My Shopping List

What a bloomin’ marvellous day weather wise. My shoulders are burnt and my freckles have appeared on my face. They’re just begging me to do a dot to dot on them. I wonder what image I could find. I have so many of them, I could probably get The Nightmare by Henry Fuseli on there. By the way, this is not just a random art reference. It’s one of my favourite pieces and illustrates how fucking horrible it is to suffer with sleep paralysis. That shit is not fun!

Dates with science teachers aren’t particularly fun either. That sounds quite mean. There was nothing especially that was wrong with it. It was all very average. We spoke about average things; films, music, travelling. But there was just no spark. Similar to Pilot Guy. Don’t get me wrong, Science Guy is a perfectly lovely person who has travelled extensively, so he is interesting. 

Ha! He’s just text me whilst writing this. His normal and not particularly amazing ears must be burning.

Had a lovely day, really enjoyed it! If you’d like to do something again maybe next week then let me know.

What do I reply?

Hi there. Yes it was quite mediocre wasn’t it? And as much as I’d love to meet up with you again, I find myself thinking that I want someone who I like more than you. My expectations are quite high, and unfortunately, you don’t make the mark.

That sounds harsh, but with this whole dating experiment, particularly with recording everything online, I’m starting to do some reflection. I think I’ve realised that I do have high expectations of partners. I have a checklist.

Participants must:

• Be funny.
• Have gorgeous eyes. I’m not massively into looks. I hope I’m not that shallow, although I can probably deep down say that on some level I am. I’m not asking for Brad Pitt. I just want nice eyes.
• Be intelligent.
• Must want to travel.
• Must accept my slightly weird ways.
• Accept my career, especially this year which will no doubt be crazy.
• Give fantastic cuddles and give soft lingering kisses.
• Realise that my body does have cellulite and stretch marks, and I am (to an extent) OK with that. It’s taken me a while to get to this stage, and the last thing I need is a man expecting me to look like Elle Macpherson. That’s not to say I don’t look after myself though. Apart from the odd boozy night, I do try and eat well and go to the gym.
• Understand that I’ll always put my mates first. I know that sounds like everyone says that, but I really mean it. Guys come and go, and my mates are here to stay. Girl power again. If a friend told me that she didn’t like a guy (for a good reason) then au revoir guy.
• Be creative.
• Care about his appearance. I’m not asking to get your back, sack and crack done. Just iron your shirts and do your hair. And shower.
• Be vocal. I like to talk, and I like someone who can talk back and not just sit there listening to me waffle on. Although, I do need a good listener too.
• Have some confidence. Not cockiness or arrogance.
• Be a good friend and son/brother/nephew. I love my family, and they’re pretty important to me when they’re not pissing me off.
• Be damn good in bed.
• Not be a chav.
• Realise that there’s more to life than football.
• Not be alcoholics. I don’t mind if they’re an occasional user of substances, although, nothing too bad. Maybe just a smoke or something.
• Not keep discussing their ex with me. Lawyer Guy comes to mind here.
• Be able to send text messages without using ‘lol’. It really irritates me.
• Have a decent standard of literacy and overall education. I prefer those who have been to university.
• Be active.
• Be older than me. I’ve never dated anyone younger than me. I’m not sure why, but I think it’s just weird.
• Have common interests in regards to music and film. Not completely, but enough so we can go to gigs and the cinema together.
• Understand that I have a sick and sarcastic sense of humour.
• Get along with my family and friends.
• Must wake me up with some spooning, a kiss on my neck and poached eggs on toast.
• Argue and debate with me. Some men are such people pleasers and need to grow a pair.

Erm… I think that’s it. Damn, that’s a lot. What’s wrong with me? No guy can do all of this. Well, I’m sure a few guys can, but where am I going to find him? I’m looking for my Prince Charming, but instead of living in a cartoon, I’m in the Midlands. The best I can hope for isn’t a prince with a bouquet, but a drunk with a kebab.