Those of you who are loyal readers of my blog and have read previous blog entries… you know that I repeatedly claim to have never been on a date. This is true, it isn’t a literary device of some sort but it may have been a cry for help. I’m just one who is either fine with being single… or twice I’ve dated guys long term that were once just a friend. This seemed like a better plan to me. Less chance of screwing things up, really. If they are already cool enough to be your friend, then they are cool enough to date. Maybe.
This leads me to a second point. I truly am cursed when it comes to boys. See, for whatever reason all the most amazing guys I’ve come across in my life I’ve become friends with, rendering them undatable (with the exception of the aforementioned two friends that I did end up dating). And this is occasionally painful. Why can’t I meet cool guys that I don’t befriend first? (Or become enemies with – secretly I think Woody is completely rad*, even though I still hate him. With love.) You know what the trouble is? I’m wicked-cool and everyone wants to be my friend. Trying to suck** seems counter-productive… damn it!
So, I’m not about to start being less wicked-cool and I’m damned tired of being single. What’s a girl to do?
I sat down and gave this a good, hard thinking about. And I decided this: I do all my other research online… it is how I figured out what mobile I wanted, which alarm clock, how I found my job, my apartment… why not look for boys online? Supposedly lots of people do. According to wikipedia, 15 million people do just on match.com alone. My boss found her husband-to-be online. Another girl I work with found her husband online. The nice Russian lady who gave me a bikini wax told me I should try online dating. So I’m trying it.
First of all, let me say this: There must be a LOT of freaking people online. Because I’ve had a profile up for not quite a month, and nearly 150 people have checked it out. Granted, a large portion of them appear to be complete idiots, and many of them look but don’t connect, but that’s not bad, people. Not bad. I mean… at least I know they’re checking it out. I seem to be completely oblivious to being checked out when I’m dealing with real life.
Which brings me to the first thing that I like about the situation – I’m 100% sure when someone is interested. How do I know? They fucking email me. I don’t have to guess. Or interpret. Or dream or whatever. I mean, they contact me, they are interested. So much better than real life, in which I just figure every boy on the planet is not possibly attracted to me… they are just being nice. Finally, a way to be certain!
Now, granted, there are a large portion of them that appear to be complete idiots. Have I mentioned that already? Because it is true. Very, very true. But some of them seem alright. Keep in mind, that out of about 150 people, maybe a dozen or so have actually emailed, and I’ve only emailed a few back. And I tried going out with one of them.
That’s right folks, my first date ever.
Now, you should have seen this one coming… I’m not going to blog about something unless it is completely amazing, hilarious, or retarded. This one fell into the last category there. True story.
I’ve decided that in a half-assed attempt to protect these wieners, I’m going to refer to them all as "Buddy" and assign a number system. I’ve already got two stories to tell, so this one is going to be about "Buddy1".
Buddy1 taught me a valuable lesson about myself: deep inside I’m actually an old-fashion kind of gal. Who knew?
So, I met Buddy1 last Friday after my early shift at work. He was cool about meeting early, as he was not working that day. We agreed to meet somewhere along the Jubilee line at 4:30. No worries.
Red Flag One: I was there at 4:30, he was 10 minutes late.
He texted me to tell me that he was going to be late, and did I want to meet him at the station or at the pub. I opted for the pub; it seemed more natural than hanging around the tube station like a nerd.
Have I mentioned that I hate waiting?
He really only was about 10 minutes late. It took me a few minutes to find the pub, and I went straight into the bathroom. This was due to my three beers at work (I’m never going to tire of talking about drinking beers while working in an office – that’s so rad) and I wanted to make sure that my hair wasn’t doing anything weirder than normal***. I walked out and he was already at the pub.
Red Flag Two: Instead of a natural smile when I first saw him, I did that smile where you keep your lips together and just pull them back towards your ears, instead of up towards your eyes. Give that a go and you’ll know what I mean. Not quite a grimace, but not quite a smile. It would be the same kind of smile you would give to someone who thinks it is "cute" that their kid just shoved Smarties into your DVD player.
He wasn’t a bad looking guy… but he wasn’t a good looking guy either. He was pretty in the middle. Okay, maybe on the Buscemi side of middle. This is a problem for me, because I only like good-looking guys. I’m pretty shallow about this. I mean, hell, even my guy friends are all good looking (this is actually true). Why would I date someone who wasn’t even as good looking as a guy I’m friends with but don’t have any desire to date (for example, Brendan****)? And I just knew he wasn’t going to be nearly as cool as Brendan… I could sense it.
