I lay my head on his chest. The sound of his heart blocks out everything else.
Whomp-whoosh-whomp-whoosh-whomp-woosh.
It's not a beat. Not the rhythmic tick of a machine keeping time. It's muscle and gristle, practically turning itself inside out with the effort of it all. Then doing it again and again. Organic.
I wish I could fall asleep like this.
I kiss the side of his cheek and move over, put my cheek down on the cold pillow there.
I need to sleep, but I can't. The next sound I hear will be of the alarm. Then that'll be it. He'll be gone. If I can just stay awake I can keep adding minutes, driving it further away with every moment of consciousness I manage. I can keep pretending it's not happening.
But then the bells of Big Ben ring out. That's it then. 3am, time's up. And before I know it we are hugging goodbye, clutching, hanging on for dear life. And it hurts. Maybe a little more than last time, maybe less than the next time. How do you measure something like that?
The cluncking slam of the front door is so final. I sit up staring stupidly into black space. Then at the last minute throw back the bedclothes and run to the window. The shutters are all down but there's a tiny gap between my shin and the floor so I drop down to my knees and peer out like a madman.
Just in time to see the red tail lights of the taxi disappearing out of view.
The floor is cold and the whole quality of air in the room has changed. You are alone, it says. Completely alone, it screams.
But I've had it worse than this.
………….
I remember him sweeping the floor. Waking up with another hangover and everything just being so white. Full of light.
No-one has decent curtains in England to keep the sunlight out, but I didn't know that then. Or I did know it, but it didn't register. It's something that you only notice once you've slept in a room completely darkened by shutters. Why would you bother keeping the sunlight out when there's not that much of it going spare?
You wouldn't have recognised the room from what it had been just a week before. Now just white empty space, but once full of wires, studio equipment, books, tapes, records, ashtrays, boxes of random shit. Pictures of people I would one day get to meet, and places I would go. Though I didn't know that then. There was so much I didn't know back then.
I must have been 21. That's so hard to comprehend right now. Nine years ago.
The summer was just beginning but it was all over for us. That time round anyway.
The flatmates were long gone, and the house was just a empty shell of memories. But once we slammed the door shut and posted the key through the door there was no-one left to remember them.
I went with him all the way to Gatwick. I don't know you but I'm sure I love you. Six months to last a lifetime.It was like nothing before it, totally incomparable.
Sun shining through the dirty windows of the train as text messages arrived on his phone. Goodbye and good luck, we'll miss you, all the best. One of those shitty Nokias everyone had. No iPhones, no Skype, no Facebook, no nothing. So much harder to stay in touch. So much easier to be out of sight, out of mind. Fade away into the background.
And thinking, I just have to get through this then everything can just go on as normal. But not really believing it.
Then that moment, when he has to turn his back and go. Slow motion. I'll see you again, I will come back.
I don't know you but I know I love you.
But something's wrong, It's not going to work out the way I want it. I know it's going to hurt. And about that I'm right. It's harder being the one left behind. Looking for things to fill the gap. Constantly searching.
The sliding doors swept shut with an almost silent click, and that was that. I was just another girl crying in an airport.
That was the real goodbye. But not the final one.
Showing posts with label romance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label romance. Show all posts
21/04/2011
25/03/2010
Surprise
The poor bloke. He gets a lot of stick from me for being no good at romantic surprises. Until this week I could think of two over the course of our relationship. 1) When he told me he was taking me to McDonalds and instead we pulled up outside our favourite Mexican, where he'd booked a table. 2) When he asked me to get him some water from the fridge and I grumblingly did so, only to find a bottle of perfume in there waiting for me where the jug of water should have been. Ten out of ten, both times.
For some men this sort of thing comes naturally. You hear about girlfriends being whisked away to Paris for the weekend on surprise trips by their significant others, who have secretly acquired their passports and even packed a suitcase of all the clothes they'll need for the trip. Surely they're embellishing the truth? Or going out with men who are secretly gay?
Anyway, I digress. Yes I berate the bloke for being crap in this area – but this week he came up trumps. It started out on the wrong foot though, when I arrived home to find an extremely grumpy bloke, peeved I was two hours later than he'd expected me to be.
We got into a stupid row about whether or not I'd in fact told him that morning, while he was in the shower and half asleep, that I would be late. But it was weirdly interrupted by him asking me to fetch him some pipas (salt-covered sunflower seeds) from the kitchen.
Not wanting further arguments I stomped off to the kitchen in a huff. But when I opened the cupboard to get the pipas my brain stopped working for a moment. I was seeing a brand new iPhone in there, but my mind just wasn't processing it.
