43 Tales of a Real-Life Romance - Chapter 24

Who knows what went through Hands' mind when I said that there was something I needed to tell him about myself.

I wouldn't say he exactly looked eager to hear whatever I had to reveal. I'd probably use the word nervous instead. I nearly changed my mind about telling him the truth, but couldn't think of anything quickly enough to say instead. Plus I could almost definitely guarantee that what I was going to announce was nowhere near as bad as the options going through his mind. I took a deep breath and decided to go for it.

'I'm a blogger.'

I waited.

And waited a bit more.

I couldn't read his expression. Damn. Hurry up Hands.

Then finally...

'What's a blogger?'

Oh. Definitely not the reaction I was expecting. I was a bit relieved though. He could hardly be annoyed by something he didn't know anything anything about could he?

Mains, tiramisu and coffees later and Hands could have chosen blogging as his specialist subject on Mastermind. I'd told him all there was to know. I'd explained about the whole blogging community, the people I've met through writing a blog, the time I went on a blind date to Belfast with another blogger, blogs that I read, blogs that I've written. I made it all sound so amazing that when he asked if I'd ever posted about him (see he'd even got the lingo down. I'm such a good teacher) I think he would have been offended if I hadn't.

His final verdict?

'It sounds great. I'd love to read it'

Phewwwweeeeee.

We left the restaurant and made our way to the hotel bar on the 13th floor. As we sat sipping champagne looking at the amazing view and night sky I felt deliriously happy. At that moment there was nowhere else I would rather have been.

I was so glad that I'd told him about the blogging. It actually seemed to have brought us closer together. Not physically. We were already touching as much as allowed in a public place. More in the way that as I'd revealed something about myself that he hadn't been aware of, we were suddenly desperate to know everything about each other. We took it in turns to ask each other questions ranging from the bog standard ones like favourite TV programme?...

Hands - Inbetweeners. Me - Grey's Anatomy...and True Blood...and Dancing on Ice...and The Mentalist and...aaargh I can't possibly pick just one!

To name an unusual fact about ourselves...

Me - I can clasp my hands at my back and get them to my front without unclasping them. Hands - I don't like football.

Now who wasn't answering questions properly? I'd given a considered answer involving my double-jointedness, his was just about football. I suppose it was fairly unusual though. For a guy anyway. I started wondering what he'd talk to the men in my family about when he met them cause that is the universal male ice-breaker isn't it? Then I had a stern internal word with myself about not being one of those girls that daydreams about family introductions and white meringues and such-like things so early on in a relationship. It was only date eight after all. I put my 'playing it cool' head back on.

It obviously wasn't screwed on properly though. That's the only reason I can think of for why I then asked the following question. The seemingly innocuous, but ultimately immortal question...

'Will you still encourage your children to like football even though you don't?'

'I don't want kids.'

Oh. For the second time that night I'd been surprised by his response. Only on this occasion my heart also sank.

14 Blooming Marvelous

It isn't always easy telling someone that the relationship is over.

Even more so when you aren't even in the damn relationship in the first place!

I'd received an email t'other day. It started 'Hi Rapunzel, I'm not a nutter by the way...' I probably should have stopped reading at this point, because everyone knows that the ones that say they aren't weird, are the weirdest ones.

I continued though. It was from a guy telling me that he likes my blog, blah blah, thought I seemed nice, and was wondering if I would like to go out for a drink sometime.

That doesn't sound too bad does it? What about the next bit though, when he carried on to explain that he'd been dating one of my fellow bloggers?

A fellow blogger that had been on the BNO. A fellow blogger that has become a friend. A fellow blogger that in actual fact I thought he was still an item with, as I hadn't heard anything to the contrary.

Strange.

They'd obviously split up though. He wouldn't be mailing me otherwise would he?

It was still a bit weird though. For starters he doesn't actually know my current situation, seeing as I haven't continued with the Luscious Luke story. He might actually be cutting Luke's grass by messaging me.

Plus, wasn't it a bit soon for him to be pursuing me? It was only the other week I was reading about one of his dates with Tuppence over on her blog. Surely there is some Bloggers' Code that disallows this kind of thing? Or was it within the rules as long as Tuppence came along on the date and did some kind of handover?

