One Hundred Dates

Dates #2-#15 (Slowdating)

Slowdating is, as you might guess, the same as speeddating, but with an extra minute. Does that extra minute count? I doubt it.

I’ve been told that I can’t count as dates the 15 men I’m going to meet tonight. Well, it’s my blog and I make the rules. So there.

My mate T and I turn up at the venue thinking we’re going to be late but we’re the first there. This doesn’t bode well but it soon fills up and the festivities begin. We’re given numbers and each table has a corresponding number that the women sit at while the men have to move each time the bell rings. I am number 1 and T is 2 and we go and find our table numbers, buying a bottle of wine on the way.

The dates begin.

Date #1 – Tim B
My notes: “Ship broker, runs 5 miles, wouldn’t do mara, Laindon, Kingston, Kent, went SD month ago, eats his pets”

Because there are fewer men than women, I am left without a date for the next round and while Tim dates T, I listen in and overhear him telling T he eats his pets. I butt in and tell him this would be a good time to tell him we’re vegetarian. He tries to justify himself by saying he only eats his chickens and turkeys, he wouldn’t eat a cat. Oh, that’s ok then.

Date #2 – Randeep
“Here to meet future wife/kids, first time SD/nervous/boring as hell”

Poor Randeep. He asked me if I wanted kids. I said not on a first date. He looked so sad.

Date #3 – Graziano
“Ice cream maker, likes cooking lasagne, no pizza”

No pizza? Yikes. I am not dating a man who doesn’t make pizza. No way.

Date #4 – Michael
“How long finger bandaged – goes SD frequently – legitimate way to talk to complete strangers. T says looks like Stanford”

My left index finger is bandaged in a huge dressing, due to me accidentally pouring boiling water over it at the weekend. Either the previous men were blind or just too polite to mention it. Michael, however, looks at it in horror and before he’s even sat down asks me how long the bandage will be on for. A man with a bandage phobia? Weird. Still, he redeems himself and we do have a good chat about why speeddating is a good way to meet people. Where else can you go and talk to random strangers without people thinking you’re a nutter?

Date #5 – Stephen
“Does my boss swear in court. Said next bloke is gay. Keeps on getting moved by the organiser as doesn’t move on. Legitmate way to look at girls’ tits. V. funny”

Stephen is here so he can legitimately look at girls’ tits, as that’s usually where they’ve stuck their numbers.

Date #6 – David M
“Not a doctor – said what’s wrong with your thumb – said not a thumb. Writes notes in front of you. Reading my notes. Wearing black to get sympathy vote for being gay. Has 2 kids so is not gay”

David asks me what’s wrong with my thumb. I tell him he’s obviously not a doctor. He says no but my mum is, why? I hold my hand up with my injured finger, which is clearly not a thumb. He says don’t listen to his mate, he’s telling everyone he’s gay but he’s not. They’re both wearing black tonight as someone told him it’s more sympathetic. I say what, sympathetic to being gay? He says no, it hides the fat. I tell him it’s not working. Oops.

Date #7 – Sean
“Bands, folk rock, so boring I want to die. Really dull voice”

Well, “so boring I want to die” sort of sums it up really.

Date #8 – David H
“Complete weirdo. Compared me to Amy Winehouse. Maybe just a twat”

David seemed to think I poured boiling water on myself in a Amy-Winehouse-self-harming kind of way. He tells me to tick him and I see on his notes he’s ticked everyone. He says they’re not all proper ticks, some are a tick/cross hybrid and he draws on the menu to illustrate his tick/cross hybrid. Weird.

Date #9 – Adam
“Hard handshake, looked like T’s mate J”

He had a red nose, that’s all I remember.

Date #10 – Tom
“Eyed me up when said I was a runner”

I said I was training for a marathon and he eyed me up and down as if to say “what, you? Yeah, right”. Cheeky git.

Date #11 – Rowan
“Cute NZ but hard as fuck to talk to. Longest 4 minutes in the world ever”

Oh my god, the cute mute. He was definitely the cutest there but just sat there with an inane grin on his face. Shame.

Date #12 – Tim S
“Artist – BBC”

He had cool glasses and I told him so. We spent the whole four minutes talking about glasses. I must remember to brush up on my flirting technique but since recently becoming a fully paid up member of the speccy four eyed club, I have a fascination with other people’s glasses.

Date #13 – Rich
“Kilburn – NZ’s mate. Mental health”

He said Rowan was drunk and that’s why he didn’t speak.

Date #14 – Joe
“Grew up in Walthamstow”

Do not remember anything about him.

