Mr #39 - Leap of Faith

The preamble:
There had been relatively little preamble between Mr #39 and I, but he had a great profile, liked lots of the same things I did plus many more I could be tempted by, and looked nice from the couple of profile pictures he had up on the dating site. So, since Mr #38 had pretty much fallen off the radar since last week which is a bit of a shame since there had been a certain amount of promise, I didn't think twice about accepting Mr #39's offer for a drink. There was a limited amount of text banter, but what I instantly loved about him was not once did he call me babe, he used full and proper English in his messages and he had a cracking sense of humour. All the signs pointed to a pleasant evening, regardless of chemistry.

The man:
Age: 34

Profession: Works in recruitment

Random factoid: Manages his own football team.

The date:
Sadly the day after the date I had to get up at stupid o'clock in the morning for a shoot, so I forewarned Mr #39 I wouldn't be able to stay out and play very late. I was also  unfortunately only able to meet him at 7.30pm, so he'd had to amuse himself in the pub for a couple of hours before I arrived, which is never a bad thing, I'm a big believe in beer goggles counting in my favour. 

I met Mr #39 outside a pub near Soho, and I was instantly struck by how handsome he was...not in the same way as his picture as he was dressed very differently and was wearing glasses, but he had a lovely manner about him and I liked his style, so immediately I was impressed. We headed off to a lovely little establishment behind Carnaby Street, he rustled up some drinks, and although there was nowhere to sit, we found a cosy corner to hide in and get acquainted.  

It soon transpired that Mr #39 and I have an awful lot in common, taste in music, film, comedy, cake and root vegetables, all the important things of course. In a short space of time we covered a lot of the essential big bases, work, home, singledom, religion, festivals and sport as well as some of the more not-so-essential topics such as murder, peanut butter, my Catfish experience, how he copes with his dog's menstrual cycle, my parrot's masturbatory habits, why no eating establishment should have a name ending in 'Zone' and  things you could legitimately combine with Marmite. 

Mr #39 was utterly charming and a real gentleman throughout the evening despite being a little tipsier than I was on account of his extended time in the pub, but it didn't matter a jot. What I really liked about Mr #39 was how up front he was about pretty much everything. As the evening wore on, I grew increasingly resentful of my impending early start as I was having one of the nicest evenings if not THE nicest evening of 52 First Dates, but by the same respect I also wanted to quit while I was ahead as it was going so well. 

A couple of drinks in, Mr #39 asked me how my date was going, to which I replied 'rather well', and since he thought the same he asked there and then if he could see me again. Without hesitation, I said yes, and he then asked when was a day when I didn't have the Sword of Damocles of an early start hanging over my head, and it turns out a week on Saturday suits just fine. And that was that, second date already sorted! 

With date #1 in the bag and date #2 in the diary, we called it a night and headed off to the tube. As we headed down the escalators I was riddled with potential-snog anticipation, and when we said goodbye I won't lie, I was a little disappointed when it was just a peck on the cheek. But there's always the second date, right? Fuck me, a second date! Steady on CTS...!

Memorable Quotes:
'My dog is currently running around the house wearing a customised pair of mens' pants to stop her making a mess everywhere.'

Re my friend Louise's dessert making habits: 'Your friend mixed butterscotch and chocolate Angel Delight? She's single handedly responsible for the downfall of the economy...' Thinking back on timing, he may have been right!

'Blancmange - what the fuck's up with that?'

Mr #39: 'You don't like asparagus because it looks like a willy?'

Me: 'No...I said woody.'

Events of note:

Since this date occurred on the 29th of February, a leap year, the girls in the office were teasing me that I should propose to my date. So, after one drink, thinking he might find it funny, I brought it up. His answer? 'Well if it keeps going well, yes I'll marry you.' Well that was easy! Nice knowing you, readers...

The Verdict:

I don't think you really need to ask this question, since you already know I've agreed to a second date. Throughout the course of 52 First Dates, I've been pretty cagey about second dates if I've not felt something there, in fact I've only ever been on the one, which was with Mr #5. But a third date with him never happened, because he simply fell off the radar. I don't want someone who's happy to fall off my radar, I want someone who wants to be to be in full beam and making it beep loudly. And although 52 First Dates hadn't turned up the man of my dreams thus far, it has reinforced the fact that I know what I'm looking for and when I did finally meet someone right, I'd know about it. 

