Tag Archives: cursed

>For Amy (aka ‘Return of the Buddies’)

>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.

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.

So.

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

::SIDE NOTE::

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.

>Cursed Part… Oh forget it… I’m just freaking cursed, alright?

>So, what I haven’t mentioned quite yet is that there has been a Buddy3. He was very nice and we ate pizza. I think though that I was a lame date that night. I was pretty tired and I realised afterwards that I answered more questions than I asked. Oopsie. I like to talk about myself, and when I’m tired I’ll do that without thinking. We’ve been in touch since via email, but I don’t necessarily see a second date coming. He has the potential to be normal and I don’t hear from him? Cursed.

But there is another part of the Curse. The date with Buddy2 went well, so I decided I would meet him again. He is a very sweet guy: I suggested that we go for Italian somewhere near his place (he lives in Victoria, about halfway from work to home for me) and he did research. He walked around the area and then went online and found a menu. How stinking cute is that? We had a great meal and a nice night. I’m even beginning to think that I could move past the deafness if he is really cool even though it would mean never sharing rad music with him (which is important to me) or going to the cinema and stuff.

So… what about the Curse? I wouldn’t be writing about this if there wasn’t something wrong… right?

Sigh. Right.

Well, here’s the Curse, and something that I wasn’t really expecting. The problem is that he likes me. No, no. Really likes me. As in… sigh. Okay, so when you sign up for Match (I’ll explain just in case aren’t desperate enough to shop for dates online and don’t know how it works) they email you profiles that match what you are looking for in a date. Well, I guess Buddy2 got one of these messages, and I was one of his matches (note: he isn’t one of mine). So he clicked on my picture and noticed that I’ve been active lately on the site. So, I guess he hasn’t been. Oops.

He emailed me to let me know that he isn’t upset by this, but sad. Apparently, after just two freaking dates, he thought things were more serious than I do. I’m still checking out other dudes on my way to meet him… he’s picking out fucking china patterns.

Now, I do realise that this could be something wrong with me. I shouldn’t find him less attractive just because he likes me. And don’t even start in on me… I’m not scared. I just don’t trust that someone could get so involved so quickly. Especially someone who could like me that quickly. I pride myself on being a bit caustic and a bit of a bastard. Maybe that isn’t coming across because I have to write everything down. And writing down all the extra swear words I would normally use to distance myself is just too much of an effort when trying to communicate with a pen and paper.

I’ve emailed him back tonight to let him know that I do think he’s cool, but I don’t think he should be thinking about honeymoon destinations just yet. We’ll see how that goes. I tried to not be an asshole about it. But sometimes I’m kind of an asshole.

Other than that, things are pretty quiet on the dating front. I’ve been more wound up with work and flat-hunting to pursue much more meat at the moment. EW! I can’t believe I just referred to dating as “pursuing meat”. I probably deserve to be Cursed….

>Cursed Parts 3 and 4

>The last “Cursed” entry only warranted a half rating but now I’m happy to let you know about Parts 3 and 4. No, I don’t even have more dates. These guys rocked on to the Cursed list just by being interested.

Why do I attract bozos like this? Why? I’m not even granting these yahoos “Buddy” status, because I will never, ever meet them in person. It isn’t even worth it for the blog, sorry guys. Seriously. Not. Worth. It.

On Match, people can “wink” at you or send you emails through the website. This is something I actually appreciate a lot and part of the reason I’m doing this. I’m really dumb when it comes to sussing out whether or not boys like me. I just figure they are being friendly. It isn’t that I think I’m completely unattractive or not worthy or some unhappy shite like that, I’m just not very smart about boys in general. Couple that with boys not being very smart about girls, and I’m left in the dark all the freaking time. Happily, I don’t have to analyse anything on match, if they wink or the email, then they are at least somewhat interested. If I wink or email back and I never hear from them again, they aren’t. Easy. I swear this shite was set up just for dumbasses like me.

But sometimes I get emails I could do without. Like from this one guy that I couldn’t be less interested in. First, he emailed me back at the end of January in response to the Nietzsche quote I had on my profile. His email went like this:

Subject: What does not kill me, makes me stronger! Freidrich Nietzsche
Message: And if you wink back at me and your PC doesnt explode you therefore must get stronger which is a good thing 🙂

Wha? His black and white profile picture… well, friends, he looks like George Costanza from Seinfeld, and not in a good way. I ignore him.


He emails me AGAIN on the 20th of February with this happy crappy:

Subject: How comes you are interested in white Russians?
Message: Are there any red ones left these days 🙂

First of all, pal, I can’t handle your grammar for a bald dude with glasses and where’s the punctuation on your question, ass? But, because I’m a nice person (HA!) I responded to this email. I wrote back:

I like White Russians because they are tasty. The Kailua is probably not good for me though.

That’s it. That’s all I had to say. I thought I was being a bit snarky, actually. Uncalled for, perhaps. But I felt as though Costanza provoked me with his poor grammar and punctuation. Can you believe he actually wrote me back? Keep in mind, please, the short and snappy little message I zinged back. This is what he writes:

For some complete weird reason I thought you were referring to pre tsarist Russian history not cocktails through they can be fun too J

So how are you finding London, I’ve been to a small town in Canada called Barrie, Ontario but that was a bit of disaster (involved intensive care and getting to know the Canadian legal system well but don’t worry I wasn’t the one doing anything wrong, can tell you more of a coffee if you want). I’ve travelled quite a bit visiting friends online but not of a while. The last place I went to was Rostov-on-Don in Russia (internet buddy) but I would still like to see more of Moscow (seen the airport) and St Petersburg.