I know what you’re thinking here, smarty-pants. Yes, he DID have a picture on match.com. And yes, I agreed to meet him even though in the picture he wasn’t as good looking as I would normally choose. I’m trying to be a better person and not as shallow about these things.*****
::END SIDE NOTE::
Seriously, I could tell from his picture that maybe he wasn’t what I would normally look for in the looks department… but he was an excellent writer and I really appreciated his responses to my questions. I was hoping that his personality would make up for whatever he may have been lacking when it came to looks.
Sadly, this was not to be the case.
So, I went up to him at the bar and introduced myself. He asked what I was drinking and we went and sat down with our pints. Now, the conversation was not too bad… Buddy1 was very articulate and very intelligent.
Red Flag Three: He did swear too much for the first meeting. And I have a freaking potty mouth. But my moms did raise me better than that, and believe it or not, I usually censor myself (a little) when I first meet someone. Turns out I didn’t appreciate that sort of candour.
We sat in the bar, drinking our beers and talking about everything from cricket (the sport, not as in Jiminy) to economics. All very good. As we were talking, he was nearly finished his beer when I still had about a third of mine left.
I don’t think that warrants a Red Flag though… do you?
::END SIDE NOTE::
As he gets to the end of his beer, he says, "I think I’m going to go up and get a ‘tweener."
To which I politely inquire with my eyebrows meeting in the middle in perplexity, "Huh?"
He says, "A ‘tweener. You know, a beer for between rounds, because it doesn’t look like you are ready to go up and get the next one yet."
Red Flag Four: Excuse me?? Did Buddy1 just basically tell me that I was buying the next round?!? Fo’ shizzle? Seriously, I think I lost my left eyebrow for a moment after he said that… I had it raised up so high in my best incredulous look. I couldn’t believe he actually said that (although I can’t believe I actually typed "Fo’ shizzle" in this paragraph either… I’ll let you know when my moms reads this and asks what the hell that means). I mean, I’m cool about buying rounds. In fact, if he had said, "You are almost ready for the next round, what were you drinking and I’ll go get it", I probably would have responded with "No, no. That’s cool, I’ll get this round." But he didn’t. He told me it was my round. Actually, make this Red Flag Four and Five, because to be honest, I still can’t believe it actually happened. This was the first incident (meaning that I expected him to at least offer to pay for everything on the first date) that indicated I’m actually an old-fashioned kind of gal. Sadly, it wouldn’t be the last incident.
I went up and got the next round. Which I’m still shaking my head about, but I’ll get over it. We drank those beers and decided to get dinner. He suggested a place and we headed off. The restaurant was nice, and not overly pricey. Overall, I thought it was a nice place to have dinner on a first date. They even gave complementary olives and six pieces of bread.
Red Flag Six: (remember, "your round" got TWO nominations for Red Flags) He doesn’t like olives, and said I could have them all. And then he proceeded to eat all the bread.
During dinner, we chatted about books and movies, and other fairly safe topics although we occasionally drifted into more dangerous waters like religion, politics, and music.
Red Flag Seven: He "got bored" of 24 after the second season.
I was surprised and happy to hear that one of his favourite movies was The Princess Bride. I said that it was also one of my favourites, and that I was once able to recite the movie word-for-word.
Red Flag Eight: He tried to test me on that claim.
Red Flag Nine: He got food on his shirt and didn’t seem to notice.
Red Flag Ten: He says he disagrees with everything Malcolm Gladwell wrote about in his books.
Red Flag Eleven: When I defend Gladwell, Buddy1 slyly asks, "You just like to argue, don’t you?" Which is true, but damn it asshole, just because I’m also stating my opinion about the topic at hand and it differs from yours, it doesn’t mean that I’m arguing for the sake of arguing. Although from this point on, I’m going to. Ass.
Red Flag Twelve: He suggests that I come over "some time" to see his book collection.
That last flag makes me giggle. If there are any boys reading this blog: The line "you should come over some time and check out my book collection" will only work if you are already very, very hot. Don’t try that one otherwise. Sheesh!
