Thursday, 16 June 2011


Hello! I’m still alive! I know I promised, but I’m not sure I’m 100% ready to talk about the present. Therefore, I’ll part with one last gem from the past before spilling the beans on someone who is quickly becoming very important in my life.

There is, as usual, a lucky man in the story – we’ll call him McMeerkat. He’s very tall, very academic, and looks very Spanish in his main (and only) profile picture. When I enquire, turns out it’s not him. No shit. Because of his job at the university, he doesn’t want to be exposed. He sends me a link to his work profile, and I like what I see. He’s 12 years older than me, which would normally be a bit too old. But I can make exceptions for suitable candidates, of course.

We arrange to meet for a drink in a popular bar in the city centre. We haven’t chatted much beforehand – we’re both interested in going straight to the point. So I don’t know what to expect, what he likes, what we’ll talk about. However, I’ve never run out of words in my whole life, so I’m not worried.

I get to the bar first. I’m a couple of minutes late and I would have thought he’d be here. He isn’t. I choose a table and sit down. In the next 15 minutes I go to the toilet (twice, the second time to check my bum in the mirror), read the whole wine list, reply to a couple of emails, talk to an acquaintance who has come in to join some friends. He finally walks in... and he’s drunk. I’ve never met him before, but it’s crystal clear to me. His eyes are shiny and he walks just a little too slowly.

He shakes my hand, kisses me on the cheeks, apologises profusely and explains why he’s late. He slightly makes up for it as he’s really cute. He’s very smart and has got proper manners (despite the vague smell of gin about him). He asks me what I drink and I tell him the name of an Italian white wine. He comes back from the bar with a bottle. Apparently he hasn’t eaten and he tells me he feels a bit tipsy despite only having had a couple of drinks with his colleagues (someone was being promoted). I suggest he should eat something, but my advice falls on deaf ears.

45 minutes later, we have finished the bottle. I feel fine, albeit a bit too chatty. He tells me he’s opened a tab at the bar and I can get myself what I want. I go and get a Diet Coke. He’s still on the wine. When I come back and walk around to my side of the table, I can tell he’s checking me out. He’s not even discreet about it. I catch a glimpse of ‘pervy old man in need of a lay’ look on his face. Great. When I sit down, he grabs one of my hands and stares into my eyes. ‘You’re very beautiful’, he says. This is about an hour into our first date. I start thinking of an excuse to leave. I can’t think of any.

Before I know it, though, we’re leaving – together. McMeerkat wants to listen to live music, and apparently I’m going with him. It’s just odd – I really want to go home, but I don’t know how to tell him. He’s good company, but I don’t want to be alone with him. In the next place, we plonk down on sofas to listen to a mediocre jazz band. He has a very unusual accent, and the music makes everything more difficult. Another bottle of wine also appears, which makes everything easier instead. When I lean over to talk in his ear, he grabs my cheek and kisses me on the mouth. I don’t feel ready for this and pull away after a few seconds. I kick myself for having let him start physical contact – now it’ll be so much harder to get away.

At any rate, I muster the courage to say I want to leave and we walk out. It’s 1am on a Thursday, and he lives on the other side of town. I start saying goodbye as I can easily walk home from here. There’s a taxi rank just around the corner for him – I know it, and I know he knows it.

But he has other plans – he walks me all the way home. How do you get someone not to do that? I seem to have a recurring issue here!!

Fast-forward 20 minutes and we’re back at mine and McMeerkat has plonked himself on the sofa with a cuppa. He’s there because I forced him to sit down so that 1) he’d stop groping me while I’m making the tea and 2) he’d stop trying to push me up the stairs in the direction of my bedroom. What is wrong with some people.

I soon realise that sitting him on the sofa had the wrong effect. How did my smart, academic, sophisticated date turn into a slobbery, half-asleep pisshead? I politely suggest he should go home. He doesn’t answer. That’s because he’s fallen asleep in a sat-down position. Honestly. I poke him in the side – gently – to wake him up. I ask him his address so that I can call a cab. He falls asleep again while he’s slooooowly spelling his address to me. I re-poke.

Finally, the cab is booked. All that’s left to do now is walk him to the door. Will I make it?

Another 10 minutes later I have successfully put McMeerkat in a taxi and waved him goodbye – forever, or so I think.

The next day, when the work experience girl walks in the office after lunch, she asks if somebody has been drinking in work. I really must stink.

I have rarely gone out on a school night since then.

