Back in the dating game

Eek, I haven’t put fingers to keyboard for a while, mostly ‘cos nothing much was happening on the dating front and I find it a tad depressing to delve into my singleness sometimes, even though I have some amusing stories to tell you from the past couple of years. But they can wait.

Okay, here’s the progress report. I joined an internet dating site under extreme pressure from a mate who was determined to write my profile. And she did a good job, granted, but it did little to stop the influx of strange men I was expecting to contact me. First there was the ugly guy who said he was 35 and looked 55. Sad. Then there was the fat guy who kept talking about being lonely and wanting cuddles. Desperate. Then the investment banker who sounded great but just wasn’t fanciable. Typical.

Again under pressure from my mate I sent out a barrage of emails to suitable bachelors and awaited replies. And waited. And waited. Not one of them got back to me. Uttlery deflated I gave up and decided to let them come to me, I’d just have to do a bit of quality control.

I held conversations with one guy who seemed normal. I say conversations, they were more like statements ‘cos he wasn’t really on the chatty side. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and met him for a drink and discovered he has no problem with being chatty at all – I struggled to get a word in, in fact - and although occasionally on the boring side he seemed nice, intelligent, witty, sporty etc and kinda cute. He’s also 6ft 3ins tall and well built. Perfect. He also held doors open for me, walked me to my car and actually made me feel petite. And that never happens!

Last night was date number two, and I cooked him dinner. It was a nice relaxed evening with lots of kisses and cuddles and he was quite keen to stay over. I think his intentions were honorable, he just felt settled in for the night, but I put my foot down and kicked him out at 11.30pm. Part of me was looking forward to curling up in bed – alone – and watching a DVD. Is that normal when I guy is offering to help you warm the bed?

So, this guy is nice and I like him, I do. The main downside is that he rambles on a bit and he likes innuendo text messages which I do not. All men seem desperate to engage in sex talk via text and that’s a game I refuse to play. It’s boring, unoriginal and a waste of free texts, end of.

So, what was the point I was making? Ah yes, he’s a nice guy and today he’s told me he’s smitten, bless, but part of me thinks: is this what I want? Do I have time for someone else in my life? Am I willing to give up some of my “me time”, why am I not feeling totally blown away by all the compliments and attention?

Perhaps this is just the way it is and I’ve forgotten what it’s like. Perhaps I’m a bit wary about getting hurt, hurting other people and dating in general? I haven’t told my mate about the dates either, I kinda didn’t want any added pressure. A couple of people know but generally I’m keeping my gob shut until I actually have something proper to report, ie like changing my single status on Facebook. Now that really is serious stuff!

Got dinner at his place next week and he’s already hinted about staying over so I can have a drink. Does he think I’m an alcoholic? He mentioned the spare room but I know that’s an unlikely arrangement and I want to retain some control over the situation and not exchange bodily fluids with someone until I’m ready.

Funny how one night stands with strangers are perfectly acceptable yet different rules apply to dates. Hmm. Will keep you posted.

Raise your hand if you hate couples

I love the view of the lake from the window of my apartment, it’s fabulous. No matter what the weather or time of day I love gazing out at the baby swans that float across the water, the windsurfers gliding towards me and the ducks being fed by passers-by. There’s just one thing that ruins it – couples.

Sadly, my lakeside apartment appears to be a haven for loved up couples and I find it most depressing. They’re either strolling hand in hand, walking the family dog, cycling with their 2.4 children or smooching on the grass. It makes me sick. Maybe I should start spitting at them from the balcony?

Okay, so I’m single, but I really don’t need reminding of it every time I look out the window. And it is every time I look out the window. Every time! Do they know I’m single and gather outside my pad just to spite me? Do they pull on fake smiles and loving looks every time they walk past my window, just to make me envious of their coupled-up happiness? It’s starting to feel that way.

I never see single folk going for a stroll; the occasional jogger perhaps, but generally people travel in pairs. It reminds me that my apartment is so wasted on one person. It’s really a home for two (certainly financially) and I’ve yet to have a member of the male population through the door. I can’t really count the Sky man of the telephone engineer can I?

Lately, I have been pining for a boyfriend. And I get angry when I do that ‘cos I should be independent and happy with my single status and not reliant on men for an ego boost. But I do. I’m home alone on a Friday night and watching TV would be so much better in the arms of a hunky guy.

My ideal Friday night would consist of:

• Coming home from work to find hunky boyf cooking up a treat in the kitchen. It smells fab. He’s also tidied up.
• Crack open a bottle of Pinot Grigio and share a pre-dinner, candle-lit bath with boyf – massage aplenty.
• Over tasty dinner (eaten in our his and hers dressing gowns) we engage in intelligent conversation. He asks me about my day and how I’d like to spend the weekend.
• Move to the sofa where the dressing gowns come off and we engage in a bit of…you know what…I don’t need to go into details. He hits all the right spots, says he loves my body and we orgasm together.
• Curl up on the sofa for post-sex DVD and cuddles before retiring to bed. His arm doesn’t leave my waist all night.

A girl can dream. My actual Friday night consists of:

• Work late and then head to TK Maxx to buy nothing in particular and return home with two vests, a pair of shorts and some flat shoes. Random.
• Put a load of washing on and empty the dishwasher.
• Catch up on emails and bill payments. This somehow runs into a couple of hours.
• Tuck into microwave meal for one. It’s low fat so tastes of nothing.
• Pour glass of wine from bottle that’s been open for two weeks. It’s yukky and I can’t be bothered to open a fresh one.
• Crave chocolate but the cupboards appear to be sugar free. A mug of hot chocolate takes the edge off.
• Cut toenails and paint them.
• Retire to bed. Alone. Read book and fall asleep to live Big Brother.

Line up the single folk and pick your victim

It was a mate’s significant birthday over the weekend and as well as promising us cheap booze, a finger buffet to die for and plenty of cheesy dance music, she also highlighted the number of single men on the guest list. Excellent news, fresh victims, I thought.

There were a few single gals at the do, all stunning as is always the case, and three or four single chaps. Trouble is, you kinda assume that all single people will be drawn to all other single people and that’s just not the case. You can’t just pick your guy and go home with him. Shame.

So, when two of the guys stated a preference for my lovely blonde mate, my heart sank. There were single guys in the room and they just weren’t interested in me. My self confidence is nose diving a bit at the moment and I’ve come to realise that I’m just not that good looking. I ain’t ugly either but with so many single stunners out there, us average folk don’t get a look in. Depressing stuff.

As much as I enjoyed the party I was a tad miffed that none of the guys took a shine to me. I even wore a dress. Me and another mate sloped off into town after the party and drowned our sorrows. Not helped by the fact that we were joined by her foreign friend and Mariah Carey lookalike. She stopped guys in their tracks and, quite rightly so, lapped up the attention. Us two stragglers were defo the ugly friends that night!

I did manage to smooch with a guy called Gavin who took my phone number, reluctantly, so I insisted he shouldn’t feel obliged to use it. He hasn’t. To be honest, I can’t really remember what he looks like. Alcohol’s way of saving you from the trauma that he might well have been a minger.