Tag Archives: EHarmony

Sometimes I wonder

26 Sep

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever feel normal again.

It’s over a year since the Pizza of Doom. I’m a different person now. I actually think I’m more confident, more resilient, more empathetic. I know I’m stronger than I realised. I know I’m wiser now. But I think, deep down, there’s lasting damage. There are depths of sadness which I never thought I’d reach – and which I hope I never fall to again – but that scare me still.

Last night I went on a date.

The guy was really lovely. He has a great job, he lives quite near me and has his own flat, he has lovely manners. But I found myself picking away at him inside my head. Too nice. Too thin. Too boring.

He insisted on paying for dinner. Which, I’ll admit, felt nice. It’s been a long time since a boy bought me dinner. But then when he asked to see me again I felt I had to say yes.

So we’re meeting up on Sunday for a walk and lunch.

Which should feel nice, whether or not I end up fancying him and wanting to see him again. He’s a nice guy. It will be a nice afternoon.

Yet I found myself crying as I walked home from work tonight. Because he’s not my ex. He never will be. And I will never have my ex back.

I don’t think I’ll ever feel the way I felt about him ever again.

Which means I might be destined to be alone. Forever.

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The thoughts that wake me at 3am

7 Sep

I’m awake in the middle of the night.

Someone in my building is having a party. The music is loud and obnoxious.

I was dreaming about a presentation I have to give at work on Monday. Not some crazy dreamworld presentation where you imagine you are presenting in your PJs to the cast of Friends about some random topic like the use of broccoli as a pizza topping. No, no. Just plain boring real-world stuff. About branding. Even at the weekend, my brain fills itself with work.

Because what else is there?

Going into hospital for a day next week to get my cervix checked out following a weird smear test?

Which yoga class to go to tomorrow?

How I’m ever going to clear enough stuff from my flat to get a new carpet fitted?

Why a certain friend ignores me these days?

Or the thought that reverberates. And only intensifies after a look on Tinder or eHarmony.

I am never going to meet somebody.

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Date night in Covent Garden

19 Aug

I should have trusted my guts. Any man who wants to meet at Covent Garden tube station is not going to be my husband.

I was bored. All night.

The sushi was good.

We split the bill.

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Here we go again

19 Aug

I’ve been up since 5am on account of a very, very important prospective client coming in. The very, very important prospective client left at noon, and I’ve been running around the office since trying to sort things out and catch up on everything I haven’t been doing while I was preparing for the very, very important prospective client. 

Now, it’s nearly 5.30pm, and how I wish I was heading home to eat fish fingers and watch Real Housewives. 

But I have a date tonight. And it’s too late to cancel. 

C (we will call him “C”) lives in South London (boo). Works in tech for a bank (hmm). And has quite good chat. 

This is our first date. We met on the eHarmony. 

He has booked a table for sushi at 8.30. 8.30. So late for me on a school night. What am I supposed to do until 8.30?

He has booked it at a place in Covent Garden. Hmm. Never had a date anywhere near Covent Garden that went well. Tourists, anyone?

Oh well, here goes nothing. 

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I want to feel wanted

17 Aug

Irish Two and I went out on Friday night. As friends. Which is what we are these days. It’s actually nearly six months since we decided we were destined to be friends and stopped trying to be anything more. And stopped having sex. Sigh.

I don’t regret that we ended things. There are oh-so-many reasons that Irish Two is not right for me. Not least, he’s a sociopath. But when he started telling me about girls he’s been dating/having sex with, I felt a strange urge to scratch his face. 

Tinder has been good to him, delivering all manner of women who want to send him sexual pictures and meet up for sexual times. No big deal. He’s a dude. I get it. 

But then he told me, “I thought I’d met a nice girl.”

Emmm. Hello. You told me we weren’t compatible because I’m “too nice” and that you “didn’t want someone who’s nice to you.” Now you want a nice girl?

I told him this while knocking back a Negroni and trying to conceal my anger. 

I don’t want to be with Irish Two. But I don’t like feeling rejected. 

At least he had the good sense and sensitivity to say, “Sorry, do you not want to hear about this stuff?” Also, the “nice girl” he thought he had found then sent him a load of naked pictures and told him she’s sleeping with four different guys and doesn’t want a relationship.