The epilogue is boring and very clichéd, but while I’m here... After a lot of stalking and bumping into each other in work, I give in and go out with him for lunch. Just so that he can explain. Booze doesn’t feature on this occasion. While we’re doing some idle chit-chat, he mentions his daughter. I beg your pardon? This from a man who told me he was divorced, and ‘thank God we didn’t have children’. How fast can I run away from the office café in heels?

Hopefully this is the last bad date you get to hear about from me – or is it?

Pupa x

Wednesday, 4 May 2011

Hot Cross Buns – part 2

Hey lovely people, I realise I haven’t posted for a while... and I won’t be making up unlikely excuses for it. As you know, I’ve started dating again and I have the impression I might have been incredibly lucky. I’m hesitant to spill the beans just yet – but I promise you’ll get to hear all about it!

Before that, here is date no. 2 with Hot Cross Buns. I hope it’s worth the wait!

After our first date, I heard very little from HCBs. I sent him a vague text to say hello a couple of days after our coffee date and he took almost 2 days to reply. I was already bored with this guy – if he couldn’t make an effort to keep in touch at this stage, why should I? A few days later, out of the blue, he texted to ask me out for dinner. Actually, I’ll rectify: he texted to ask me out for Nando’s. Erm, whatever! I’m renowned for being a cheap date and Nando’s in my city is actually in a pretty cool spot. So off we went.

Did he mention in his texts that he had broken an arm? My ass he did. This led to one of the most awkward dates ever. Yours truly had to carry trays and drinks, cut his chicken, pour him wine. I was spared having to zip up his trousers when he went to use the toilet – somehow he managed by himself. As unusual as it was, this provided for some fun and it made both of us a tad more relaxed. Accompanied by the fact that he normally didn’t drink because of his fitness and I’m a lightweight, it also made our bottle of red go down quite well.

I had a wedding to go to the following morning, and as such I had to be on my best behaviour. We sat in Nando’s until they pretty much kicked us out, then walked back in the direction of my house (I hinted we should go off in different directions a couple of times, but it didn’t work). While we were walking back, I was trying to do a quick review of the date in my head. Still pretty bland. He was a nice guy. Not much to add.

We got to my neighbourhood and sat down on the grass in front of my house. This is kind of like a park, but with no benches or swings. Just a big, square grassy area where old people occasionally play croquet. I’m proud to say no ball games took place that evening.

It was a very warm and starry night and we just lay down on the grass and talked. It’s a very quiet area so we were kind of whispering. It’s at that point that we started hearing a noise – something halfway a whimper and a squeak. To my horror, I quickly realised it was my next-door neighbour, the one that Handsome Housemate and I call ‘The Screamer’. As it was a muggy summer night, these guys had their window open. I don't think I need to explain further! Hot Cross Buns and I started giggling like kids. It was one of those occasions when the more you want to stop laughing, the more you can’t help yourself.

And this is when he leaned towards me – using his functioning arm – and kissed me. The sex noise had obviously inspired him. Great.

As first kisses go, it was alright. I didn’t particularly enjoy being pinned down by the weight of his cast (oh, and his muscles). I’m not normally horizontal on first kisses, so it did feel like it was a bit much. I don’t know why, but it was just a bit off. After a while, I had to peel him off me, cast and all, and get back to my feet.

I mumbled something about having to go, and we quickly said our goodbyes. Did the kiss leave me all excited? Tingling? Waiting for more? No, no and no.

Over the next couple of weeks I got two texts from him – both very non committal and, to be frank, boring. I decided I’d let it go. A pretty face and buns of steel just aren’t enough. He didn’t put up a fight, which was a good sign.

Was this the most boring post ever? Probably! But at least you didn’t have to be there on the actual dates, unlike yours truly ;-)

Catch up soon!

Pupa x

Monday, 21 March 2011

Hot Cross Buns – part 1

Hello! I’ve been away for a few days and have decided that my current dating situation is still a bit on the dull side, therefore I'll present you with a fresh new instalment from the past... Hot Cross Buns!

Hot Cross Buns lived in my city, was about my age, and his online profile was very friendly and fun. He seemed to be my type physically as well - very blond, massive blue eyes, fit. Agreeing to a date with him was a no brainer.

He was a busy man so we met for brunch in a lovely little cafe outside the cathedral green. When I got there, he was sat on a stool, looking very proud of having snatched a table as the place was manic.

