I have a date tomorrow. And I’m kind of excited about it! I’m trying my best to keep a lid on the day-dreaming - and restrict it to work hours only - but as my current temporary bedroom has no blinds I wake up at 5am and it’s that or endlessly rearranging furniture in my head for the flat I’m, hopefully, buying. Both pointless yet horribly compelling exercises guaranteed to drive all hope of sleep away.
So, yeah, why am I so excited? Well, quite apart from the fact he has the the sexiest eyes I've ever seen - think Russell Brand but with no hair (I'm going through a bald man phase. Don't ask), he’s also passed all the little tests I like to set. Chief of which is decisiveness and ability to tell me in as few texts as possible where and when we’re meeting. I love this. I may pretend to be a tough, independent, home-owning, career woman but really I just want a man to take charge, and perhaps also fling me over his shoulder and drag me home for some good old fashioned ravishing. Oops, day-dreaming again . . .
Other excellent things he's done include a complete lack of smileys, LOLs (and their ilk) or even kisses. All of which gladdens my retrosexual heart. Yes, I am a frilly pinny away from the 1950s and frankly I don’t care. In fact, I read an article in The Stylist the other day that really got on my wick. They were chastising modern women for demanding equality in the workplace but sticking to traditional roles at home. The article even claimed that there are hordes of women out there sitting in darkness rather than changing a lightbulb themselves. Ridiculous. They also cited women who, when single, had been capable of simultaneously wielding a drill, cooking dinner and changing a lightbulb but who, once partnered up, became too princessy to even take out the bins. But isn’t that the joy of a relationship? It’s a division of labour, a sharing of skills, and although I know I can knock up a log store or re-wire a light if I have to it didn’t do much for my ex’s ego (and therefore our relationship) whenever I demonstrated that ability. And you can be damn sure he never once cleaned the toilet* so why shouldn’t I get my bills sorted out for me and my tyre pressure checked?
So for me it’s time for men to man up. You Tarzan, me Jane. Now how about that rumble in the jungle sexy eyes?
*I once overheard him boasting about this fact to a girl at a party. Not. Happy.
Tuesday, 22 March 2011
Thursday, 17 March 2011
I DON'T KNOW HOW TO QUIT YOU
Yesterday I was dumped by text.
For shame! But worse, far worse, is the fact I should have done it myself weeks ago. I just never know when to cut and run. Even when it’s plain the relationship is deader than Kerry Katona’s career I’m still plugging away at my latest comeback angle (Strictly Come Dinner Dating On Ice anyone?). I get fond of people you see. Even (especially?) arseholes. I don’t like saying a fundamental goodbye and I feel genuinely sad at the end of dates with nice people that you don’t fancy. This is probably how I get into the accidental passion kissing scenarios (that and my borderline alchoholism) and then have to spend hours of my life constructing overly tactful thanks-but-no-thanks messages. The latest of which resulted in a lengthy conversation with the bread baron while he was in Sao Paulo! I dread to think how much that dumping cost me. Oh and somehow we left it that he’d be in touch in a few weeks to see if I’d changed my mind. See! I suck at dumping people.
In the past I’ve tried the ‘heads-up’ method. I used this on my very first boyfriend – the sweetest loveliest man ever - whose bottom lip started wobbling so furiously when I mooted us splitting up that I backtracked and somehow ended up suggesting that he just think about the possibility and that maybe if he went on a lads holiday and let his hair down, so to speak, that would be ok by me. That way by the time he got back from said holiday – with an orange tan, a serious bleach job and very probably an STD for all I know – he was fully adjusted and ready to take his dumping like a man. So far so successful but since then I’ve found the heads-up method just gives them time to get in there first! Nothing more humiliating than finding the rug’s been unceremoniously whipped from under your feet leaving you firmly in dumpsville, population: you. And this is precisely what happened with KB2. Having identified in the past year the things I do not want in a boyfriend as well as the things I do want in a boyfriend I was at first thrown off the scent when all the things I do not want came packaged in what looked very much like the things that I do want! Are you following me? Almost certainly not but I’ll press on. Eventually I caught on and realised that a 36 year old man who can’t juggle the ‘stress’ of cats and his job is not for me. But despite being deafened by the alarm bells ringing in my ears I still kept plugging away, just long enough for him to clock my displeasure and get in there first. Dammit!
