blog today would be unbelievably boring. I mean, where were the porcupine phrases, where was the vanity, where was the weirdness? This wasn't going to work at all.
And then the Nightingale snogged me. Blog friends - it's been a long time since I snogged someone on a sofa in a bar. And it's been even longer since I snogged someone outside a tube station, pressed together, like 16 year olds.
And this left me wondering, when is one too old to snog in bars and on the road? 30? 40? 50? If I'm single at 60, will I still snog on the street? Well, one can only hope so.
Thursday 26 April 2007
0800-No thanks
The porcupine did what every man does, he waited for 3 days to contact me. Of course, I sat at home, day and night, willing the phone to ring.
And then...right on cue, 3 days later, my phone beeped. I know- I can hear you all breathing a collective sigh of relief. What a catch ey?
With shaky, eager hands I pressed the read button; the porcupine had not disappointed:
"so when are you cooking dinner for me in your lingerie?"
All that flirting, all that giggling, all that eye contact, all that touching the little beast - yes, it had paid off, the porcupine had been duped. So, with the deftness of one that has sent many a text, I nimbly sent him the following response:
"well, I've decided not to. I just don't think we have anything in common"
Imagine the shock, the dismay he must have felt on receipt? Within a few seconds I received yet another message:
"Is that a joke? You were flirting with me the whole evening! And why go for dinner? Odd"
Yes my little friend, odd, indeed.
And then...right on cue, 3 days later, my phone beeped. I know- I can hear you all breathing a collective sigh of relief. What a catch ey?
With shaky, eager hands I pressed the read button; the porcupine had not disappointed:
"so when are you cooking dinner for me in your lingerie?"
All that flirting, all that giggling, all that eye contact, all that touching the little beast - yes, it had paid off, the porcupine had been duped. So, with the deftness of one that has sent many a text, I nimbly sent him the following response:
"well, I've decided not to. I just don't think we have anything in common"
Imagine the shock, the dismay he must have felt on receipt? Within a few seconds I received yet another message:
"Is that a joke? You were flirting with me the whole evening! And why go for dinner? Odd"
Yes my little friend, odd, indeed.
Casanova vs Don Juan
I plucked, I ruffled my feathers, I painted my nails and, as every women should do to make herself feel sexy, I bought a pair of hold ups.
I'm not really sure how to describe my date with the porcupine. It was almost like being in a science experiment. The man was, without a doubt, the most vain, vacuous person in the entire universe. He is the kind of guy who sits back and waits for the woman to impress him, he is good looking, after all.
After 2 vodkas, he suggested we go back to either his place or mine. When I declined, he was visibly shocked. He used the word "flummoxed", a word which in this day and age, is itself a sin against humanity. He made it clear to me that he had standards and that he was very picky about who he invited home with him.
I felt I had two options at this point:
And most importantly, I let him tell me the difference between Casanova and Don Juan. He told me that whilst Don Juan slept with thousands of women because he didn't really care what they looked like or who they were, Casanova was much more picky. Yes my blogg readers, the man compared himself to Casanova.
And all the while, I continued to flirt.
After dinner, and a few more attempts to get me to go home with him, he walked me to the tube station. I was sad to see him go because it had been a long time since I had laughed so much. And of course, I was looking forward to his call.
I'm not really sure how to describe my date with the porcupine. It was almost like being in a science experiment. The man was, without a doubt, the most vain, vacuous person in the entire universe. He is the kind of guy who sits back and waits for the woman to impress him, he is good looking, after all.
After 2 vodkas, he suggested we go back to either his place or mine. When I declined, he was visibly shocked. He used the word "flummoxed", a word which in this day and age, is itself a sin against humanity. He made it clear to me that he had standards and that he was very picky about who he invited home with him.
I felt I had two options at this point:
- I could either yawn loudly, thank him for the drinks and make a hasty retreat, or
- I could take the other path - I could flirt outrageously. I could run my fingers through his hair, touch his hand, cock my head to the side, giggle, twirl my hair and make him believe (or rather confirm his belief) that he was the most attractive, sexy, most in demand man on the planet.
And most importantly, I let him tell me the difference between Casanova and Don Juan. He told me that whilst Don Juan slept with thousands of women because he didn't really care what they looked like or who they were, Casanova was much more picky. Yes my blogg readers, the man compared himself to Casanova.
And all the while, I continued to flirt.
After dinner, and a few more attempts to get me to go home with him, he walked me to the tube station. I was sad to see him go because it had been a long time since I had laughed so much. And of course, I was looking forward to his call.
The Porcupine
I supposed I picked "The Porcupine" (name changed to protect the innocent) because his essay was amusing. At the time, it seemed rather tongue in cheek. He said his political orientation was right wing (surely a joke? Who admits to that these days?) and that his perfect woman would make a clay face of him like the girl in the Hello video. I wrote back, asked him to marry me and said I was on my way out to buy the clay. And so it began.