We kissed on the cheek and started chatting. Things were awkward for about 10 minutes, then we both started relaxing. He had a job in IT, so work wasn’t really a conversation topic (sorry, IT people, it's not you, it's me). He was massively into fitness, which I was happy to listen to (after all it’s not every day that you get to have coffee with a triathlete) but couldn’t really contribute much. The waiter came and went with our food. Everything was delicious, and I remember I was concentrating more on the food than on what he was saying. I caught myself drifting off a couple of times. What was that about his boss? Oops.

It’s not like he wasn’t talking enough, or he was talking too much. He was nice. But I was getting bored – pretty quickly. Just when I was about to call it a day – the food had been hoovered, the coffees slurped, the time would have been right – he did one thing that made me change my mind altogether. To be precise, he did two things in quick succession. First, he took off his jumper. Then, he got up to go the toilet.

Oh my word. I should have seen it coming, right? What with the triathlon and all that. But silly little me hadn’t really made a connection.

He was the fittest man on earth. Honestly. When he took off his jumper, I caught a glimpse of his midriff. And his arms were just ridiculously muscular, without looking pumped up. He was very lean, yet incredibly defined. Then he got up and walked away from the table, towards the toilet. Now this is going to sound very wrong... but I couldn’t keep my eyes off his bum. I normally don't perv over men’s bums on a first date, but this was just too good to be true. Just perfect and peachy.

I was still trying to compose myself when he came out of the toilets. We went to settle the bill (which he insisted to pay) and walked out. I was suddenly very aware of his physical presence. We said goodbye and walked away in separate directions.

I was very confused. Our date had been very average and fairly boring at times. I didn’t think there was a spark, or enough common ground, to go for round 2. This is what my head was saying, anyway. My body had very different ideas...

If you want to find out what happens next between me and Hot Cross Buns, come back for part 2! Thanks for reading!

Pupa x

Sunday, 6 March 2011

Sunday update

Hello all!

This is just a quick update as I don’t have much time today.

I have a few more fun stories of my past dating disasters (next ones up are McMeerkat and Hot Cross Buns!), but the big news is that I will hopefully start alternating those with current ones, as I’ve signed up for online dating again!

I have put my profile up on three sites – two paid for, and one free. If I do something, I do it properly! There has been some interest and I actually have a date tonight (woot woot!). I will fill in you on that very soon.

Apart from that, life is good. I’m going abroad for a few days next week for a friend's hen do. Very much looking forward to it!! If there are any men to report on, you’ll be the first to know.

For now, I’ll continue rifling through my summer wardrobe.

Enjoy the rest of your Sunday!

Pupa x

Sunday, 27 February 2011

My inappropriate weekend revealed

I open my eyes. One at the time, as both feels like too much effort. I survey the room around me. Everything looks unfamiliar. Even with both eyes open, things don’t get any better. To my right there’s a red wall and a Victorian window. I have been hearing trains coming in and leaving every few minutes. I realise it’s the Tube, which must mean I’m in London. 

Something snaps into place. London. I'm in Longshanks’ bed. Cringing inside, I turn my head to the left, slowly. There’s an electric blanket on the bed, but I wonder if that's the only thing that kept me warm last night?


Rewind 24 hours. I’m on my way to London. Longshanks and I have decided to meet up. I’ve been invited to stay at his place. Shall I bring a sleeping bag? No, I’m told.

I’ve never been here, but I find the place easily enough. How did we do it before iPhones? I ring the doorbell and he appears. Despite being February, he’s tanned. He also has very long hair and a beard. His blue eyes are piercing amongst all that dark. One word: hot. He hugs me and grabs my overnight bag. I’m a bit wobbly on my legs as we go up the stairs to his flat.

He shows me around and offers me tea and a muffin. I remind him I'm not British. He makes coffee. We sit down, sip our drinks, tell each other we look fab. Then we get changed and go out. I have brought an evening outfit, but we’re heading out at 5pm and staying out. I decide to ditch the heels, as there’s no way I can trudge around London in 4-inch heels for like eight hours. I’m tall enough in my flat boots.

We walk along the South Bank, do a silly little ‘horror tour’ thing, stroll loads and talk even more. It’s like the old days - just I finally know where I stand. We live 150 miles apart. He's not looking for a relationship. He points out a couple of times he’s really happy we stayed in contact and he really values our friendship. We talk about our dating disasters. I open up about my ex boyfriend. His personality is quite different from what I remember. He's insecure and the boldness has gone. He’s not as loud as he was, not as cocky. I get the impression that this is the real him. I like it that he’s being himself.