So my new year’s resolution (I am aware that it’s March but the resolution slot is still vacant so I think it’s valid) is this: trust your instincts, cut your losses and at all costs DO NOT GET DUMPED AGAIN! It is very bad for the ego.
For shame! But worse, far worse, is the fact I should have done it myself weeks ago. I just never know when to cut and run. Even when it’s plain the relationship is deader than Kerry Katona’s career I’m still plugging away at my latest comeback angle (Strictly Come Dinner Dating On Ice anyone?). I get fond of people you see. Even (especially?) arseholes. I don’t like saying a fundamental goodbye and I feel genuinely sad at the end of dates with nice people that you don’t fancy. This is probably how I get into the accidental passion kissing scenarios (that and my borderline alchoholism) and then have to spend hours of my life constructing overly tactful thanks-but-no-thanks messages. The latest of which resulted in a lengthy conversation with the bread baron while he was in Sao Paulo! I dread to think how much that dumping cost me. Oh and somehow we left it that he’d be in touch in a few weeks to see if I’d changed my mind. See! I suck at dumping people.
In the past I’ve tried the ‘heads-up’ method. I used this on my very first boyfriend – the sweetest loveliest man ever - whose bottom lip started wobbling so furiously when I mooted us splitting up that I backtracked and somehow ended up suggesting that he just think about the possibility and that maybe if he went on a lads holiday and let his hair down, so to speak, that would be ok by me. That way by the time he got back from said holiday – with an orange tan, a serious bleach job and very probably an STD for all I know – he was fully adjusted and ready to take his dumping like a man. So far so successful but since then I’ve found the heads-up method just gives them time to get in there first! Nothing more humiliating than finding the rug’s been unceremoniously whipped from under your feet leaving you firmly in dumpsville, population: you. And this is precisely what happened with KB2. Having identified in the past year the things I do not want in a boyfriend as well as the things I do want in a boyfriend I was at first thrown off the scent when all the things I do not want came packaged in what looked very much like the things that I do want! Are you following me? Almost certainly not but I’ll press on. Eventually I caught on and realised that a 36 year old man who can’t juggle the ‘stress’ of cats and his job is not for me. But despite being deafened by the alarm bells ringing in my ears I still kept plugging away, just long enough for him to clock my displeasure and get in there first. Dammit!
So my new year’s resolution (I am aware that it’s March but the resolution slot is still vacant so I think it’s valid) is this: trust your instincts, cut your losses and at all costs DO NOT GET DUMPED AGAIN! It is very bad for the ego.
Thursday, 10 March 2011
GROUNDHOG DATE
The anaesthetist* has gone! Vanished! Disparu! Which means my merciless (not to mention pointless) online stalking of him must cease.
This is a shame because I’d only just figured out courtesy of fashion friend - the original internet dating queen - that it’s possible to search for people by name on Soulmates WITHOUT LOGGING IN (and therefore disclosing that you have ‘looked’ at them). This is epic, life-changing information and opens up a world of repercussion-free perving possiblities which fashion friend and I have been exploiting shamelessly ever since. For example, we had much fun recently deciding whether One-EyedJeff really did have a glass eye or not (he did) . . . And it took several glasses of cava before we could decide if it was ok that one guy wanted to cover fashion friend in fluorescent paint so he could see her sleeping at night (we decided it was fine – must have drunk more than we thought). Crazy times I tell you. Still, we were justified in a little pointing and laughing session given she’d just hot-taxied it over to mine to download after a truly disastrous date. I’ll let her post that one for you though…or I would but she’s jetted off to be glamorous somewhere hot right now. Oh how the other half live.
Meanwhile, back in my world, things with KB2 (Kent boy the second) are grinding inexorably to a halt. He’s charming, and pretty (in a beat up, slightly chavvy way) and he has the ability to reduce me to a giggling mess just by looking at me but the movie of my life right now would be GROUNDHOG DATE. I like a bit of momentum, me. A bit of giddy, girlish excitement – who doesn’t? And dates that take 4 days of tedious emailing to set up do not set the scene for romance. Neither does an invitation to his house which turned from opportunity-to-demonstrate-husband-material-cooking-skills into cheese-on-toast-and-a-bonk. The fact that in the 3 hours I was there he took no less than 3 phone calls, during one of which I found a woman's hair grip on the floor, and then unceremoniously packed me off home so he could prepare for a meeting didn't help either! Oh and did I mention the cat sick on the bedroom floor? Not that I can really talk on that score...still, less than impressed! Naturally I expressed my less-than-impressedness to him a couple of nights ago and he swore blind he’d make it up to me and that from now on he would show me ‘a whole lot of love’. Love shown to date: one text message.
