As previously mentioned. I am a berk. This wasn’t just a one off thing. I continue to be a berk.
Why? Well let me show you. After I accidentally sent Dawn that text message I thought I’d send her an email today to see if I could save things. Here is the message I sent.
Sorry about the spazzy text on Saturday. When my afternoon plans changed I asked Biscuit (The balloon guy) if he was doing anything fun, he said he was having tea with his grandmother and said I was welcome to join him. I sent a silly text to him, or at least that was the plan.
Instead I sent it to you and thus one of the most cringe-worthy thing I’ve done in a while, or at least a week, happened.
I am a massive spaz at the best of times, it’s a wonder I’ve managed to live this long.
I would still like to take you out for a drink but If you feel I’m too much of an imbecile to seen in public with I will of course understand. Which sadly does mean you’ll never get to see the greatest cowboy boots in the world*.
*They have caused a slightly specialised style revival as seen in the <REMOVED> section of <REMOVED> out <REMOVED>.
Not bad Toast, you might think. It’s silly, light and engaging. What could possibly go wrong?
Well what if Toast called her Dawn instead of her real-life name. That would be quite bad wouldn’t it?
That’s what I did.
What a massive spazzer.
(She hasn’t replied)
She has replied.
You are a massive douche. But hiliarious and brilliant entertainment. I will give the cowboy boots a miss as have a lot on at the moment but thank you for the explanation and hope you have a nice week and you get everyones name right x
A brush off, but a lovely one none the less. I can’t say I entirely blame her though.
Saturday I had a first meet with an internet date. I had actually contacted her just after new year but we hadn’t been able to find a convenient time to meet until now so we had occasionally swapped witticisms via the dating website, text and then Facebook.
Moving to Facebook contact early is a double edged sword. It may be generally better that a potential date does not see my stream of consciousness about accidentally squashing kiwi fruit in my work bag, or see the picture of me in just speedos with bad wetsuit sunburn. Sometimes I think it’s better to fool a girl into not thinking that you are a massive spaz until she is hopelessly infatuated with and betrothed to you. However I reasoned that since I am unlikely to keep it hidden for long enough to get that far then it’s probably better to get it all out in the open from the outset.
The dates I’ve had of late have been mostly with people who I have met first in actual real life so first impressions had already been formed (apart from Little Miss Naughty, but we had already formed certain impressions of each other based on ‘other’ characteristics). This time I felt I had an opportunity to make a decent first impression so drew lessons from some of my earliest failings and resolved to arrive well dressed and on time.
I put on my smartest black shiny shoes, a short sleeved shirt and, my nicest jeans. Unfortunately, because I was posting my last update, I put them on about an hour after I SHOULD have done to arrive in good time for the date.
This necessitated an unnecessarily stressful emergency taxi ride from West London to Soho. 25 minutes and £25 later I arrived, miraculously only 5 minutes late.
Oh well, one lesson out of two is better than none.
I’d opted to meet mid afternoon, which allowed plenty of time for adventures but also meant we could cut our losses and not wipe out an entire evening if the date was terrible.
I had arranged to meet in a tiny shop which boasted the most decadent cakes I have ever seen assembled in one location. I walked in to see my date smiling back at me. We had joked about her wearing a wedding dress on the date. Instead she was wearing a tight vest top with a rather risqué neckline, tight slinky jeans, cream heels and a rather cheeky grin.
I don’t normally notice shoes… maybe I am catching the gays from Toast?
Armed with red velvet cake and coffee, which I bought in penance for being late, we pulled up a couple of stools to the breakfast bar and started chatting. This is the first time I can remember meeting for a first date and not immediately furnishing ourselves with alcohol. There’s something very reassuring about a refreshing gin or full-bodied ale and maybe I haven’t realised quite how much I have come to rely on it to calm the nerves on a date.
I’ll admit it, I was nervous. I’v been on so many dates over the last year that I’m almost NEVER nervous anymore, and certainly not an hour into the date. She seemed a little nervous too and we were both a little hyper, although in retrospect perhaps that was the massive sugar rush from the ENORMOUS slice of cake.
