Date II with SM

Ah, that sinking realisation that you may be underdressed.

No one around to sanity check, so you reason "No, I look like someone in a magazine. And they don't look like whores, those nice magazine girls."

So you set off, and yeah a few builders make comments but that's hardly surprising, they're animals.

A few cars beep, nothing new.

A preist tuts. Mothers sheild their childrens eyes, but you think "No, they don't understand, I'm wearing City Shorts! It was in Vogue. It's always in Vogue! I'm summery and charming!"

And dressed like a homeless prostitute.

We met at ten pin bowling. I had warned him that I was unskilled, but nothing could prepare him for how much I sucked. We played 2 games, I had a few tantrums, but I did learn some of the basic techniques of how to bowl. Follow through straight. Easy with the back swing. Maybe have some muscle definition in your arms, any at all, before attempting to swing a 16 pound weight from three of your fingers.

Then we went to that lovely pub in Finsbury Park that sells thai food. I love thai food! Somehow my table manners had returned, and I was loving my food. I mean, I really do love Pad Thai. So there I am cheerfully tucking in “this is such nice food!” God I love this food! How’s yours?”
“You are really hungry, aren’t you?” he observes.

It was then that I realised that all I’d eaten that day was a can of Nurishment and a pear. What must I have looked like.

We stayed in that pub for about 4 more drinks. Sitting on opposite sides of a table, chatting about all sorts, as friends. Friends. Why do I suddenly have a new friend? A 6 foot 3 new male friend? I mean I’m not complaining, except I am - when is this going to get exciting?

So we go to the next pub, it’s like 22:30 by now. And I am fidgety. It was suddenly very awkward. We were very clearly both there for a reason, which we were not actioning. So I sat on the sofa next to him. Still nothing. There’s a telly in front of us playing BBC News. We are talking about this and that – AND WATCHING BBCNEWS. This was not happening. I decide to just let the silences happen, rather than commenting on the injured footballer anymore. So I sit there in the silence. Look at him. Shrug my shoulders. Raise my eyebrows. Roll my eyes. Smile. Point at the elephant in the room. He laughs, knowingly. Pause. Still nothing!

“I’m really quite drunk now,” I declare with a flourish.

Boom.

God, men and their green lights! You really have to spell it out for them these days, where have all the risk takers gone?

Anyway, it was awesome. After a bit of exciting awesomeness he said to me, "I like your style" - I thought: writing style? You like my genre? He could obv see the cogs turning "I mean your clothes. I like the way you dress." I don't believe anyone has ever said such a thing before. Cannot wait to see him again.

Saffy Mark - update

13:57 -
Hey Alicia. I had fun last night. Hope your first day of 'diary management' is going alright ;)

Well. This man has a thing for disgusting table manners! And doesn't want to cut all contact with me. I cannot quite believe this but he's a triple ticker:

Attractive
Has a Personality
Wants to see me again.

Whatever happens, i'm pleased. And I'm looking forward to seeing him again. Should I feel bad that I have dates on Tuesday and Wednesday next week? Because I don't! I feel bad that I'm not seeing anyone on Thursday too. Well there's time. I've got tomorrow day to get myself prepared for my amazing and difficult new job, and hustle more custom. I'm not sure I'd like this new me...

Meeting Saffy Mark.

OK, I suppose this is why people go on dates.

I turned up 8 minutes late. I was day dreaming on the Victoria line instead of changing tubes, so I suppose I did feel less nervous. Yeah I definitely did. Not least because I had no expectations. Also I'd just had some great news.

I arrived at the bar, caught sight of him, and my heart definitely did not sink. He was not unattractive! He was actually a little better looking than his picture suggested. Not a hair on his head, not a single one. I kept feeling a question in my throat "so did you recently join the army?" - but I held back.

And, AND - he was polite. Polite and lovely. Not sarcastic, not defensive, definitely not boring; he seemed like the kind of man that you would say "now why is he single?"

I mean maybe technically he's not single. I asked him if he's been on dating sites long and if he enjoys it, and he said yes - so maybe this is his version of relationships. Chronic datings. Sounds good to me.

Did he seem a little horrified when I ordered a pint? This is the bizarre thing about dating someone not from this land - they don't understand the shorthand of north/ south generalisations. Me telling him that I am from Sheffield, doesn't buy me the same allowances that it would from a native. I haven't yet decided if this is a good thing.

So we finished our first pints and then I offered him another drink - he says "well have you eaten?"

No I have not eaten on a date yet. Never in my life.

So of course without a seconds thought I ordered the vegetarian version of his burger and chips.

I started eating the chips with a fork, but it was ridiculous. "Do you mind if I eat these chips with my fingers?" - he said he didn't mind.

I am a pig. A disgusting pig. I have always prided myself on having good enough table manners - but eating fast food with a knife and fork? How do you eat a burger with a fork! I did, but it was a shambles. A mouth stuffing, cheek wiping, mayonnaisey shambolic embarrassment.

There is a small chance that he did not notice. But I noticed. This is what I have learnt from dating - something WILL go very badly. And if it isn't the other person - it's you. Well last night I took one for the team.

The truly bizarre thing was, after we finished our burgers, he asked if I'd like to go somewhere else. So we did. We went down to Hoxton Square (I think?) and there I went back onto the gin and tonics. How did I ever used to drink pints?! So much liquid!

He is such a nice man. Very handsome, kind eyes, and he's interesting. At one point he was talking quite animatedly about something and then he apologised for ranting - which he was faaaaar from. That bodes well. A man aware of his propensity to become a bore. Sign me up.

