Having got through the meeting of my friends relatively unscathed (other than a short term dip in my mental health on the night), Filipeen and I continued towards Christmas at full speed. Well, full speed with a couple of speed bumps.
After the second date’s surprising, but pretty great, turn of events where we ended up in bed, my girlfriends did their usual interrogation. Did he pay for dinner? Will we like him? How was his penis? The usual.
You know when you were young and your Mum always told you not to take sweets from strangers and your school used to have sessions about not getting in cars with strange men? When did that change to the point that one random October Sunday I decided it was a good idea to make plans for a strange guy to pick me up and take me to the woods for a walk? It’s funny how things change; at eight I would have been shouting “STRANGER DANGER” to ward him off, but at 32 I was hoping it would be romantic.
When it comes to dating someone new, I’m sure most of us have been guilty of rushing a little bit ahead of ourselves at one time, at least I know I have. Hell, that’s my go to when I meet someone new! But when is it flattering and when is it too much?
This blog of mine is in no way meant to man-bash. Despite the frustrations I may have encountered with dating, and my experience with my ex-husband, and some of the shitty things guys have done, I’m still pro-men, I’m still pro-dating, I’m still pro-relationships.
After the excitement of Arms, I guess I knew the next dates would be... interesting. Physically they had a lot to hold up to. Sexually, if it got that far, they were going to have to be out of this world. And on a common connection level they’d need to be pretty spot on. Unfortunately, if not unsurprisingly, none of those marks were hit.
I spent the remainder of that Friday in the office, still wondering what the hell had happened in the last 20 or so hours, but mostly attempting to remain awake. I chose to work in the office lounge, on a comfy chair with my feet up on a foot rest and there were definite moments of head bobbing, almost falling asleep.
Offering to play tour guide for two Kiwi guys who were in town for a couple of days, I knew it wasn’t going to be the most conventional of Tinder dates but I’m not sure I could have imagined just how unexpectedly it would turn out…
What is it they say - opinions are like assholes, everyone has one? I’ve always felt like there should be a second part to that though - and like assholes they should be kept to ourselves. Unless you’re into that with your partner(s).
Why is it that saying no to an offer of a drink or a date makes us feel like we’re somehow being rude?
Matching with someone on dating apps, like Bumble or Tinder, is about as meaningful as waking up with a hangover and saying you’re not going to drink again. There is no substance to it, it’s borne out of necessity and the likelihood of you following through with it is probably 5%.
Over the subsequent weeks with Asian Weightlifting Firefighter we went on all sorts of dates - park dates, movie dates, symphony orchestra dates, dinner dates, watching the Olympics dates (he imparted his knowledge of Olympic weightlifting while I filled him in on Rugby 7’s), film festival dates, furniture shopping dates… wait, woah, what? Furniture shopping?