With Mr #39, something clicked for me, and very easily too. And without wanting to jinx things, it felt like something may have clicked for him too. I loved the fact that I didn't have to play guessing games, because I'm beyond shit at picking up subtle signals and the eternal overanalysis combined with my innate inability to flirt in return drives me potty. And the fact that he took my utterly foolish suggestion of a marriage proposal in such good humour counts for a lot. I say good humour, he said yes, so perhaps more fool-hardy than good-humoured. But there were no games here, he paid me very sweet compliments, was genuinely interested in me, and then asked me out again. And I have to say, not only am I really looking forward to seeing him again, but the butterflies in my tummy are too. At the moment nine days feels like an awfully long time to wait. Watch this space...

Mr 21 - ***Warning! No Freak Zone!***

The preamble:

I've been messaging Mr #21 for a good 6 weeks or so. He works offshore, and for the first month whilst he was on 12 hour night shifts, I knew every day with delightful predictability I would have a message from him. My first thoughts were 'what's wrong with him - he's really hot, and he's messaging me'. And it's true, on both counts. Hot men don't message me. 

Okay, he can't really spell, and for a self-proclaimed grammatical fascist like me that's a bigger deal than maybe it should be. But he was consistant and pretty, and I can be pretty shallow. 

As he works away a lot, I wasn't really sure if and when we'd be able to arrange a meet, but to my surprise, he was able to nip away for a sneaky Sunday, so we arranged a date. There's only one minor catch...he lives all the way in Portsmouth, and the poor bugger had to brave the Sunday trains to come all the way into London. So no pressure then...he's fit, he's coming 2 hours to meet me, and to add triple jeopardy to the situation, he wanted to eat. Real food. Eek! But since he was going to such lengths to come and see me, breaking my lifelong ban against eating on first dates was the least I could do really. But that said, I did have to google the menu of my chosen venue first to ensure there was a. definitely something I would eat without picking bits out and b. something I stood a good chance of eating without wearing. All things considered, I managed to revert back to my pre-52 First Dates pre-date nervousness, but as it turned out, it was to be entirely unfounded.

The man:

Age: 35

Profession: Works with remote operated vehicles on an offshore wind farm

Random factoid: I have been wracking my brainbox for the last 10 minutes now and I can't think of one...maybe herein lies a problem...

The date:

As Mr #21 was a tourist, I met him at the tube and escorted him to the venue of choice, a cute but not-too-Londony venue. My first thoughts on clapping eyeballs on him were 'my my, he really IS handsome! And tall', which in 52 First Dates terms is really rather unusual. He was also very casual and relaxed, and the pre-date nerves rapidly evaporated. 

I dragged him off to the pub, he seemed suitably impressed, we got in a bottle of red and set to with the dating. I have to say he's a proper Hampshire country lad...very chilled out, very impressed by the big smoke, and really nice company. But I soon started to feel I was maybe a bit too much of a city kook, and I realised very early I couldn't quite unleash my usual hell-for-leather surrealism. 

Conversation was unfeasibly normal. We covered jobs, food, travel, transport and television. We got stuck in to a super tasty roast dinner, and as a small personal victory, I managed to eat a full meal in front of an attractive man without making some sort of embarrassing scene. 

After dinner, he was determined to be an absolute gentleman and pay for everything, so by means of a minor recourse I carted him off to my favourite pub with taxidermy in Fitzrovia for a couple more drinks. We sat talking about more food on a big squishy sofa for a further couple of hours, and maybe it was the red wine talking, but I was super tempted just to curl up under his great big manly armpit and have a cheeky snooze, I was getting that comfy. 

Soon enough, consciences prevailed: I was wary he had a train to catch and he was wary I had work in the morning, so we scampered off towards the tube to go our separate ways. At the station as we said our goodbyes, there was that awkward moment where neither of us was sure what was going to happen, so I plunged straight for the cheek kiss and skipped off to the bus.

Memorable Quotes:

Again, I can't remember anything. This is most unusual. And it's nothing to do with the booze, I've sobered right up. I think maybe it was because I wasn't nipping to the loo to make frequent notes on my BlackBerry. And he wasn't leaving the table either so it was a note-making stalemate.

Events of note:

The barman in the pub managing to convince both of us to have a completely different drink to that which we wanted. And both of them were pretty minging. Bison grass vodka and apple juice? Er, no thanks!

The verdict:

This has been a most bizarre date in 52 First Dates terms, not because of who I was with, but because it was just so goddamn normal on every level. The guy himself was gorgeous, a total gentleman, and really lovely company. And he was totally impressed with pretty much everything. But perhaps maybe this is the problem. I felt like London was just a little bit too exciting for him, and as a result I felt like I could only fire on half kook-cylinders with him. And being brutally honest, I just don't know why this could be considered a problem, because I had a lovely day and I stayed with him all afternoon. 

