Tag Archives: dating

Sweet Nothings

Things I’ve said on dates –

“If you throw that snowball at me, I will will force feed you it!”

“With political views like that, you’d never make it in politics. No one would vote for you. In fact, you’d have to be a dictator to enact ridiculous policies like forcing unemployed people to do public service.”

“I showed your picture to my friend. She thought you were very handsome but had big ears.”

“You have a twin sister? Do you look alike?”

“The sauce in this banoffee is delicious. What is it?”

“Zsa Zsa Gabor had her leg amputated. I heard it on some celebrity gossip show … Wait, maybe I made that up.”

“Yeah, there’s nothing worse than coming across desperate. I’m not desperate. Well, eh … No, no, I am not desperate.”

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I Wanna Know What Love Is!

This month, I am single a year. A year is a good amount of time. Ideally, my life should have moved along nicely. It seems many things around me have, yet I remain stationary, admiring the change around me. This clearly is not the case. I’m just impatient.

The biggest indicator for me that I am moving on from the Great Break Up would be to meet someone. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want a boyfriend or a sex friend. What I would like is to go on date and actually have an interest in seeing the person again; a second date. I would appreciate meeting someone who won’t say something so stupid that I take them down a peg. Is that really a lot?

I’ve felt a little dead from the waist down for some time. It has been years since I fancied someone proper. It would be nice to remember the sensation of a crush. How does one describe a fancy? If this were a Disney movie, I’d burst into song.

“Boom bang-a-bang, boom bang-a-bang,

When you are near

Boom bang-a-bang, boom bang-a-bang

Loud in my ear

Pounding away, pounding away

Won’t you be mine?

Boom bang-a-bang-bang all the time

It’s such a lovely feeling

When I’m in your arms”

Or …

“He’s a one stop, gotcha hot, making all the panties drop

Sweet sugar candyman

He’s a one stop, got me hot, making my ugh pop

Sweet sugar candyman

He’s a one stop, get it while it’s hot, baby don’t stop

Sweet sugar”

Or …

“You’re the one that I want

You are the one I want

Oo-oo-oo, honey

The one that I want

You are the one I want

Oo-oo-oo, honey

The one that I want

You are the one I want

Oo-oo-oo, the one I need

Oh, yes indeed”

Following a qualitative analysis of the above information it would seem love is an intense emotion. It should make your heart go “boom bang-a-bang”. He should “make your panties drop”. He should make you declare “you are the one that I want oo-oo-oo honey”. These highly credible sources can perhaps be summarised by physiological response, lust and declaration of love.

I’m waiting … and humming.

Awkwardness Is …

About a month ago I was on a first date with a guy I quite liked (at the time). We did drinks in the Secret Bar, during which the laughs and conversation flowed. He then suggested we grab some food. Over noodles in Wagamama, he declined my invite to another pub.

“Let’s go back to your place,” he casually suggested.

By this time I’d had four glasses of wine. Despite my drunken haze, my date’s forwardness caused me to choke on my fifth glass of wine. I thought for a moment, weighing up the situation. “OK then!”

He had consumed only Sprite that evening and so drove us home in his small, pratical car. I’m sure my merry chirp irked him slightly. He parked the car and we made for my apartment block. He walked on ahead of me. Compacted snow was thick on the ground. My impractical brown shoes made the short journey treacherous. I slipped two or three times.

About twenty metres or so from the apartment block door I heard a loud squelch.

“Did you just fart?” I asked.

My companion cautiously turned on the ice and looked at me. “Eh, no.” His surprise was evident. He turned and recommenced his slow trek along the icy pathway.

I should have stopped there. “Are you sure you didn’t fart?”

“Eh, yes,” he replied in a bewildered tone.

It then dawned on me the squelch could only have been caused by his step on the snow. The five glasses of wine had caused me to bypass my already flimsy think before you speak policy. I said no more to him until we were in the lift, hoping the elapsed twenty seconds may have induced some sort of amnesia.

Dating News ….

I’ve booked myself in for speed dating on 8th September.

Anthony Nolan offers speed dating for the gay community once every six weeks or so. His service goes under the alias of Romeo, Romeo – Juliet, Juliet. The evening promises around twenty dates, each lasting two minutes or so, held in the lovely Brasserie Sixty6.

I’ve heard much about speed dating. I jumped at the chance to book myself a place. Yes, it will be a nerve racking at first, but who knows who I might meet. Knowing me, I’ll get one of those infamous rushes of extrovertism and scare all my potential suitors away.

Small World and Even Smaller Gay Scene

I arrived at Panti Bar last night. I was a little spaced after seeing Inception – was or was this not reality?