I told him I don’t mind hearing tales of his dating mishaps. I guess the more I know about what he’s doing with other people the more it cements our relationship as “just good friends” which is all it can ever be. I need to be with someone who appreciates me for being nice. He is not that guy.

But why is it that when I know every reason we shouldn’t be together, I still want him to want me? Because I think that’s really what it boils down to. I want to feel wanted. I want to feel like someone of the male variety can look at me and think, “Wow, she’s so pretty and smart and funny and lovely. I want to have sex with her and also hold her hand and stroke her face and be with her forever.”

That’s what I thought my ex was thinking the whole time we were together. That’s what he told me he was thinking. But, as it happens, he just said those things. 

I have a date on Tuesday night with a dude from the eHarmony. 

At least I’m trying. 

 

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Datecation?

9 Jul

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I can’t be bothered with men.

At our company conference on Friday I gave our CFO access to my Tinder account. In fact, I let her play on it for a good thirty minutes or so and hook me up with lots of men. I would like to say “young, hot men” or “eligible bachelors”. But I’d be lying.

It gave me a kick start, though. I’d not been on a dating site in a couple of weeks, and suddenly I had ten guys messaging me. But why does everyone want to talk on the phone, though?

It’s not that I can’t hold a conversation or worry about talking on the phone. I think my voice is nice enough. I can chat away to anyone. But I’m really, really busy right now.

I have no time to spend evenings speaking to men I don’t know. I’m busy learning Italian and going to awards ceremonies and visiting friends and doing yoga and eating olives.

I guess, if I was really interested, I would make time. I do allocate a fairly generous number of hours to my favourite television shows.

So maybe I’m just not ready?

In fact, if I consider what would happen if I actually met someone. Well. Wait. I can’t imagine it. I can’t imagine liking anyone right now. Not in a sad “ohmygodI’llbealoneforever” way. It’s just I’m enjoying getting to know myself again. Because I’ve changed. And I’m so fun to hang out with. It’s nice to rediscover how happy I can be in my own company.

I do want to meet someone one day. Of course I do. But for now I might take a datecation and relieve myself of the boring text chat and ongoing requests to talk on the phone.

Or maybe I’ll just wait for a dude with some decent manners who can muster up the energy to actually ask me out.

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The return of Fit but Flaky

1 Jun

Well, here’s a surprise.

It was wayyyyy back in December that I dated B. We met on the eHarmony. He was the first person I dated after the ex. And I couldn’t work him out. It took two (good) dates to get to the kissing, and then he flaked out, randomly sending me texts every few days that lead nowhere, and exhibiting extreme passive flirtatious behaviour. I christened him ‘Fit but Flaky’.

In the end, I texted him early in January and said that it had been nice getting to know him, but that he obviously didn’t want to meet up again and that was fine, but that I hoped 2014 would be good to him. He texted back almost immediately to say he’d been busy. And I ignored him.

So I wasn’t sure what to do when his picture popped up on Tinder on Friday night. The beauty of Tinder is that you can swipe right to say you’re interested and the person at the other end won’t ever know unless they are interested too. Now, B is incredibly attractive. So I’d be off my fricking head not to swipe right.

What do you know, B had swiped right too.

He started the conversation. And it was a good conversation. He apologised for being flakey, but said he’d had a lot on his plate and was just being rubbish, but that he really liked talking to me (and kissing me) and was really glad that we’d met. I said not to worry – that compared to most men he hadn’t actually done anything wrong. I told him about the ex and that back in December I probably wasn’t really myself anyway. He was really nice about it. I told him about the Tinder date last week that lasted a whopping 40 minutes. He was nice about that too and swore it couldn’t have been my arms that put the dude off. He even went as far as to say that I don’t have sausage arms. Which was nice to hear.

In the end I said, “Well, we got on so well, it would be a shame not to be friends. Do you fancy a coffee sometime?”

To which he replied, “Cocktails and I’m in, but you must forgive me if I make a pass at you. You do have the cutest outfits.”

He’s right. I do.

I said that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but that – regardless – it would be nice just to catch up.

And so we’re going for cocktails next week.

He’s still one of the most curious cats I’ve ever come across. He’s also the most ridiculously good-looking person I’ve ever snogged.