NEXT!
*the man who broke my heart after one date.
This is a shame because I’d only just figured out courtesy of fashion friend - the original internet dating queen - that it’s possible to search for people by name on Soulmates WITHOUT LOGGING IN (and therefore disclosing that you have ‘looked’ at them). This is epic, life-changing information and opens up a world of repercussion-free perving possiblities which fashion friend and I have been exploiting shamelessly ever since. For example, we had much fun recently deciding whether One-EyedJeff really did have a glass eye or not (he did) . . . And it took several glasses of cava before we could decide if it was ok that one guy wanted to cover fashion friend in fluorescent paint so he could see her sleeping at night (we decided it was fine – must have drunk more than we thought). Crazy times I tell you. Still, we were justified in a little pointing and laughing session given she’d just hot-taxied it over to mine to download after a truly disastrous date. I’ll let her post that one for you though…or I would but she’s jetted off to be glamorous somewhere hot right now. Oh how the other half live.
Meanwhile, back in my world, things with KB2 (Kent boy the second) are grinding inexorably to a halt. He’s charming, and pretty (in a beat up, slightly chavvy way) and he has the ability to reduce me to a giggling mess just by looking at me but the movie of my life right now would be GROUNDHOG DATE. I like a bit of momentum, me. A bit of giddy, girlish excitement – who doesn’t? And dates that take 4 days of tedious emailing to set up do not set the scene for romance. Neither does an invitation to his house which turned from opportunity-to-demonstrate-husband-material-cooking-skills into cheese-on-toast-and-a-bonk. The fact that in the 3 hours I was there he took no less than 3 phone calls, during one of which I found a woman's hair grip on the floor, and then unceremoniously packed me off home so he could prepare for a meeting didn't help either! Oh and did I mention the cat sick on the bedroom floor? Not that I can really talk on that score...still, less than impressed! Naturally I expressed my less-than-impressedness to him a couple of nights ago and he swore blind he’d make it up to me and that from now on he would show me ‘a whole lot of love’. Love shown to date: one text message.
NEXT!
*the man who broke my heart after one date.
Thursday, 3 March 2011
Fancy yourself as the next Carrie Bradshaw?
Are you unlucky in love? Terminally single? A magnet for dating disasters? I have just the thing for you . . .HDOJM is looking for new contributors as every bugger except for me has been well and truly struck by Cupid’s arrow since signing up and, well, I’m only one woman and I’m doing my best but there’s only so thin I can spread myself without crossing the line between serial dater and hooker.
What’s the worst that can happen? Chances are you’ll meet the love of your life within two posts so it’s a win-win!
You know who I am...email me.
What’s the worst that can happen? Chances are you’ll meet the love of your life within two posts so it’s a win-win!
You know who I am...email me.
Wednesday, 2 March 2011
Gently up the stream
Dear readers,
Touch me – I’m real: living, breathing, surreptitiously-farting-at-my-desk proof that yes,
IT WORKS.
I found one.
On the internet.
It was instantly obvious that this one was different. He’s completely brilliant. So brilliant that there is nothing remotely blogworthy about him – I don’t want to jinx it. However, before I toddle off happily into the sunset (and you’re all sick in your mouths a little bit) I just wanted to tell you about my second-to-last ever internet date.
May I present to you….The Rower.
There are a lot of rowers on GSM – I think they find it hard to meet women because all they do is row and they get up ludicrously early. If you search for people who live in Putney or Richmond you’re bound to find one. This particular rower had specified that it was VERY IMPORTANT that anyone he went on a date with lived in Putney, so I don’t know how I slipped through the net. Anyway.
