Monday, 30 November 2009

39 The Date Date part 2


It's a very strange experience going out with someone you've met online.

You don't have a mutual friend to discuss to start you off. Like you would if it was a blind date.

In fact you don't actually know if you have anything mutual to discuss.

You don't even get the chance to have a proper look at your date...

I know that sounds a bit weird, but think about it... when you are out in a group you can give them the proper once over while they are in conversation with someone else. You can even make licking motions to make your friends laugh if you think your date is lovely.

When someone is sitting in front of you though, and it is just you two, you can't properly look at them. It just comes across as staring. Then they think you are weird.

Instead, in online dating dates, you have to look at them without looking at them. All the while trying to fill that space that is meant for conversation. Silences do not work on internet-born dates. They are more than just awkward...they are excruciating.

So, feeling slightly unfeminine after taking on the role of the man, and being the chattier of the two of us, I decided to take the opportunity to be the girl and satisfy that weird fable that females talk a lot...

So, I talked. Ohmigod, I talked. I talked for Britain. No subject was out of bounds.

'Could somebody please get a gag for the girl with the builder's haircut. She won't shut up.'

I talked so much I tired myself out.

I got respite thankfully, (or maybe he did?) when Mr Third Base went to the toilet. I took the chance to check my phone. There was a text from my flatmate. Well?

I was still replying when Mr Third Base came back from the toilet. I apologised for being on my phone. He said it was ok and he'd take the opportunity to check his phone.

Oh, he had a text too.

Ohmigod please don't let it be from my flatmate.

Yes, my flatmate had insisted I leave Mr Third Base's number for him. Although I'd made him swear only to use it if he thought I'd been murdered, I knew his promises were empty.

I mean this is the guy that walked into the living room, saw me sitting with a male friend and despite not knowing who he was, or his relationship to me, asked if he was one of my internet dates.

Subtle is not a word I'd use to describe my flatmate.

Please don't let him have texted my date.

Please!

Phew. The text wasn't from him.

Finished dinner. Had another drink. Had been all very pleasant. What a nice guy. I was ready to go home though. It was a school night after all.

'What time is your train?' I asked.

'Not for another hour.'

Damn.

Get through the next hour. Walk him to the train station (well may as well keep to the theme of the date, with me taking on the role of the man...) and bade each other farewell.

Get home. Tired and drained from talking so much.

Flatmate wants all the gossip.

I didn't really have any.

Wants all the details.

I didn't really have any.

Asks me what my date was wearing (I don't think in a weird, 'what was he wearing?' leery, way, just in a curious, way. I hope anyway....)

I had no idea.

I realised he can't have made that much of an impression if I didn't even remember what he had on.

Also realised I'd just spent a very long evening with a stranger. And apart from not being very memorable, the only thing I had to show for it, was a lighter purse.

Decided there and then to invent a new dating rule...

1/ Always, always, always go on a pre-date first - It won't tire you out as much, and at least the most you will lose is the time it takes to have a cup of coffee.

Sunday, 29 November 2009

14 The Date Date


I was going on a real, live, date!

None of this pre-date nonsense. Someone thought my profile seemed interesting enough to want to go for dinner and drinks with me.

I was pretty excited.

Until I realised that the date was going to involve work that is.

Yes, Mr Third Base had asked me out but that is where his effort ended. He's from Liverpool so said he that despite being happy to come over to Manchester, he doesn't know it, so I'd have to decide where we were going. Damn!

Putting any fantasies I have about the man being the man and making the decisions, I started going through possibilities in my head.

Do you know how hard it is to plan an evening with someone that you know absolutely nada about? Was he veggie? Would he prefer Indian, or Chinese or maybe Mexican? Should we go cheap and cheerful? Or posh? Or in the middle?

I was non the wiser by the time I met him, so after our initial awkward greeting (where we stood about a mile from each other and just mumbled hi), I said I needed a bit of help choosing.

And his idea of helping? It was to come up with the quirky idea that we should just go to wherever the third nearest place was. Third nearest? God, where's that??? What direction??? We were sitting at crossroads! Call that a help???