He'd completely got me. Maybe if he'd asked me to get him a bottle of water and put it in the fridge like last time I would have twigged. But no.
An iPhone! He'd got me an iPhone – the only thing I'd been coveting for at least the past year, maybe more. As far as romantic surprises go this was the numero uno. Far more superior than jewellery, flowers or chocolates or any of that stuff. And better still, it was the third generation model, and therefore better than the one he had. I now have a better phone than my techno nerd boyfriend, oh how that must have hurt him to order. A sure sign of true love.
In my days of English teaching, a student told me that if you expect men to come up with romantic surprises, you will always be disappointed. It's just not in their nature, she said. Especially not Spanish men, who don't like to plan things, make dinner reservations, and prefer to just go with the flow. For special occasions you have to tell them exactly what you want, and most of the time if you're reasonable they'll be happy to make you happy. For celebrating Mother's Day this enterprising lady had all but given her husband a list of what she wanted – breakfast in bed, followed by an extra two hours sleep while he looked after the kids then lunch at a restaurant, which he would choose for them and book.
I liked her attitude. It was easy and everyone was happy. She was clever. (that's probably why she was a company director.) So I thought I would just take the same tack with the bloke, who has shown himself to be very romantic in other ways, but crap at surprises. But perhaps I was wrong on that last detail.
The iPhone incident has shown me that he does have it in him to catch me off guard in the most fantastic way.
For some men this sort of thing comes naturally. You hear about girlfriends being whisked away to Paris for the weekend on surprise trips by their significant others, who have secretly acquired their passports and even packed a suitcase of all the clothes they'll need for the trip. Surely they're embellishing the truth? Or going out with men who are secretly gay?
Anyway, I digress. Yes I berate the bloke for being crap in this area – but this week he came up trumps. It started out on the wrong foot though, when I arrived home to find an extremely grumpy bloke, peeved I was two hours later than he'd expected me to be.
We got into a stupid row about whether or not I'd in fact told him that morning, while he was in the shower and half asleep, that I would be late. But it was weirdly interrupted by him asking me to fetch him some pipas (salt-covered sunflower seeds) from the kitchen.
Not wanting further arguments I stomped off to the kitchen in a huff. But when I opened the cupboard to get the pipas my brain stopped working for a moment. I was seeing a brand new iPhone in there, but my mind just wasn't processing it.
He'd completely got me. Maybe if he'd asked me to get him a bottle of water and put it in the fridge like last time I would have twigged. But no.
An iPhone! He'd got me an iPhone – the only thing I'd been coveting for at least the past year, maybe more. As far as romantic surprises go this was the numero uno. Far more superior than jewellery, flowers or chocolates or any of that stuff. And better still, it was the third generation model, and therefore better than the one he had. I now have a better phone than my techno nerd boyfriend, oh how that must have hurt him to order. A sure sign of true love.
In my days of English teaching, a student told me that if you expect men to come up with romantic surprises, you will always be disappointed. It's just not in their nature, she said. Especially not Spanish men, who don't like to plan things, make dinner reservations, and prefer to just go with the flow. For special occasions you have to tell them exactly what you want, and most of the time if you're reasonable they'll be happy to make you happy. For celebrating Mother's Day this enterprising lady had all but given her husband a list of what she wanted – breakfast in bed, followed by an extra two hours sleep while he looked after the kids then lunch at a restaurant, which he would choose for them and book.
I liked her attitude. It was easy and everyone was happy. She was clever. (that's probably why she was a company director.) So I thought I would just take the same tack with the bloke, who has shown himself to be very romantic in other ways, but crap at surprises. But perhaps I was wrong on that last detail.
The iPhone incident has shown me that he does have it in him to catch me off guard in the most fantastic way.
14/02/2010
Fright Night – a Valentine’s Day date with a difference
I want to hate Valentine’s Day. I really do. Valentine’s Day, with its nazi romance-by-numbers, corny clichés and billboard naffness. I want to ignore it and coolly say: “Oh no, we don’t celebrate things like that,” when people ask what plans me and the bloke have for February 14. Every day is Valentine’s Day for us. We don’t need an excuse to be romantic, etc, etc.
But truth be known I don’t hate it. I can’t quite manage to hate it. For all it’s been commercialised to within an inch of it’s life and is just another excuse for the consumer industry to sell us more shit we don’t need, I just love the base idea of it. A day devoted to the special person in your life.
Yet when I think back to Feb 14ths gone by I can’t think of a single one that stands out from the others. But I certainly won’t have that problem about Valentine’s Day 2010, which I’m sure I (and the bloke too) will remember until we’re 80.