Conversation ran smooth as a baby's behind. It was like a tennis match; I had just enough to ask him, he seemed to have the right questions to ask me, conversation never veered into boring subjects, least not for me. Neither of us went on for too long without then turning the convo round to the other. It almost went too well.

So it was probably just before 11 when he decided not to keep me up any longer; my first day at work the next morning (today) of course. We both got on the same tube going home, which took the kiss goodbye out of the equation - if it was ever in it to begin with, who knows. But that was fine. To be honest we really got on, and there was definitely an enjoyment of each others' company, but was there a spark of sexual animal magnetism? I don't know.

If he does want to see me again, I will be very pleased, and a tiny bit surprised. But that's what I said after my job interview yesterday, and here I am today ready for my first day back in the office since my spinal injury. Back in my rightful place.

There's a large chance that my happiness re: this new job outshone any of my faults. I'll find out if I ever hear from him again, I suppose. I'm assuming that etiquette dictates that I not contact him first - yeah? Hmm. We'll see.

Either way, I'm glad that Internet dating doesn't have to be a terrifying and bewildering experience. Not always.

Saffy Mark.

So, moving on from Scully. Road Trip near Old Street at 7pm tomorrow night, I am meeting South African Mark.

Unlike my previous suitor, this one seems genuinely attractive. The remaining questions are: will he have a personality, and will he find me attractive?

I think most people think that they look quite good, but do we really? Do we really? The only evidence I have is from my friends and family, and from builders.

He's from South Africa, he's 6 foot 3, and he seems quite funny.

To be honest I haven't built this one up in my head considering the disasters of Dutch Jon and Scully. There really is no point in endlessly writing emails backwards and forwards - any physical chemistry or lack thereof will suddenly be much, much more important.

So who knows, maybe this will be the best one of all. What I would like is to meet someone who I could happily meet again. I am not aiming for long term, something consistent but relatively short term would be great right now.

I'm sure he is as attractive as his photos, they are pretty clear, and he's definitely cute. Handsome? "Easy to handle, ready at hand." from hand (n.) + -some. Sense extended to "fair size, considerable"

6 foot 3 is a fair size, 2 inches taller than me. But what will he think of me? My skin isn't breaking out in spots, I seem to have bleached my teeth the requisite amount -and I feel a lot more experienced from my two dates. Hopefully I won't be a crushing bore like Scully, and he will find me at least somewhat attractive.

If an attractive man finds me attractive - then I've got something to work with. I can work with that. Even if he's right wing. It pains me to say it but beggars cannot be choosers, and based on the last 3 men I have drunk with, a beggar I am.

OK now I'm finally nervous. Joy.

Canadian Scully.

It's too easy to identity this one, so he's gonna have to be known as Scully.

I'll hold my hands up and admit - I definitely jinxed this one. I think I was still reeling from the rejection from Dutch Jon, and tried to push for something before it was there. In my defence he did seem REALLY nice! Which he was. He also invited me to a teddy bears' picnic. I pretended it hadn't happened and blindly went on the date anyway. What a dithering fool am I.

So I turned up at Victoria Station at 3 on the dot. I was terrified. The fear of meeting a stranger - will it ever get less awkward?! Thankfully he was late, so I had time to hide behind a crowd and survey the scene.

At one point I saw a tall man with grey hair and a very worn face. My heart sunk. Had he posted ancient photos? God, who doesn't? I saw a gorgeous photo of a man the other day, underneath he had written "Rio de Janeiro, my home '02 to '03." Great! Well you looked lovely 10 years ago.

It wasn't him. But 5 minutes later I did meet him, and it was a similar story.

He had described himself as athletic. Though in the photos he looked a little chubby; I thought maybe that was all muscle. Maybe it once was. Maybe a lot of of it was. But seriously. Most of it was fat. This was not a body that intrigued me for it to be naked.

The first view of his face in profile gave me all the disappointment I'd need to keep me wallowing in a pit of my own despair for the next three hours.

I didn't find him attractive in the least, it is fair to say, but thought that soon I would get to know him and see everything differently. So I tried. And I tried. Three and a half hours, on just the one Caramel Macchiato -  until the Starbucks shut! - that is trying, right?! That is trying.

He was a moron.

Too wet. Is this an American trait? No sense of humour, no witty banter, no darkness, no cynicism, no irony, no healthy measure of self hatred - what is wrong with these people!  I'm beginning to wish that I brought a voice recorder with me; some of the feebly boring gems he bestowed upon me... oh god but how to choose. He talked, about a myriad of dreary subjects, in a constant rant, for 3 and a half hours. I barely got a word in edgeways - and you know I tried: you know I tried. When he finally would realise that he had been dominating the conversation and that I was BORED, he would remind me of the last thing I was talking about, and insist that I return to said subject and elaborate. No no, THAT very subject. tell me more about SPECIFICALLY  that.

"Um, well, um I..."

Oh my god.

And my face, it was so embarrassing to be sitting there with this facial expression belying my abject boredom - and not be able to change it. Could he tell? Was that making him nervous? Or was he totally unaware, and possibly on the autistic spectrum?

He was animated in all the wrong ways. Occasionally squeaking in faux-little girl excitement. Such a bad idea.

What can I learn from this man? Do I sometimes share these qualities? A tiny bit of suave can go a long way. Ugh.

Well of course at 7 o clock I FINALLY woke up from my boredom stupor, and pulled my Oyster out to show that I was not going to be attending the stroll that we had hitherto planned. I took control of the goodbye, told him I'd LOVE to meet him again (perhaps before a major operation; anaesthesia can be dangerous) and kissed him on both cheeks. He kissed me again on the first cheek and sauntered off.

Why. Why me? I suppose this one was a risk. I had seen his photos and thought "they must just be awful photos."

But really, how bad can hand picked photos be?