Anyway, I finally managed to make a decision and off we headed. Posh-ish pub grub. Nice, cosy, log fire. Hoped he wouldn't notice that we didn't pass two places in between (well I suppose we did if you count the chippy.)

Had to wait a bit for the table. The table that I'd had to ask for. Then when it seemed like we'd been forgotten, I had to go and sort it out.

Ah, I was starting to see a pattern. Despite Mr Third Base being 10 years older than me...tonight Matthew, I was going to have to be the man.

Not to worry though, an opportunity soon presented itself for me to go back to being a girl and I took it...

Friday, 27 November 2009

9 S'now Fun


Forget Mr Third Base's dinner and drinks invitation. I've had a much better offer...

I liked your profile, and would enjoy getting to know you...Maybe I could interest you in a free ski trip when I go to Switzerland for a few days? What do you think?

What do I think? I think how exciting! Switzerland?! Yes of course I'm interested! I mentally start packing and trying to remember where my passport is...

Phone my mum and tell her I'm off to Switzerland with her future son-in-law.

She tells me I'm not allowed to go.

Spoilsport!

I don't even understand what her problem is. He sounds great...

He works in medicine. He says he's 5ft 10 with an athletic build.

He doesn't smoke. He doesn't do drugs. Hell, he doesn't even drink!

And he's 53 and married, so understandably insists I'd have to be 'discreet.'

See, doesn't he sound lovely? My mum can be so unreasonable sometimes.

Wednesday, 25 November 2009

0 Furrowed Brow


I received an email reminding me to get my eyebrows waxed in preparation for my date.

Thought it was a strange email to get for two reasons...

1/ I don't get them waxed anymore, I'm a converted threading girl

and...

2/ The email appeared to be from me....to me.

Eh? I really couldn't fathom this out. I'm an occasional sleep-walker but surely I wouldn't have got up, switched on my laptop and mailed myself? I'm not that lonely that I need to send myself messages. Plus it was signed off as me which would kind of defeat the purpose. There were also no kisses and I would definitely put kisses to myself. I'd put loads.

I decided I must be suffering from stress.

That is until my brother emailed me enquiring whether I'd received any interesting messages recently. It all became clear.

He'd set up a new email account, in my name, and had mailed me about my eyebrows to my usual address. He was so excited about his own joke that he couldn't wait to hear from me any longer.

Why is it that no matter what age you are, when there are any dealings with your brother you revert to being a child?!

I'm soooo telling mum on him.

Tuesday, 24 November 2009

5 Completely Shameless


The rumour at work has been that I'm there on a secret mission. That I'm just pretending to be a medical secretary, all the while taking notes on the scandals going on so I can then make a documentary about it. Like the one that was done about the police. I'd be doing the dentist version.

There are two issues with this. Firstly, I like to think that if I was there as a spy, I'd do a better job of it so they wouldn't actually know I was spying. The second one is that I'm not sure how much scandal there is in oral surgery. I certainly haven't heard any. Not even a whiff of the wrong tooth being taken out.

Often when you work in TV, many people think that means you can do anything in TV. As if I turn up and just turn my hand to whatever I'm asked to do that day. You want me to film? Sure. Read the news? No problem. Be the Best Boy? Easy.

I think my work colleagues must also think like that as despite knowing I'm in docs, they asked me today if I've been in Shameless.

Shameless? Why on earth would they think that? I felt quite put-out. Do I look like I would have been? Is it the way I dress? Is it my hair? Or even worse, maybe they don't think I acted in it but instead that I live by the Chatsworth estate and have just been caught on camera while going about my daily business.

Turns out it was all just a misunderstanding. A former Shameless actress is rumoured to be working in the hospital and as I work in TV they decided (hoped) it was obviously me!

I can just imagine...Single white female seeks position as a medical secretary. Lots of relevant experience from previous jobs as an actress and spy.

Sunday, 22 November 2009

7 Pre-Dating Mating

I fully accept that, in some ways, I am a commitment-phobe.

Like in the way that I won't buy a weekly bus ticket to get to my temp job. My colleagues query my lack of thriftiness, but I just worry that it will send the wrong message out into the ether, and the universe will think I really like the job and make me stay.