I’d told bloke to keep Saturday night free, as I had a surprise for him. He agreed, and proceeded to display a range of emotions for the rest of the week, from mild excitement to slight fear.
This continued, right up until five minutes before we left the house on Saturday night. “Please tell me where we’re going,” he begged. “I don’t like surprises.” Then, with a look of complete horror: “Oh my god, we’re not going to the place with the transvestites, are we? Please tell me we’re not.”
After I’d faithfully promised there were no transvestites involved, we grabbed a taxi into town, and departed on Calle San Roque. As we approached the place where we were going to spend the evening, I felt a pang of disappointment when the bloke said: “Oh I know what this is.”
But his guess: “It’s that nice Mexican place, isn’t it,” was so far off it wasn’t even in the same dimension. We walked through the door to be greeted by this sight:
“Oh my god, what the hell is this?” said the bloke, half laughing, eyes wide with shock. “What have you done?”
What I’d done was booked us into el Ultimo Mordisco (the last bite) Self titled “the most terrifying restaurant in Madrid. Twee house track Lady by Mojo was playing loudly over the soundsystem, but the CD kept skipping. Sound effects of people screaming and what sounded like Vincent Price laughing were playing over the top.
“Do you think this is going to be alright?” said the bloke nervously, trying to look everywhere at once. “What on earth are we going to find in there?”
Before he could make a run for it, We were greeted by a man wearing a maid’s costume, (ah so much for my promise of no cross dressers) wig, and huge platform shoes. He said the lady of the house, the Duquesa wanted to welcome us but she had a terrible hangover. And she was having some trouble with her daughter, who had been left at the altar.
He took us through and showed us to our seats, and left us to peruse the menu –shaped like a coffin and featuring dishes with names like Pesadilla (nightmare), Hombre Lobo (wearwolf) and Fantasma. (ghost)
The place - I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. Decked out in skulls, snakes, cracked mirrors and extoplasm. Gloomy as hell, but with a clubtastic lazer system, weird electric fake crystal chandeliers and flashing mini LED trees brightening the place up.
As the bloke put it: “This whole thing is so wrong. The staff are wrong, the music is wrong, even the food is wrong. I don’t want to eat it ‘cos I’m having psychosis it’s come from a dead person. It’s like every horror film we’ve ever watched rolled into one. It’s brilliant.”
He was right. We soon got to meet the Duquesa – the maid, now in a different outfit and blonde curly poodle wig and the splitting double of the real life Duquesa de Alba – and her daughter, fully decked out in a wedding dress and corpse-like makeup. Their whole aim was to mess with your head, whether it was getting up on stage and performing a routine to a mash up of Mecano songs or telling you they’d put drugs in the sangria.
I could hardly eat my food either. My solomillo came with a frambuesa sauce that just looked like congealed blood.
The music was similarly designed to freak you out. It ranged from The Final Countdown by Europe, to some unidentifiable early Nineties techno to Thriller, with all kinds of weird noises thrown in for good measure.
To my absolute delight there was even a bingo at the end of the night. And the icing on the cake – bloke won. So we came home with the possibly the best prize I’ve ever seen up for grabs in any competition, ever – a garish looking fluffy cat toy that raps and wiggles about with a mouse hanging from it’s mouth. We spent ages making it sing when we got home and trying to figure out what it was saying, and in what language. “Filthy bitch” and “mother and father” were in there somewhere, but beyond that, it’s hard to tell.
So that was Valentine’s Day my way. Not everyone’s cup of tea, and certainly not many people’s idea of ‘romance’. But just as I thought he would, bloke loved it. And our shared love of things like that, things which are quite off key, which is one of the things I really love about our relationship.
We really are two weird peas in a weird pod.
***Click here to see the rappin' cat in action
08/02/2010
It's in his kiss… or is it?
It's a situation you might have found yourself in once upon a time. You're on your first (or maybe second) date and it's looking promising. The wine is flowing, the company is interesting, and you've found yourself getting giggly and flirty. Much to your delight, you fancy the pants off your companion for the evening, and you realise the feeling is mutual as he leans in for that magic first kiss.
Then joy turns to horror as your date clamps himself to your mouth and tries to extract your tonsils while covering half your face in a shower of saliva. Think the face hugger from Aliens, and you've pretty much there.
Though I have had that experience in my life before, in the comfortable realms of long-term monogamy it's now a distant memory. The same cannot be said of my mate Two Shandies. On her continuing quest for her half orange, she has come up against this slight hurdle in her latest conquest Mr Pony.