The rower was late. Luckily, I was on a pre-date date so I didn’t particularly care, but I was interested to hear his excuse nonetheless. He finally arrived, huge, breathless, sweaty, hirsute (he looked a bit like a well-fed homeless person if I’m honest, but that’s sort of my type) and full of the most wonderful excuse for tardiness I’ve ever heard ever:
“I’m sorry I’m so late, but I haven’t worn these jeans for a while and when I sat down on the bus they ripped because I’ve been in training and my thighs are a lot bigger than they were when I last wore them. So I had to go to the shop and buy a needle and thread to sew them up. I’m really sorry. It was a bit obscene though, so I thought it was better to be late than to flash my tackle at you in the pub.”
GLORY BE. Despite the obvious error at the end, this was and still remains my favourite excuse ever. He was late because his thighs were so big and manly he was literally bursting out of his clothes – it was obvious his gargantuan muscles wouldn’t fit in the piddly extra large shirts he was forced to buy, so he had to make little rips in the cuffs before he could roll the sleeves up. Woof.
I’m not normally a perv, honest, but I couldn’t stop looking at his arms. I wanted to lick him. I couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying (mainly because it was BORING) as I kept imagining him picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder, rowing me away to a desert island somewhere etc etc.
I was so distracted that I didn’t notice how much we had been drinking. I’m a hardcore Gin and Tonicer and can put away 6 without much trouble, but the thing about rowers is that they don’t drink. They row, they train for rowing, they eat enormous bowls of pasta and they sleep. They are very dedicated. This guy was a professional rower, and told me the only time he really got pissed was after a race.
The upshot of this was that I suddenly found myself with a six foot four, 220 pound brick-shithouse of an inebriated man on my hands – he couldn’t walk properly, he was slurring his words and he kept falling asleep a little bit. I half wondered about taking advantage of him while he couldn’t think straight, but that felt a bit rapey so I put him in a cab (from Holborn to Putney – a small act of revenge).
So there you go – my last (hopefully) ever internet dating whinge. Over and out!
Touch me – I’m real: living, breathing, surreptitiously-farting-at-my-desk proof that yes,
IT WORKS.
I found one.
On the internet.
It was instantly obvious that this one was different. He’s completely brilliant. So brilliant that there is nothing remotely blogworthy about him – I don’t want to jinx it. However, before I toddle off happily into the sunset (and you’re all sick in your mouths a little bit) I just wanted to tell you about my second-to-last ever internet date.
May I present to you….The Rower.
There are a lot of rowers on GSM – I think they find it hard to meet women because all they do is row and they get up ludicrously early. If you search for people who live in Putney or Richmond you’re bound to find one. This particular rower had specified that it was VERY IMPORTANT that anyone he went on a date with lived in Putney, so I don’t know how I slipped through the net. Anyway.
The rower was late. Luckily, I was on a pre-date date so I didn’t particularly care, but I was interested to hear his excuse nonetheless. He finally arrived, huge, breathless, sweaty, hirsute (he looked a bit like a well-fed homeless person if I’m honest, but that’s sort of my type) and full of the most wonderful excuse for tardiness I’ve ever heard ever:
“I’m sorry I’m so late, but I haven’t worn these jeans for a while and when I sat down on the bus they ripped because I’ve been in training and my thighs are a lot bigger than they were when I last wore them. So I had to go to the shop and buy a needle and thread to sew them up. I’m really sorry. It was a bit obscene though, so I thought it was better to be late than to flash my tackle at you in the pub.”
GLORY BE. Despite the obvious error at the end, this was and still remains my favourite excuse ever. He was late because his thighs were so big and manly he was literally bursting out of his clothes – it was obvious his gargantuan muscles wouldn’t fit in the piddly extra large shirts he was forced to buy, so he had to make little rips in the cuffs before he could roll the sleeves up. Woof.
I’m not normally a perv, honest, but I couldn’t stop looking at his arms. I wanted to lick him. I couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying (mainly because it was BORING) as I kept imagining him picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder, rowing me away to a desert island somewhere etc etc.
I was so distracted that I didn’t notice how much we had been drinking. I’m a hardcore Gin and Tonicer and can put away 6 without much trouble, but the thing about rowers is that they don’t drink. They row, they train for rowing, they eat enormous bowls of pasta and they sleep. They are very dedicated. This guy was a professional rower, and told me the only time he really got pissed was after a race.
