Thank you very much for all the comments on the money issue yesterday. So interesting. One thing that really that struck a chord was something Mairead wrote on Facebook about it not necessarily being the money the matters but being with someone you admire.
So just because someone doesn’t earn money doesn’t mean you can’t really admire the way they live their life, how kind they are, how hard they work (whether for money or not) etc. But if that admiration is lacking, then I guess that’s not a good place to start.
A lot of people agree that it’s important to have similar ideas of what kind of life you’d like. How you see that future has to be in some sort of alignment, otherwise it’s going to be a constant source of tension and hurt. A bit like agreeing whether you want children, or want to quit your jobs and travel etc.
My friend wants to set me up with his friend. This friend (the one I’m to be set up with) is 37, an artist and musician and works in a coffee shop. It is really really awful that my first thought is that I can’t face going out with a broke Peter Pan? Is that very judgemental, superficial and money-grabbing of me?
My last boyfriend was also an aspiring musician. He was talented and we got on so well in many ways – we could talk for hours, had the same sense of humour and similar morals – but the money thing became a real issue. I hated the fact that I ended up paying for a lot and that he seemed happy to let me.
Last Thursday morning I stood in front of a boardroom of business people and told them I needed a boyfriend. No, really, I did.
My friend Josh had invited me to this networking business breakfast he goes to, saying I might get some copywriting work out of it.
I don’t really want any copywriting work but according to Matthew Hussey we must say ‘yes’ to every invitation because you never know where it will lead and who you will meet. It also gets you out of your comfort zone and used to interacting with people.
Last night I was supposed to have a date with Alistair, the Scottish guy who works for the NHS.
His profile said that he ‘liked to make sweeping assumptions about people based on their profile pics’. He guessed that I was Irish, liked swing dancing and vintage clothes. I guessed that he was Scottish.
We were messaging last week and he made me giggle. It was easy.
He asked if I wanted to meet up. I said yes. We agreed on this Wednesday night. He told me that he’d been in touch this week to arrange.
This Tuesday night, around 11pm, I was going to bed and still hadn’t heard from him. It was annoying. Pride meant I didn’t want to be the one to message him first but also, I wanted to know if it was still happening so I could make other plans if it wasn’t.
So I messaged him: ‘Hello Alistair, how are you? Just wondering if we’re still on for tomorrow night?’
Well, it happened. My Tinder dating has officially begun. I had my first date on Saturday with a guy who described himself as ‘6-ft Northerner with a taste for the absurd.’ His profile pics attested to that – there were shots of him wearing a comedy moustache and wig, pics of him in what looked like a Flamenco outfit at a festival…
None of this is my kind of thing. I’m too uptight for fancy dress. And I find absurd stuff kind of stupid and childish.
But then there was a nice normal smiley picture and I could see he lived locally so I just swiped anyway.
We had a bit of texting at the end of last week.
He told me he was good at making burgers and doesn’t like lazy people. I told him I’m a terrible cook and am very lazy. He said he admired my honesty. I told him I liked burgers. Continue reading
I don’t like this dating business. I haven’t even gone on one and already I’m in strung out and tired. I don’t like strangers pinging messages to my phone every day and I don’t like that I’m going out to meet them – I feel anxious, jumpy and irritable.
I now have four dates lined up – one tonight, one tomorrow night, one on Wednesday and one next Sunday.
I keep thinking, what if they don’t like me? What if they say ‘you don’t look anything like your pictures?’ – which, of course, I don’t. I have put up BY FAR MY BEST PICTURES. I know that this is part of the game but seriously, I could be done under trade descriptions.
I’ve spent the last few days hating my teeth and my bum and my hair. I’ve been looking in the mirror and finding the ways I am wanting. I am thinking things such as: ‘why are your eyes so weird and puffy at the moment? Who would want to look into them?’ I’ve been looking at my lumpy arse and thighs and thinking the same thing – ‘who the hell would want them? Why have you let yourself go?’ etc etc.
I am already setting myself up for rejection. It makes me want to cry.
So as of last Saturday morning, when I woke up feeling hungover and embarrassed about the whole barman moment, I am on Tinder.
It’s a revelation – this is where all the single men of London are! Posting photographs of themselves with tops, without tops, with smiling faces and moody black-and-white photo faces, in the pub, up a mountain, cuddling dogs, kids or glam girls on a night out – a pic that says, look, women love me! I’m a catch!
It’s online shopping for a boyfriend – and the choice is big. Almost overwhelmingly so.
I have a crush on the guy working in our local pub. Last Thursday I walked past and could see that he was working. I walked in. On my own. And sat at the bar.
This to me, felt as daring as the stand-up comedy and jumping out of plane combined.
This guy is no Brad Pitt or George Clooney – but he’s tall and twinkle and smiley and ever since he started working there at Christmas, I’ve liked him. Which, of course, means that I’ve been too embarrassed to talk/smile/interact with him in any way. Give me a guy I don’t fancy and I’ll chat away for hours. Somebody I even half like, though, and I have no choice but to totally ignore him. Obviously.
This morning I told the delivery guy that I liked his jeans, I told the guy in my local newsagents that I liked his shirt and I told the hipster serving me coffee that I liked his beard. The delivery man looked utterly confused and a bit scared. My newsagent beamed and told me his wife had got it for him and the hipster looked equally satisfied. ‘I’ve had it since my school days,’ he said. ‘It’s a Greek thing.’
I had a picture of a skinny 12-year-old in Athens with a full-on beard. Maybe he meant university? And what is it with me and Greek men?
Anyway – I’ve given three compliments to three men and it’s not even lunchtime yet.
Let the games commence.
Matthew Hussey’s says the first step to getting your guy is to…
TALK TO THE GUY – TALK TO ANY GUY Continue reading
When I started this project my sister told me they’d never make it into a Hollywood movie if I didn’t end up with Mr Right at the end of it.
Then last week I was introduced to a friend of a friend and I was telling him about the blog. He was straight to the point: ‘It all sounds very tame – where’s the shagging?’
Where, indeed, is the shagging?! There hasn’t been much action, has there?!