Mr Pony – christened by PB due to the fact he's a bit posh and likes to ride horses round his parent's ranch, is currently number one on Shandies' internet dating list.
Below was the lowdown after their unexpected first date (Shandies was on her way out to the gym when he called, but ditched treadmills and weights for drinks in la Latina.)
GOOD POINTS:
1) Tall and rather dashing
2) Broad shoulders
3) Easy to talk to
4) Gave me lift home
5) Waited to see I had got inside ok
6) Dark Spanish look
7) Sent me a sweet text saying how nice I am and he'd like to see me again
NOT SO GOOD POINTS
1) Maybe a little posh (he mentioned his parent's country estate - one half is woodland and the other has the cattle!)
2) He speaks at ten zillion miles an hour, felt like I was in an advanced listening exam
Promising. And good how the negatives weren't "bad points", but "not so bad points". Only two of them, both of which weren't so bad at all. So far so good. Then the revised list arrived after their second date (which involved three wines and a bit of snogging)
GOOD POINTS:
1) Really sweet guy and I fancy him
2) Understood him better this time
3) Seems to like me
4) Even wrote me a text this morning saying he woke up thinking about me (cheesy but nice)
NOT SO GOOD POINTS:
1) I think his family raise bulls for bullfighting
2) I think he learnt to kiss on the farm (but nothing some subtle guidance won't cure)
As for the bulls – Sa pointed out that whatever Shandies' views on bull fighting might be, it was his family that reared the bulls, not him personally. The second point, well I was a little puzzled at what learning to kiss on the farm meant (practicing with cows and chickens?) but could kind of guess. A Tuesday Club gossip session confirmed my suspicions.
So who's to blame in situations like this? Ex girlfriends - we're assuming he has some - a bad washing-machine kissing gene, over enthusiasm or just lack of practice? Surely men can't learn to kiss like this from watching porno vids (do they actually even kiss in pornos?) And is it an indicator of crap bedroom antics that will follow?
Two Shandies hopes not. She's determined to lick him (ha ha) into shape. In fact she already laid the groundwork by saying dejarme respirar! (let me breathe!) during one of their first smooching sessions.
Judging by the report on their third date, her kiss masterclass went down well. Apparently there was "phone charging and sexual confidence". Just exactly what that turned out to be exactly, though, I will have to wait and see.
Then joy turns to horror as your date clamps himself to your mouth and tries to extract your tonsils while covering half your face in a shower of saliva. Think the face hugger from Aliens, and you've pretty much there.
Though I have had that experience in my life before, in the comfortable realms of long-term monogamy it's now a distant memory. The same cannot be said of my mate Two Shandies. On her continuing quest for her half orange, she has come up against this slight hurdle in her latest conquest Mr Pony.
Mr Pony – christened by PB due to the fact he's a bit posh and likes to ride horses round his parent's ranch, is currently number one on Shandies' internet dating list.
Below was the lowdown after their unexpected first date (Shandies was on her way out to the gym when he called, but ditched treadmills and weights for drinks in la Latina.)
GOOD POINTS:
1) Tall and rather dashing
2) Broad shoulders
3) Easy to talk to
4) Gave me lift home
5) Waited to see I had got inside ok
6) Dark Spanish look
7) Sent me a sweet text saying how nice I am and he'd like to see me again
NOT SO GOOD POINTS
1) Maybe a little posh (he mentioned his parent's country estate - one half is woodland and the other has the cattle!)
2) He speaks at ten zillion miles an hour, felt like I was in an advanced listening exam
Promising. And good how the negatives weren't "bad points", but "not so bad points". Only two of them, both of which weren't so bad at all. So far so good. Then the revised list arrived after their second date (which involved three wines and a bit of snogging)
GOOD POINTS:
1) Really sweet guy and I fancy him
2) Understood him better this time
3) Seems to like me
4) Even wrote me a text this morning saying he woke up thinking about me (cheesy but nice)
NOT SO GOOD POINTS:
1) I think his family raise bulls for bullfighting
2) I think he learnt to kiss on the farm (but nothing some subtle guidance won't cure)
As for the bulls – Sa pointed out that whatever Shandies' views on bull fighting might be, it was his family that reared the bulls, not him personally. The second point, well I was a little puzzled at what learning to kiss on the farm meant (practicing with cows and chickens?) but could kind of guess. A Tuesday Club gossip session confirmed my suspicions.
