I Went Speed Dating On Saturday Night
Wore: Gorgeous knit wrap dress from my site.
Underwear: Bridget Jones' big knickers, just to prove to the cynics that I will give it a go.
Shave The Legs? Yes.
Why do I do it? I like nothing more as a single gal going out on a Saturday night to a nice pub or bar with my friend/s, sharing a bottle of red and then some, and chatting the night away. It's thanks to said bottle of wine that these ideas sound appealing. So there I am, with my only other single friend N, waiting for one of three complimentary drinks, my name tag pealing away from my dress, cursing this decision and wishing for it all to be over. I am much more nervous than I like, and I hate being nervous.
We meet 15-odd guys over the course of the night, none that appealled, even as friends, although I spent the latter part of the night talking to one guy, mostly about dogs (it's nice meeting an animal-lover who isn't a nutjob), thanks to my beautiful Fendi heel which decided to snap off and bring our night to a halt. Some guys are easy to chat with, some are shy and either don't talk or talk at a million miles an hour, some are arrogant arseholes ("how did you get that scar on your chin?...I think you should break another bone so you have a more interesting story to tell"), and a couple who were a sandwich short of a picnic. The night is simply an exercise in being a human broken record, asking the same questions and repeating the same in-25-words-or-less replies (namely about what you do and where you live). I threw a spanner in the works by asking random questions which one guy did not like at all. "How about we ask the normal questions first and then ask the weird questions after?" Okaay. I sit there semi-listening to him tell me about his job in IT and god knows where he lives while wondering what colour his Mazda 121 Funtop would be. I'm thinking aqua. My favourite hobby is of course sitting back and observing people, their behaviour and body language. At halftime all the girls decided there were no Mr. Rights so we attacked the snack food like hawks, shoving in handfuls of oily samosas in between gulps of cheap wine. That's the Saturday night I know and love. In fact it was a better exercise in girls meeting girls - we all instantly clicked and had a great laugh. There was a German guy, tall, the best looking of the lot (although a bit too chiselled and Aryan for my liking), and at one point he was holding court over five girls, all who were flicking their hair, laughing at his jokes, leaning forward and wanting more. He siddled over to me at the end and tried to lay it on, but I wasn't interested, and getting very drunk. In fact I did get very drunk - it's true: tequila, cheap wine and vodka do not mix.
Unfortunately I didn't read the rules and was ticking yes to everybody - not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings - until halftime when N told me if you both tick yes you get sent each other's contact details. I hurried back and crossed them all off - but they've ignored that and this morning I've found seven yes's in my Inbox, which means seven randoms have my full name and mobile number. For the love of god!
As I told one girl while fighting over the last mini spring roll, I'll do anything as at the very least it'll be another blog entry and a story to tell the girls over another bottle of wine. What have I learnt? Never again. And if the idea of internet dating comes up, stop drinking. I'm well aware that one in ten couples these days meet online, and that it will become the norm. Hell, I want to cash in on these statistics and set up my own money-and-match-making scheme. But after this brief dabble in meeting a gaggle of randoms, I think that's enough for me.
Underwear: Bridget Jones' big knickers, just to prove to the cynics that I will give it a go.
Shave The Legs? Yes.
Why do I do it? I like nothing more as a single gal going out on a Saturday night to a nice pub or bar with my friend/s, sharing a bottle of red and then some, and chatting the night away. It's thanks to said bottle of wine that these ideas sound appealing. So there I am, with my only other single friend N, waiting for one of three complimentary drinks, my name tag pealing away from my dress, cursing this decision and wishing for it all to be over. I am much more nervous than I like, and I hate being nervous.
We meet 15-odd guys over the course of the night, none that appealled, even as friends, although I spent the latter part of the night talking to one guy, mostly about dogs (it's nice meeting an animal-lover who isn't a nutjob), thanks to my beautiful Fendi heel which decided to snap off and bring our night to a halt. Some guys are easy to chat with, some are shy and either don't talk or talk at a million miles an hour, some are arrogant arseholes ("how did you get that scar on your chin?...I think you should break another bone so you have a more interesting story to tell"), and a couple who were a sandwich short of a picnic. The night is simply an exercise in being a human broken record, asking the same questions and repeating the same in-25-words-or-less replies (namely about what you do and where you live). I threw a spanner in the works by asking random questions which one guy did not like at all. "How about we ask the normal questions first and then ask the weird questions after?" Okaay. I sit there semi-listening to him tell me about his job in IT and god knows where he lives while wondering what colour his Mazda 121 Funtop would be. I'm thinking aqua. My favourite hobby is of course sitting back and observing people, their behaviour and body language. At halftime all the girls decided there were no Mr. Rights so we attacked the snack food like hawks, shoving in handfuls of oily samosas in between gulps of cheap wine. That's the Saturday night I know and love. In fact it was a better exercise in girls meeting girls - we all instantly clicked and had a great laugh. There was a German guy, tall, the best looking of the lot (although a bit too chiselled and Aryan for my liking), and at one point he was holding court over five girls, all who were flicking their hair, laughing at his jokes, leaning forward and wanting more. He siddled over to me at the end and tried to lay it on, but I wasn't interested, and getting very drunk. In fact I did get very drunk - it's true: tequila, cheap wine and vodka do not mix.
Unfortunately I didn't read the rules and was ticking yes to everybody - not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings - until halftime when N told me if you both tick yes you get sent each other's contact details. I hurried back and crossed them all off - but they've ignored that and this morning I've found seven yes's in my Inbox, which means seven randoms have my full name and mobile number. For the love of god!
As I told one girl while fighting over the last mini spring roll, I'll do anything as at the very least it'll be another blog entry and a story to tell the girls over another bottle of wine. What have I learnt? Never again. And if the idea of internet dating comes up, stop drinking. I'm well aware that one in ten couples these days meet online, and that it will become the norm. Hell, I want to cash in on these statistics and set up my own money-and-match-making scheme. But after this brief dabble in meeting a gaggle of randoms, I think that's enough for me.
posted by Julia at 9:25 AM
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