I’ve recently rejoined a dating website. It was a website that introduced me to The Fez, as well as a couple of other fairly serious girlfriends. It’s one of those sites where it is free to look but if you want to actually talk to people you have to pay.
The plan was to browse a bit over Christmas and maybe ask some people out in the New Year. I have a wager to win after all.
This website lets you add people to your favourites, and they are alerted when you do so. It’s the Internet equivalent of catching someones eyes in a bar. Or that is how I think of it.
Shortly after re-joining this very pretty girl added me to her favourites.
She sounded really interesting, looked pleasingly kooky in her photographs and was also quite tall. I’m under-playing this a bit really, she was so interesting that within about a minute of finding out she had added me to her favourites I was upgrading to a full account so I could message her.
Messages were exchanged, and a meeting was suggested and I spent rather too much of the weekend looking forward to our date.
I was a little bit late because I had to change my outfit three times to find something that worked, and even then I left the house in something that wasn’t warm enough but looked good.
The plan was to meet for a hot chocolate, the best hot chocolate in London and then see how things went from there. I arrived 15 minutes late because of the outfit issues and she was waiting outside.
The hot chocolate place didn’t really have anywhere to sit so I suggested we amble over to the Tate and so we walked and talked.
She was half Swedish and half Indian, tall with long dark hair and dark brown eyes combined with a slightly cheeky smile.
Her accent was mostly Californian but every now and there would be a hint of a Swedish. It was utterly beguiling, the way a woman talks is almost one of the most important things to me and she had the charm in bucket loads.
She was also extremely smart and writes for a well-known science magazine about really grown up things. It would be an understatement to say I was impressed by her.
A massive understatement.
The walk to the Tate was lovely, frosty and revealing. We swapped housemate stories, talked about California and the quirks of Londoners. When we arrived at the gallery I noticed that the Gauguin exhibit was still going. I’d wanted to see it months ago when The Teacher stood me up so I suggested it, she agreed.
I bought us tickets and we went through the exhibit. We alternated between making insightful commentary on art and silly quips. It was a very giggly visit to the gallery. We both picked out our favourite pictures and decided that Gauguin was probably a bit of a nightmare to know.
After the exhibition we got some drinks and chatted for a while with views of the Thames. We talked about jobs, hopes and plans for the future it was quite grown up. I mentioned I had a party I was going to go to in the evening and said she would be welcome to join me. She said yes and so we went off in search of food.
After a short and very chilly walk we ended up in Ping Pong eating dim-sum and talking about the dating book The Game, a mutual love of hot food, relationships and family backgrounds. I revealed quite a lot for a first date which is unusual for me. We split the bill, hopped onto the tube and then ambled down Regent’s Street to go to the party in a private members club.
Max Factor were launching their new face of one of their ranges of make-up. The face came out, gave a short gig and then disappeared. We watched, drank free wine and played with the fake diamonds that were scattered all over the bar.
At about 8 she said she had to go (she had mentioned earlier in the date she was supposed to be exchanging Christmas presents with flatmates) and so we left the party before the goodie bags had even been made up. We saw what was in them, and since neither of us had a burning desire for blue eyeliner we left into the night.
We said goodbye at the Tube and she said she would text me. I don’t have her number so I must wait now to see if she will. Waiting is painful. I won’t give her a name unless she text messages me.
I’d love to see her again, she is probably my favourite so far.
Marriage percentage: 35%
Gauguin was a very messed up puppy but he did do some nice paintings.
Giggly dates at the Tate are always a win.
Unless a girl grabs my leg, or sexually assaults me I have no idea if she is interested or not.
Waiting for someone to text is painful.
Last night there was a party in London hosted by Pot Noodle. Yes the snack. I’ve never been a huge fan of them, but I think I’m always going to have one around from now on to remind me of what happened.
I had assessment day thing at work so I wasn’t sure if I’d have the energy to go to a bash in London and since I’m single I don’t really have anywhere to stay. About half way through the day I grew some balls and decided to go. This was the right thing to do.
The party started off at about 7ish. I was even a bit early and got papped going in by some photographers and a load of tourists. I think this was more to do with the fact I was wearing stupid shades (as part of a costume) than the following of The Wed or Dead Wager.
Pretty much the entire London crowd was there, being lovely. Tate had just broke up with her chap and was feeling a bit fragile so she needed gin and hugs. Scalene was looking slightly nervous because the girl who he started the blog about was going to appear and meet us for the first time. It was terribly thrilling.
It was also bloody hot. The bar was far, far too warm. The place was rammed with journalists, very minor celebrities (Cheeky Girls, Bradley from S Club, and some others I can’t remember) and various frowning PR people with great hair.
I caught up with an old chum who is a bit of a London gay icon. We chatted for five minutes, he went to the bar and I realised he didn’t recognise me. About twenty minutes later he came back and apologised and said my radical haircut and fitness regime had caught him off guard. He was very sweet about it.
I did my usual London thing of talking to random girls in the room about nonsense. There was a girl in a smashing frock who was being very flirty and then mentioned she had a French boyfriend. Zut alors!
The editor of a well-known gossip magazine turned up with someone I recognised. It was a the really, really pretty girl from the company awards a few months ago. We spoke then to but I couldn’t remember her name. I said hello and we chatted some more. I even introduced her to some chums but I still don’t know her name. Bums.