I mentioned it to Tuppence a few days later. Mainly because I was curious to find out what had happened between them. I also asked if she knew he'd emailed me.

She didn't. In fact she also wasn't aware that they weren't actually seeing each other anymore.

I had unwittingly become the bearer of bad news.

How shit did I feel? Plus Tuppence was having a horrible day as it was, and my mail made things worse. I cursed myself for my bad timing.

I tried to remind myself that I wouldn't have had anything bad to tell her in the first place, if it wasn't for Mr Couldn't Give A Shit About Anyone's Feelings, but it didn't help. I went to bed feeling annoyed that he'd got me involved in something that had absolutely nothing to do with me. Arse.

When I woke up this morning to the radio presenter wishing everyone a good day, I felt a lot more positive though. Yep, it was a brand new day and there was no reason why it couldn't be a tremendous one. I left the apartment feeling pretty perky.

And was almost run over by a guy on a bike! Who then had the cheek to shoot me the dirtiest look ever as if it was my fault. How on earth could it be? I was on the flipping pavement!

Feeling a bit shaken I made my way to the bus stop. I proceeded to try and distract myself from my near death experience, by sussing out some of the features on my new phone.

I was so engrossed that I didn't notice the bus heading towards me...

...and driving right past me.

I cursed my stupidity. I was going to have to wait another 15 minutes for the next one.

Actually make that 25 minutes, because the bloody bus was late. I wasn't impressed.

Then when I got on it, the only seat that was free was next to a guy that seemed to think we all wanted to hear the pumping music he was playing on his iPod.

Seriously what is with these people? It's my pet hate. The headphones are there for a reason. I would have told him to turn it down, but the way my day was going I'd thought I'd probably end up getting lynched. I just sat gritting my teeth instead.

Finally the bus reached my stop. I'd made it!

Or not. Seems the bus driver forgot there was a stop there today and drove right past it, stopping instead at the next one an extra five minutes' walk away from work.

As I trekked the miles and miles to work I did my very best to start thinking positively. Just because the day had started badly didn't mean it was going to continue like that.

It was too late though, my ratty head was on and it was refusing to budge. The day carried on with me being irritated by everything and anything.

It was annoying me that I was having to sit inside, while it was a beautiful day outside.

As was the fact that I'd forgotten my phone charger and hardly had any battery.

The noise my watch makes was also driving me insane. Okay, I've worn it every day since I bought it from a looky looky man in Gran Canaria the other month, but today the 'tick, tick, tick' was making me contemplate chucking it out the window.

The fact the watch is made by Dimpex was also getting on my nerves as it reminds me of Tampax and I wasn't happy that thoughts of feminine hygiene products and periods were popping into my head every time I checked to see how much longer of this godforsaken day I had to endure.

Nothing was too big or too small to piss me off.

Hell, it even bugged me when I saw a woman wearing a red cardigan that didn't go in the slightest with her pink blouse. I cursed her for hurting my eyes.

Things did seem on the up though when I went to buy a bottle of water and the guy serving me told me he liked the purple in my hair.

Until he added 'You need your roots done mind you, but I still like it.'

Home time couldn't come quick enough.

I don't think I've ever been so pleased to see the Tower looming above me. I'd made plans to park myself in front of the TV watching programmes about other people's misery.

But wait, what was this?

There in my mailbox was a note saying I'd had a delivery of flowers.

Ohmigod! Who had sent me flowers?! How exciting! And what a surprise!

Suddenly the day didn't seem so bad.

Except turns out there had been a bit of a mix-up and the note about the flowers had been put in the wrong mail box. Someone had received some flowers, just not me.

I'm just glad it is only a few hours until Tomorrow.

22 Sweet Stuff

Tuppence over at Tuppenny Tales started blogging around the same time as me. I'm an avid reader of her blog and thought she enjoyed reading mine too.

That is until she wrote a whole post pointing out to her readers that I hadn't written anything for a few weeks. She said that I'm a disgrace to the blogging world and that I shouldn't actually call myself a blogger.

I was gutted.

Until I woke up.

Yes it had just been a dream! Hurrah! (Or should that be nightmare?)

Talk about a relief. Of course I went over to her blog just to double check that it had been a dream. It had. There was no slander of any sort. In actual fact she was being very nice and linking to my post about Mr Trafford Centre, because she was going on a date to the same venue and was praying it wasn't the same guy.

