Last night was a date with a James, another dating website date. Not much to report here. This one was damn well shorter than his vital stats said he was as well – only just 5 foot 9 for sure. Rage.
Having immediately established upon seeing him that I didn't fancy him remotely, (as well as being too midget-like for me, he was wearing a slightly funky hoodie - I think I need a man who wears a shirt on a first date really) we drank our way through a fair few Pimms on the Southbank, laughed a lot and had a perfectly pleasant evening before going our separate ways. To give him credit he was nice-looking - dark hair, friendly smile etc, and quite fun. Points for buying the first couple of rounds of drinks as well.
Would recommend him to a friend… a short friend. But ultimately, not for me. Onwards and, hopefully, upwards.
Friday, 28 May 2010
Wednesday, 26 May 2010
Date 5: the ginge
Bit of a lapse since the last update. The recent sunshine has caused me to be remiss since my last date a couple of weeks ago…
I really was so excited about this one. Another dating website date, I knew that he was a dashing cavalry officer, had excellent banter in his emails and texts, looked divine in his photos, loves skiing, sports, country walks, his dog… his ginger hair was the possible deal breaker but he looked so scrummy in his photos that I resolutely refused to let it bother me.
We had been texting back and forth a lot over the last couple of weeks as we couldn't find a date to meet up for a while – and had even had a few phone calls as well where we chatted away for about an hour each time – amazing! And the first time I have spoken to a date on the phone in advance of meeting them (someone has since told me that this was however possibly his way of checking that I sounded normal – good approach). I think the delayed gratification aspect of it all added to my excitement factor - suffice to say as I bounced off to meet him on Northcote Road, I was more than convinced that I might be about to meet the near-perfect man…
Instant problem. There was no way he was 5 foot 11 as his profile stated. Felt instant outrage as I had worn 2 inch heels feeling I would still be 2 inches shorter than him. As it was I was walking along with my umbrella easily able to cover him rather than poking him in the eye as he was jolly well practically the same height as me - hurumph.
I decided to let it go. Besides, he was very funny and easy to chat to. We got mildly tipsy over a few cocktails, and then I asked him where he had gone to uni. He had not. Oops. How had we not covered this in our hour long phone calls?!
I actually sensed his response halfway through asking the question as his brow furrowed a little, so I tried to mask the assumption contained in my question by asking if he had decided not to go to uni… Furrowed brow interpretation was correct - he spent 3 years working before joining the army but did live with student friends in a decent university city at the same time, so he felt he still enjoyed all the fun times of being a student. Still, it didn’t prevent the big question suddenly looming in front of my eyes - "oh dear, is he thick?"
He certainly didn't seem so, and it probably makes me a terrible intellectual snob to think like this, which I realised when it hit me that all I wanted to ask him was what his A-level results were to try and determine his brain capacity. But one can't really do that. Unfortunately.
Anyway, a fun evening, but ultimately his being vertically challenged with a potential lack of grey cells sadly dampened any pre-meeting enthusiasm I had for my cavalry officer. And, most sadly, it seems that his pre-meeting enthusiasm for me was somewhat of a damp squib as well as the multitude of texts had been receiving have since ceased. (I have tried to analyse why this might be the case, and as I vaguely recall gabbling away about my father bringing me up like a boy and him looking slightly startled, I think that could be the problem. Note to self: leave the parental emotional scarring stories out of first date conversations).
I really was so excited about this one. Another dating website date, I knew that he was a dashing cavalry officer, had excellent banter in his emails and texts, looked divine in his photos, loves skiing, sports, country walks, his dog… his ginger hair was the possible deal breaker but he looked so scrummy in his photos that I resolutely refused to let it bother me.
We had been texting back and forth a lot over the last couple of weeks as we couldn't find a date to meet up for a while – and had even had a few phone calls as well where we chatted away for about an hour each time – amazing! And the first time I have spoken to a date on the phone in advance of meeting them (someone has since told me that this was however possibly his way of checking that I sounded normal – good approach). I think the delayed gratification aspect of it all added to my excitement factor - suffice to say as I bounced off to meet him on Northcote Road, I was more than convinced that I might be about to meet the near-perfect man…
Instant problem. There was no way he was 5 foot 11 as his profile stated. Felt instant outrage as I had worn 2 inch heels feeling I would still be 2 inches shorter than him. As it was I was walking along with my umbrella easily able to cover him rather than poking him in the eye as he was jolly well practically the same height as me - hurumph.
I decided to let it go. Besides, he was very funny and easy to chat to. We got mildly tipsy over a few cocktails, and then I asked him where he had gone to uni. He had not. Oops. How had we not covered this in our hour long phone calls?!