So who's to blame in situations like this? Ex girlfriends - we're assuming he has some - a bad washing-machine kissing gene, over enthusiasm or just lack of practice? Surely men can't learn to kiss like this from watching porno vids (do they actually even kiss in pornos?) And is it an indicator of crap bedroom antics that will follow?
Two Shandies hopes not. She's determined to lick him (ha ha) into shape. In fact she already laid the groundwork by saying dejarme respirar! (let me breathe!) during one of their first smooching sessions.
Judging by the report on their third date, her kiss masterclass went down well. Apparently there was "phone charging and sexual confidence". Just exactly what that turned out to be exactly, though, I will have to wait and see.
26/01/2010
I'm leaving on a jet plane…
I got home Monday night to find a slightly sullen bloke tinkering with tunes on his computer. "Would a cup of tea cheer you up?" I asked. "No, but a game of darts and a few drinks would," came the reply. Honestly, sometimes I think he's more British than I am.
A few games later in our local bar, the wonderfully named Yuppie, and bloke had perked up slightly (yes, because he won). Good, stuff – everyone gets the Monday blues after all. But no, it was more than that, he admitted.
"You'll be gone on Wednesday, and I'm really going to miss you."
Then it hit me – god I was really going to miss him too. Sure I was looking forward to spending a week with my friends and family, but ouch, I would miss him. Not a feeling I've had to cope with for a long time.
At the start of our relationship (second time around) It was all long goodbyes and thinking of him at odd moments in the day. Madrid and Barcelona may be cities in the same country, but they might as well be on the other side of the world when you know you won't be seeing the object of your affection for a whole month.
Couples kissing on the metro make you want to spit and the sight of people holding hands in the street is almost too much to bear. Before long you even find yourself pining for your other half on those wild nights out with your mates. Then kicking yourself for being such a hopeless saddo. Such is the nature of those tricky long distance relationships.
We managed it for a year before I threw my toys out of the pram and basically said "I'm moving to Madrid whether you like it or not."
So I did. And it wasn't until then that we really got to know each other. But despite the few arguments that inevitably come when two people try and negotiate the new and strange business of living together for the first time, we pulled it off.
And four years later we are incredibly happy, and that emotion of "missing" each other is just redundant.
But here it is again. And only just slightly less painful, says the bloke, than the first time we ever said goodbye, circa 2002.
Only six months into our relationship, the first time around, and circumstances had thwarted us. He had to return to Madrid and I was going to stay in London to pursue my shiny new career as a freelance journalist. There was nothing for me in Spain, or so I thought. Three years later I changed my mind though.
As we kissed goodbye then at the departure gates, trying to hold back the tears. I somehow knew that despite our fresh and surprising declarations of love from the night before, it wouldn't work out this time around.
The distance would be too much. We had too many issues we had to sort out separately and I would have to let it go. And it was going to hurt. A lot, maybe more than it had ever hurt before. I was right.
But I also knew, as I watched him disappear through the sliding doors and out of my life, that I would see him again one day. And happily, I was right about that too.
A few games later in our local bar, the wonderfully named Yuppie, and bloke had perked up slightly (yes, because he won). Good, stuff – everyone gets the Monday blues after all. But no, it was more than that, he admitted.
"You'll be gone on Wednesday, and I'm really going to miss you."
Then it hit me – god I was really going to miss him too. Sure I was looking forward to spending a week with my friends and family, but ouch, I would miss him. Not a feeling I've had to cope with for a long time.
At the start of our relationship (second time around) It was all long goodbyes and thinking of him at odd moments in the day. Madrid and Barcelona may be cities in the same country, but they might as well be on the other side of the world when you know you won't be seeing the object of your affection for a whole month.
Couples kissing on the metro make you want to spit and the sight of people holding hands in the street is almost too much to bear. Before long you even find yourself pining for your other half on those wild nights out with your mates. Then kicking yourself for being such a hopeless saddo. Such is the nature of those tricky long distance relationships.
We managed it for a year before I threw my toys out of the pram and basically said "I'm moving to Madrid whether you like it or not."
So I did. And it wasn't until then that we really got to know each other. But despite the few arguments that inevitably come when two people try and negotiate the new and strange business of living together for the first time, we pulled it off.
And four years later we are incredibly happy, and that emotion of "missing" each other is just redundant.
But here it is again. And only just slightly less painful, says the bloke, than the first time we ever said goodbye, circa 2002.
Only six months into our relationship, the first time around, and circumstances had thwarted us. He had to return to Madrid and I was going to stay in London to pursue my shiny new career as a freelance journalist. There was nothing for me in Spain, or so I thought. Three years later I changed my mind though.