After slowdating has finished, we’re joined by David M and Stephen who tell us we were their two favourite people. Stephen also tells us that he has a degree in bullshit.

They buy us a bottle of wine and I confess that I’m there to write my blog. Stephen being the sporting chap he is, agrees to an interview.

Me: Why are you here?
S: Fancy a shag.

Me: How long have you been single?
S: One year, last relationship lasted 10 years and have two kids. The relationship before that lasted 9 years, no kids from that one.

S: I went speeddating before as I wanted a shag but I didn’t get a tick or a shag.

Then the conversation goes off somewhat on a tangent.

S: I like Belgium beer but find the porn version of Tin Tin disturbing.

I decide now would be a good time to bring the interview to an end and concentrate on drinking wine instead.

The next day I add my ticks, which is all but 3 of them because this blog is about dating and if I don’t start dating, I’m going to have nothing to blog about and I get three ticks back. Woo hoo.

Dating, Slowdating, Speeddating | Comments (2)

More Sunday bleatings

Sunday morning, I reply to a couple of emails I’ve been sent and there’s a whisper from a 37 year old with more wrinkles than a bulldog. Yikes. You’d think with looks like that he’d come out with something a bit more charming than “nice chest”. I haven’t even got much of a chest and I’m hardly wearing revealing clothes in my photos. Twat. Luckily he’s outside London so I can ignore him.

I’m chatting again to the 33 year old in Watford about sporting injuries (I really need to brush up on my flirting technique) and whilst doing so, a 41 year old in Rugby whispers to me. He’s got a photo of himself sitting down in a chair in front of a door and in another photo he’s standing in front of it. All I can think of is someone behind a door somewhere in Rugby trying to get in and being unsuccessful due to there being a rather large 41 year old sitting down or standing up in front of it. He is of the rare breed though that actually has an ok profile.

Until I read it properly.

He says worldwide poverty makes him sad. That’s up there in internet dating website clicheland of enjoying romantic walks in the park and curling up with a bottle of wine in front of a fire. Naff.

But I decide to whisper back and ask him if anyone was trying to get through the door he’s standing in front of. He replies that he thinks he escaped. He has unfortunately resorted to txt spk. Is it so difficult to spell the word “you” as it’s meant to be spelt? Sigh.

I go back to discussing sporting injuries with Watford Guy and as I’m browsing through who’s online, I click on someone who’s semi-local and it’s a guy I went to school with. Seeing someone on here that I’ve known since I was in infant school gives me that same squirmy feeling I used to get seeing Pat and Frank snog on Eastenders. I click away. Very quickly.

 

Dating, Internet dating, Udate | Comments (3)

Date #1

Tuesday
The day of date #1 is here. I’ve arranged to meet G at a bar near Liverpool Street station after work and although this isn’t a real date, I have woken up with spots under the “I’m going on a date tonight and therefore have to wake up looking as rough as possible” laws as devised by the Gods of Ming. I don’t know whether this is to do with the three White Magnums and beer I had on Sunday or the whole large delivery pizza and chocolate I had on Monday. I decide the blames lies with the apple I had this morning.

The afternoon comes and I typically get held up at work and text G to say I’m going to be late. He texts back and says no problem. I then decide to mess him around further by changing the arranged meeting place as I’ve decided meeting at the station will be easier than trying to spot him in a noisy crowded bar.

I turn up an uncharacteristic five minutes late and wait outside a well known newsagents as arranged as he’s not there yet. A few minutes later he comes round the corner and says he was waiting round the other side. Oops, I didn’t know there was another entrance there and I apologise for being stupid.

First impressions? He’s quite short and skinny but looks a lot better than his photos and I am pleasantly surprised but remind myself I’m not here to fancy him.

His first impressions of me? Probably “spotty, unpunctual, indecisive and stupid”.

We leave the station and look inside the bar we were originally going to be meeting in but it’s noisy and full of chavs. We look in the next pub we come to but it’s even worse although instead of chavs it’s full of City types.

We go into the next pub which isn’t too bad and my resolve to not drink lasts as long as it takes me to get to the bar where I order a bottle of Budweiser.

As befitting for first meetings, that old chestnut “what do you do?” comes up. He whispers “I develop software” and looks embarrassed. I don’t know why he whispers and looks embarrassed as I think geeks are cool and I tell him so. This gives him the green light to spend 15 minutes telling me about writing software for banks and trading floors and I therefore spend 15 minutes nodding politely and wondering how obvious it is that my eyes have glazed over.