For me, the porcupine was low risk. He was clearly not the relationship type, cared only about looks and body and immediately asked me to send him naked photos of myself. I suppose, at this stage, I should have walked away. But for anyone who has come out of a long term relationship, with little to no self confidence after months of pondering what went wrong and how things could have been done differently, the porcupine posed somewhat of a challenge. I declined to send the photos but did post a photo of myself in a little blue number and although he was concerned about my face, he said I had a good figure, "so I suppose that's something" (Quote). In response, I told him that I hoped I would find him attractive and he responded, "you will".
Perfect.
The date was set and I have to say, in the back of my mind, I thought he might see me, excuse himself to go to the little boys room, and never return.
For me, the porcupine was low risk. He was clearly not the relationship type, cared only about looks and body and immediately asked me to send him naked photos of myself. I suppose, at this stage, I should have walked away. But for anyone who has come out of a long term relationship, with little to no self confidence after months of pondering what went wrong and how things could have been done differently, the porcupine posed somewhat of a challenge. I declined to send the photos but did post a photo of myself in a little blue number and although he was concerned about my face, he said I had a good figure, "so I suppose that's something" (Quote). In response, I told him that I hoped I would find him attractive and he responded, "you will".
Perfect.
The date was set and I have to say, in the back of my mind, I thought he might see me, excuse himself to go to the little boys room, and never return.
Wednesday 25 April 2007
Being picky
No, no, no, no, maybe, no, yes, rrroooaarrr, no, no, no, no, yes, hmmm, no, yes, maybe
That's what you'll have to spend your first week doing. And you don't need to feel guilty. If someone writes to you and you have to fight the urge to laugh out loud, well, don't fight the urge. They can't see you and for the first time in your life, you don't have to care about being picky. You can hit the delete button without even blinking. You can internet wink and then change your mind. You can email and then get bored. You can really do whatever the hell you like because, hey, you're an internet dater. And you're also 33 which gives you mature internet student rights. Yes, that's right - YOU -you can do whatever the hell you want to do.
Get those emails in, send those emails out and then...begin to shortlist.
That's what you'll have to spend your first week doing. And you don't need to feel guilty. If someone writes to you and you have to fight the urge to laugh out loud, well, don't fight the urge. They can't see you and for the first time in your life, you don't have to care about being picky. You can hit the delete button without even blinking. You can internet wink and then change your mind. You can email and then get bored. You can really do whatever the hell you like because, hey, you're an internet dater. And you're also 33 which gives you mature internet student rights. Yes, that's right - YOU -you can do whatever the hell you want to do.
Get those emails in, send those emails out and then...begin to shortlist.
So which site?
I suppose the next issue for me was which dating site to join. Or, more specifically, which dating site would nobody that I work with be on. So, although I don't particularly care which cultural side of society the men I date come from, I went traditional / religious and back to my roots. The good thing about going back to one's roots is that one can immediately start narrowing the range of potential candidates. I think I may have narrowed my range by around 90%. On searching the site I realised that it's possible to narrow the range even more. You can pick a particular height, eye colour, hair colour - it's almost like genetically modifiable dating. You can stick all your requirements into the search engine, and hey presto, there, served up in a photographic list, your ideal matches. Or possibly not. Still...it's a start.
The next problem is deciding what to say in one's profile. It needs to be catchy but not cringe worthy. The picture needs to be good but not airbrushed. And most importantly, it should never be boring. So, with the help of my friends - a boy, a girl and a lesbian, my essay was posted.
And finally, with the spitting on palms and the clasping of hands, the rules were written. Two emails, a call and then a date. No time wasters please.
The next problem is deciding what to say in one's profile. It needs to be catchy but not cringe worthy. The picture needs to be good but not airbrushed. And most importantly, it should never be boring. So, with the help of my friends - a boy, a girl and a lesbian, my essay was posted.
And finally, with the spitting on palms and the clasping of hands, the rules were written. Two emails, a call and then a date. No time wasters please.
Suddenly out there at 33
Finding oneself single again at the age of 33 is a disquieting experience, especially when all your holidays for the next 5 years are booked up by friends' weddings and you can't even find yourself a date. So what do you do? The days of hard house clubbing are long gone, it's been years since you went to a bar and danced on the table and your propensity for slamming shots of tequila is something you know you used to do (and think you loved) but just can't understand how anymore.
You can wait, I suppose, for Mr Right, Rich and Gorgeous to sweep you off your feet and carry you down the aisle, or you can do what you always crinkled your nose up at - internet dating. If, like me, even the word just sent shivers down your spine, then read on my new friends because I am about to let you all join me on a journey into the underworld of the internet dater.
You can wait, I suppose, for Mr Right, Rich and Gorgeous to sweep you off your feet and carry you down the aisle, or you can do what you always crinkled your nose up at - internet dating. If, like me, even the word just sent shivers down your spine, then read on my new friends because I am about to let you all join me on a journey into the underworld of the internet dater.
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