I have to admit I really do like your profile, you sound very clever but a little ‘wild’. Well done in eating the scorpion in China I was offered a widgity grub in Australia but I chickened out alas. Slugs just aren’t meant to be eaten and the Aboriginees seem to prefer Mcdonalds these days anyway

Anyway how you write soon

AURGHPANTS! WHY ME?!? Now, although he did pretty much hit the nail on the head with “clever but a little ‘wild'” (although I don’t know what the quotations are for – “wild” in what way? What is Costanza thinking? EW EW EW!)

I’m not writing him back again. You want to know the number one reason? It isn’t, believe it or not, his poor grammar or bald head (although those things are not helping). It is because his profile name is “draculathecat”. I don’t want to even know why. The answer is no.

Which brings me to our next contestant: This guy nearly made me laugh out loud. Seriously. His handle is “pudk555” which means less than nothing to me. Have a read of his stellar email to me and just leave a guess in the comments as to why he is Cursed Part 4. Where do these people come from?

Hello,

I hope you are fine! you will find lot of things common in our profile I am among the top line Engineer’s in U.K I am ready to compromise anything for you …you are my dream in reality………

I am the man with most of the things like
Education

Good job

Status

Honesty

Love from Deep Heart

And same Dreams like you

Lets become part of beautiful life waiting for your reply

Waiting for you reply

Keep waiting, pal, it ain’t gonna happen. Sigh.

Original Comments:

Brendan wrote (on 05/03/08):
Cursed Part 4 is like something you’d read on a Korean greeting card!

>Cursed – Part Deux Point Five

>I’m not calling this “Cursed Part Three” as the date on Saturday didn’t go all that badly. You know, considering.

First, I took it as a bad sign that I wasn’t excited or nervous all day on Saturday. I puttered around the house, goofed off, played guitar, and finally realised late in the day that I might want to shower and stuff. So I finally did that and left at the last possible minute. I was still on time… but I’m usually early.

I couldn’t find the exact street Buddy2 told me to meet at, as the area around Charing Cross Road is busy. But I sent him a text message telling him exactly where I was and he came and got me. Which is a good start – at least he wasn’t late like the last guy. And he’s pretty cute, also not like the last guy.

Through gesture and a notepad, we headed to a restaurant in Chinatown. Communicating with Buddy2 wasn’t as hard as I thought it was going to be, but it wasn’t as easy as just being able to speak to someone. We went to a very good restaurant with fantastic dim sum, which I love. We “chatted” throughout the meal using a notepad. I’ve learned some sign language already. He’s already learned my facial gesture for “huh?”

Although he couldn’t speak, he was very kind and pretty funny. One thing I can share is this: I don’t know how we got on the subject (no, really, it isn’t as though we were “talking” about it!) that things in the USA and the UK are spelled differently (although I think it came about from both of us being horrible spellers). I was listing some of them; colour/color, cheque/check, neighbour/neighbor, doughnut/donut… and he added Blair/Bush. Which is pretty funny. In fact, I might use that one some day.

After dinner we walked to a pub and had a pint and continued writing out our conversations. Walked to the train station and said goodnight.

There are some minor red flags with this guy: he doesn’t drink, he doesn’t eat spicy food, he doesn’t know how awesome Radiohead is. He also makes me feel bad about myself because I do think that if he wasn’t deaf I would be more interested. But I can’t really imagine, I don’t know, like… getting married and stuff because it is too hard to be witty and/or sarcastic and/or cynical when you have to write everything down. Even if he learns to read lips, I’ll have to learn to speak slowly. I’ll never get to chat with him about stupid stuff after lights out. I’ll never be able to argue how Travis is a much better band than Coldplay musically even if Coldplay is doing better commercially. Although he’d be the one guy who wouldn’t have anything smart-ass to say about my guitar playing.

For now, I’m leaving it like this: I’ve agreed to see him again, and I’m trying to be open-minded. But I’m pretty good about sussing dudes out right away and in the end I think that beyond him not being able to hear the melodious sound of my voice (shut up, Brendan), I don’t know if he and I have enough in common.

In the meantime, there are a few other Buddys waiting for me to email them back. Out of the three, at least 2.5 of them may be wankers, and apparently 2 of them definitely are.

I’m such an ass. I probably deserve to be cursed…


Original Comments:


Brendan wrote (on 05/03/08):

You do deserve to be cursed.
How do you know when I’m thinking a smart comment?! You’re nearly always spot on.
You do talk a lot after lights out. It’d never work.

>Cursed – Part Deux

>

First, I kinda left the story with Buddy1 with no real ending, didn’t I?

He made me tell him that I would text or call him. Which I didn’t. I had to write an email to say I just wasn’t interested. I felt like an ass. At least I was nice and didn’t give him the Red Flag count.

Also… sigh. I’ve made a date with Buddy2 for Saturday. I’ll let you know how that goes.

>Cursed

>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.

Whoo-boy.

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.

Sigh.

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.

::SIDE NOTE::

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.

::SIDE NOTE::

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.

::SIDE NOTE::

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.

::SIDE NOTE::

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?

He’s deaf.

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.

::SIDE NOTE::

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.

Original Comments:


Stef wrote (on 12/02/08):
i love you. you’re awesome. i think you should definitely go on the date with “buddy2”.. the date cant be any worse than the first one 😉

Autumn Brown wrote (on 14/02/08):
You’re too funny, Jodes. I was thinking… if match.com is an experiment of sorts, I definitely think you should go out with Buddy2 (only if you blog about it after)! What do you have to lose? Chances are, he’ll have less red flags than Spanky1, I mean, Buddy1. Love you!

Belfast Brendywrote (on 17/02/08):
I’m laughing my ass off and executing self-high fives!

Belfast Brendywrote (on 17/02/08):
http://www.signlanguageforbabies.net/Baby-Sign-Language-Basics.html