A little while later we realise the pub has got quite crowded and especially in our immediate vicinity. With neither of us being famous nor holding up signs saying “come here for free money/sex/beer” we realise our sudden popularity is due to the fact that we’re sitting underneath one of the only two television screens in the pub which is showing a football match. Damn. It’s Man U v Rom and I ask G if Rom is short for Rome or Romania. He, being Australian and not into football, doesn’t know. But because he is a geek, he looks at it logically and says it must be Rome as Manchester is a town so they must be playing another town which would be Rome as Romania is a country. I say maybe it’s short for Romford then and he says yes, maybe. I make the logical conclusion that Australians don’t quite get British humour.

A couple of beers later and the conversation turns to music and he says he’s been to the V festival. I ask him if he went to the one in Leeds or Chelmsford and he says he doesn’t know. I ask him if it was half an hour on the train or three hours and he says he can’t remember. I make a mental note not to ask him any more geography questions.

I look at the TV screen and there’s ages until the football finishes and I’m not sure how much more cheering and men doing that “I’m watching the football so I’m going to stand up and wave my arms in the air” thing they do I can take and G’s not impressed by it all either so I suggest going to the Wetherspoons where there is no football so we leave the football types to it and go across the road and the pub is empty and we have a couple more beers and it’s suddenly got late and I wonder what happened to my “I’m going to make my excuses about 8 o’clock and go and join my mate on a pub crawl” plan but I’ve had a nice time although I don’t think there’s any chemistry there and we finish our drinks and head for the station.

I’ve got half an hour to wait for my train but G’s worried about missing the last central line and says he can’t wait with me. I say that’s fine and we go our separate ways and I’m thinking that’s the last I’ll hear from him then but as I get on my train my phone bleeps and G’s left a message saying it was great to meet me and he’d love to see me again. Oh dear.

Date, Dating, Internet dating, Nice blokes, Pub | Comment (1)

Sunday’s bleatings

I changed my profile to ask people that if they want to contact me, can they at least make an attempt to use correct spelling, punctuation and grammar. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, I know… anal…

So in an attempt to string a coherent sentence (or 26) together, I get this offering from a 40 year old in Hove:

“Hi, how are you this sunday afternoon?”

I’m not actually online at this point but he obviously doesn’t know this and continues to try and attract my attention.

“I see your [sic] a pedant. This word is the noun version of the adjective pedantic. For example as in “The man was so pedantic that each line he wrote had to have the correct grammer [sic], or he would get annoyed.” In the context you have used the word, it mean [sic] that everyones [sic] grammer [sic] must be perfectly correct or you refuse any converse [sic - however, if he is talking about Converse boots then he is very much mistaken. I would never refuse Converse what with it being my footwear of choice]. I await further instruction as to my suitability as to one so pedantic. Persumably [sic] in my previous efforts to win your affectations [sic] i [sic] have failed already. Therefore I am not holding out much hope - as while re-reading my plea I realise I have commited grammer [sic] crime already.”

Er, yes, Mr 40 year old in Hove, you have committed grammar (and please note that’s how you spell the word ‘grammar’) crime already. Along with spelling and punctuation crime. Tut.

He continues.

“all this despite the fact that I have a [sic] open college network qualification in journalism. This qualification has held me in good stead depsite my tendancy to write over long complext [sic] sentence [sic] and to revert to cleches [sic] in my prose.”

Cleches? Sigh.

For reasons only known to himself, he changes tactics and goes for the kill.

“Although in retrospect I am surely the only indie drummer and guitar player on this site. Or at least I must be the only one of such aptitude. Where-upon I have heard of all the married men and crude guys playing games. All things onsidered [sic] i [sic] come to the conclusion that you are not unlike my ex who was s [sic] snob. Her being a snob in interiors - you not really being a snob, rather being of such highly advance [sic] articulations that no-man, or at least no-man on this site can match your verbal verbosity.”

So now he’s trying to woo me by being an indie drummer? Whoopee fucking do. And then he calls me a snob. Twat.

And while I’m busy copying and pasting Hove Twat’s whispers into this blog, a 46 year old in Coleraine whispers to me. Where’s Coleraine? I don’t actually care where Coleraine is because he has no photo and he’s also committed grammar, punctuation and spelling crimes although he manages to do this very impressively in only five words: “HI Hows u these days?”

I log off and go back downstairs to continue eating White Magnums.

Dating, Internet dating, Udate | Comment (0)

It’s a girl thing

Thursday night I’m out with a friend and we decide that I need to be less fussy, especially considering this blog’s called One Hundred Dates and I haven’t actually been on a date yet. Hmm.

So Saturday morning I log in to see what I’ve missed.