Before meeting him, I have to confess to having a little private wobble - what if he was amazing, what if I wanted to be with him, and what if I had to give up 52 First Dates? And there was a very strange dawning on me that maybe falling in love with 52 First Dates, rather than anyone in it. I think it'll be pretty easy for me to keep dating the freaks, and although it may not seem this way now, that's not actually what I want to do. But then faced with your textbook Mr Normal I've found myself hankering for someone to give me a bit more of a run for my money. And no, I don't want the BFG, the Snaggletooth or Good Will Munting back by any means, but I suppose perhaps I'm looking for someone in between? Who knows. I sure don't. I'm baffled. 

So if the worst I can say about this guy is that he's just really goddamn nice but not quite eccentric enough, then that can't be too bad can it? But yet it's not quite enough. But what I do know is when at the station he asked if I'd like to meet up again, I did say yes. He works away for months on end and he won't be back on shore leave for a wee while, so I know there won't be any pressure there to make any big decisions anytime soon. I just wouldn't want to bugger him around, that wouldn't be fair. So I guess I just need to keep up the quest in the interim to find Mr Mildly-Mutant-But-Nicely-Normal. He must be out there somewhere. The benchmark for my ideal man moves once again...and it seems it's my own silly fault for moving it so much!

Mr #13 - Pint-Sized and Doe-Eyed

The preamble:

I'd been messaging Mr #13 for quite some time, and much like Mr #5, (remember, the one with the snow globe) I, had a good feeling about him and for some random reason knew we'd get on. I don't know why, but I'm starting to realise that my instinct on these things mostly isn't too bad, Catfish notwithstanding, as you'll find out. Anyway, after a couple of failed reschedulings for various actual work reasons, we were both still keen to meet. So met we did.

The man:

Age: 29

Profession:Trainee teacher

Random factoid: Changes his sheets once a month. Yes, I know...! He did redeem himself otherwise...

The date:

The first thing that struck me about Mr #13 was he was hot. Properly gorgeous. I've not seen eyes and the surrounding lashes like that in yonks. He was so cute, in fact, that I instantly put aside my heightist snobbery (he was only a couple of inches taller than me, which if you're familiar with my previous blog entries, you'll know I'm not terribly forgiving on the vertical front). 

This was one of the rare occasions that my date chose the venue, a rather quaintly cool jazz bar off the beaten track. We arrived, we perched, and then discovered we were sat about 6 inches in front of the live band and couldn't hear a bloody thing. Nice idea, but after him thinking I was talking about syphilis rather than my sister, we had to relocate somewhere quieter. Once re-perched and sat within audible earshot, I discovered he was funny, pleasant, and very easy going. Conversation covered all the essentials: favourite kids TV shows, pork scratchings, eighties films, urinal etiquette (what is it with dates and talking about pee-time politics?), taxidermy, pizza toppings, Valentine's Day, and that eternal dilemma - if you had to give up one meat forever, what would it be? Beef, if you were wondering...and pork would be the one I'd choose if I was left with only one. Of course.

Anyway the evening drew on, we were getting on swimmingly but both of us were stifling yawns, so we decided it was time to go our separate ways. Or so I thought. After a farewell hug outside the pub, slightly awkward and lingering, I said I was off north as he was southbound. But then, in an unprecedentedly unpredictable move, he changed his mind and decided he'd walk north to the tube with me, which made things even more awkward as we'd already said our goodbyes. 

And even more awkwardly, we had to say goodbye at the tube again, and then even worse, we had to sit on opposite sides of the platform and just style it out. I found myself trying to summon every vapour of my non-existent telekinetic power to make those trains come sooner. Seven minutes we were sat there. But it felt a lot lot longer. But retrospectively funny nonetheless.

Memorable Quotes:

'You just mentioned Gomez, they're my favourite band ever!!!'
'I know, you said about 10 minutes ago'
'Oh'

Events of note:

For the first time in my life ignoring my irrational elitist heightism in favour of a pretty face and a lovely personality. It seems I can still learn!

The verdict:

I had a thoroughly lovely evening with Mr #13 - he was hot, funny, bright, entertaining and we had a lot in common. Although we exchange a couple of messages once we got home, he wasn't immediately pressing for a second date, which left me feeling a little bit more keen. 

However, over the last few weeks behind the scenes of #52firstdates, there has been unexpected turmoil. A character I went on a date with way before the #52firstdates challenge started has surfaced again in rather significant style, and I'm afraid his resurgence has had an effect on how I feel about my current dates, especially Mr #13. If this new contender didn't exist, I would without doubt be hankering for date #2 with Mr #13. But as it is, he's gone and thrown me into temporary emotional turbulence, so I'm now not as sure about things as I ordinarily would be. 

So for now, the fasten seatbelt signs are on, I'm holding tight to my emotional sick bag to ride things out for rest of this short flight, and hopefully I'll be back with an update very soon.