We grab some food, then go to our show. One of his friends has got a ticket and joins us. He’s a great guy. The 3 of us have a lovely time – it’s like being with old friends. By the end of the show, I’ve had two pints and half a bottle of white wine. (I should point out that I normally don’t do pints). Coming back from the ladies’, I plop down on my seat and inadvertently sit on my neighbour’s hand. She’s not happy. When we leave, I have to lean onto Longshanks’ friend’s arm to get down the staircase. Classy. Thank Heaven I’m in flats.

We move on to a cocktail bar, then to a club. At this point our friend goes home and it’s just us again: Longshanks, I and about a zillion units of alcohol between us. There's this moment when two Italians who're queuing behind us make a string of racist comments, thinking nobody understands. That’s out of order. I turn around and give them The Stare. They shut up. Longshanks is impressed.

The club is packed and apparently the bar is closing shortly, so we grab two drinks each. I can barely handle one. We dance, and Longshanks puts his hands on my waist. It’s probably the alcohol, but suddenly the atmosphere has changed. I swivel to put my empty drink on a table, and he grabs me by the hips. I’m too drunk to react. And it feels nice. I don’t think it surprises either of us when he lifts up my chin and kisses me. I get pushed closer to him by the crowd. He kisses me again. The next few minutes are a bit of a haze, but what I do know is that I have to go to the toilet. When I come back (with bare legs, as I had a massive ladder in my tights), Longshanks is waiting for me, holding my jacket. He grabs my hand and we go catch the night bus.

We have to wait a good 20 minutes, which I reckon saves the night. The fresh air does me a world of good and by the time we get to his place, I feel a lot more normal. I’m shivering though, and he has put his jacket on my shoulders. We go to his bedroom. I let go of his hand and start taking off my jewellery. But Longshanks has other plans.

He grabs me and pulls me towards him. He takes my blazer off and drops it on the bed. Then he picks me up. Literally, like a doll. He’s a big guy, a lot taller than me, and he barely seems to notice my weight. He pulls my mouth to his and wraps my legs around his waist. I won’t remind you that I’m wearing a very short dress, and, at this point, no tights.

There’s only so much of this I can take. It feels really good, but I just don’t want it to happen. I’m feeling remarkably sober at this point, and I just move my face away and say ‘please put me down’.

And that is that. Sorry if this is a bit of a let-down, but somehow I manage to talk him out of it, kiss him goodnight and shut him out of his bedroom before things go any further. And that’s how I get to wake up in his bed, alone, the following morning. There's this moment when he comes back into the bedroom to grab the spare duvet for the sofa and put the electric blanket on for me. At that particular point, I’m prancing around in my underwear taking my make up off with wipes. Almost ends badly again. I guess my willpower is a lot stronger than I think?

In the morning, I fear things might be awkward but they’re not. The atmosphere is relaxed. It turns out neither of us has a hangover (God works in mysterious ways). I’m a hungry hippo and devour the fry-up he cooks for us. No sausages for me though – which quickly turns into a joke. We then go out and spend the afternoon strolling in a park and chatting away. I can’t pick up any tension. Things are just like yesterday afternoon.  

Before I leave, he sits me down and says he had a great weekend. He loves spending time with me. He wants us to be friends. He wants to be able to see me even if I start dating somebody. The physical stuff is great, but it just happens if we both feel like it. Then he kisses me on the mouth before I get off the car.

If that day you saw a tall, Italian-looking girl on the way to Paddington, sporting wild hair and a royally confused look on her face, chances are it was me.

Pupa x

Friday, 25 February 2011

Longshanks – part 5

So that was date 3 with Longshanks. If I hadn’t known what I knew, I’d have thought we were fine. Things seemed to be progressing. We liked each other's company, had a good time together. It’s not that complicated.

While we were parting at the train station on our last date, Longshanks asked me if I was free the following weekend. He was going to stay with a friend in a different city and asked me if I wanted to join him. I said it sounded like fun, and he said he’d check with his friend if it was alright to have a guest and would let me know.

A couple of days passed and I started wondering whether we were going to make plans for the weekend. I felt like I was in a weak position and certainly wasn’t going to start pushing and prodding him so that he’d ask me out again.

Mid-week I received an email from him. I was lounging with Handsome Housemate and picked it up on my phone. I had to make a swift exit as my eyes started filling up with tears. Rejection is an ugly beast!