Similarly, I had problems when I went to get a new phone contract recently. I'd prepared myself for the fact that I'd probably have to go on an 18 month contract rather than a 12 month one like I'd been on previously. Yet, it appears that while I was psyching myself up, the mobile phone people were busy changing the rules behind my back. Now all of a sudden they want you to sign up for two years. Two years! I mean, come on! Anything could happen in two years! Loads could happen! I might move abroad, or maybe I'll get married or perhaps have a baby. Or all three. I mean, I don't necessarily want any of those things to happen but what if they did? Do you think for example I'd want to have a baby but still have the same mobile phone? Have my life completely change but yet still be stuck with the same phone from my old life? God, no!

I explained all this to the teenager serving me but he couldn't offer me any solutions, perhaps I'd confused him about whether I was looking for a new phone or a baby. In the end though, I decided that as I couldn't make a decision (that may have been down to the palpitations) I should keep my current phone and go on a 30 day rolling contract. Phew! Much better.

These are perfectly normal things to have commitment-issues about though aren't they? I'll hold my hands up to them. When it comes to relationships though, I'm pretty sure I don't have a problem. So when I heard about the new...er...craze in the dating world for 'pre-dates', I realised that this would be one trend I couldn't keep up with.

Can you imagine me telling my friends I was going to start pre-dating? Pre-dating, which is essentially a quick meeting you have, just a coffee or something, to see if you both think it is worth going on a proper date. Oh, how they would laugh and say that it proves I have issues if I can't even commit to a date, and have to go on a pre-date!

Aside from that, I also thought it was a bit of a crap idea. It could be down to the fact that the article where I first read about pre-dating also listed the pre-date rules. One of them being, that at the end of your pre-date, despite whether you think you'd like to go on a proper date, you must under no circumstances...I repeat...under no circumstances...never ever.. kiss your fellow pre-dater. Instead you must shake their hand.

Now I've never fully embraced(!) the whole European thing of kissing all the flipping time. I avoided going to parties when I lived in Holland after reading in the book 'Dealing with the Dutch' that you were supposed to go up to each individual on arrival and kiss them three times. I figured out I'd be too tired for partying after all that.

On the other hand though, isn't the hand-shake thing a tad formal? I get that it is to leave them wanting more and obviously I'm no expert (as I wouldn't be online dating in the first place) but couldn't it give someone the wrong impression? What if they move in to kiss you on the cheek? Have you to move away and stick out your hand? Wouldn't that suggest that you aren't interested? Or that you think they might have herpes? Or suggest that you have?

So that is why when Mr Third Base called and asked me out (he must be into girls with weird chat!) and suggested we go for dinner and drinks, I decided, to hell with fitting in with the in-crowd. I was going to do it the old-fashioned way and go on a date date....

Saturday, 21 November 2009

10 That's Why They Call it Work

I'm really not sure about this working malarkey.

It takes up far too much time. I mean when am I meant to live my life?

What about my gym sessions? I'm never going to be able to stretch enough to regain my missing inch at this rate. What about my man search? Ive got profiles to wade through. I've got emails from small-endowed men to ignore. I've got bases to get to. I've got dates to go on. These things take time. I don't feel my temp agency thought this through properly. Either that or they just don't care.

Fact is that I've no time to work. Particularly not on a job like this one.

It just doesn't stimulate me. And as I'm a firm believer that life is too short to be filled with tedium, as early as day two I started fantasising about how I could leave.

Obviously I needed an excuse. I mean what if I want to do another boring temp job in the future? I want the agency to know how diligent and reliable I am. I needed an excuse and it would have to be a good one.

The best I came up with was contracting an illness, but I realised that plan had it's flaws. Mainly, that as well as being unable to work, I'd also be unable to do anything else.

I decided to take another approach. Instead of working out how to leave, I needed to work out how to stay.

What would motivate me to stick with this job? There is no hot doctor for me to wile away many an hour fantasising about his bedside manner. I needed some other reason to turn up to the hospital every day.

Then I got it! It was obvious! Can't believe I didn't think about it before!

I'd go on holiday!