Gay bars make me edgy. I wonder if Labrador Man will be here, I thought as I entered the premises. Low and behold there he was, two feet in front of me as I stood in the door way. I felt a little nervous. I managed to shimmy under his line of vision and crawl under one or two tables, thereby avoiding detection.

I met Best-Friend near the entrance and convinced him to join another group of friends further down the bar. Evictor was among this posse. I chatted to him a little despite my awkwardness. He is cute and very fanciable; when I talk at him it sounds a little like “blah blah blah blah … blee blah … blah blah blah”. 

While looking down the bar – to avoid staring at Evictor – I noticed Longford Man ordering a few pints. Things with him are amicable, but I didn’t necessarily want a conversation. I mouthed hello and resigned myself to talking with him later at the bar, while waiting an inordinate time to be served.

I made small talk about Inception with Evictor. I kept note of Labrador Man’s location so I could keep my back turned to him. Within seconds Labrador Man was behind me, trying to get my attention. I stood firm and did not turn around. I even turned when he an approach from alternate angles. He quickly moved on.

Suddenly, Housemate appeared. He looked at me. “Hi,” he said warmly. I returned his greeting. I did not know where to look.

So there I was in a bar surrounded by all these guys with whom I have had various awkward moments.

From reading this you might assume I am very active on the dating and sleeping around scene. This could not be further from the truth. In the last four or five months I have been on dates with three guys and I’ve only kissed one guy (twice).

The Dublin gay scene is so small that on busy nights out you are bound to bump into your entire love life in one evening. If you regularly go on dates it seems awkward moments are just something you have to put up with regularly.

The above extract starred the following:

Longford Man

I got talking to Longford man on George’s Street one morning at around 04.30. He was good looking, funny and chatty. We exchanged numbers. I met him for a date a few weeks later. I declined a second date as politely as I could. I have chatted to him out and about a few times since.

Labrador Man

 This guy was a knob; incredibly pretentious and full of his own worth. He said he was from an island off the coast of Cork; “the island of Cobh”. He said “naturally, I speak two languages; French and German”. I kissed him once.

Best Friend met him out during a drunken, consecutive night. He liked him and convinced me to give Labrador Man another chance. I chatted to him again. The event can be summed up in “kiss me badly once, shame on you. Kiss me badly twice, shame on me”.

The following night, when he invited me out, I texted him to say I was home alone enjoying a can of coke. He got the message.

I’ve called him Labrador man since I figure my black lab, Shelly, may she rest in peace, could probably give a better snog.

Evictor

This guy is friends with some of my friends. I think he is gorgeous. He has beautiful brown eyes and a radiant smile. Any time I talk to him, I just babble.

I met him for the first time one Sunday night. I was taking it easy; everyone else was drunk. We went back to Evictor’s apartment where we had more drinks. Evictor’s housemate was there with some other people. The crowd dwindled until Evictor and I remained alone. He gave signals. I made a move.

We entered the boudoire where he went a little weird. He told me, “This doesn’t feel right? I think you should leave”. He said more, but little made sense.

He walked me to the hall door and waited impatiently while I got my coat. I turned to thank him for making my birthday so special. I did not get the chance. He slammed the door on my face.

Housemate

One night while on a very well known dating site for gay men, I got talking to a guy. He seemed nice. For some reason he seemed vaguely familiar.

We messaged back and forth over a few days. I struggled to recall his face. One day, while out for a jog, it dawned on me. This guy – whose name eludes me – was the housemate of Evictor. He had gone to bed while I and the group remained in his and Evictor’s living room.

I eventually revealed myself to him, explaining I had met him before in his apartment. He did not recall. I pursued nothing with him. The whole thing was just too weird.

RED

I’m not a sentimental person. I’ve thrown school yearbooks out without the bat of an eye lid.  I once laughed at Boyfriend, when he told me he had the ticket stubs to our first trip to the cinema. I can be a harsh fucker sometimes. Lately, I’ve noticed, I’ve softened with age. I’m even getting  a little sentimental.

Two Christmases ago, Boyfriend bought me the RED IPod. It has to be one of the best presents I’ve ever received.  I absolutely love Felicity the RED IPod. I use it every day of the week. On the back of the IPod there is an inscription. It reads, “M-People, the definitive band of the 90s”. A far from credible claim, you might think.

This quote originates from one of our first few dates. Boyfriend and I were in a dodgy pub in town far too early in the morning. I was a little drunk. We discussed our musical preferences. I proceeded to tell him I loved “M-People”. When he laughed, I took the hump. I argued that M-People were the definitive band of the 90s. This claim made him laugh harder.

