Blind Expectations

I've always been a bit envious and well, slightly impressed, by people who have managed to avoid the dating scene altogether; sticking with the same person after meeting them at the age of 12 and a half. Then again, I'm not sure I'd have wanted to miss out on all the fun either...

I agreed to go on a blind date once, with a guy my friend insisted I meet. And although I had visions of myself sitting alone at a bar stirring my almost-empty cocktail glass after my blind date seeing and fleeing... the date actually went much better than I thought and I ended up dating the guy for a few months. I also managed to get myself roped into a double-first-date with one of my friends. It was a first date for both of us and with us both being somewhat dillusional, we decided bowling would be a great idea! If you think four strangers on a date together sounds bad, my date brought his friend along for moral support. And this was only last year. I couldn't remember my dates name either, I was just pretty sure it began with 'S'... clearly a major success all around.

But there have been good first dates too... strolls on the beach, movies and romantic dinners. Luckily I've always found first dates to be a breeze, so they've never really been something that bothered me. Why would they? First dates are just a blank canvas and I'm the proverbial paintbrush. All you have to do is turn up, tell your lifestory and decide - usually within the first ten minutes - whether you a) fancy him, b) think he's got second date potential or c) need a friend to fake emergency call you. Although since this is real life and sadly not an episode of the hills... option C is probably never going to happen. Just one of those things I've always wanted to do!

It's the second date that's another story. They're loaded with expectations; you've decided the first date was successful enough to warrant another, but you can't help but wonder if the first date was just a fluke. What if you notice something you didn't see before like a dodgy pair of shoes?  What if you only notice on date two that his hair has a bit of a mullet shape to it? That he tucks his tshirt into his jeans or he has a dangerous habit of name-dropping? There's also the fact that you're setting your poor self esteem up for disaster. If a guy doesn't call after the first date, well fair enough, but after the second? That just hurts!

Not all second dates are disasterous, but they're the ones I dread the most. As long as there's some laughter, some flirting and some little romantic gesture, it's probably enough to seal the deal for date number three. Otherwise? Let Operation Phase-Out begin...

Smuggling Smirnoff...

I have to admit, I was never one to follow the teenage herd and sneak my 'water bottle' on to a bus, or go drinking in some field for the hell of it. In fact, the closest I ever got was my friend telling me she did (there may have been some judging...). I was a bit of a goody-two-shoes but I preferred it that way. Sneaking past the ticket man in the cinema with my pre-purchased bottle of Fanta stuffed in my pockets was enough to make my guilty heart beat a little too fast!

Recently however, I decided to brave it and be recruited into the beer bandits - just for one night. At the risk of sounding like a cheapskate; it was all in the name of work, I swear! So I settled myself between two of my closest friends, with the hope that being sandwiched would make me a little less conspicuous. One of these girls was already a pro, with her little pink hipflask snug in a neat sock which conveniently matched the inner lining of her handbag, the other - a newcomer like me. We saunter casually up to the counter and ask for four baby smirnoffs. (I decided I preferred this size; a 'naggin' makes me think of fields and girls in dodgy tracksuits). These baby bottles have about 5cls of alcohol in them which makes me wonder; other than being handbag friendly, for what other reason would these bottles be made so small? This makes me feel better.

We somehow slip by the bouncers at the door of the (unnamed) club, without a handbag search, something I realised for the first time hasn't actually happened since the age of 19. We make our way up to the bar and pretened to ponder on whether we want to drink tonight or not, finally settling on two cokes and one vodka. No point in drawing too much attention too early. Since the pro has already taken off with her hipflask and experienced sneakiness, we saunter towards the ladies toilets where we stuff ourselves into a claustrophobic cubicle and I pour what I imagine to be one 'measure' into each of our glasses. Between the lack of elbow room in the cubicle and my inability to know what I'm doing, I find myself holding the two over-diluted cokes whilst my partner in crime fights her way to the bar to buy yet another coke.

Armed with two many glasses and way too much coke, we realise our already diluted glasses are too small to hold any more liquid so are forced to distract yet another barman so we can steal two pint glasses from the end of the bar. How we managed to even get this far without arousing suspicion is still beyond me, perhaps we had natural talents hidden somewhere after all! Two hours later and we've become brazen and braver, swiping the baby bottles from our bags in the middle of the dancefloor without as much as a glance around us, and pouring (more controlled) amounts into our glasses.

Although I came home with an unusually happy bank balance, a purse free of change and a want for my very own pink hipflask, my guilty clutch bag thinks it may be too old for all this teenage drama after all. Hmm... we'll see how I feel the next weekend before pay day...

Proceed with Caution

I've had an epiphany. Ok so I'm always having these, I'm just sane enough to keep these thoughts to myself on most occasions... I was stuck in some early morning traffic when this latest one hit me, watching the traffic lights turn from orange to red, and skipping the green signal despite the fact that I was already running late.

Wouldn't it be so much easier if all men had to wear warning signals somewhere on their body, clear for every woman to see? This way, when an innocent young single lady is walking down the street and passes a man who looks like he may have some potential, she's got a clear view of the warning sign draped around his neck. "Warning: Has a tendency to wear socks and sandals during warmer months", this way, if the tragic combo is a hell no, you can save the disappointment, turn on your heels and scarper!

Ok so the warning words might be too much to ask for. What about traffic light colours? That way, if a man is off limits, he would be a red. Wedding ring or not; a no-go area (despite what he and his past seven beers may tell you). He's probably got a girlfriend at home watching the baby. Or else he could be green; fully free and single and ready to go on an actual date... the type of signal every car waits for, but lets face it, is the very last light to come around.

And then there’s the orange – the ones I attract above all others. They’re not taken but although they appear single, they’re not in that state either. The orange coloured men are the ones with ‘issues’; the ones who just aren't ready for a relationship right now. Surely, if we could see these orange warning lights in time, we could slam our foot down and get ahead of them in time!

If only life was that simple! This lovelife here however has met plenty of warning road signs and is still an M50 work in progress; It's pretty much always in construction, has it's fair share of setbacks but hopefully one day will finally be completed! ;)