She works in IT (which is the LAST thing I would have guessed) but was quite dismissive of it, however I’ll still call the the IT Girl because it sounds quite pleasing. We actually barely talked about grown up things at all and quickly settled into a slightly silly and irreverent banter.
Leaving the cake shop for Chinatown we stopped to enjoy some of the partying and watch the Lion dances for Chinese New Year. the IT Girl is a little, well, ‘little’ so I found her a good step so she could see what was happening. Managing to avoid buying a ridiculously tacky ‘Alladdin’s’ style lamp we finally got to a pub and started putting booze in our faces.
The conversation got even sillier very quickly and Vegas weddings, sex with horses and doing bad things to children were all mentioned. I fancied her before we started drinking and only fancied her more as we carried on. I sent Toast a text saying “Marriage percentage 60%”. I mention this because he then posted it all over Twitter and I was mocked for my recent run of enthusiastically high M% that go into exponential decay with each date.
Despite living in London, I don’t really know my way around the streets and drinking holes yet. Thankfully the IT girl did. We moved from cozy pub to painfully classy cocktail bar (where I was glad I had put my nice shoes on) to a cheap and cheerful dive of a pub.
Mid chat about her family I dropped a clanger that made me go bright red. I meant to say something throwaway about ‘if I met her parents’ but what actually came out was “when I meet your parents”. With sudden horror I realised my mistake and I was suddenly rather flustered and backtracking rapidly. Thankfully she didn’t make a girl-shaped hole in the wall and laughed it off instead. *phew!*
I rather wanted to kiss her from about halfway through the date but wasn’t confident it would be reciprocated. I got my chance on the walk to Trafalgar Square. She stepped into a sheltered spot out of the wind and backed up against the wall to spark a sneaky fag. Something about the conversation made a perfect excuse to step in close. I don’t remember what that thing was because we we then rather distracted by the kissing. It wasn’t quite as cheeky a moment as obeying the little purple love imp when he tells you to kiss but it was pretty perfect apart from that.
…or it would have been if we hadn’t stepped apart and noticed the puddle of piss that had been next to us the whole time.
We were sat in Trafalgar square about 10pm waiting for the firework show that had clearly already been and gone when she got a text from the friend she was due to be staying with. She lives outside the opposite edge of London so it would have been a nightmare to get home. Her friend said that he was going to bed. IT Girl weighed up the options between going there or attempting to trek all the way back home.
I had told Toast that there was NO WAY I would be bringing anyone home as my room was in an utterly shameful state. This is a bit like the boy equivalent of not shaving your legs. Feeling slightly prompted I tentatively offered that she could stay at mine if she preferred. Pants on though, as I’m not that kind of boy. I did offer the spare room but she gave me the raised eyebrow implying ‘yeah, like THAT’s going to happen’.
I had forgotten to let Toast know that I was bringing a guest back until a few minutes before I arrived so really hoped that I didn’t find him and the consultant ‘holding hands’ in the living room. The plan of ‘no hijinks’ plan didn’t quite work out, even with the messy room.
Despite everyone’s jibes I am going to stick to my original M%. Yes, it is enthusiastic but there’s no harm in a high M%, as long as I take it slowly and calmly.
…and for those of you now scoffing at me, it’s not very becoming. :p
- Good shoes are a must for first dates.
- Being late because you are writing up last night’s adventures is costly and stressful. Don’t do it.
- Don’t send Toast marriage percentages, he will use it against you.
- Dropping clangers that makes it look like you had already planned the honeymoon is embarrassing and should be avoided at all costs.
- French Martinis are not as delicious as raspberry Martinis.
- The tidiness of my room seems to be inversely proportional to the likelihood of me bringing home a guest.
- Look for puddles of wee before you kiss.
A very long time ago I had an almost thing with a porn star. Well it was a thing but it never really became a thing.