As we kissed goodbye then at the departure gates, trying to hold back the tears. I somehow knew that despite our fresh and surprising declarations of love from the night before, it wouldn't work out this time around.
The distance would be too much. We had too many issues we had to sort out separately and I would have to let it go. And it was going to hurt. A lot, maybe more than it had ever hurt before. I was right.
But I also knew, as I watched him disappear through the sliding doors and out of my life, that I would see him again one day. And happily, I was right about that too.
24/01/2010
Two Shandies and the second date dilemma
What do you do when a fella you meet on internet dating invites you to his home for dinner on your second date? Does it send out the wrong message if you go? Do you risk getting chopped up into little pieces and put in the wheelie bin? That’s the dilemma Two Shandies was facing.
She’d been asked by her latest candidate in the search for her media naranja (half orange, or soul mate as we would say in English. Don’t ask me why they use that image here in Spain)
It was a case of so far so good. He’d sent his picture and she’d thought he was OK, but not drop dead gorgeous. But on the advice of Sa’s brother – “if you don’t find them repulsive then go on a date” – she’d agreed to meet up.
Unfortunately she got ill on the day they were supposed to see each other. He wasn’t put out though. And while she was shivering on the sofa off work, she got two emails from him containing power point presentations on a) Huelga - the city where he was born, and b) Salamanca – The city where he grew up. Why? To “keep her entertained while she was off sick”
Well she certainly got a laugh out of that, as did we when she told us.
So, slightly bemused but touched by the gesture all the same, she went out for a drink when she was all better. This was the verdict:
GOOD POINTS:
1) Was wearing a stripey top
2) Not bad looking (better than photo)
3) 6ft
4) Fit body
5) Totally loves the UK (ex girlfriend was Irish)
6) Really nice to chat to (maybe I should have put that first!)
7) Didn't grill me about the power points
DOWN SIDES:
1) Messy hair
2) Not much of an upper lip (PB will sympathize)
Well that’s not too bad, I thought. Only two bad points. Kind of weird the number one good point was the stripey top though… Still, messy hair can be tamed with a trip to the peluqueria, and upper lips (or lack of them) can be disguised with a nice moustache. Shandies wasn’t too enthusiastic about the idea of some face furniture but I like it – both the bloke and my dad have them so I’m used to them by now.
PB was really upset about the absence of lippage though. According to her all people with no top lips are inherently evil and cruel. We asked for examples to back up this body part specific racism, but the only one she could give was John Major.
Then came the bombshell. “He’s invited me to his house for dinner, should I go?” This was put to me and PB at Tuesday club.
The immediate reply, from PB was no. “It’s your second date, he should be taking you out, courting you,” she said. “Staying in for dinner’s what you should be doing a few months in.”
I agreed. “Isn’t it a bit early for all that? Going to someone’s house is a bit personal isn’t it? Won’t he think you’re a bit easy?”
She replied: “Just ‘cos I’m going to his house doesn’t mean I have to shag him!”
Oops, good point. Turns out she’s been mainly asking on the safety aspect (ie, will I get murdered?) rather than the moral aspect (will he think I’m a slattern?)
On the first point, we came to the conclusion that he probably wasn’t a rapist or killer, but it she should give us all his details before she went and text us when she left.
But we’d unleashed all these doubts and questions in her head. All thee more so since she’d actually already agreed to go, and was just asking us as an afterthought.
After much too-ing and fro-ing she agreed to leave it as it was. The important thing was that she felt comfortable about the whole thing. Who cares what we thought anyway? God knows how my relationship got off the ground, the tit I made of myself on my very first date with the bloke. After 10 sambucas it’s kind of hard to be cool – especially if you forget your address. In my defence I had just moved house though.
Plus, you can learn a lot about someone from their house. Would she go into his bathroom and find hairs in the sink and be put off for life? Would he have pictures of dogs playing snooker or statues of the virgin mary everywhere? That would surely help her make up her mind.
So the big night arrived and we waited fgor the verdict. Which was:
“Lack of spark I’m afraid. Really nice guy, cooked lovely meal of seabass in a salt crust (which was random as I cooked that for my family at xmas) lovely chat , really easy to talk to but just dont fancy him.”
:O(
Always the bloomin way, the ones I fancy are either not interested or don’t have time for me and the ones I don't like seem to like me.
I think that is called sod's law. Hohum
So the search for Shandies’ half orange continues...”
Good luck Shandies. He’s out there somewhere, I know it.
