November 20, 2011
I’m in the middle of what other singletons might describe as a ‘dry spell’. This so called dry spell has been brought on for number of reasons. The first is one that happens now and again. It’s usually provoked by me meeting a guy, quite liking him and thinking ‘Hmm… could this actually be a thing’, and then invariably he departs, leaving me in a deep state self contemplation.
This scenario played out rather recently when the said guy departed on claims of a busy work schedule. People who know me will tell you that I don’t exactly have a quiet work schedule so the fact that was used as an excuse felt rather lame to me. I spent a while grappling with the fact which led me into dry spell phase one.
That self contemplation phase lasted for much of October, which was coupled with a huge spike in workload so even if I wanted to go out and mingle again, I really didn’t have the time or the energy.
November has seen me turn a corner in the fact that I am once again mingling with the opposite sex. However, this doesn’t mean that it has been successful transition. I think my exploits last night is a good case in point to illustrate this.
I spent a lovely day with one of my oldest friends, musing (as we always do) on why we are both single. Generally we had a nice time massaging eachother’s egos, him talking about his ex-boyfriends/ conquests of recent times and me delving into the psychology of my dry spell.
We concluded that we’d go to a house party that night. I did suspect that a large majority of the men at the party would be gay and it turns out I was right. The only straight guy there was a guy I previously went out with for four years so needless to say that was a no go area.
After mingling for a short time, I decided to leave in the hopes of finding men who would not be interested in asking where I got my skirt or my hair care preferences (Don’t get me wrong I ordinarily love talking about these things but last night I was not in that kind of mood)
I headed with another group of friends to the Twisted Pepper where to my absolute dismay, the queue to get in was horrifically long. I’m not the most patient person in the world so I don’t really work well with queues. Having stood around for about 15 mins I decided to move on to yet another group of friends in the Stags Head. I’m happy to say I did get in there and having enjoyed a lively Irish trad set (the group had visitors over from England so we were doing the whole diddley ay music thing) we went to The Globe.
I must say, The Globe has always been a place where I find it very easy to talk to guys. However, I realised last night, every guy I’ve ever spoken to in that particular pub has turned out to to be non runner. Last night was no different sadly. After much pushing and shoving in the main bar, our group eventually got a couch in the back area beside this big group of lads. I got talking to one sitting nearest me. He seemed like a really nice guy, though I did find myself pointing out when I was being sarcastic as I was not altogether sure he got my humour. The conversation seemed to be taking a positive turn until the point where he asked me what height I was. We had both been sitting down for the duration of the conversation so we didn’t have the full measure of one another. I thought it a bit of an odd question for a guy to ask but I told him I was about 5,7′ in flats. I did have heels on so I reckon I looked about 5,9′. To this reply, it was like a shutter went down on our conversation. He excused himself to the toilet and upon his return I ran into him on the way to the bar. It was at this point I noticed I was slightly taller than him in heels, but I must stress only slightly. However, he instantly pointed the height difference out in a way that definitely signaled the end to our conversation. I was rather annoyed at this as I had wasted a good 4o mins talking the usual first time chatting nonsense to a guy who clearly had small man syndrome.
I went back to my group and we left shortly after. On my walk home I ran into some work colleagues who were out after an event. I got chatting to this lovely English guy who was working with them on the project. He was quite intense but in a sweet way. We went back to a house party and as the conversation progressed it dawned on me that he was definitely a good bit younger than me. Turns out he was 22. This instantly put me off. I’ve made up my mind that no matter what, I want to meet guys who are older than me. In general, I get on far better with them. Guys my age and younger, as much as I have a great laugh with them, I never really fully connect with them. To this end, the English guy was a no go area. However, we had chatted for a long time at this stage and it was clear he thought the evening was going a certain way.
By way of trying to escape, I somehow got myself into the situation of promising to go to the Guinness Storehouse with him the following day. Being honest, I had no intention of ever going but I couldn’t exactly say, ‘listening mate, your age freaks me out so hit the road’. The fact that I said I’d go seemed to appease him and I made my exit. This morning I awoke to an even worse cold than I had in previous days and a feeling of dread as I remembered I said I’d go to a tourist attraction with a person who I was in no way attracted to. I plucked up the courage to text him and use my sickness as an excuse for not going. In fairness to the lovely guy, he text me back a very humourous message that made me think, although he may not be the guy for me (due to my awful agism), he certainly will make some girl very happy, as he is very sweet and decent.
So I suppose in some ways you could argue my dry spell is over. However, last night left me feeling rather flat. As I said to my good friend in our day long conversation on life, I’m eternally in search of the big romance that never really materialises. This weekend the barriers were height and age. I wonder what the delights of next weekend will bring?