We met at a party when she was seeing someone else. She dumped him and went after me. We had a couple of ridiculous dates, no seriously ridiculous (they are worth a separate post) and then we drifted apart because she was seemingly unable to actually meet up to do anything, ever. She was a bit of a stoner, and would appear at my door at 3am and make demands in a rude way.
It sounds quite exciting, but it got a bit dull quite quickly.
I once bought her a very nice present for Valentine’s Day from Tiffany’s, and booked a restaurant and she just didn’t show up, which became one of my top ten all-time-tragic-moments (maybe there is a post in that?).
You’ve not known tragedy until you’ve spent a week inveigling a very special table at a very special restaurant. Turned up early, dressed to the nines with one of those pretty little turquoise boxes and then sat for two hours waiting for them to appear for them never to show.
This girl and I were never really friends but we sort of stayed in touch in a weird sort of way, mostly thanks to Facebook. If she heard I was having some sort of bash or event she would demand to be allowed to come and then never show up.
She got pregnant about a year ago, and so was posting about that every twenty seconds. I hid her from my news feed because I didn’t really care, but thought she would flip out if I actually deleted her.
Anyway, a year has passed and then out of the blue I got the following message:
‘Slightly shocked by you toast, I always considered you a close and dear friend especially since we have so many funny stories. However, it seems that since I hav had a lil one i’m too boring to talk to or invite out. You’ve never replied my texts, you never wished me happy birthday nor did you congratulate me wen my baby was born. Boring as babies are to you we were told I could hav lost her but hey thats just YAWN…Boring. Friends are friends even when their paths go in different directions. Thats how I see it so if because i’m Mum now or cause i’m not out hanging wit the z listers i’m of no interest to you then delete me from your friends. I tend to only have friends who are friends, not to notch up the amount I have on fb! And yes I have just had my first period in over a year but still it was on my mind!’
Maybe I should just remove her from Facebook
I’ve been thinking about my changing tastes in women. About ten years ago I wrote a list of what I want my dream woman to be like. It was long.
Can I recommend you never do this, ever, unless you want to spend the rest of your life lavishing attention on a pet.
No one will ever match up and you will have long angry conversations with your pet about how you can never meet someone who is more than an 70% match.
The list was fairly long and contained some very specific items, that seemed important at the time.
I can remember a few.
- Must not like the cartoon strip ‘Peanuts’ – This one is almost worth keeping. I’ve never understood the appeal of this but some people adore it. Weirdos.
- Must like olives – They are good, how can anyone sensible hate them?
- Must posses good underwear – There is no excuse for this.
- Not a fussy eater – I’m so bored of being around women who are weird about food.
- Should be obsessed with at least one trashy book series and slightly shy about it – People who only read Chaucer need to relax.
- Play a musical instrument well enough to teach me – Any musical instrument is fine.
And so on, the list got longer and longer until it was pages of requirements no one could possibly meet. And why should they meet them? It’s really selfish to make demands like this.
I was talking to a girl a few days ago who said she could never date anyone who uses PCs instead of Apple macs. Really? Really? It’s just a computer.
These days I have three requirements
- I have to fancy them
- They have to be nice
- They have to be interesting
And I’m now starting to wonder if that might be a bit too demanding.
Since moving to London I have been absolutely soaking up as much of the new lifestyle as possible. Unfortunately this is a little counter productive when it comes to write-ups as I have mostly been either drunk or recovering.
Toast has given me a very firm telling off on your behalf so I have returned, with my told-off face, to bring you up to speed on recent events.
A week ago (yes… I know!) I accompanied Toast to work-related drinks. Being the ‘plus 1′ at these events is great because you don’t have to talk about office politics or who left the skid marks in the toilet, but get to chat to all the interesting people.
I found out afterwards that I had briefly seen Mia. “Seen” in the sense of a flash dark hair and fringe over my shoulder as she left about 20 seconds after we got there.
