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 #38 Comedy Threesome

The preamble:
Mr #38 is a very unusual case in 52 First Dates because he is the only date I've been on where I'd seen his profile online and sent the first message. I've not been proactive in messaging people online so far, because in the past, I've not had a very high success rate, very rarely they'd reply and I'd be left feeling pretty shit about myself. So for the most part my dates would be reactionary, depending on who'd emailed me, some might say leaving it up to fate, others laziness, and that would be fair. But I think you'll probably agree, that hasn't really worked for me so far, so from now on I'll have to be more proactive and will just have to get a thicker skin about the ones that don't see me fit enough to reply to.

I had messaged Mr #38 way back in November, because his profile was just awesome. He had a brilliant sense of humour, wrote really well, had the same sense of nonsense surrealism as I did, loved all things creative, and to top it off had a wicked mass of curly black hair. So I sent a silly little message, no sense in a great long persuasive introduction, and the banter started from there. We emailed for ages, and then over Christmas exchanged numbers. We would text regularly, about the most ridiculous things, and some sort of virtual relationship kicked off. In the past, this has been a dangerous tactic, building up so much pressure prior to the first date that it'd almost inevitably be a disappointment. Both of us we were well aware that this could happen, so a month or so before we met we'd agreed to carry on with the foolish banter regardless of the outcome of the date. Perhaps this was a wise idea, perhaps not. 

Mr #38 was not the most forth-coming in suggesting a meet, but I rather liked that. For once, this would be a date that had taken a natural path, rather than something hurried to meet either my dating quota or their impatience. Finally, after three months of preamble, we met.

  

The man:
Age: 30

Profession: Theatre technician and stand up comedian.

Random factoid: Makes music using the Nintendo Gameboy.

The date:
As we both shared the same appreciation of comedy, Mr #38 volunteered a stand up night at a pub south-side for our first date, which was an excellent suggestion. This was one of the few dates I've been on that I was properly nervous, real stomach-churning, toxic-butterfly nerves, the sorts of nerves I used to get before dates prior to 52 First Dates. Because my hopes were really up, I wanted to like him and I wanted him to like me. I even took him a little bag of home made chocolates, as he'd become a bit fascinated by my domestic undertakings, so I thought I'd see if I would win over the stomach as well as the man. 

I turned up at the pub and he was perched in the corner. He looked exactly as I expected, tall, slim, with the same amazing shock of black curly hair, smart glasses and a textbook beard. He stood up to greet me and was an absolute gentleman, taking my coat and popping to the bar to buy me a drink. He was a really nice guy, delightfully geeky, bright and funny. But there was one thing I wasn't expecting about our first date - and that was his best mate.

It turned out his friend was doing a set at the pub that night, and within 10 minutes of us being sat down, this character clad in an aubergine trenchcoat wafted in, introduced himself, and sat in the corner rehearsing before his stint. We only had about half an hour before the comedy began, during which time we covered musical instruments, retro computer games and novelty cookery. We were then ushered into the back room, where the comedy began. 

It was a novices night, so anyone who fancied themselves as a little bit funny could put themselves up for doing a short set, so from the get go I wasn't expecting Billy Connelly. Mr #38's friend was first up, and I did feel sorry for him as the compere had done a rubbish job of warming up the spattering of humans in the crowd. Eleven acts later (ranging from 'pretty funny' to 'was that actually comedy or just a guy whinging about his water bill'), I'd still not spoken to Mr #38 an awful lot, so we grabbed some more drinks and tried to continue the date. With his mate, now buoyed on whiskey, also in tow. 

We carried on jabbering on dissecting comedy techniques, Dungeons and Dragons, Dr Who, Roland Rat. After one drink, his friend decided to call it a day, leaving Mr #38 and I to try and carry on with our date. The poor guy was riddled with cold, and he kept apologising for not firing on all cylinders. We got on really well, and although there was the odd pause in conversation, it didn't feel that awkward. By the end of the next drink though we were both flagging, so we wandered off to the tube and headed home.

Memorable Quotes:
'What actually goes on in the apocryphal hole in the tube map above Tower Hill? I've always wondered...'

Events of note:

The compere chatting to one of the old locals about their Valentine's Day plans. It turned out one went on an internet date with a woman he'd met online. I could've sworn he was one of the fifty-somethings that has tried their luck with me online. The compere then asked the crowd if anyone had done online dating, Mr #38 and I both went red and looked at each other awkwardly, and our psychic connection agreed to confess to nothing.

The Verdict:

This was a really unusual date, mainly for the fact that I wan't just meeting Mr #38, but his partner-in-comedy crime too. He was exactly as I expected, and I thought he was really cute, I really wanted to ruffle his great big barnet, so I was far from disappointed. My main concern was the fact that maybe we'd gone beyond the window of romance and had got ourselves into the friend zone, which can be very hard to come back from. But I was left thinking I'd really love to see him again, just the two of us, so he could feel like he was on form, and we could get a bit irresponsibly drunk and see how the chemical side of things worked between us. There certainly wasn't that instant thunderbolt of clothes-ripping chemistry, but there was something about him that fascinated me. I really hope he felt the same, and that he wants to see me again too. We'll just have to wait and see. Yikes!

