08 June, 2010

Going out with the ugly guy

So, I won't bang on about this too much, but I recently had a date with a guy that was just really, really ugly. He looked sort of interesting and charming in his picture, but when I met him he was ghastly. Overweight, terrible skin, bad teeth, the works. The problem was that he was a really nice guy, and quite funny and interesting. But I just knew I could never have sex with him. Hell, I couldn't even look him in the eye. Disaster.

There's nothing worse than an ugly date. A rude one, or a stupid one you can handle. You don't feel too bad about letting them down. But an ugly one is terrible. Because they're usually really keen. And you have to give them a reason why you don't want to date them. You can't say, "it's because you're ugly". You can only say, "I'm not in the right place right now", or something equally inane. To which they usually respond, "well why did you go out on a date with me?" Which is a fair enough question.

So my advice is to never, ever date an ugly guy. If you can avoid it.

Meet Mister Typical

So I get a lot of contact on this dating site I'm on. And there's certain stuff that just sends me into a white hot rage. At the risk of sounding like an utter bitch, I have transcribed a typical description, and added my own comments in parentheses, in italics. Think of it as a sort of translation.

Tall Dark and Handsome, a True Gentleman, one of very few left, an Extremely Intelligent Self Employed Professional.

[Okay, let's start there. Not just intelligent, but Extremely Intelligent. Although not so intelligent as to have a clear understanding of how to use capitalisation. Note the excessive use of adjectives.]

Good Looking, Healthy, Happy, Fun, Clean [why does he feel he needs to mention this specifically?], I take pride in my appearance and always smell nice [what? What's that about? that's the second mention], extremely Positive, GSOH, Lots of Stamina, Very Romantic, and Knows how to treat a Woman; You know, the kind that would send you flowers and simply say (I love you). [I'd be happy with the flowers alone actually. And maybe some booze to inhibit my inhibitions. What's with those damned capitals? And may I suggest that good looking is subjective. For obvious reasons I can't publish the fellow's picture, but I can say that his is definitely on the below average side of handsome.]

I respect people for what they are, and I've never met a person that I did not like. [Liar!]

Well educated, respectful, considerate, generous, affectionate, always have good intentions, understanding, supportive, Caring, Spontaneous, Elegant, A very well balanced professional. [Seriously, is there anything this guy isn't? Does he have a Nobel Prize? I mean, it's good to be positive about yourself, but really.]

Did I leave anything out??? LOL!!! [Ten points off right there for multiple use of question marks and exclamation points. And another ten for the odious LOL]

I enjoy the best that life has to offer, love getting outdoors, but just as happy cuddling in front of a fire. [This is two of my pet hates. "The best that life has to offer" is just stupid. Who doesn't? As opposed to enjoying just mediocre things that life has to offer? Pssh. Then there's the bet hedging - I'm outdoorsy, but just in case you're not, I'm also happy to just sit quietly.]

love to travel with someone special, Weekends away (A must), Spending quality time with my special partner is exactly that (Very Special). [And then misses the capital at the beginning of the sentence, but feels inclined to use one throughout. Must I really go away for a weekend with this guy? Oh, and did I mention I'm not your fucking someone special? I really hate that sort of language. Someone special, special lady...blech.]

Did I mention that I can cook??? Oh, and I always wash the dishes afterwards, LOL!!! [see above re: multiple punctuation etc]

And Finally, I always make sure that ( my day starts right and ends happy ). [Oh, by that I assume he means he either has a wank at either end of the day, or a shit in the morning and a wank at bedtime.]

_______

And there you have it. Mister Typical. Breaks my fucking heart it does. Breaks it.

The English One with the Shoes.

Every now and then, I think that maybe I just need to lower my standards. You know, maybe I'm expecting too much. So once in a while I give a bloke a chance that I normally wouldn't. Like Candidate No. 6.

We met at a very nice restaurant in Fitzroy that does ripper tapas. I was a bit early. He arrived, and looked exactly like his picture which was good. We 'fessed up our nervousness. A glass of wine helped. No. 6 is a shortish guy with a nasal English accent and, well not a lot going on really. He told me all about himself on the first night. Some slightly disturbing history of drug abuse, but nothing too serious. Look, I'm going to cut to the chase here and tell you that I broke a cardinal rule of mine and shagged him. It might have been the wine, the beers and the vodka. It might just have been because it'd been quite a while. Anyway, I did.

A couple of weeks went by, and I invited him to mine for dinner. Now the day he arrived, I had a monster hangover. Six kinds of fucked up. I'd cleaned the house, picked up all my clothes, emptied the kitty litter (gah, gluh, hurk), changed the sheets (I really hate doona covers), and cooked a fine dinner. Then he turned up. I went cold. Completely off him. His aftershave was cheap, and he smoked. I used to smoke, so I don't want to get all precious about it, but the combination of bad cologne and dirty smoker mouth made me not want to kiss him. At all. But you know, he was over, so I was sort of in for a pound. As it were.

The final straw was the shoes. They were slip-on things with a fucking gold chain across the instep. Worn with grey socks. God damn they were ugly. Bad shoes. Bad breath. Bad news for Candidate No. 6.

I shagged him anyway. He stayed. He slept all over me. And look, I'm just not into all night oppressive spooning. I kept pushing him away. He kept moving closer. It was hot (in a temperature way). I felt pawed. He snored. I barely slept. Worst night's sleep in a long time, and that with a roaring hangover too. Hideous.

Anyway, he sent me a text message later that week. For reasons I can't explain, we talked almost exclusively through texts. He wanted to know we could catch up again. I dumped him by text message. It was a mostly kind message, but clear. I haven't heard from him since.

The moral of the story is to never drop your standards. They're yours. Just trust them. And don't get too fucked up on the first date. I must try to remember that one.