>I have a feeling I’m going to regret this later.
Writing this, I mean. This will come back to haunt me. I can feel it. Like that creepy ghost-seeing pre-adolescent wanker in Sixth Sense. This blog post will be my dead people.
But I was challenged to write it. Bullied into it. Forced against my will. Etc.
Well, “challenged” (and by extention “bullied” and “forced”) may be a little strong. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Amy “suggested” I should write about this because it would be funny. And you never know… she might have a point. It could turn out to be funny. If you aren’t me, I mean.
Fine peoples who have been loyal readers (read: suckas!) of my blog will have to bare with me for a moment while I get the new kids up to speed. Because there are some truths you should know about me before we go ahead with my most recent story of debauchery…
1. Before I got to London I had never gone on a ‘date’ date. I’ve had boyfriends (at least two of them!) and the occasional short-term recreational partner (read: one night stands)… but I hadn’t been on a ‘date’ date. I had just hooked up with friends or random hot dudes on the dance floor.
2. I was 31 when I got to London which makes point 1 vaguely pathetic.
3. When I got to London, I knew only one person and he wasn’t even in the city when I arrived. To say the least, I didn’t have many friends. I wanted to meet more people (read: boys), so I signed up to match.com.
4. It was a fucking debacle. Please see my previous blog entry about Buddy1 (The Disaster) and Buddy2 (The Defect).
5. I gave up on online dating just a few dates after trying it out. See point 4 for more details.
And so there I was. Still roaringly single, but fed up with the online dating scene. Which is a shame, because there was no-one at work worth starting a relationship with (Caveat: assuming that “relationship” connotes something that doesn’t end the next day with me saying something along the lines of “You don’t need me to walk you to the door, do you? There’s a good lad.”) My friends have been UTTER CRAP (yah, I’m talking to you!) about having a peripheral herd of hot single guys that they can set me up with. CRAP.
Craptacular, actually. So I gave up dating.
But then it was suggested that I try Guardian Soulmates. It was really sold to me. It sounded like I could fill out a form and find prince fucking charming with little more than a snap of my damned fingers.
The actual experience was somewhat less efficient and effective than advertised.
I ended up going out with a couple of guys from that site but didn’t bother to blog about it. I could have. And it would have been very amusing for y’all, I’m sure. BECAUSE MY PAIN MAKES YOU HAPPY. I have proof of this. Your reactions to my experiences in Hell (read: Aurghville) prove how happy my misery makes you. Jerks.
So why didn’t I write about those guys? Well, two of them “friended me” on the Book o’ Faceness, and I fear it is all too easy to find my blog from there (fuck you, Facebook, with your easy connections and shit) and I really have no desire to publicly humiliate them. For now.
So I’ll sum up my Guardian Experience in a short, concise list:
1. One was too distant and self-centred
2. One didn’t even get past the first date
3. One was too close and Jodi-centred
Too distant officially wins over clingy. It isn’t that I like assholes, but I do like the use of my arms when I’m walking. Further, I don’t think hard-to-get is attractive. But seriously, STOP TOUCHING ME ALL THE FUCKING TIME. JUST STOP. Thank you.
::END RANTY SIDE NOTE::
And once I was through with those three boys I thought to myself, “Fuck online dating. I give up.” Again.
Seriously, fuck you, internet. You are great for books and shoes and stuff, but CRAP at meaningful relationships. Stop pretending you can help with this, you bastard.
But then a friend (who’s a good looking and awesome guy) said that he was using OKCupid. Which is free. So I thought… got nothing to lose, really. So I signed up. Because I’m dumb like that.
And it has been a hilarious experience for me. I may have individual stories later (like one poor bastard that I’m not going to meet… most unbelievably boring IM conversation in the history of the universe) but for now I’ll leave it like this:
I’ve managed to go on seven first dates in just under two weeks.
First, this is easy to do. I’m a girl and boys on the internet are easy to attract (I have all my limbs). I’ve been trying (and this is hard for me) to not be Judgy McJudgerson and so if they aren’t horrifyingly stupid and/or just plain terrifying when they write to me, I’ll agree to meet with them. Always in public, mommies, I promise. The Captain always plays safely with others.
So I’ve met a bunch of them. And so far… I haven’t had the desire to go on a second date with any of them. I do have a few more first dates lined up over the next week or so… and now I’m wondering how many I’m going to have to go on before I find someone worth seeing twice.
The problem is mostly that I’m picky. I come home and Tyran (my flatmate) says, “How was your date?”, to which I have actually answered things like:
1. He had silly facial hair.
2. He has small hands.
3. He smells like soap.
4. He was from the Midlands.
I’m turning into a girl Seinfeld (see Wikipedia for what I’m talking about – my favourite is “because she had man hands”). Not pre-judging these guys (and, let’s be honest here, the pure abundance of them) is making me even pickier about the guys I want to spend time with. And I am already fairly fucking picky.
But in the meantime, I’m having fun. I’ve been to the zoo, to new pubs and restaurants, and to the movies. I’m going to a play next week and a museum. I’m seeing new parts of London. I get to tell the same stories OVER and OVER and OVER again. And because it is with a new person each time… they aren’t getting bored of them (or that’s what I tell myself). FUN.
Truth is, there are future blog posts about this brewing in my evil little brain. I just haven’t been writing all along because a) Amy just recently goaded me into doing it and b) so far the dates have mostly been uneventful and even dull. But… it’s me. So you know that dull and uneventful can’t possibly last. And then… let the games begin.