The 36 year old sado has whispered me but I missed it due to the delay on the site and had logged out when he’d sent it. He obviously had pulled out all the stops in trying to charm me by saying “hello again x”. What’s with the “x”s? Better than smilies I suppose.

Also amongst the whispers I missed was a 40 year old female looking for fun. She has used a smiley. I don’t like smilies. And I’m not looking for a 40 year old female who’s looking for fun either.

I reply to a couple of emails and pretend I haven’t noticed that one of them is wearing a really big colourful straw hat.

I log out and a bit later I log back on and the cute 33 year old in Watford’s online so I whisper to him and we have a chat about beer and pizza which is one of my specialist subjects and he says he likes spicy pizzas with meat on and we agree that pineapple on pizza is wrong and he says we could share a pizza and I decide that now would be a good time to let him know I’m veggie and he says oh bugger so I say there’s nothing wrong with veggies and he says he knows but it causes pizza problems so I say we can get our own pizzas and then the problem is solved. Simple really. He asks me if I can manage a whole pizza and I think are you kidding? of course I can eat a whole pizza. Duh. I tell him of course I can eat a whole pizza, I am a super-fit athlete. He obviously thinks I’m lying and am not a super-fit athlete but in actual fact a fat bloater who eats pizza all day as he goes quiet. Oops. But then he returns and asks me if a 9 inch one will do. I resist the temptation to ask him if we’re still talking about pizza.

While we’re having our scintillating conversation about pizza I get a whisper from a 40 year old in Rochford who says “hello hun”. I hate being called hun. Especially by people I’ve never met. I’m glad he lives in Rochford and I don’t have to date him as he looks a bit of a twat. And he’s holding a fish in one of his photos. Why? Am I supposed to be impressed that he kills fish?

I go back to the pizza conversation and Watford Guy says it was supposed to be a double entendre and I say I know but I chose to ignore it.

A 44 year old who only specifies his location as United Kingdom whispers to me. He’s a bit on the heavy side for my liking and also a bit of a minger but I remember I’m supposed to be being less fussy so I say hello.

Watford Guy heads off to the gym for the day and I’m left with the 44 year old in the UK. He whispers back and asks me if I’d like to chat. I ask him whereabouts in the UK he is and cross my fingers that he says Scotland or somewhere else far away. Very very far away. He whispers back. Manchester. Result.

Fish Killer whispers again and says “are you going to chat”. He doesn’t even know how to use a question mark. He could have borrowed one from the guy who asked me if I like it up the arse.

A 47 year old in Waltham Cross whispers me. Where’s Waltham Cross? Is it far from London? I have a feeling it’s not far and so I’ll have to talk to him. Damn. I was hoping to avoid men in their 40s. I check his profile and he says “i am fun flirty and over thirty” which actually makes me feel physically sick. He also says he doesn’t act his age, just his shoe size. I’m hoping he’s talking about US shoe sizes as why the fuck would I want a man who has the mental age of a 10 year old? With regard to where he’d like to go on a date he says “… holding hands all day and opening doors as we go”. Well, I’m glad he realises doors have to be opened in order to go through them without getting your nose broken. Although I can safely say I do not want to hold his hand all day. He replies to my “hello” with “how you been where in the great east of london are you”. Blimey, not another one who doesn’t know how to use question marks. Or capital letters or full stops by the looks of it. I decide to ignore him. I’m not dating an illiterate fuckwit.

A 43 year old in Abingdon whispers to me: “hello how are you ? would you like to say hello back ? my nam eis jeremy if you do”.  No Jeremy, I wouldn’t like to say hello back because not only do you live far away you also seem to be another one without a shift key on your keyboard.  Well done for using question marks in the correct place though.  I am intrigued as to what his real name is if his name is only Jeremy if I say hello back.  I’ll guess I’ll never find out.  I can live with that.  Jeremy is getting impatient and whispers again: “so what do i have to do to attract yoru attention ? take up running ? start an indie band ? make jewellry ?”  Sorry Jeremy, move away from my profile.  Move away.

Dating, Hats, Internet dating, Udate | Comment (0)

Day 3

Still off work and while I’m waiting for my iPod to update I log onto udate.

First up is a 40 year old in Hove who pops up with a joke: “There was this indian boy and he asked the chief how he got his name silent eagle - chief said to him its the first thing the mother sees after giving birth. The indian boy says thanks for telling me that - two dogs shagging”. Tosser.

A 36 year old in West London asks me “do u like it up the arse??” I discount him on the fact that one question mark would have been sufficient.

