Happy Valentine's Days darlings! I've had a lovely day, romanced my pants, and no, I'm not telling you what i mean by that.
Pic: one day when trying to tidy my room I started to draw on my face instead. Much more fun.
Weariness has come upon me again in regards to Internet Dating, but I'm sure you admire my pluck for continually going back and trying. I broke my own bloody rules didn't I? I said 'no sympathy dating' and promised myself I wouldn't respond to people who didn't appeal to me AT ALL. Most of the time I succeeded in the latter, but now and then someone would be so persistent that I'd think 'well ok, he's really quite old and unattractive, but who am I to judge?'. Who I am is Human. Damnit. So inconvenient sometimes.
So what's been the latest? On Saturday I went out to the beach with this guy we'll call Mr Advertising. He's a dry alcoholic (which I admire) yet still sported a beer gut. He was easy to get on with, but there was no chemistry. Despite this, I still felt like he took every opportunity to blather on about his high flying advertising jobbie life, and strangely, this made me feel further shut down about sharing too much about myself. I did mention that there is someone close to me who is an alcoholic, but I didn't go into any details. It feels like a betrayal, to say that about someone you love, especially if they still haven't done anything about it.
It was one of those situations where in order to make sure he didn't give me the 'wrong signals', it seemed like he could barely look at me. I felt like saying 'relax man, you're about as appealing as my Uncle Bruce'. I really do have an Uncle Bruce by the way.
Mr Advertising was cute in a really weathered way, but I got the feeling he might still be looking to snare someone who'd look the part in the 'advertising world'. Possibly a model. Even an ex model might do.
He dropped in that his ex wife was ten years younger than him. I didn't tell him my ex was 15 years younger than me. Maybe I should have.
We stopped at the hotpools on the way home. It actually was a beautiful day and he was quite good to talk to most of the time. A beautiful young Brazilian couple glided into the pool, and poor Mr Advertising's eyes were like a kite being yanked by a strong wind.
If you stood Mr A next to the Brazilian goddess, he'd look like her weatherbeaten father.Perhaps he got all the skinny young blondes back in the day and so he can't quite let go. She was extremely beautiful, and all of 18 or 19, as was her boyfriend, with his rippling abdominal muscles and dark hair.
Yes, they're pretty, but geeze, put your eyes back in your head. He wanted to stand and stare openly but instead had to painfully labour through his bright, forced conversation. He also smokes tailor mades. Disgusting.
No matter what he said after this, I was completely bored. His house. Blah blah. His job. Yawn. His ex. Blah fuckin' blahdee blah. At one point, when talking about AA, he said "quite a lot of famous people are alcoholics, you'd be quite surprised".
Gee, you don't say? Wow. I'd never have guessed. Oh wait, was I supposed to ask who they were because he's in the know? I hate that sort of thing. It really annoyed me. He wouldn't have guessed it, I just said "mm, oh right." Of course I could be judging him too harshly, but I doubt it. Just today Andrew said I need to be less tolerant. Isn't that lovely? I might start practicing. It's a new Intolerant Me!
Attraction is a funny old fish isn't it? I guess I've always rather liked slightly unusual men, preferably tall and a bit quirky in some way. Not the standard. Not a rugby player or too much of a bloke. What I like seems to be a little hard to come by, but I have the feeling I'm unlikely to find it on internet dating. It's just not happening.
The only person who came close to what I'm into ended up being unintentionally cruel (hope he's having a shitty valentine's day, that his girlfriend is boring and slack in bed!). Yeah yeah, I know there's no point harbouring bitterness towards those who have hurt me, it only destroys me. I know. I know. I just like to vent a little bit. Isn't it crazy how hurt can make you imagine all sorts of awful things? Like hoping that the person is having a miserable time and that they're realising how incredible you were, and what a dork they are. Who'd want to admit to feeling that way? That's right. No one. The truth is, I wish well for everyone. I don't want people to suffer. I do believe we're all one. I do. I'm not being sarcastic, I promise.
On Sunday I went to the beach again, this time to Piha with Mr No Listening. Mr No Listening was really nice, but he pretended to listen to me blathering on, and I could tell when he was pretending. I admit, I usually do talk a lot, but internet dating has given me really good practice in withholding more and more. I kept trying to be attracted to him. Have you ever done that?
You look at the person and think "well he's got lovely eyes, and he's kind", but really, you know it's just not there. He seemed prematurely old. Or perhaps I'm used to being around 'young' old people?
We still had a nice day, it was absolutely pouring with rain and I suggested we walk to the South, over the hill, in jandals. We did. Got to the bit where you have to sort of scramble down a bit of a clay bank before climbing down a big rock face. In the rain, the clay had become amazingly slick and I slipped and skidded about 15 metres, at first screaming in terror, then laughing as I realised I wasn't going to die.
My shorts, arms and backpack were coated in a thick, shitty layer of mud and clay. It looked grand. Got down the rock face fine, and then announced I was going for a swim.
"Got your togs?" I asked
"Oh, ah, no, I thought we were just walking on the beach..."
"Ah, so when I said to you 'I'm taking my togs with me for a swim when we get to the other side' you didn't hear me?"
"Ah, no, I didn't."
Ha! His pretending to listen thing had fucked it up. He'd even nodded at me and said 'yes' when I said I was going for a swim, so god knows where his little mind was.
I changed into my togs and had a lovely swim.
"You could swim in your undies if they're not too horrible!" I yelled at him from the tidal pool. He instead sat on a rock in his little red raincoat. Perhaps he was wearing big old whitey tighties? Perhaps he's ashamed of his body? Maybe he didn't even want to go for a swim.
I knew he was attracted to me, but I just couldn't go there. Not even out of morbid curiosity. He was far nicer than some of the men I dated last year (hello, The Wanker!), but perhaps my tolerance levels have just reached their limit. And that's ok. I'm fine with it.
I have another date tomorrow with a guy who drives a motorbike in Woodhill Forest. I doubt it's a match made in heaven, but hey, I'm sure it will be interesting. I've gone off site, but there might be a few left over dates to catch up on.
Oh, and yesterday Andrew came over and we hung out and had a really good laugh. I have two soft toys, this sort of pig one I call Pushkin (I've never read Pushkin, but it's a good name for a soft toy) and this wee golliwog (it's a 'new era' golli). We put them in all sorts of uncompromising positions and I laughed so much that my stomach hurt. I am very easily pleased.
Tieneke lasted approximately one week on the net dating. She said she found it exhausting, all the effort! She went out with this cocky fireman who informed her that he'd been on 217 dates, but he also stays home and drinks and gets stoned on a regular basis. That's what you want in a man who might be saving you from a burning building! Anyway, we think it sounded suspicious. A man with a small child who reckons he's been on that many dates (why even tell her, how odd!) and yet stays home shmokin' joints on his own? Surely not. How does he manage the time? How does he even stay sane? Maybe that's why he has to shmoke all the joints.
Whatever the case, we're both back out of that crazy little world. Well. For now at least. Who knows, I might be back into it in another three weeks. But I hope not.
Love to you
touch yourself there
big kiss
xxx
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