Mr #37 - Dinky Dollars

The preamble:
I'd been messaging and texting Mr #37 pretty regularly for a month or so now, and he really piqued my curiosity. He was a man who worked for the big bucks, but in his spare time loves to cook, collect art and do work for charity. He had a good sense of humour on paper, didn't even attempt that irksome text speak, wrote well and sounded like an all round good egg, so I was all too happy to meet him for a beverage or two.

The man:
Age: 34

Profession: Investment broker

Random factoid: Has a phenomenally mixed heritage of English, Italian, Tunisian, Maltese, Sicilian and Spanish.

The date:
This was one of the rare dates where he chose the venue, always instant Brownie points since I've been running a little short of ideas of venues of places where the staff wouldn't start to suspect I was some sort of serial dater (and of course they would be correct). He chose a posh-sounding wine and cocktail bar on Brick Lane which on first glance looked like an excellent choice. I was the first to arrive, and whilst I perched at the bar trying not to look like I was meeting a stranger from t'internet I realised that actually it was a bit of a misguided choice of venue, given that the football was on on mahoosive screens all around the outside of the bar, and the place was starting to fill up with Manchester City fans. 

Ten minutes later, my date arrived. I knew he wouldn't be very tall, as he'd put 5' 5" on his profile. Turns out, he'd fibbed a little. As he walked through the door, I was struck by how petite he was, and thought he was a good couple of metres further away than he actually was. When I stood up to meet him, he was a good inch shorter than me, making him over-ambitious by a good 4 inches. It still baffles me why men lie about their height, it's not as if I'd never find out! 

Anyway he was very nice-looking, well-turned out, polite and rather chipper, so we got cracking with the date. We covered all sorts of topics, his art collecting, archaeology, his  roots, museums, that time he ate too much meat in America and ended up with gut rot (nice!), writing novels, films, pedigree cats, chocolate and kids theme tunes (a topic which seems to crop up on many a date - I think I may be trapped in my 9-year-old self sometimes). 

Mr #37 was quite a character - he had a myriad of interests, and archaeology was a big one, to the point that once a year he goes mud-larking (google it, I had to...) and has his own metal detector which he uses to find old bits of Roman gold. He also recently spent £500 on a giant fossil for his flat, would regularly spend £100 a week on an obscenely posh box of chocolates, owned a very expensive coffee machine and was starting up his own investment business. Money, it seemed, was a big trump card for Mr #37 which I have to say I found very bit off-putting, more so than the fact that he let it slip he was both newly-divorced and a dad (funny how this all comes out on dates and people forget to include on their profiles and in the preamble). 

On reflection, he spoke about himself a lot, and told me that he was writing his own autobiography because he thought he had a really interesting life, which did leave me wondering if all of his interests were manufactured just for the purpose of bolstering the biog. I also couldn't help noticing how he kept flitting his eye line between the football on the television and my chest. Note to self - don't wear this dress on dates again. A few drinks later, we were both showing signs of weariness and mutually agreed to call it an evening.

Memorable Quotes:
'When I was in New York I had a tongue sandwich, have you tasted tongue before?' Are we really gonna go there? Stop it, stop it now...

'I used to want to be Indiana Jones when I was little. I used to bury all my toys in the garden'

'Yeah, girls do like sparkly things don't they?' Yeah, me and glitter...such a girl, I LOVE that shit...

'Your dad used to fly Tornadoes in the RAF? He's my hero, I'd love to meet him...' Uh oh, flashback to Mr #18...

Events of note:

Mr #37 trying to explain what hedge funds ACTUALLY are. To the most financially inept person on the planet. I'll be honest, it didn't go well, and I'm still none the wiser. It's still people selling invisible shit to me and getting paid fucktonnes for it.

The Verdict:

Yes, he was shorter than me, skinnier than me by half, and had smaller hands than me. On physicality alone, I struggled to fancy him as he did make me feel like the Miranda Hart to his Frankie Dettori. Actually, he could have been Frankie on looks alone. And yes, yet again I'm doing what many women do when it comes to dating gentlemen of diminuitive stature, and I do feel for them, it must be so hard as we really can be a tough crowd. But ask any straight woman you know and I'll wager most prefer men who are bigger than them purely to allow for their own insecurities. I know, because I am one of them.

Mr #37 was a really interesting guy, and I really liked the fact he had so many interesting things to talk about (bar the finance crap). But the fact that he held money in such high regard was the real deal-breaker here, and literally every anecdote did boil down to dosh in some way. I'm not looking for someone with a shed load of cash stuffed under the mattress to buy me great big sparkly thing, nor someone whose sole purpose in life is to earn money. 

All in all, it was an entertaining evening, but we didn't have a tremendous amount in common even though we found common ground to talk about, and as much as I'm not sure I want to see him again, I think he probably feels the same.

...although my tits are expecting a text any minute now...