To Catch A Catfish

I thought I'd give you a little update regarding the whole Catfish saga of Mr #2, or the fictitious 'Seb'. For various reasons I can't go into on here now, I can't give you the full update, but I can tell you about one aspect of the ongoing drama which has gone even further to reinforce my disbelief and amazement at the power of social networking. For those who have just tuned in, yes, this is essentially a blog about a girl going on dates with boys. But very early on, a situation presented itself which showed the darkest underbelly of the world of internet dating, which you can read here:

So, we've established I was being groomed by someone who had stolen an innocent man's photos to pose as a single man online. We'd then, through the awesome power of friends and Facebook, found the poor sod whose photos had been stolen, and whose life was largely being used to entice unsuspecting singletons such as myself, a feat which too this day I still find unbelievable. And that, I thought, was that...

...That is, until a month or so ago when I received a message through Twitter that made me go cold. It quite simply said 'please can you message me. I am the latest idiot'. What the fuck?!?!? Since Seb-gate was still very much in the forefront of my mind, I messaged the girl back, known on here as Miss D. What immediately transpired was that she had messaged me the very morning that her mother, suspicious that her latest online beau might not have been all he cracked up to be, had googled his full name, the rather unusual name of Sebastian Pritchard-Jones. What she found, however, was not reinforcement he was who he said he was, but my previous blog entry naming and shaming him as a total fraudster, and told her daughter to read what I had written. I can't imagine how she will have felt just then, but I don't think it will have been nice. 

Devastated at this discovery, Miss D had rung him up immediately, called him a c***, and then tweeted me. They had been planning a trip away together, and until then, she had had had absolutely no idea he was leading her a merrily miserable dance. And why would she? He was a clever, manipulative creature, who had finely honed his act of making people believe what he wanted them to believe. This character is every online dater's nightmare. Once the realisation had settled in, I spoke to Miss D more. She sent me an extensive email of everything he had told her: names, places, anecdotes, habits, likes, dislikes, and the most frightening thing was every single detail was one I knew inside out. This was the finest rehearsed routine I have ever heard in my life. A monologue. A character. And Miss D had had exactly the same thing. It later transpired that the day I had told him to leave me alone, the day after THAT perfume bottle picture, he'd smoothly moved straight on to his next victim. The fact that I had maybe, possibly, potentially saved Miss D from a bigger hurt through my blog is reason enough that I started writing it in the first place. But the fact her mum found it on Google and that Miss D was able to get in touch by Twitter even more reinforces my sheer amazement at the power of the web. For every moment of fear and trepidation the internet gives me, the joy, surprise and warmth that comes back is threefold.

I have absolutely no doubt we are not the only two women he has done this to, and, judging from CT's experience (the guy whose photos were stolen), I'm sure there are other men too. This seems to me the well-versed patter of someone who wants their own relationship for a foreseeable shelf-life before, for whatever reason, the other party gets bored, suspicious or hurt. And I have no doubt that this is still going on now, although I would assume they've been savvy enough to change names, photos and dating sites. Who knows? The fact that online dating sites have no way of guaranteeing that their users are who they say they are will always concern me, but it is nothing you can ever really know for sure until it's potentially too late.  I take some solace that in all my internet dating experiences to date, this has been beyond exception, and the chances of encountering something as remotely as fucked up as this again is incredibly rare. But there is always a chance. After all, he knows who I am, because I am as genuine on these sites as I am to my friend and family, what's to say he couldn't find me again and spin me a whole new enticing yarn. As for everyone else? Well, it's the internet...I need say not one word more. On with Mr #14!

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.

Mr #12 - I'm Going Brown Brown Brown

The preamble:

There was a fair amount of messaging between Mr #12 and I, and for the most part it was tenuous, obscure, but vaguely interesting enough to make me think he'd be a decent craic over a cheeky vino or two. How wrong I was...

The man:

Age: 29

Profession: Massage therapist plus writer and poet. Apparently.

Random factoid: He's an avid festival goer. 

Well, he goes to the Isle of Wight Festival. 

Well, just the once. 

Back in 2004...

The date:

I was originally upposed to meet Mr #12 on Saturday, and I felt bad about having to rearrange because our family cat put our mother in hospital (true story), so I was keen to rearrange for tonight because Mr #12 had sounded so disappointed when I texted to cancel.

An hour before meeting, he messaged to tell me he was nervous, and I felt rather sorry for him, especially knowing I was the least scary person he could expect to encounter on a date. Anyway, I turned up and met him outside the tube, and instantly I knew it wouldn't be an epic evening, for which I was grateful considering I was still hanging from my date with Captain Coriander. A

Although I have nothing against balding men embracing their hair loss, I do have severe reservations about men who, in a fit of folliclular denial, grow their hair long but for the whacking great Friar Tuck bald patch on top to pretend its not there. And he was short, yet again, so I had an almost bird's eye view of said skin circle. Not my initial cup o' tea, I have to say, but nothing a good personality couldn't improve.

I also couldn't get over the fact he looked like he was dressed to go to the office in faecal-brown shirt and black trousers, even though it turns out he's currently unemployed. Anyway my date decided that we'd go to Cafe Rough (yes that is a typo, but I thought it most apt so I've let it be), mainly because we were stood right outside. Hmm. 

Anyway, the evening didn't improve from there. I had to explain the wine menu, to the point he had to ask 'is that red wine?' 'Is that a glass?' Er what??? I also had to endure some severe misquotations of Alan Partridge ('no, I'm terribly sorry, his name wasn't Mike, it was Dan. You know...Dan! Dan! Dan! Dan! Do I need to repeat it again so you remember? FUCKING DAN!,'  and listening about why he was bullied at school (at risk of sounding unsympathetic, because no-one deserves to be bullied, but perhaps first dates aren't the best place to let such skepetons out of your closet?), some random bullshit about the Waco siege and a very awkward 'I like your dress'. Er thanks, what, do you want to borrow it? Sorry, it's not brown enough for you. Or your boring brown soul. 

I literally had to ask question after question to break the awkward silences during which he just sat there. Just sat.  Comtemplating stuff. Probably boring brown stuff. I felt like I'd had to resort to Paxman mode to try and keep things going. 'Oh you do yoga do you? Tell me about that then' ...'yeah, I like it. It relaxes me. I once did a headstand at 3am when I couldn't sleep'. Never underestimate the power of the anecdote. Someone give me strength!  

With social skills like his, I genuinely was not surprised that he was an out of work massage therapist, because the thought of him being paid to provide such an intimate service genuinely makes me want to do a little sick in my hand.  Harsh maybe, but after such an exhausting squeezing of blood from stone, sadly very fair. 

Once I'd had to watch him chew through his large red wine, most of which he wore on his top lip like a toddler in a Ribena moustache, I had to call an end to it, I could endure no more. I can't believe I've had two 90 minute wonders in one week...and this one was just the one drink! 

I think I've hit a brand new dating low.

Memorable Quotes:

At the tube station 'if you'd like to meet up again, just email me'. Don't make me laugh!

Events of note:

The end of the date. I think I may have done a little relief jig on the escalator down to the tube.

The verdict:

Do I need to even fill this one in? Seriously!