I actually sensed his response halfway through asking the question as his brow furrowed a little, so I tried to mask the assumption contained in my question by asking if he had decided not to go to uni… Furrowed brow interpretation was correct - he spent 3 years working before joining the army but did live with student friends in a decent university city at the same time, so he felt he still enjoyed all the fun times of being a student. Still, it didn’t prevent the big question suddenly looming in front of my eyes - "oh dear, is he thick?"
He certainly didn't seem so, and it probably makes me a terrible intellectual snob to think like this, which I realised when it hit me that all I wanted to ask him was what his A-level results were to try and determine his brain capacity. But one can't really do that. Unfortunately.
Anyway, a fun evening, but ultimately his being vertically challenged with a potential lack of grey cells sadly dampened any pre-meeting enthusiasm I had for my cavalry officer. And, most sadly, it seems that his pre-meeting enthusiasm for me was somewhat of a damp squib as well as the multitude of texts had been receiving have since ceased. (I have tried to analyse why this might be the case, and as I vaguely recall gabbling away about my father bringing me up like a boy and him looking slightly startled, I think that could be the problem. Note to self: leave the parental emotional scarring stories out of first date conversations).
Tuesday, 11 May 2010
Interlude and Research Time
Hmmm. Just in case any of you were feeling sorry for the rejected Stag Do boy from the pre-Date 4 anecdote, I randomly bumped into him again this weekend as well (in the same cheesy-music-playing-South-West London nightclub – the shame). I of course apologised profusely for absconding on him after he had bought me a drink – and gave him a kiss better to make up for it. I think he is fine now.
Stag Do Boy, it transpires, also happens to work at a certain Big Four accountancy firm where several friends of mine work. Preliminary investigations undertaken on finding this out have resulted in the following: Stag Do Boy plays hockey and various other sports for that firm from time to time, but is 2 years younger than me, and doesn't look overly remarkable in his "stalkernet" internal photo (I know – naughty of one of my buddies to have emailed this out). The sporty factor, combined with the fact that he was in my favourite cheesy-music-playing-South-West London nightclub two weekends on the trot should count in his favour, but, sadly I think the age factor combined with the fact that on the stag do there were approximately 6 other attendees over the age of 55 has rendered me less than keen…
An amusing little interlude though, and am amazed by how easy it is to stalk people who should be utterly unknown to you. Useful.
Stag Do Boy, it transpires, also happens to work at a certain Big Four accountancy firm where several friends of mine work. Preliminary investigations undertaken on finding this out have resulted in the following: Stag Do Boy plays hockey and various other sports for that firm from time to time, but is 2 years younger than me, and doesn't look overly remarkable in his "stalkernet" internal photo (I know – naughty of one of my buddies to have emailed this out). The sporty factor, combined with the fact that he was in my favourite cheesy-music-playing-South-West London nightclub two weekends on the trot should count in his favour, but, sadly I think the age factor combined with the fact that on the stag do there were approximately 6 other attendees over the age of 55 has rendered me less than keen…
An amusing little interlude though, and am amazed by how easy it is to stalk people who should be utterly unknown to you. Useful.
Thursday, 6 May 2010
Date 4: the dark side
Well, unfortunately there is nothing that amusing to tell from my next date. However, the lead up to the date certainly provides some amusement value…
It was another dating website date. The email exchanges had given me lots of background info, so I had discovered that he plays hockey at the same venue as me, but for a different club (phew) and that he was due to be going out dressed as a Darth Maul last Saturday night... (big tick – he likes fancy dress!). Let's call him Star Wars Boy.
So, last Saturday I also spent the day in fancy dress – a large group of about 30 of us descended on a sporting event utterly dominating the Neon 80s look. My particular outfit saw me dressed thus: sparkly black leggings, a pink netted tutu, neon green leg warmers, matching neon green headband and sweatbands, a green leotard (with a stylish hole in part of its back onto which one of my kindly friends had scrawled in neon facepaint "pull me" and lots of hearts and lips - classy) and a neon orange cardigan. After a day on the beers, we all ended up in one of my favourite cheesy-music-playing South London nightclubs, still in our Neon 80s outfits.
Here is a step-by-step replay of what happened:
1. I have told everyone in our Neon group that a guy I am going on a date with is out dressed as Darth Maul during a general 'fancy dress appreciation' discussion.
2. I drink a little too much in a short space of time in said cheesy-music-playing club.
3. I am standing at the bar about to purchase some more drinks when I get introduced to 2 Darth Mauls (complete with light sabres) by another friend of mine, both still wearing their Maul masks.