She’d been asked by her latest candidate in the search for her media naranja (half orange, or soul mate as we would say in English. Don’t ask me why they use that image here in Spain)
It was a case of so far so good. He’d sent his picture and she’d thought he was OK, but not drop dead gorgeous. But on the advice of Sa’s brother – “if you don’t find them repulsive then go on a date” – she’d agreed to meet up.
Unfortunately she got ill on the day they were supposed to see each other. He wasn’t put out though. And while she was shivering on the sofa off work, she got two emails from him containing power point presentations on a) Huelga - the city where he was born, and b) Salamanca – The city where he grew up. Why? To “keep her entertained while she was off sick”
Well she certainly got a laugh out of that, as did we when she told us.
So, slightly bemused but touched by the gesture all the same, she went out for a drink when she was all better. This was the verdict:
GOOD POINTS:
1) Was wearing a stripey top
2) Not bad looking (better than photo)
3) 6ft
4) Fit body
5) Totally loves the UK (ex girlfriend was Irish)
6) Really nice to chat to (maybe I should have put that first!)
7) Didn't grill me about the power points
DOWN SIDES:
1) Messy hair
2) Not much of an upper lip (PB will sympathize)
Well that’s not too bad, I thought. Only two bad points. Kind of weird the number one good point was the stripey top though… Still, messy hair can be tamed with a trip to the peluqueria, and upper lips (or lack of them) can be disguised with a nice moustache. Shandies wasn’t too enthusiastic about the idea of some face furniture but I like it – both the bloke and my dad have them so I’m used to them by now.
PB was really upset about the absence of lippage though. According to her all people with no top lips are inherently evil and cruel. We asked for examples to back up this body part specific racism, but the only one she could give was John Major.
Then came the bombshell. “He’s invited me to his house for dinner, should I go?” This was put to me and PB at Tuesday club.
The immediate reply, from PB was no. “It’s your second date, he should be taking you out, courting you,” she said. “Staying in for dinner’s what you should be doing a few months in.”
I agreed. “Isn’t it a bit early for all that? Going to someone’s house is a bit personal isn’t it? Won’t he think you’re a bit easy?”
She replied: “Just ‘cos I’m going to his house doesn’t mean I have to shag him!”
Oops, good point. Turns out she’s been mainly asking on the safety aspect (ie, will I get murdered?) rather than the moral aspect (will he think I’m a slattern?)
On the first point, we came to the conclusion that he probably wasn’t a rapist or killer, but it she should give us all his details before she went and text us when she left.
But we’d unleashed all these doubts and questions in her head. All thee more so since she’d actually already agreed to go, and was just asking us as an afterthought.
After much too-ing and fro-ing she agreed to leave it as it was. The important thing was that she felt comfortable about the whole thing. Who cares what we thought anyway? God knows how my relationship got off the ground, the tit I made of myself on my very first date with the bloke. After 10 sambucas it’s kind of hard to be cool – especially if you forget your address. In my defence I had just moved house though.
Plus, you can learn a lot about someone from their house. Would she go into his bathroom and find hairs in the sink and be put off for life? Would he have pictures of dogs playing snooker or statues of the virgin mary everywhere? That would surely help her make up her mind.
So the big night arrived and we waited fgor the verdict. Which was:
“Lack of spark I’m afraid. Really nice guy, cooked lovely meal of seabass in a salt crust (which was random as I cooked that for my family at xmas) lovely chat , really easy to talk to but just dont fancy him.”
:O(
Always the bloomin way, the ones I fancy are either not interested or don’t have time for me and the ones I don't like seem to like me.
I think that is called sod's law. Hohum
So the search for Shandies’ half orange continues...”
Good luck Shandies. He’s out there somewhere, I know it.
06/12/2009
Two Shandies and the weird and wonderful world of internet dating
It’s been a while since I was single. And even back then, I can’t remember playing the “dating game”. In fact the only significant “date” which springs to mind is my first night out with the bloke, during which I managed to fall down the stairs in a cocktail bar, split open my chin and graze my knuckles. I think it’s safe to say I was a bit of a disaster.
The same could not be said of my friend Two Shandies, who is now something of a dating ninja. All thanks to our friend the internet.
For the price of 109 Euros you have six months worth of what is effectively online shopping for boys. And for that price you’d better get your money’s worth.
Some people might turn their noses up at internet dating. But I totally get it. Think about it – on your average night out on the pull you might waste hours chatting someone up only to find they’re married, weird, or just not interested.
Of course, you might still get all that on internet dating, but at least you can try and figure that out in the cyber stage, without wasting money buying them drinks.