To be honest though, despite the dream/nightmare suggesting otherwise, I wasn't really worried what other people thought about me not blogging. I was just missing it myself!

I may not have been doing it for very long, but it had become a way of life. An addiction. An addiction that I wasn't getting the time to feed.

Then when I did find some time and finally sat down to write...my laptop promptly died. It was like going cold turkey. There were scenes similar to those in Trainspotting, when Ewan McGregor's character was coming off the heroin. Just without the various body excretions.

The guy at the repair shop seemed a bit bemused when I rambled on and on about needing my laptop back immediately because...'I'm meant to write about my holiday...started it...need to finish it...but Taggart already on another holiday...Cancun...lucky bitch...probably too late to write about it now?...Still need to write other stuff...will lose my readers if I don't hurry up....'

It was also one of the few times that I've cursed being single. Only because I reckoned that if I had a man in my life, he'd have a computer and I would have been able to borrow his.

I jest, but it really was horrible. Not only is blogging about writing and expressing yourself, it's also about the blogging community. I feel like I have friends there and I was missing seeing what they were getting up to.

I've never met the afore-mentioned Tuppence but I feel like I know her. I wondered what was happening in her love-life. And what about Kate at Perfect Ten? Did that little box she'd found amongst her boyfriend's stuff contain an engagement ring? Was she still having flirty texts with Foxy Scott?

I wondered what Lainey had been writing about. She'd told us about her time at Boot Camp. What was happening in her life now? What about the bloggers who write about a completely different life to mine, like Argentum Vulgaris who has told about being 'dad' to 14 children.

I was even missing reading about what my real-life proper friend was up to over in her blog The Single Mum Life. OK, I could have just called her to get her news, but we are all often a lot more honest in our blogs. I've learnt a lot more about her from reading. And when she wrote about doing a pregnancy test the other weekend, I was in the same position as the rest of her readers and didn't know the result...

And then of course there is Fishy. Ah Fishy. The blogger I went on a date with. He was quite put out when he texted me, and as my phone had broken and hadn't saved my newer numbers (yes just yet another technological problem I was dealing with!) I'd had to ask who he was.

He replied that his number should be engraved on my heart.

Er right. Not quite. But I sort of know what he meant. He's become a really good friend in a short space of time, and I feel like I know him well despite only having met him once.

I think that is down to blogging. I can't recommend it enough. It can solve all problems. Need more friends? Blog. Need some advice? Blog. Having a bad day? Blog.

I've never received so many lovely comments and texts as I did the time I put up the post The One and Only about the crap day I was having.

Mind you, I also received a text asking if I 'fancied a shag' but I think that was a joke. Wasn't it? (If you haven't read that particular post, then please do so in order to put this in to context!)

Anyway the whole point of this post is to tell you that I'm officially back and I've missed this and you so much that I'm not leaving you again. Whether you like it or not!

Rapunzel x

p.s Just incase you wondering about the reasons behind the choice of photo... a friend emailed it to me and when I said I might use it in my blog, he said he'd be impressed if I could make that work. Personally I feel it is the perfect accompaniment to the title. Don't you?*

p.p.s Another wee reminder. If you haven't already rated the video of me in my Tower, then please do so. Och yer awfy guid!

* Shhhhh! He might not notice that although the photo works with the title, the title has bugger all relevance to the post!

53 The Foreplay

Receive my first text from Fishy.

Is it too late to call you?x

He wishes!

I know he's not a fan of the pre-date call, but I'd like to chat to him before we meet. For a start to tell him that I'm Scottish. Just incase he has a thing against haggis or something. I already know that he'll appreciate my tight-fisted side.

I'm really short on free minutes, but I worry that it will look particularly stingy if I text back and say he can call me now. Plus he probably won't. Grudgingly I phone him.

He's laughing when he answers. Probably in delight. Tells me that he could call me back but doesn't imagine this converstion will last very long anyway.

I realise that there is a distinct lack of a scouse accent. Fishy isn't originally from Liverpool. I'm not from Manchester. We are like two big internet dating frauds. I just hope that I haven't been fooled in other ways, and that he is in fact 67. Or blogging from jail.