If I managed to last the contract, I'd use the money I'd made to take myself on a trip. Somewhere hot. I haven't been on holiday for ages (the three and a half weeks in Greece were for work. Soooo not the same thing). It was a great idea!

I phoned my mum, all excited, to tell her about my brainwave. She thought it was inspired. Well what she actually said was... 'Let me get this right...you think you deserve to go on holiday if you manage to work for a mere four weeks?' Pretty obvious she was behind it all the way.

So seven days in (and counting) and I'd actually been ok. Whenever I felt like slitting my wrists with the letter opener, I'd just turn my thoughts to lying on the beach. It was easy. I mean ok, I'm not even half-way yet. Still another thirteen days to go, but I could do this. Only thirteen days. Thirteen days.

Then my temp agency called.

Agency - Just want to talk about what days you would like to work around Christmas time?
Me - Christmas? Erm isn't this job only for four weeks?
Agency - Yes, but they think you are doing a great job and would like you to stay on.

Bugger!

Wednesday, 18 November 2009

2 And the Award Goes to...

The 'Best Positive Spin of the Week' award goes to the guy from the dating website who mailed me and said...

'I'm fat, but I'm loaded'

While the 'Most Unneccessary Positive Spin of the Week' award goes to the creator of the poster on the noticeboard that I sit facing at work...

Mouth Cancer. It could happen to you!

Tuesday, 17 November 2009

0 (Small Pecker)

(Small pecker) has been in touch again (figuratively speaking that is.)

He's persistent, don't you think? Especially for a little 'un. Bit like an annoying mosquito.

I thought that despite my lack of reply to his first email, he must have decided I was the women for him and he was going to have me no matter what. No, it turns out that he'd just forgotten he'd emailed me in the first place.

I felt hurt actually. Am I that forgettable? I bet he would have remembered me if I'd replied mentioning my bra size.

Anyway, back to the mail. This one was worded slightly different but the bottom line was the same (sorry, couldn't resist!)

Hello really nice geniune profesional guy looking for a relationship or friends possible arrangement maybe with the right gal, being really honest, no offence meant, I am not very well endowed sorry !! and happy to make allowances hence my honesty broad mindedness and flexability , no offence meant !! im 100% geniune, came to a great understanding arrangement with an x gf xx

OK, he can't spell, which is a pet hate of mine, but who can resist a 100% geniune, flexable guy?

Actually, if he'd sent that message in the first place.....without the misuse of brackets.....he would have had me at hello.

Sunday, 15 November 2009

5 Off-Side

I went to Third Base with a boy today.

Now before you start calling me a floozie and thinking I've let some random guy put his hand up my top, I should explain that bases are different in online dating world.

First Base - refers to the initial emails you send each other on the dating website. Back and forward, back and forward, back and forward, until one of you suggests you go to.........

Second Base - which is MSN. This is where you get to have a virtual conversation, so can suss out if you make good banter together. You might converse for a few days - more if one of you is agoraphobic and isn't actually looking for a date, just someone to talk to. (Yes, yet another thing that has actually happened to me) But if you both like each others chat, you might get to......

Third Base - which is the real conversation. On the phone. Then....

Fourth Base - is the actual date. And....

Fifth Base - is letting them put their hand up your top.


Anyway, my guy skipped second base and went straight to third. Forward. I liked it. Good start.

Only thing is that when the call came I wasn't really expecting it. I was in my pyjamas and for some reason it is hard to talk to someone you don't know while wearing pyjamas. You know what I mean don't you?

I also hadn't saved his number so when unknown digits came up, I wasn't actually sure it was him. Did I ask him if it was him? Noooooooo! Of course not! That would be far too easy! Instead I just tried to suss it out by things he said. Like a fun game. He wasn't playing it very well though. His clues were rubbish. Saying stuff that anybody could say to me. For god sake give me something to go on!

Eventually I realised it was him. And the way I realised? It was because the conversation was as awkward as can be.

We'd made the mistake of trying to be smart while in First Base and our emails back and forward, back and forward, were about Barbie and Ken, rather than ourselves (you probably had to be there...) We thought we were oh so clever, trying to out-funny each other and ignoring the boring chat about hobbies and why we were on the site. Hmmm. Yeah, really clever. Clever until it came to the phonecall and we had absolutely nothing to go on.