The next morning, while I had a sore head, he quoted my opinion of M-People. It was a hilarious claim. We still laugh about it to this very day. One morning this week, when I saw the inscription, I smiled to myself.

RED Ipod Nano - perfect for listening to M-People

Attempts at a One Night Stand

The beginning of 2007 saw me in a place I’d not been for a while.  I was single for the first time in two years.  Since my last visit to this territory, I was a changed person. I now had experience of sex and love. I had a taste for it. I sought satisfaction of my cravings and in doing so, I wanted to forget about my ex. I wanted to wash that man right out of my hair like I would wash away knits.  I was going to deal with this in typical man fashion; the best way to get over someone is by getting under someone. On an aside, I have since learned that this is so not true.

I developed a multi-pronged strategy of ways in how I might get myself out there. I would utilise friends of friends, dating sites, classifieds and make myself stand out in night clubs. Deep down I wanted to prove to myself I was capable of moving on and being an independent person. I was up for fleeting encounters or a blossoming romance. I really wasn’t that fussy. I just wanted a replacement. It all seems very pathetic now I look back on it, but this is genuinely how I felt. Pursuing romance was a bit like Pan’s Labyrinth; it was a journey of encounters with many freaks and oddities.

My journey spanned six months. To this date, I believe I put myself out there as much as a person just out of a relationship could. I’ve spoken with single friends and they agree I met many freaks. I would like to think I’ve provided a service to all the gay singletons out there. I have tagged those freaks with a big fuck-off blinking light to ward off doh-eyed singletons.  Just in case warning lights are not sufficient, I have taken the liberty of detailing my experience with these individuals by giving them appropriate code names. This is the closest to a name and shame campaign I will ever get.

The Spaniard

I met this one in a gay bar. He was a six foot, dark Spaniard that would steal the breath from any red blooded girl or gay man. We had a kiss and left the club soon enough. It was a rare weekend that I had the apartment to myself. I wanted to make the most of it. We went to bed and kissed a bit more. I made a purposeful move that he did not acknowledge. I tried to take it up a notch, once again. It was then I received more information about the Spaniard’s day than I cared to know. Apparently, he had masturbated twice that day and already slept with someone.  I really didn’t know what to do with this information. I think my mouth remained open in shock until he left my house at 06.00 the next morning.

The Pseudo

This boy wasn’t so much a freak as a complete mess. He was a very good looking guy that I met by creating a classified. We chatted for hours and to be honest had good fun. He seemed like a really nice guy. While chatting, he slipped up and it was obvious he had given a fake name. I was cool with it and we moved on. We drank lots of wine. He wasn’t too bothered with the wine, but seemed insistent that I drink it. We moved things to the bedroom. While lying on the bed, I realised I was fading out. “The room is spinning,” I exclaimed. “And not for the right reasons. It was then I fell asleep. The next morning, he was too sick to do anything. This was our last encounter. He told me he wanted a relationship with me and then revealed he only said that because he felt I wanted him to say it. I put an end to it by telling him to go ‘fuck himself’.

The Lenten Boy

I met this guy in the George. After the club had long finished serving, we walked to the night bus, where we chatted for hours. We texted most days until our next date. During one of these texts, he jokingly said he was giving up sex for Lent. The texts drew us to our next meeting, which happened to fall on Shrove Tuesday. I suggested we make pancakes at my house  – pancakes accompanied by metaphorical coffee, I thought. We cooked up pancakes and had indepth conversation during which Lenten Boy revealed he once tried to kill himself.  I could have vacated the room and he would have continued talking. We went to bed and had a bit of a snog. I then made my well-practiced, purposeful move. He told me he had given up sex for Lent. I looked at my watch and it was two minutes past midnight. Lent had  ensued. I may have turned on my side and mouthed “OMG” in disbelief to myself a few times.

The Lesbian Boy

I went to a Lesbian club one night. It was unsurprisingly swamped with women. I managed to meet what I thought was a really nice guy there. We had a kiss and then exchanged numbers. I heard from him soon after and we arranged to meet for coffee.  On our third date I had gastric flu and a cold sore. The facial herpes and excessive sweating due to fever did not seem to deter him. He was thrilled when I invited him to stay. The next morning he made a move on me and I said I didn’t think it was wise to get up to anything given my condition. He seemed puzzled so I spelt it out for him. He became really narky and started getting dressed. I asked him what the problem was. He told me I wasn’t the only one who could put the lid on the “honeypot”.  As a friend put it, you have to be black to use terms like “honeypot”. The whole thing went tits up after that.