I was going to tell you what a lovely voice he has. That's until he started doing crap impressions of my accent. Wouldn't mind so much if he'd gone for the Sean Connery, 'Mishhh Moneypenny' version, but instead he sounds more like Mrs Doubtfire.

We start talking about what we are going to do on the date. Says he'll decide. He says it is the man's job. Good boy.

I find it hard to give up the control completely though, so start tossing around a few ideas. Suggest we do something a bit unusual, maybe like bungee jumping.

Bungee jumping?! What the hell did I say that for? Sometimes I need to tape up my mouth. I'd never want to go bungee jumping on a first date. I pray he doesn't go for that...

He doesn't. And the reason he doesn't, is because Fishy is scared of heights.

'Houston, we have a big, fat problem.'

I live in a tower. My apartment is about 460ft in the air. Two of my walls are windows.

Well...looks like if this works out between us there will be no slumber parties at mine.

He starts trying to find things that we do have in common. Asks me the names of my parents. Says his have the same names. Yeah right! Wonder if he'd be playing that card if I'd said Ermintrude and Goliath?

Chat flows really easily. There's a lot of laughing on both sides. We talk about our bad habits. He says something rude. I laugh. Ask him to write that I didn't find it funny. Just incase my mum is reading. He promises he will.

We talk about our online dating experiences. He laughs about the guy emailing me to tell me about his small appendage. Fishy says he doesn't mention his itchy anus until at least the third date.

We start to say our goodbyes. Don't think either of us want to. Just have to because the time has become Stupid O'Clock.

I check how long we spoke for when I get off the phone.

1 hour and 19 minutes!!

My 1 hour and 19 minutes bill. He's so buying the drinks when we go out.


Read Fishy's (no doubt innacurate) version of our chat here >>

18 Too Many Bloggers...

I'm not having much luck with this online dating malarkey.

A fellow blogger called Bamberio seemed to think so too. She suggested I go on a date with a guy whose blog she'd been reading.

Plentymorefishoutofwater was also writing about his dating experiences (the difference being that he was actually having some) and Bamberio thought it would be just 'brilliant' if me and him went on a date and blogged about it afterwards.

Now Bamberio's own blog is about rugby players so I presumed she must know stuff about men. She seemed convinced her idea, was a great idea. She even mentioned buying a hat...

I contacted Mr Fish to ask if he was aware he was being pimped out? He didn't seem to care and also seemed to think us going on a date might be a good idea.

I wasn't convinced though...

How can a blogger dating a blogger ever be a good idea?

No matter what happened on the date we'd have to blog about it. We wouldn't be able to help ourselves.

If one liked the other more than the other liked them, it would be blogged about.
If neither of us liked each other, it would be blogged about.
Even if it went really well, it would be blogged about.

Every flipping thing would be blogged about.

We'd constantly be trying to out-blog each other.

Wouldn't it be a case of too many bloggers spoiling the...er...spoiling things...?

I just didn't know what to do. So I dithered...and I dithered...and I dithered some more...

I dithered for so long that it appears that Mr Fish got fed up and started pursuing a hairdresser with a green thong.

Of course that's when going out with him suddenly seemed like the best idea I'd ever heard.

Why is it that we become interested in someone when they're no longer interested in us? It's nature's cruel trick.

It had happened to me before. I'd been on a night out in Amsterdam and my friends and I were trying to teach ourselves to pole dance in the middle of a busy bar (there was a pole there obviously.) A Dutch guy seemed to like my moves and wanted to talk to me in guttural and tell me I was lekker ding. I was far too busy trying to become Fantasia Sparkletush or something to pay him any attention though.

So what did he do? He went and sucked face with the toilet attendant, that's what.

Weirdly that's when I decided I wanted him. To hell with the pole! (I wasn't doing very well at mastering it anyway.)

It was too late though. He wasn't interested in me anymore. I had nothing to offer him. I couldn't get him into the toilets for free - you need to pay to visit many toilets in Holland, even in bars. You spend far more than a penny. It can make for an expensive night. He was actually being sensible in his choice of snog.

I couldn't compete.

Same now. I can't cut hair and I don't wear green thongs.

What do you get when you cross a blogger with a blogger?
I've no idea, I was too busy dithering to find out.



http://studsonthe22.blogspot.com/
http://plentymorefishoutofwater.blogspot.com/