He may not have been Hugh Jackman - but he was a little Wolverine...

He may not have been Hugh Jackman – but he was a little Wolverine…

I recently spoke about ‘The Art Of Dating’ and whether ‘dating’ apps/sites were actually helping us find ‘The One’ or what with being so much more accessible to so many more weirdos, whether they were just hindering the process. Were the days of being wined and dined and actual romance dead because we forgot how to get to know people while we were throwing narcotics up our noses and our knickers out the window?

Well using Gaydar’s new Mobile Service suggested at least a step towards meets with actual substance. Using the ‘Find Him’ feature, you can view nearby (or just online) guys that have similar interests – so you’ll find other guys than just ones you’d like to bang – but would rather bang a book over your own head than have a conversation with. So after a few weeks of getting to grips with the new site I was using daily (yes, it’s another addictive social media – but when can you ever really have too many?) and avoiding a few of the strange chat-up lines…

gaydar-screenshot

… I began talking to an guy that worked in Advertising. He wasn’t ‘throw-me-on-the-bed-and-pound-me-like-an-old-carpet’ gorgeous, but we’d had over a week of banter, and thought that at worst it could work out as a friend I’d have similar interests with.

Courtesy of Gaydar I’d chosen to eat at Cucina Asselina, the New York style Italian restaurant in the ME Hotel. We’d also chosen to go for drinks at Radio Roof Top before – you know views always have the ability of making a mind-numbingly shit date good. I’d much rather look out at the London skyline than salad stuck between someone’s teeth. When he turned up, he was more or less the same as he was in his pictures, which was a relief. If I’ve learnt one thing about meeting people off the internet/dating apps – it’s to always make sure you see more than one picture. ‘Cause you know they’re using the photo that makes them look their ABSOLUTE BEST. So if the other pictures don’t match up, you can pretty much just assume they were having a good day. Or if they’re using a photo from Gigolo – are about 12 years older (and probably a slut).

Unfortunately when we reached Radio, the queue was longer than Sarah Jessica Parker’s face, so we decided to ditch the roof top drinks – much like the public ditched anyone who follows Kaballah – and go for a drink in a pub round the corner, as a bit of an ice-breaker. I’m not one to rip someone apart (except for that one time we double-fucked that lad over an armchair), but while we were in the pub, I noticed that his knuckles were crazy hairy. And I don’t mean hairy like Beyonce’s armpits, I mean hairy like Wolverine. To bystanders it must have looked like Little Red Riding Hood was on a date with the big bad wolf.

They say that “opposites attract” but what they fail to mention is that ‘opposite wine drinkers attract a larger bill.’ He was drinking white and I was drinking rosé
*twirls hair*
So what do you do when this happens at meal? Duh, you order both. The fact that he didn’t scoff or look at me like a guest on The Jeremy Kyle show was reassuring. I mean, where was this going if I had to hide my alcoholic indulgences from him? A secret life of necking miniature spirits in toilet cubicles and pretending I wasn’t drunk when I came home the night before slurring the Spice Girls at the top of my lungs with Burger King stuck to the side of my face – that’s where! So it was good that we’d addressed this at the start… Or so I thought…

He spoke about work, as did I – although cautiously avoiding the minefield that was writing a sex blog. His work sounded interesting and he was able to give me pointers should I ever get into advertising. I wanted to give him pointers on how not to dress like he was going to the Hamptons but on a H&M budget – but decided it was too early for me to unleash the demon on him, like Tyra in that episode of America’s Next Top Model.

Instead, I put my claws away – along with another glass of Rosé and giggled at his every word like a little school girl. Well, like a little gay school boy on poppers at least. After all, flattery gets you everywhere and if I one day needed a contact in advertising – which I’m sure I will – hopefully I’ll only have to flash these knashers rather than bend over a desk and flash something much more inappropriate. I watched his gorilla hand grab the bottle of wine and he seemed a bit drunk already…

By the time the main course arrived I was quite full already, pounding half a bottle of wine before the flatbread arrives probably isn’t a good idea (unless you’re dieting then it’s a fab way to fill up). By the third glass of wine, I began to realise that I’d obviously over-encouraged his dry humour. And when I say dry, I mean I almost tripped over the tumbleweed on my way to the bathroom, and had to step on a few crickets on the way back.

As we were leaving and I made my way towards the door I heard an almighty smash. I assumed it wasn’t Tulisa’s career crashing to the floor and so glanced around to see my date drunkenly apologising to a waitress while our wine glasses lay in pieces on the floor. Oh Lord. As if the jokes he was making weren’t a big enough catastrophe he had to destroy the venue on the way out. Like a Muscle Mary in a China shop.

It may not have been a ‘success’ so to speak, but dating was never gonna be that easy. At least
a) He wasn’t telling me how he used to shag his brother (yes, that’s happened before).
b) We actually had stuff in common, and…
c) It wasn’t me who was embarrassingly drunk (for once).

I didn’t ‘Find Him’ this time, but the feature served up a better date than most.

Other posts you might like:
>> The Art Of Dating: Sponsored by Gaydar
>> The Legend Of The Lightbulb Penis
>> The Curse Of The First Date Fuck