Also I promised her editor a ride on a motorbike and I think I spent a lot of the night accidentally coming on to gay men. I really shouldn’t complement other men on their shoes, even if they are great.
Carole Decker turned up to judge something and then ended up singing China in your hand on karaoke. It was a very special moment. A tiny sweaty touch of magic.
The party got a bit more wild after that. One of the karaoke stars (and eventual winner) took his shirt off and then fell off the stage. Someone else made a Pot Noodle with lager and there was even some dancing.
The pretty girl, let’s call her Mia because she has a haircut like that character from Pulp Fiction, and I were dancing away to something. She pointed to a man in a hat. He was really dancing, not just jiggling away to music but actual proper dancing.
She said she was the choreographer from Glee. Yes GLEE. I was so excited I marched over to him and told him how much I loved Glee. There was quite a long bit about how I thought the return of musical theatre was a great thing and how even though I’m not really the target audience, Glee really spoke to me.
It was more than slightly gushing, but it was Glee.
He smiled at me and said that actually he did the choreography for High School Musical.
I winced. We had an awkward conversation where I said ‘Well yes, that’s terribly impressive too’
There was more wincing and I slunk off.
Some time later it was time to go home, so I went back to my friend’s office to pick up some things before I set off, and caught another friend doing something NAUGHTY with a man in the office. This was so shocking we walked out, realised we hadn’t actually got the things we needed to pick up and so went back and CAUGHT THEM AGAIN.
I went home, reminded of what a brilliant town London is and with vague plans to try to find out what Mia’s name actually is.
”No Biscuit, I have already consumed far too much drink and I don’t want to put any more cocktails in my face’
Instead I said ‘Yes’ and then ‘Shall I get another round in?’
So it was basically my fault that I was broken and for that I apologise to my own liver. Biscuit fed me some drugs , a mixture of different ones and then we ambled off to a chums house for coffee. We decided to walk there because it might clear our heads. It sort of worked. I definitely felt less sick after it, although Biscuit kept talking about polishing turds and glitter.
We arrived my chum’s house and she fed us bacon sandwiches and coffee. It was excellent but I still felt a bit weird. So weird that I sort of cancelled my dates for the day.
I say sort of because they had been arranged but the final text of ‘okay what time shall we meet’ had never been replied too. I suspect the Internet Rats must have eaten the messages. I didn’t persue it too much as I was still in shock after kissing Tate.
Biscuit was feeling less broken so he went on some dates I went for a walk with a dog and then got the train home. The only other thing of note was that Spain called, we talked about chaps and this caused her to ask a friend about the man she had been seeing and it turned out he is married with kids. She was very cut up about this but it’s good that she knows now. Of course what she decided to do with this information was pretty shocking, but that’s for a later post.
It really was most surprising London trip.
If there is one lesson I never fail to learn, it is that plan and booze don’t mix. The plan was to travel to London and squeeze a load of dates into one weekend in a terribly efficient way. I would swoop in on the train, see a plethora of exciting women and then return back to the wilderness to plot my next move. This would have worked if I hadn’t been drinking, if I’d stuck to the plan and I was someone else.
I’m not, and I am a spaz.
I arrived late, because of train-related berkitude (Adj. To display the attributes of a berk) and so only had time to briefly say hello to Biscuit, hand over a bag and then jump on to the tube to see Spain. Yes instead of going on dates I was meeting up with girls who don’t fancy me and who are in relationships. See previous statement about being a spaz.
It was an excellent non-date. I ate noodles, she had a soup thing and we both drank slightly too much wine. She talked about her new chap (Who I suspect is in a relationship with someone else because he was acting all weird, but how to do you bring this up?) and I showed her some impressively mad text messages I’d been sent by an Ex. Then we ambled over to a bar to meet some friends. Yes more not dating for me.
Chums were in excellent form and it was great catching up with them. Spain met them all, had one quick drink and then disappeared into the night – she was a bit broken. Before she left Tate turned up (I had mentioned I was out if she fancied a drink) so I had managed to go on two non-dates with girls who don’t fancy me. That’s got to be worth a sort of multi-spaz bonus score.
Anyway the two objects of my unrequited love met briefly which was sexy and troubling at the same time. Tate was introduced to the chums as well and then we set about getting extremely drunk and laughing. One of my chums thought that Tate was flirting with me, I said this was nonsense because we were definitely just friends. More drinking occurred. Biscuit appeared after his date (see one of us managed it) and we started buying stupid rounds of novelty drinks.
Through the fug of booze I can remember talking some nonsense to Tate and our faces being really close. This happened a few times and then we started kissing. I was utterly baffled by this, I’d be less surprised if Biscuit had started kissing me. Tate said I tasted of beer and I said she tasted of unicorns. This bit still feels a bit unreal, like if someone said they once ate a dragon.
The bar closed at this point and we started to make our way home. For some reason outside the bar we had brief Mary Poppins inspired heel clicking contest that caused me to smash-up my Iphone (I think I won though) before stumbling back to the hostel.
It looked like a short distance on the map but it was long enough to make my feet bleed. Yes bleed. My new shoes were very pretty and had got many admiring comments but they had destroyed my feet. When we arrived at the hostel Biscuit made me drink more cocktails and eventually I fell into bed utterly ruined and still not quite believing what had happened.
It definitely did happen though because Biscuit saw it.