You have to be careful when creating your online profile though. You don’t want to risk being accused of false advertising by putting a photo that doesn’t look like you. Ones from when you were 21 or photo-shopped efforts are not a good idea. (Apparently if a person only has one photo in their profile that’s a big giveaway)
And make sure you don’t tick any boxes by mistake. Two Shandies accidentally ticked the “pony” box in the what pets you have section, and stated getting emails from a man who was really excited about going horse riding with her.
You have to be dedicated too. According to Two Shandies you will probably like about one in 20 of the people you actually interact with. But that’s OK. At least she gets to practice her Spanish, and has lots of great stories to report back on the ones that don’t get past the first date. For instance…
Mr Interesting
As an ice breaker, Two Shandies asked this guy to tell her three interesting things about himself. His reply? “Number one -I talk to myself a lot. Number two - When I get out of the shower I wear my dressing gown for a long time before I put my clothes on. Number three – I like channel surfing.” (bad)
Mr Rude
He seemed nice so they arranged to meet. Then when they finally did, he took one look at her and walked away without saying a word. She phoned him and his mobile was off. He did get in touch sometime later and apologised, saying he had just got some bad news five minutes before they were due to meet up. So Shandies gave him a second chance but he was awful, and just asked her loads of questions about her sex life. (terrible)
Mr Posh
My personal favourite. This guy actually described his dress sense as pijo (posh) in his profile and said his views were Españolista. He had no photo on his page. Why? “Well, you put your photo on the internet and next thing you know, you’re in a jeans advert in China. When he met up with Two Shandies he wore a tie with a stag on it “because English people like hunting, don’t they?” (quite funny)
Mr Young
He’s tall, blond, with blue eyes, but unfortunately is only 25. So Shandies sent him a message saying: “Que pena eres tan jovencito” (what a shame you’re so young) but he responded: “A mi no importa” (I don’t mind) So that one could still go somewhere. (quite promising)
If the saying goes, “You’ve got to kiss a lot of frogs to find a prince” then Shandies is surely due to stumble across some blue blood soon. I’m waiting to see how Mr Young pans out.
The same could not be said of my friend Two Shandies, who is now something of a dating ninja. All thanks to our friend the internet.
For the price of 109 Euros you have six months worth of what is effectively online shopping for boys. And for that price you’d better get your money’s worth.
Some people might turn their noses up at internet dating. But I totally get it. Think about it – on your average night out on the pull you might waste hours chatting someone up only to find they’re married, weird, or just not interested.
Of course, you might still get all that on internet dating, but at least you can try and figure that out in the cyber stage, without wasting money buying them drinks.
You have to be careful when creating your online profile though. You don’t want to risk being accused of false advertising by putting a photo that doesn’t look like you. Ones from when you were 21 or photo-shopped efforts are not a good idea. (Apparently if a person only has one photo in their profile that’s a big giveaway)
And make sure you don’t tick any boxes by mistake. Two Shandies accidentally ticked the “pony” box in the what pets you have section, and stated getting emails from a man who was really excited about going horse riding with her.
You have to be dedicated too. According to Two Shandies you will probably like about one in 20 of the people you actually interact with. But that’s OK. At least she gets to practice her Spanish, and has lots of great stories to report back on the ones that don’t get past the first date. For instance…
Mr Interesting
As an ice breaker, Two Shandies asked this guy to tell her three interesting things about himself. His reply? “Number one -I talk to myself a lot. Number two - When I get out of the shower I wear my dressing gown for a long time before I put my clothes on. Number three – I like channel surfing.” (bad)
Mr Rude
He seemed nice so they arranged to meet. Then when they finally did, he took one look at her and walked away without saying a word. She phoned him and his mobile was off. He did get in touch sometime later and apologised, saying he had just got some bad news five minutes before they were due to meet up. So Shandies gave him a second chance but he was awful, and just asked her loads of questions about her sex life. (terrible)
Mr Posh
My personal favourite. This guy actually described his dress sense as pijo (posh) in his profile and said his views were Españolista. He had no photo on his page. Why? “Well, you put your photo on the internet and next thing you know, you’re in a jeans advert in China. When he met up with Two Shandies he wore a tie with a stag on it “because English people like hunting, don’t they?” (quite funny)
Mr Young
He’s tall, blond, with blue eyes, but unfortunately is only 25. So Shandies sent him a message saying: “Que pena eres tan jovencito” (what a shame you’re so young) but he responded: “A mi no importa” (I don’t mind) So that one could still go somewhere. (quite promising)
If the saying goes, “You’ve got to kiss a lot of frogs to find a prince” then Shandies is surely due to stumble across some blue blood soon. I’m waiting to see how Mr Young pans out.
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