The Toxic Bachelor
I've been on a dating site, a well known dating site, for several months and despite the plethora of choice and numerous dates with a lot of lovely women I can barely muster the enthusiasm to continue with it.
However, it's not them, it's me.
No, really, it is!
I think I'm becoming what the women's mags call a 'toxic bachelor'. However, I don't mean to be, it's not intentional, and I would love to find a way to puncture the thick vapour of apathy that seems to fog my every decision nowadays!
I find reasons not to see them again almost from the moment I meet them.
One girl, who was pretty and had a good personality, didn't make the grade because I decided she was too tall, and her perfect bob was too perfect and in the wrong light resembled a wig. It didn't matter on the first date, she was nice enough, and I was charming enough (which is something I can do when I'm pressed) to ensure there was a second date. The second date went well but the height and wig-like bob gnawed away at me with annoying persistence, like a terrier gnaws at a rubber toy. We kissed at the end of the second date and a third one beckoned. But when the day came round I didn't bother to shave, turned up looking much scruffier, and assumed an air of aloofness.
On the third date, the girl's bob no longer looked like hair, it was simply a mannequin's wig badly placed on her head and, at that particular moment in time, no woman on earth was taller than her, she was like the Gulliver of females, even though she was only an inch taller than myself. I had blown these random observations up into enormous deal breakers. Needless to say, the third date was the last.
She texted me later to say she didn't want another date and I breathed a huge sigh of relief!
Still, I hope she has found a guy who actually appreciates her because she had bags of personality, really was rather attractive, and was bright with it.
Another girl was actually quite taken with me. We had two dates and she was keen for a third, but I never called her back. She was pretty, slim, shorter than myself, bright, had great taste in films and music, and she even had her own place, but she looked too much like Cameron Diaz for my taste. On the first date it was a slight resemblance, but on the second date she was Cameron Diaz in all her annoying, sparky glory. It was yet another stupid gnawing 'foible' expanded to a full-blown existential crisis. I didn't want to hear people say, "Hey, Nameless, your friend is the spitting image of Cameron Diaz!"
And for that, and that alone, I had created an escape clause for myself.
Pathetic! Another word for me would be - cunt!
There are plenty of other girls too, but it seems pointless to catalogue my litany of errors and insecurities.
However, the upshot is that the problems are mine and I seem to be suffering from Groucho Marx Syndrome: ie. I don't want to join a club that would have someone like me for a member. But, I also don't want end up like those fat, fifty-something single blokes, with their red, saggy jowls, pissing and moaning about the state of the world around them, weeping into their pints with their other single mate in some forbidding east-end pub.
And maybe I just need to finish the first draft of my interminable never-ending slog of a novel. Maybe then my libido and self-esteem will return with a crashing of hearts and bedsprings. Who knows?
I just know my current cloistered life is starting to look pretty fucking dull!
However, it's not them, it's me.
No, really, it is!
I think I'm becoming what the women's mags call a 'toxic bachelor'. However, I don't mean to be, it's not intentional, and I would love to find a way to puncture the thick vapour of apathy that seems to fog my every decision nowadays!
I find reasons not to see them again almost from the moment I meet them.
One girl, who was pretty and had a good personality, didn't make the grade because I decided she was too tall, and her perfect bob was too perfect and in the wrong light resembled a wig. It didn't matter on the first date, she was nice enough, and I was charming enough (which is something I can do when I'm pressed) to ensure there was a second date. The second date went well but the height and wig-like bob gnawed away at me with annoying persistence, like a terrier gnaws at a rubber toy. We kissed at the end of the second date and a third one beckoned. But when the day came round I didn't bother to shave, turned up looking much scruffier, and assumed an air of aloofness.
On the third date, the girl's bob no longer looked like hair, it was simply a mannequin's wig badly placed on her head and, at that particular moment in time, no woman on earth was taller than her, she was like the Gulliver of females, even though she was only an inch taller than myself. I had blown these random observations up into enormous deal breakers. Needless to say, the third date was the last.
She texted me later to say she didn't want another date and I breathed a huge sigh of relief!
Still, I hope she has found a guy who actually appreciates her because she had bags of personality, really was rather attractive, and was bright with it.
Another girl was actually quite taken with me. We had two dates and she was keen for a third, but I never called her back. She was pretty, slim, shorter than myself, bright, had great taste in films and music, and she even had her own place, but she looked too much like Cameron Diaz for my taste. On the first date it was a slight resemblance, but on the second date she was Cameron Diaz in all her annoying, sparky glory. It was yet another stupid gnawing 'foible' expanded to a full-blown existential crisis. I didn't want to hear people say, "Hey, Nameless, your friend is the spitting image of Cameron Diaz!"
And for that, and that alone, I had created an escape clause for myself.
Pathetic! Another word for me would be - cunt!
There are plenty of other girls too, but it seems pointless to catalogue my litany of errors and insecurities.
However, the upshot is that the problems are mine and I seem to be suffering from Groucho Marx Syndrome: ie. I don't want to join a club that would have someone like me for a member. But, I also don't want end up like those fat, fifty-something single blokes, with their red, saggy jowls, pissing and moaning about the state of the world around them, weeping into their pints with their other single mate in some forbidding east-end pub.
And maybe I just need to finish the first draft of my interminable never-ending slog of a novel. Maybe then my libido and self-esteem will return with a crashing of hearts and bedsprings. Who knows?
I just know my current cloistered life is starting to look pretty fucking dull!
posted by The Nothing Man at 29.5.08
5 Comments:
I seeeeeeeee, we're back, are we?
I know where you're coming from. Whenever a woman shows an interest in me, I think there's something terminally wrong with her.
So basically, I'm fucked - gramatticaly speaking, obviously.
And so are you. Well done.
Yes, I'm back, at least until the novel kicks back into life again.
You are the other single mate in that east-end pub I imagined. The key, I guess, is to avoid that nightmare scenario.
But how? is the question.
You're crazy.
You know what you should do?
Just give up.
Maybe you have something better to do with your life than spread your seed (which is essentially why we're all looking, whether we know it or not).
People can leave a fulfilling life alone.
Just give up, write your book, live your life and if you really must get off, phone a prostitute or something.
Just stop crushing these poor women.
Fucking hell... too much like Cameron Diaz? Damn... I'll take her off your hands. And I'm not even into women.
I'm just impressed that you've blogged twice in a row.
MM - When I first started the dating website I had just been out of a long-term relationship for around three months, and the book had only been on the go for about a month, so I thought I was in a good frame of mind to start dating again. Possibly, I was wrong!!
Marianne - As I've stated above, I don't think I'm in the right state of mind for dating. If I wasn't writing the novel the Cameron Diaz-alike would be someone I'd go for in a heartbeat! But this bloody novel is around and driving me up the wall. But as for blogging, I've got another post somewhere up my sleeve!!!
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