4. The masks are removed as the names are said.
5. I find myself looking at the face of the thumbnail picture of the guy I am due to be going on a date with. Star Wars boy.
6. Abject panic sets in.
7. I realise I am wearing the above-described outfit, and have "pull me" written on my back.
8. I squeal "oh my god!" in his face and then turn and scurry away (thereby giving him full view of the writing on my back).
SMOOTH....
Thankfully I calmed down with some whisky and cokes, and then the rest of the evening passed without incident (well, apart from me kissing (1) a chap on a stag do (not his own I hasten to add), who then went to buy me a drink and came back to find me kissing (2) a friend of mine's brother... woops. Stag Do boy still gave me the drink would you believe though?!
I woke up on Sunday utterly convinced that I would never hear from Star Wars boy again and that our proposed date would never happen. Instead though I got a hilarious email from him saying that he had found it all rather amusing and my reaction was priceless! Wonderful, a chap who can cope with utterly odd behaviour!
So, I met up with him last night and we had a bottle of wine between us (I did though turn up with 3 G&Ts on an empty stomach and was horribly aware of how giggly I was – I tried to tone it down and be serious but as I drank more wine, I just babbled more at him - poor chap). Anyway, he is nice looking, funny, a qualified accountant, plays golf as well (but only in good sunny weather - bit wet of him not to play in the rain though in my opinion - which I think I made clear when I started talking about my last golf outing being New Year's Day in frosty conditions), and I generally rather liked the way he ripped it out of me for my behaviour on Neon night. Downsides: he doesn't ski. And possibly a little short for me, although by no means a midget.
Anyway, a pleasant date. Currently attempting to line the next few up now – practice makes perfect!
Over and out.
It was another dating website date. The email exchanges had given me lots of background info, so I had discovered that he plays hockey at the same venue as me, but for a different club (phew) and that he was due to be going out dressed as a Darth Maul last Saturday night... (big tick – he likes fancy dress!). Let's call him Star Wars Boy.
So, last Saturday I also spent the day in fancy dress – a large group of about 30 of us descended on a sporting event utterly dominating the Neon 80s look. My particular outfit saw me dressed thus: sparkly black leggings, a pink netted tutu, neon green leg warmers, matching neon green headband and sweatbands, a green leotard (with a stylish hole in part of its back onto which one of my kindly friends had scrawled in neon facepaint "pull me" and lots of hearts and lips - classy) and a neon orange cardigan. After a day on the beers, we all ended up in one of my favourite cheesy-music-playing South London nightclubs, still in our Neon 80s outfits.
Here is a step-by-step replay of what happened:
1. I have told everyone in our Neon group that a guy I am going on a date with is out dressed as Darth Maul during a general 'fancy dress appreciation' discussion.
2. I drink a little too much in a short space of time in said cheesy-music-playing club.
3. I am standing at the bar about to purchase some more drinks when I get introduced to 2 Darth Mauls (complete with light sabres) by another friend of mine, both still wearing their Maul masks.
4. The masks are removed as the names are said.
5. I find myself looking at the face of the thumbnail picture of the guy I am due to be going on a date with. Star Wars boy.
6. Abject panic sets in.
7. I realise I am wearing the above-described outfit, and have "pull me" written on my back.
8. I squeal "oh my god!" in his face and then turn and scurry away (thereby giving him full view of the writing on my back).
SMOOTH....
Thankfully I calmed down with some whisky and cokes, and then the rest of the evening passed without incident (well, apart from me kissing (1) a chap on a stag do (not his own I hasten to add), who then went to buy me a drink and came back to find me kissing (2) a friend of mine's brother... woops. Stag Do boy still gave me the drink would you believe though?!
I woke up on Sunday utterly convinced that I would never hear from Star Wars boy again and that our proposed date would never happen. Instead though I got a hilarious email from him saying that he had found it all rather amusing and my reaction was priceless! Wonderful, a chap who can cope with utterly odd behaviour!
So, I met up with him last night and we had a bottle of wine between us (I did though turn up with 3 G&Ts on an empty stomach and was horribly aware of how giggly I was – I tried to tone it down and be serious but as I drank more wine, I just babbled more at him - poor chap). Anyway, he is nice looking, funny, a qualified accountant, plays golf as well (but only in good sunny weather - bit wet of him not to play in the rain though in my opinion - which I think I made clear when I started talking about my last golf outing being New Year's Day in frosty conditions), and I generally rather liked the way he ripped it out of me for my behaviour on Neon night. Downsides: he doesn't ski. And possibly a little short for me, although by no means a midget.
Anyway, a pleasant date. Currently attempting to line the next few up now – practice makes perfect!
Over and out.
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