He asked how I was? I asked how he was?. He asked what I'd been up to? I paused. Now did he mean what had I been up to today? Or did he mean in my whole life?

It was hard work. There were silences. And they were not comfortable ones.

Finally though! A breakthrough! He asked what I do for work. I said I work in TV (don't you dare tell him about the medical secretary thing. It doesn't count. Just like my night working in a Gentlemans Club does not maketh me a stripper.) He asked if working in TV was glamorous. I laughed. The ice had been broken! I could now regale him with interesting stories about TV. It would be fine and he'd think what a great conversationalist I was!

That was the idea and it could have worked. Were it not for the fact I went off plan and instead told him about a job I did in America. I know this sounds like a good start and you imagine this story should involve glamour. My friend Ed also thought so because he actually texted while I was on the shoot asking if I was doing something exciting and glamorous. I'd replied 'yes, very' (waste of a 60 pence text quite frankly) and left it that. What I didn't want to tell Ed, (and what I probably shouldn't have told my Third Base partner but unfortunately did) was that at the very moment...... the glamorous thing I was doing......was......waiting for a baby to shit.

What in god's name did I tell him that for?!

Did I explain that I was on a programme about attachment parenting? Did I tell him about elimination communication? Did I explain to him how some mums don't believe in nappies? Did I tell him these mums say their child will make a certain expression when they need to 'go'? Did I tell him the mums say they see this expression and rush them to the toilet? Did I tell him we were waiting to prove or disprove one mum's claim that she could do this, for a very important documentary?

Did I heck.

No, I just left it at the conversation-stopping line that I worked on a programme involving baby shit.

The phonecall went back to downhill, from there.

Doesn't look like I'll be getting to Fourth Base anytime soon.

Saturday, 14 November 2009

0 Bully For Me

I think this is going to have to be renamed 'Tales from the Cupboard that is Masquerading as an Office' (that's definitely cupboard, not closet by the way). I know it doesn't quite have the same ring to it, but since I started this temp job I feel as though I'm never flipping here!

The job does have some plus points though. For a start I'm now up in time to see the sunrise from my bedroom window. And as well as that there's........erm.......come on there must be something...... think....... think............ok, that's the only plus point but Manchester really does have some lovely sunrises.

Day one was actually ok (which is high praise indeed when its coming from me, and I'm talking about temp jobs), once I'd got over that feeling of being a child at a new school that is. 'Please Miss, I don't know what to do.''Please Miss, can I go the toilet?' In fact where are the toilets? 'Please Miss, can you check my work?' 'Please Miss, did I spell mandibular and maxillary correctly?' I did? 'Please Miss, can I get a gold star then?'

I'd also only been there all of five minutes when I discovered one of the consultants is friends with my dentist (I'm working in oral surgery so this was quite a normal conversation to have.) What is weird though, is that he's friends with my dentist in Scotland. All very coincidental and bizarre, but surely it meant I had an immediate ally and he wouldn't let any of the other kids bully me?

Turns out that being the new girl meant that I was actually a source of interest to the other kids and no-one wanted to give me a dead arm anyway. They clamoured round me in the playground and wanted to know everything, in particular about life in the Tower. What famous people live there? Have I see them? Does the Tower sway in the wind? How long does the lift take? And the biggie, do I get to go to the Hilton bar, Cloud 23, lower down in the Tower without queuing?

All too soon, day two comes though. Day two when you're expected to know what you are doing. Day two when you are old news. Day two when no-one is interested in talking to you anymore and you end up eating your lunch in the girls toilets wishing you'd at least pretended you get VIP access to Cloud 23.

On day two I also got a bit of training on their computer systems. The trainer wanted to get me prepared for what to do in 18 weeks when I'd need to change my password. 18 weeks? 18 weeks?! I don't think I've ever worked anywhere for 18 weeks. That's like forever. I started feeling myself hyperventilate....