To summarise, Longshanks had written a very long and sweet message about how he thought we shouldn’t be seeing each other. How he could see that I was putting up with his approach because I liked him, but that if I could have it my way, I would have wanted things to be different. He said I shouldn’t compromise on what I want from a man and he certainly didn't want to be the guy who made me do that. And that I was a beautiful, lovely, smart and fun woman and I could easily find somebody who could give me the whole package, instead of a guy with a foot out of the door.

I sent a short reply, thanking him for the honesty and wishing him all the best.

In hindsight, I'm so glad things went the way they did. I felt pretty low for a couple of days, but quickly picked up.

He's a lovely guy, and I can still see all the reasons why I found him attractive. However, he’s not available for the kind of relationship that I’m looking for, and I have put a big red cross on him. There was a slight incident a few months ago when he invited me to go camping with him. I really wouldn’t have been comfortable sharing a tent and all that. I explained that I had a boyfriend and I wasn’t interested in being friends with benefits. He replied that he knew, and the offer still stood. I politely declined.

We regularly talk by text/Facebook/phone and we also met up twice since we stopped seeing each other. The first time was before Christmas – completely innocuous encounter as I had a boyfriend and we just met for a coffee and a chat. The second time was very recently and things were a tad less innocuous – post on that coming soon!

I also wanted to thank Rapunzel and LifeBegins for following... two of my favourite bloggers :-)

Have a great weekend!

Pupa x

Monday, 21 February 2011

Longshanks – part 4

Handsome Housemate wasn’t happy. Not in the slightest. He’s my friend and doesn’t want to see me hurt, of course. And as such he was being overprotective... or so I kept telling myself. ‘How badly can it affect me if I go and spend a little more time with him? I might just realise he’s not my type anyway and just go off him. If I don’t try, I’ll never know’. By the time I got to this bit of my rambling, Handsome Housemate would have usually left the room. He wasn't having any of it. As usual, everyone from the outside can see things clearly, while the people involved are enveloped in a thick, grey fog.

Grey and foggy was also the weather on our third date. We had settled for a walk in a pretty little village, followed by food and maybe a movie. I went by train, which meant I couldn’t stay too late. When I got to the station, Longshanks was waiting for me in his car. I got in and leant over for a kiss, which I promptly received... on the cheek. Now, I wasn’t going in for a full snog (I do have a bit of decency), but I thought a peck on the lips would have been appropriate. Apparently not so.

I didn’t let that dampen my enthusiasm. We went sightseeing and talked and talked and he had his arm around my shoulders while we walked, which felt nice. We stopped for coffee and I’m sure I’m not making it up that he said he’d renew his National Trust membership so he could take me places. I was starting to relax a little, but I couldn’t really let my guard down.

Back in the car, the weather was quickly worsening and we needed a plan. The best we could come up with was stop to buy some food, then go to his and cook up a storm. After that, everything happened quite quickly.

- Do I like spicy food?
- I sure do.

- Would I like a top up of wine?
- Hell yeah.

- How about a movie after dinner?
- No problem.

- Ach, the DVD player in the living room is inexplicably and conveniently broken. There is another one in my room - shall we crash on the bed?
- Did someone say bed??

So, after having spent a good 6 hours together that day, we found ourselves cuddling on his bed. I had no idea what movie we were watching. One of the main actors had the thickest Irish accent ever, which resulted in me missing every other word. I quickly lost interest and started fidgeting. Suddenly his tongue was in my mouth, and the fidgeting took on an entirely different form.

Now without the need to go into detail, here are a few key facts about the concluding part of our date:
- his bed smelt nice and clean (kudos points).
- there was a very inconvenient cat jumping between us every so often. Not high up in my list of sexual fantasies.
- we didn’t do anything that I would be ashamed of – a few items of clothing were removed and flung off the bed, but I came away with my integrity intact (read: my knickers remained steadily on).

When I realised I had to get a move on to avoid missing the last train, I gathered my belongings and made sure I hadn’t stuffed the cat in my bag. I quickly checked myself in the hallway mirror before leaving and can confirm I had the worn look of somebody who’s spent way too long rolling in bed with make up on. We joked about it.

Longshanks escorted me to the train station and off I went. With one massive, ever-expanding question mark in my head.

And just to be clear, none of my sexual fantasies include animals. Thanks for reading!

Pupa x