A 42 year old in East London emails me. He actually seems quite normal except for the huge hat he’s wearing in his photo so I look for something wrong with him and in his profile he says “would like to go out to a nice country pub for a quite [sic] chat and get to know you better”. Hmm, can I discount him for spelling “quiet” wrong? I decide that if I’m going to get on with this dating malarkey, I can’t keep discounting everyone, so I email him back.

I go back to my mailbox and have a look at the emails I haven’t replied to and while I’m just about to email back a 33 year old in Croydon, a 36 year old in South East London pops up with a message and asks if he can charm me with a chat. And puts an “x” after it. Nasty. But I decide to be brave and remember that I’m not here to date guys I fancy, after all, that would make things complicated so I message him back with the very romantic sentiments that I’m not on for long as I’m just waiting for my iPod to update. Hmm, maybe I need to reassess my flirting technique.

There’s another message and I click on his name and good grief, it’s a man in a kilt. I hate kilts. Luckily he’s in Inverness. Phew.

I get back to the email from the 33 year old in Croydon and email him back. By the time I finish, the 36 year old in Croydon hasn’t messaged me back so I’ve probably bored him with tales of my iPod updating. Hmm, well it’s on 124 of 180 tracks so he hasn’t got long. At track 140 he messages me back and says he’s working at home like a complete sado [sic]. A sado? I really need to chill about this typo thing. But then a thought comes into my head, what if he meant he’s a sado-masochist? Eek. I resist the temptation to ask him if he’s a sado-masochist and give him the benefit of the doubt whilst quickly checking his profile for pictures of gimp masks.

My iPod updates and I log off and leave the sado to do whatever it is that sados do on Wednesdays.

Gimps, Hats, Internet dating, Jokes, Udate | Comment (1)

The quest continues

I have the week off work and before doing anything productive like eat toast and peanut butter, I decide to see if there’s anyone on the dating site early and there must be a lot of slackers out there as I get messaged immediately.

First up is a 41 year old in South London. He looks ok and I check out his profile which is scary. Very scary. He says that crime doesn’t pay and that crime makes him sad and that rehabilitation of criminals makes him happy. What the fuck? I message him back and say “Your profile is scary. Explain”. He blocks me. Oops.

Then up comes a 34 year old in New York. New York? As much as I like Americans, New York is a bit far. I don’t do long distance. Sigh. Next.

A 42 year old in Chelmsford tells me he came home a day early to find the girl he’s started seeing upstairs with another guy. Aw, bless. Quite funny though really. Still, moving on…

Along comes a 37 year old from South West London who says “I couldn’t go past your gorgeous photo’s [sic] without saying hi…”. I can’t date him due to him a) being extremely cheesy; b) putting an apostrophe where there isn’t one needed; and c) having curly hair. I don’t think I can be out in public with a man with curly hair.

I ignore a minging 45 year old in South West London due to him being a) minging; and b) 45.

A 40 year old in Swindon is next, he says “wow u r gorgeous, local 2. fancy lunch?” What the fuck? Swindon’s local? To whom? People in Swindon, maybe. Idiot. And he uses text speak. Aarrgghh.

I have an email from a 40 year old in London. He looks ok from his photo and I check out his profile and he says he’s American. Woo hoo. He says he’s 6′3-6′6. Woo hoo. He says he’s a Catholic non-drinker. Bollocks.

I think I’m going to have to be less fussy. Maybe I can relax the curly hair rule. I’m not budging on the apostrophe thing though. A girl’s got to have standards.

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The challenge begins

Sunday night and I’m armed with my credit card and buy a domain name, hosting and a month’s membership on udate and log on and wait for the men to come along. And come along they do.

First up is a 43 year old from Southampton which means I can’t meet him as he’s not in London. Shame. Not. He has a picture taken of him in his kitchen and I don’t like the kitchen. I’m not sure I can date a man with bad taste in kitchens.

Next comes along a cute looking guy in Watford. Hmm, Watford’s out of my London remit but maybe I could stretch the rules a bit for a cute one. And after all, Watford’s only 20 minutes from Euston.

Then along comes a slaphead who asks me if I like to dance naked in the woods to the sound of the pixies. What the fuck? I tell him I like the Pixies and Frank Black is very talented. I think this confuses him as I get no response. I don’t want to date a weirdo slaphead anyway.

A nice looking 39 year old from South London pops up. Woo hoo. He says nothing more interesting than “hello” so I say “hello” back. I think this confuses him as I get no response. I don’t want to date a mute anyway.

I decide to go to bed and on logging on Monday morning, 12 men have added me to their favourites and I am the lucky recipient of 7 emails. I weed out the mingers and out of towners and email one of them back and we email each other for a while and he eventually suggests meeting up for a drink and date #1 is arranged for next week. Hurrah.

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