Then I got a call. From a TV company. I couldn't answer it but felt myself immediately relaxing. Surely it was about a job and I'd be able to leave without even doing 18 hours, never mind weeks? I listened to the voicemail at the first opportunity. Please be about a job...please be about a job...please....!

It wasn't about a job. Well it was, but just a little one I'm doing for them this weekend. Nothing that required me to pack up my satchel and shout to the other kids 'See ya, wouldn't want to be ya,' and strop out before the bell had rung.

So looks like I'm there for the foreseeable future. Don't worry I'll be fine. Not sure when I'm meant to fit in all my dates though (the ones I'm bound to start having soon), never mind tell you about them. Work doesn't half cut in to your day.

Wednesday, 11 November 2009

0 Doctor Doctor

I've got a job. Starting tomorrow. If you thought that would put a smile on today's miserable face, then you'd be sadly mistaken. Note the lack of exclamation marks.

It's because it isn't a real job. Not a TV one I mean. It's a temp job. At a hospital. A needs must kind of thing.

It could be a bit of a game for my friends when I tell them I've got work...is it temp or telly?..hot or cold?...higher or lower? It could be a game if it wasn't so obvious from my voice which one. When it's TV work I'm hyper and they can't always make out what I'm saying. My temp work voice is monotone. Bless my friends though, they always try and put a positive slant on it for me and remind me how it's some money coming in (barely) and how it will get me out of the flat (have they seen where I live, I could happily never leave?!) and how I might meet a nice doctor.

Now I'm interested to know, has anyone ever met a fit doctor? Do they exist, aside from in TV programmes? I've temped in hospitals before and have never met a Dr McDreamy or McSteamy. Not even a 'they could sort of pass for one of them... if you squint.' Mind you, my hospital jobs have tended to see me sitting in rooms the size of cupboards, typing up notes about ear wax and old men's bowel examinations. No doctors to be seen. Good-looking or otherwise.

I'm going to be positive about this though. I mean it's a bit of money coming in. It'll get me out of the flat. And you never know, I might meet a nice young doctor.

Tuesday, 10 November 2009

7 Little Miss Crabbit Face

I'm Little Miss Crabbit Face today.

I'm fed up of the weather, my flatmate has broken my favourite Dirty Dancing mug and the worst thing of all, I was humiliated in the lift this morning.

Once upon a time the other month, I accepted an invitation from another Tower resident to go for a drink in his apartment. Don't worry about the stranger danger thing, we'd had a few 30 second lift-chats prior to this, so we were practically old friends. Plus, he told me he had a great set of binoculars and that chat up line always works on me!

A friend had also suggested that I might be a bit fussy with regards men and that I'm too quick to decide someone isn't my type. So, keen to show her that she was wrong and that I'm very open-minded, I accepted the drink date. Even though I was sure he wasn't my type...

He wasn't my type. Don't get me wrong, he was a nice guy, just not for me. And I don't just mean because he put the red wine in the fridge. We had a nice chat though and then I made my excuses and left (or rather I made his excuses and told him I'd have to go because he was up early the next day. For some reason it never works as well?!) And that was that. Until today.

I'd got in the lift. There were 3 workmen there. I said hi as all us Tower residents do (it's a friendly lift.) Then silence. Then one remarks how awkward he feels when no-one talks in the lift. Well, if he was feeling awkward then, who knows how he felt when the lift stopped and in gets... Mr Chilled Red. Mr Chilled Red who looks at me, says nothing and then turns to the workies and announces that I'm probably feeling pretty embarrassed because last time he saw me I blew him out (note that is blew him out..)

Mortified is not the word. I could feel the workies looking at me. Mr Chilled Red then turns to me and says accusingly that I must have been very busy not to have been in touch. I mumble something about 'yes, very busy' while trying to find somewhere to look. I decided the floor would do. I stared intently at it while the workies and Mr Chilled Red stared intently at me.

Did I mention that I was wearing my gym clothes? Oh yes. In 'imaginary world', I'd be on my way out for dinner or something. I'd be wearing something new. My hair and make-up would be perfect. I'd just be back from a holiday so would have a nice tan (hey, this is my fantasy!) I'd also probably somehow look a lot like Cheryl Cole. The workies would look at me, and then look at Mr Chilled Red and wonder how he even got a first date.