What on earth is life going to put in my path next? I’ve given up trying to guess.

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eHarmony, the Irish, and Tinder

28 May

I was supposed to go on a date on Sunday. He cancelled on me. This is probably no bad thing since he was from the same part of Ireland as my ex, and had almost exactly the same job. Hmmmm. Anyway, I was almost relieved that he cancelled. He had apparently met someone else. My only issue is that he cancelled with only a few hours to go, and had I known I could have gone to Ikea that morning and bought boxes to help me sort out my flat a little. Well, maybe I have one other issue. But it’s not with Irish Four. It’s with eHarmony.

eHarmony. The root of all my problems. Had I never met my ex, I would never have had to go through this cycle of love and grief and pain. Admittedly, I chose to rejoin following the pizza of doom. But why eHarmony insists on matching me with endless Irish men who work in finance is beyond me. Although I’m thankful for the introduction to Irish Two who has turned out to be a strange but special friend.

Instead, I’ve now joined Tinder.

I’d heard horror stories of guys sending penis selfies, and messages that amount to sexual harassment. But, so far, it’s been good, clean, fun. And 154 matches is a nice little ego boost. The people are way less intense than on eHarmony. And they seem to have better chat. I also like the fact that they are forced to write their own script rather than resort to sending me screening questions or (worst of all) ‘Must Haves and Can’t Stands’. I have to ask eHarmony whether they have any cases of people who actually self-screen against these. Imagine. Imagine thinking, “Oh well, he looked hot and we seemed to have loads in common, but unfortunately I have poor personal hygiene, terrible manners, I lie, I cheat, and I’m a massive racist.” Seriously.

(To clarify, I take personal hygiene very seriously, I have beautiful manners, I hardly ever lie, I’ve never cheated, and I have no bad feelings towards any races (even the fricking Irish).)

So Tinder it is. And tonight is my first Tinder date.

I’m impressed already as he’s booked a table for cocktails at a nice bar in East London. Oh, and he’s not Irish.

Paws crossed.

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Irish Three, Part Two

24 Mar

Text message received the day after the date:

“Hey. Just slept on this…I’m probably being naïve about inter-web dating but I guess I wanted a little more chemistry. It kinda felt like we were good mates rather than on a date. Sorry for being crap. I did really enjoy meeting you. X”

No problem at all, Irish Three.

I’m inclined to agree.

And thank you for the drinks and dinner.

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Irish Three

23 Mar

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Last night I went out with Irish Three.

I wasn’t over-excited. But I did have a suspicion that he’s my future husband (mainly based on the fact that a fortune teller told me I would marry someone tall, and he’s tall).

He picked a cocktail bar not too far from where I live. Which was great because I love this cocktail bar, and he lives wayyyy on the other side of London. I was flattered that he made the effort to come in my direction.

And we had a really nice night. We talked non-stop. We laughed a lot. He’s a really good-looking guy. Nice manners. We went on to dinner. He was super polite and insisted on paying for everything – a far cry from the wiley ways of dear old Irish Two.

Then, I suggested that we grab one last drink. It was 11.45 by this point. We got into the bar, and he suddenly decided he had to run to get the last tube home. Fair enough. I didn’t take it as a great sign. Walked him over to the tube, said an awkward but friendly goodbye. No kissing. He asked me to text and let him know that I got home OK. (Again, not the kind of thing Irish Two would have worried about.)

So there I was, on the 56 bus at midnight, slightly drunk, listening to Taylor Swift, and thinking over the evening. I definitely like Irish Three. I definitely wanted to see him again. But I also wasn’t sure I felt that crazy spark. You know the one. Ahhh, The one I felt with my ex (Irish One). Irish Three called me beautiful and cute while we were out, so I at least didn’t think he considered me hideous.

Irish Three had talked a lot about how he’d never done online dating before and I was his first online date. So I figured I would take the lead. When I got home, I texted and said, “That’s me home safe and sound. Thanks for such a lovely evening, I had a lot of fun. Since you’re new to online dating, I’ll take the lead and say that I’d love to buy YOU dinner if you’d like to do it again. X”.

Hours later I got a response.

“I had a really nice night too. X”

WTF is that supposed to mean?

I won’t be replying to Irish Three.

He now strikes me as someone who would take his sweet time buying a ring.

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