There were three particularly notable girls:
Toast’s potential new boss
I didn’t REALISE she might end up being Toast’s boss when we first started talking. She was quite hot in a self-assured leather-jacketed kind of way. My mouth got a bit confused when she told me her age and I MEANT to say words that expressed my surprise that I thought she was younger. However I blurted “Oh, is that all?”, which conveyed exactly the OPPOSITE of what I was thinking.
She was good enough not to acknowledge and I apologised later but she took it with good grace, because she is that cool kinda unflusterable lay-dee. However being Toast’s potential new boss I felt I might have done enough damage already so extracted myself before I compounded my error.
This was the sister of one of the girls present. She was an intriguing mix of sweetly naive and wickedly miscreant. Her forthright opening gambit was to insist on a secret from me that Toast didn’t know. Before very long she was had us enacting a variety of poses and coaxing us into more suggestive stances whilst she took photos.
I felt a little dirty but kind of liked it.
The combination of childlike innocence and subversive grooming was positively joyous and rather sexy. We have plans for another group drinking session when she is back in the area.
The Buxom Brunette
I had seen her chatting to others earlier on in the evening and was very curious. Having tried several times I had failed to catch her eye and it was only towards the very end of the evening, after several pints, that we stated chatting.
Suddenly, almost mid sentence, she broke from the conversation, pointed at my shirt and asked
BB: “hold on, are those poppers?”
B: “Err, yes”
…at which point she whipped her hands forward and tore my shirt open.
I’m not shy about my body, but I generally refrain from subjecting others to it in a pub. She caught my eye with a wickedly mischevious grin as I sighed and re-clothed myself. I think this is the not so subtle grown-up version of pinging a bra strap. I might have sighed for the sake of saving face in front of others, but actually I was rather enjoying it.
She ripped them open again. I acquiesced and complied by tying my shirt into a kind of Daisy Duke get-up. I think a couple of other people did a little sick in their throat.
It wasn’t until the following day that I realised that she actually really reminded me, in looks, of Cupcake. That’s not unhealthy, right?
I am a spaz because I did something very silly today. On the way to the gym I bumped into Chuck and now we are talking.
Last year this woman really messed with my head, I mean really messed with my head. We had a brief, intense affair that left me struggling to sleep. She was not good news.
She was one of those sexually tempestuous brunettes who are utterly toxic and yet I struggle to resist.
I won’t go into the long back story but it took a while before I finally untangled myself from her clutches. She nearly snared me again a couple of times but I managed to fight her off eventually.
These days I’m neutral towards here, or put another way ‘Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn’.
I think I’m going to blame the post gym-rush but when Chuck emailed me something pointless I actually replied and worse than that I replied in a slightly flirty way.
Before I realised what had happened we had vague plans for a drink.
I can’t decide if this is a bad thing or not. I’m defintely not going to get wrapped up in that whole melee again.
I have a strict policy of girls only get one trip on the Toast love bus and once they get off they can’t get back on again. So why am I doing this? Is it because I’m bored or is a test? Or perhaps I’m just stupid.
In the interest of perspective I should now add some qualifiers for readers who will not know the Dragonforce that I know.
DF is pretty much the best person I have lived with. I do not mean that she is the best for when I have a lot to do the next morning and we have a fresh bottle of gin in the house. No, she is terrible for me in those situations as we will sit up cackling whilst watching ridiculous telly or playing Rock Band FAR too loud too late at night. Those occasions are, however, lots of fun.
If there were a ‘spaz’ chart in the house then, for different reasons, we would probably be level pegging. Last night, however, was clearly and episode of ‘spaz’ on her part (earning a new giraffe sticker on the chart) but not malice of forethought. It’s pretty much how we are most of the time and it’s normally fine.
Unfortunately, booze + situation that required tact = spaz
I have revised the lesson learned to:
- Attach remote controlled electrodes to DF when we next go out so I can effect some aversion therapy in moments of ill considered comments.
This lesson has the advantage because it involves both HELPING someone and electricity. If I could just somehow involve a robot in there it would pretty much be the best lesson ever.