In 'real world' though, I was running late for a gym class so had put my lycra on ready. Lycra is not a good look. My hair was a mess. I had no make-up on. I hadn't even washed. In 'real world' the workies were probably just thinking..'she smells.'

The lift finally got to the bottom after about what seemed like an hour and I dashed off to my class. Spent the whole hour wondering if it will be necessary to move home.

Lesson learnt? Must start dressing up when going in the lift.
Morale of the tale? Don't shit in your own back yard unless you don't mind the mess.

Monday, 9 November 2009

24 It's a Joke

I have bad news.

On Thursday I told you I was going on a date this week. Six foot plus man had asked me out. His profile was nice, his photos were nice and the mails he had sent me were nice, so why not? Finally! A real date!

You could have come round to help me get ready if you'd wanted. I could even have filled you in on how it was going when he nipped off to the toilet. It would have been like you were there with me. We were all going on a date!

Then he sent me a text. A text containing a joke.

Now call me old-fashioned, but when you haven't actually met someone I'm not sure you should be sending jokes to them (or photos of your bits for that matter, but that's another story...)

It was one of two jokes I heard this weekend.

One was from my cousin's 4 year old, while the other was from my date.

One was...funny, while the other...was from my date.

One was...repeatable, while the other...was from my date.

One was... 'what do you call two robbers? Answer - a pair of knickers',
while the other...involved bonfires and muslims.

So we are now, no longer, all going on a date.

So far the dating website has provided me with old men, men who look like serial killers, men with stunted appendage growth and now racist men.

I'm going to ask for my money back.

Friday, 6 November 2009

345 Note to Self...

Must not brush my teeth in my bedroom again. Not using my electric toothbrush anyway. Could give flatmate wrong impression.

Thursday, 5 November 2009

6 Stretching the Truth

I am injured.

The trainer at the gym says it isn't strictly an injury when its just that my muscles are sore due to being unused, but I'm not convinced. It hurts to type, it hurts to flush the toilet and don't even think about making me laugh. If that's not an injury then I don't know what is.

I've mentioned before that I'd joined the gym after a long period of abstinence, and quite frankly the experience so far has been pretty traumatic.

It started when I had my initial fitness assessment. It wasn't so much the bit when I had to do as many sit-ups as possible in a minute (am so not telling how many!) Nor was it having to do as many press-ups as I could to the point of exhaustion (again, no way! Put it this way, when I told my cop friend who had to do the same thing in the fitness test to join the force, she laughed. I was only doing the girl ones as well.)

No, the trauma occurred when I was measured. I have a missing inch. And I don't mean round my bum, which would be welcomed. No, somehow I'm shorter than I thought(which was short enough!) Turns out that I have been living a lie for years. I've been convincing myself that I'm about average, when all this time I should actually have been shopping in the petite section. I probably could even have managed to go for the kids sizes and saved on the VAT. It was a shock to say the least. It's probably the same the way I'd feel if I found out after all these years that I was adopted. Actually as my brother often tells me that I was, I'd probably be more prepared for that.

You realise it also means I've been lying on my dating profile? I'm going to have to be like (small pecker) guy and warn men in my first message to them so that there are no nasty surprises if we finally meet. I do have a potential date next week actually. He's allegedly 6ft 3. We'll be like a mop and bucket out for tea!

Wednesday, 4 November 2009

22 Toenail Tribulations

It is week 4 of living with a stranger whose surname I still can't remember.

It's quite a bizarre experience meeting someone briefly and then deciding you are going to share lives for the next few months. I picked a good one this time though. Well he seems it so far anyway. What I actually mean is that as yet he hasn't left his toenail clippings out for me like the last one did.

No, I'm not joking. Let me set the scene for you. It was a Friday night and former flatmate was away for the weekend and I was absolutely delighted about having the place to myself. I delightedly poured myself a glass of wine and delightedly sat down to watch TV. I should also tell you that my flat is P.O.S.H. So posh you actually get in trouble if other people in the building hear you calling it a flat. It's an apartment don't you know, dahling. It has floor to ceiling windows and at night when you are looking out to a sea of lights you can actually convince yourself you are in Manhattan rather than Manchester. It is also very minimalist - the kind of place that looks untidy when you leave your copy of the Sun lying around. So not the kind of place to leave anything lying around. Especially not things you have cut off from your body. But my flatmate obviously didn't agree because as I delightedly put down my glass of wine on the coffee table there were his toenail clippings.