::END SIDE NOTE::
After we had finished dinner, I mentioned that sadly I was very, very tired after a long week of work and thought that instead of going to another pub, or "checking out his book collection " (Please, God, please don’t let that be a euphemism for anything, poor hopeful bastard), I figured I would just head home. No, no… I was so tired that I was nearly asleep on my feet and just wanted to head home.
It was about 8 pm at this point.
So Buddy1 asks for the cheque, and when it arrives he puts his card down. I’ll give him credit for that one gesture: He put his card down. But then they said that they don’t take cards, just cash or cheque. Poor Buddy1 looked like he was at a complete loss of how to handle the situation, so I said that I might have the cash to cover the £19 dinner. I did. I put down a twenty. He says, "On the way to the station I can stop at an ATM and get you a tenner."
Red Flag Thirteen: Do I actually need to spell this one out for you?
On the way to the station, he asked if I would call or text or email or something so we could get together again on the next week. "Sure, sure," I said, dodged his goodnight kiss and jumped onto the train.
Red Flag Fourteen: The highlight of my Friday night was when I thought the bus was on fire.
There you go, kids, my first real date. Can you even believe it? Can you believe I’m going to try again?? Here’s the thing… I already have a story about the next one.
And I shall call him "Buddy2".
Buddy2 is only getting my attention because he is pretty darn cute in his pictures. But his writing is for shit, which is a complete turn-off. It is so bad that I keep going back to his profile to see if English might be his second language. Nope – nationality is English. So, maybe he has better things to think about than grammar. But still… I dunno. He seems nice though (and he’s not bad looking… and I’m going back to being shallow, remember?) and he is studying to be an architect.
I joke a lot about going for younger boys, but even though this one is a student he’s 28. Settle down.
::END SIDE NOTE::
We were supposed to meet last Saturday for dinner (which would have made it two dates in one weekend – I rule!) but match.com screwed up my profile and I couldn’t access it. Turns out he was sick anyway and didn’t even go online to see that I had agreed to meet him.
So he explained in his last email. He’s also explained something else to me.
Why do these things only happen to me? Why? I really am cursed, you know.
I’m hesitant to blog about this one, because he could turn out to be awesome and I’d feel like a real asshole if things worked out and he ever read my blog. But then again he should be comfortable with my assholeness because that is who I am, babies.
I just sighed, for real, because I’m not sure how to put this without sounding like a heartless bastard.
Even if I AM a heartless bastard.
Okay, here it goes. I’ve pretty much already said I would meet with him. Like I said, not a bad looking dude, writing is terrible but architects are smart, right?
No, I’m not joking. That’s what he said in his last email and now I’m not sure what I’m going to do.
What do I do??
Now, I can already hear some smart ass remarks from the peanut gallery (read: Brendan, my mother, others) who would think that a deaf guy would be perfect for me because I talk too damned much anyway.
THAT’S NOT FUNNY!
What do I do? I can’t see how I would be able to really get on with a deaf guy (intellectual conversation is important to me, and Buddy2 can’t write or listen… oh dear God, please give me the strength not to make jokes about this) and yet I don’t see how I can get out of this without looking like a very shallow dickhead.
At least he’s not bad looking…
I think I might go for it. First of all, he could be super-rad, and I’m just letting my own insecurities get in the way of meeting him. Also, this has become funny for me. I mean, Buddy1 was a disaster. Buddy2 is defective and we haven’t even gone out yet.
That was mean. Please forgive me.
::END SIDE NOTE::
I’ve decided to use match.com as an experiment of sorts. At least it will give me something to blog about. In the meantime, if a: you can think of a way to get me out of a date with a deaf guy without me looking like a complete and utter shit or b: have any cute friends that you think would go out with me… let me know.
In the meantime, I’ll keep you guys posted. I hope that this curse isn’t eternal….
*Woody doesn’t actually read my blog (although he has complained about not being mentioned in it, ass), but if anyone else who does read it (Brooke) feels the need to share this secret with Mr. James, please be sure to also mention the fact that I also proclaimed my eternal and undying hatred for his sweet-self. Cheers.
**Not THAT kind of suck, you sick pervert. Heh heh. That was the first thing I thought too.
***Sadly, I now have a haircut that actually works, so my hair looks "normal" and relatively the same almost every day. B-o-r-i-n-g. But at least it looks nice now (and it also looks like I’ve washed it, I suppose….)
****Yes, B… you are a good looking guy. Don’t tell anyone I said that.
*****Note: after this I’m going back to being shallow. Sake.