And so my online quest for ‘love’ continued. A week or so later, after the ‘fierce’ one, and a week after the worse day in the single girl’s calendar – Valentine’s day (although I actually had a great night – Flatmate and I got slaughtered at home) I met with…
Date number 2
He was Greek. Younger than me and fit in his photos (as in exercise fit). And loved judo and nutrition. Now, call me naive and I guess a bit snobby, but I didn’t realise grown men in London went to judo and took it so seriously – I thought it was mainly kids and Olympic hopefuls. Again, I decided this was a fresh outtake on life, and continued chatting. We finally decided on a date (not Mondays or Fridays as these were judo days) and he arranged the coffee house to meet in, at 7pm one evening. Sorry? Cafe? In the evening? Are they open in the evening? Do they sell alcohol? I soon found out the reason for this venue choice was because he didn’t drink. I should have just called it quits there. When I asked him where he lived and he said Kensal Rise – my immediate response was “Oh, near the Paradise or the William IV pubs?” at the same time that he says “It’s near the fitness centre and Bikram yoga…..” But he seemed quite positive – if not a bit keen (he told me he was going on a 10 day meditation holiday, when I joked that it was all a bit Eat, Pray, Love – he told me I was where the ‘Love’ bit came in.*gulp*)
I persevered, and we met at a coffee place (yes, you can get coffee after work). Quite a nice posh one it turned out. Above a book store. As soon as I met him I knew he wasn’t my type. He was quite short, and clearly looked after this body (the short bit I am fine with, it was how dedicated he clearly was to his physique). I clearly wasn’t his type from the look of horror on his face. As we queued, he asked how often I go to the gym, whilst critically looking at my figure. I don’t think he believed me when I offered a very generous “three to four days a week….” As I put my order in for an espresso, he ordered a green tea. It turned out, he didn’t drink caffeine either. In fact, he didn’t drink “any kind of stimulants” because they’re so bad for you. I yawned and knocked back my coffee, as he gave me a disapproving look as if to say “just look what they’re doing for you”. Just as I thought it couldn’t get much worse, no alcohol, no coffee and started racking my brains for excuses to leave, he pulled out a 100 page nutrition journal, which, he told me, he was copying out into his own notepad and then re-reading. As I started to ask him ‘why?’ he decided to read it to me, chapter by chapter, whilst sipping his cats piss cup of tea. Unfortunately for me, I then got a text from Marianna (who was on match.com date standby) to tell me my er “Nan’s dog died”, so I had to finish my stimulant coffee and leave….
By now, I was a bit over this online dating. It was living up to all the awful expectations. Whilst I kept in touch with date number 1, and the Greek texted now and again, I really thought about jacking it in and resorting back to unsuitable, random guys in bars. One more date, and that would be it….
Date Number 3
He lived outside of London, his photos looked fine, his grammar was bearable, worked for a posh car company and was happy to come to London one Saturday to watch my beloved Arsenal versus Man United in the pub. He earned a point already from me. Something I should mention here is that in addition to bad grammar, another reason a guy didn’t make it past the ‘wink’ stages on match.com with me was if he didn’t like football. I realise many will disagree with me, but a man who doesn’t like football is just not a man to me. Not in a football yob/lout kind of way, but someone who knows exactly where they were in 1998 when X scored the X goal against X to win the X (clearly, if I was THAT much of a fan, I’d be able to fill these XX in here)
I left for the date, having texted date number one about my plans that night (we’d since decided to become friends after fierce-gate), with heels on, a short skirt, and a bit excited about the day ahead (stupidly, I had hope for arsenal too). That feeling quickly went. Strike 1. He texted me to ask where the bar was, what was the nearest tube and how could he get there? I know I sound harsh, as I come from and live in London, but use your initiative. Please. A guy who didn’t know how to use Google maps, or even think to have a map print out (as long as I didn’t see it) was on the way out. It showed a lack of independence and initiative.
Then I walked towards the bar, and I knew I this was a no-goer. Firstly, he was standing outside the bar. I have a thing about guys who are too scared to go into the bar and go ahead and order a drink for me. He’d even texted to say the bar was quite full, so would I mind if he waited for me outside as didn’t want to face it alone.
Strike 2. He had obviously put up VERY good photos. I realise I sound like a complete bitch, but – well, the photos were just very good and nothing like him in the flesh. Not that he was BAD, bad. He just – wasn’t what I was expecting. And don’t get me started on the clothes. Let’s just say that my Dad wears a better ‘casual’ jacket. I had that awful sinking feeling you do on a blind date, followed by “Christ, I have to put up with this for the next couple of hours”. And then, strike 3 – within the first 15 mins, he commented that he didn’t live in London and had nowhere to stay that night, followed by a wishful silence. I asked him to start looking through his phone book to find somewhere.
Arsenal lost, the chat was a bit dull, and I really wished I could be somewhere else. So, I did the one thing I knew I could do well. I got drunk. Really drunk. And I got him really drunk too. And then I did a really grown up, mature thing. As we moved on from pub to pub, and he started to get a little too touchy feeling for my liking, I replied to date number one, who had asked me how it was going, and asked him to come and meet me. Pretend he was an old friend of mine, and rescue me from the evening. He did…
giveloveabadname 