I've still not got over it. Not sure I ever will. The concierges in my building thought it was absolutely hilarious when I told them. They were giggling like school girls when a few days later they buzzed me on my intercom to tell me that they worked for Toenail Watch and were giving me a one minute toenail warning that toenail guy was in the lift and on his way up to the apartment.

I'm glad someone found it funny.

Tuesday, 3 November 2009

5 The Headmaster

You know things are bad money-wise when you have to go to a builder to get your hair cut.

It had got to that time again and having been turning down jobs willy nilly so not exactly feeling flush, I'd been looking into cheaper ways to get a new 'do.' As well, I was currently between hairdressers, which as many girls will know, is far worse than being between boyfriends. The one before last was great but then he moved away. Then the last one I felt just didn't take enough time or care on the job. (You realise I'm talking about hairdressers now, not boyfriends?!) So having no money and no loyalties to anyone, I found myself at the Toni and Guy Academy early yesterday morning, lined up with the other victims, sorry clients, while the trainee hairdressers ran their eyes over us and chose who they wanted. The builder picked me. (He's not a builder now obviously. He's a hairdresser. Well a student one. I just wanted to be clear that he wasn't some brickie in doing work on the salon and decided to try his hand to hairdressing that day. He also didn't actually pick me. He was more encouraged to take me. It felt slightly as if I was the fat child at school that no-one wants on their team. No worries though, I'd been picked and was in the game!)

Well if I was concerned that the last hairdresser was too quick I didn't have to worry about this one. I'd been there two hours and it still wasn't finished. Two hours without a coffee. Two hours without chat apart from when he'd told me about his change of career. Two hours of sitting in an extremely uncomfortable position (tall hairdresser meant the chair was up high and as there were no foot-rests my feet dangled making me feel like a toddler at the dinner table). We were nearing the end though and apart from the sore legs and numb bum, so far so good. The teacher had been over and assessed almost every scissor movement and made sure the builder was putting in the right horseshoes and gradients (no i've no idea either?) and we were now at the front section. We planned what we were going to do. He told the teacher what he was going to do. Then he set about doing it...snip! Erm, somehow I seemed to have ended up with a fringe. I'm sure we were not going to do a fringe. Teacher came over...'oh you shouldn't have done that'. I was right, we definitely weren't going to do a fringe.

Lesson learned for me? Hair cuts are a necessity, not a luxury. You wear your hair every day. Don't scrimp on them. Plus at 'proper' salons you get a coffee...and a foot rest.
Lesson learned for builder turned hairdresser? Who cares! He doesn't have to live with it!

Obviously it doesn't look as bad as I thought though as flatmate got in and asked what I'd done all day.
And my horoscope for today..(I kid you not)...a bad hair day is a great hat day!

Sunday, 1 November 2009

14 Positive Mental Attitude

If you'd got the idea that I was feeling a bit negative about the dating website I've joined, you would be right! As I paid for it with money I got when my beloved grandma died, money I'd decided to spend entirely on new, and potentially life-changing experiences (will fill you on this properly another time) I decided I needed to change my attitude. There must be some normal men on it somewhere, I mean, I'm on it and I'm relatively normal. I just had to find them.

I logged on, full of hope, ready to embrace this adventure. There was a mail waiting...could it be from my dream man...?

hello recently joined again, nice pic and profile by the way :), im single fit geniune guy just looking for some fun or relationship with a decent gal love to pamper and treat a gal, take her shopping and trips away, have to be honest,cant lie, sorry !!sporting a rather (small pecker) sorry !! well so ive been told lol :) hence open minded and happy to make up for it in other ways :) trips away, meals out, shopping etc, had an excelent arrrangement with the x gf , no offence meant !! x

No. It wasn't. My dream man will know how to use brackets properly.