The upshot of this was that I suddenly found myself with a six foot four, 220 pound brick-shithouse of an inebriated man on my hands – he couldn’t walk properly, he was slurring his words and he kept falling asleep a little bit. I half wondered about taking advantage of him while he couldn’t think straight, but that felt a bit rapey so I put him in a cab (from Holborn to Putney – a small act of revenge).
So there you go – my last (hopefully) ever internet dating whinge. Over and out!
Wednesday, 16 February 2011
THREE LITTLE WORDS
POOOOMM! And she’s back. Yes folks you may have noticed the blog has been unnaturally quiet over the last few months during my Swedish sojourn but I’m back with a bang and doesn’t my liver, and wallet, know about it. So, what have I learnt while I’ve been moonlighting as a girlfriend? Well, mostly that I’m not cut out to be a girlfriend right now (going AWOL for 48 hours at New Year probably isn’t good girlfriendy behaviour right?) And that I’m not prepared to settle for anything less than (nearly) perfect so I’m hitting the dating trail yet again. I also learnt to count to 10 in Swedish! Useful but it was time to cut and run before he started trying to teach me the Swedish for I love you...
I'm sure you're all on the edge of your seats (ahem) wondering what trouble I've got myself into this time so I'll fill you in...it took a couple of weeks to set some stuff up – had to jettison a proper hottie who was incapable of completing a sentence without LOL LMAO PMSLing – but at last the fruits of my online labour were due to come to fruition this week with a hot date with a(nother) Kent boy (hopefully no ducks will die this time). But before that date rolled around up popped a man I’ve named the Clapham Dough Boy who accosted me at a Shoreditch bus stop in the wee small hours of the weekend and demanded I go out with him. Classy. So you can imagine my surprise when on date two - over cocktails at the Savoy - he revealed his true identity as the heir to a bread-based family fortune. My future as a lady wot lunches (on sandwiches made with the family bread presumably) was surely made! But before you start rolling out the bun in the oven jokes I’m afraid to say...money’s no substitute for chemistry and there wasn’t much passion in that particular passion kiss. NEXT!
Fortunately I managed to squeeze a date with Kent boy in between said first and second Clapham Dough Boy dates and that went with a lot more swing, although we’re both far too old for snogging on public transport. Must. Grow. Up. Second date is next week and I can only hope he chooses a better venue this time...I damn nearly cancelled the first one when my disbelieving eyes read the other three little words any self-respecting girl dreads: ALL BAR ONE.
I'm sure you're all on the edge of your seats (ahem) wondering what trouble I've got myself into this time so I'll fill you in...it took a couple of weeks to set some stuff up – had to jettison a proper hottie who was incapable of completing a sentence without LOL LMAO PMSLing – but at last the fruits of my online labour were due to come to fruition this week with a hot date with a(nother) Kent boy (hopefully no ducks will die this time). But before that date rolled around up popped a man I’ve named the Clapham Dough Boy who accosted me at a Shoreditch bus stop in the wee small hours of the weekend and demanded I go out with him. Classy. So you can imagine my surprise when on date two - over cocktails at the Savoy - he revealed his true identity as the heir to a bread-based family fortune. My future as a lady wot lunches (on sandwiches made with the family bread presumably) was surely made! But before you start rolling out the bun in the oven jokes I’m afraid to say...money’s no substitute for chemistry and there wasn’t much passion in that particular passion kiss. NEXT!
Fortunately I managed to squeeze a date with Kent boy in between said first and second Clapham Dough Boy dates and that went with a lot more swing, although we’re both far too old for snogging on public transport. Must. Grow. Up. Second date is next week and I can only hope he chooses a better venue this time...I damn nearly cancelled the first one when my disbelieving eyes read the other three little words any self-respecting girl dreads: ALL BAR ONE.
So, Cinderpunzel signed up to Guardian Soulmates and look what she got . . .
(bear with this...this particular fruitcake is a bit slow to get going but it's worth it!)
I hope you can tak a moment to read this and I hope you understand it.
You know what, I have been in this place for seven weeks now, I have met some lovely people, six to be precise and though I thought they all looked and sounded ideal on there profiles it just hasn't happened, you know, that thing.
I spent fourteen years with my last partner and do not regret a moment, I have been single for over a year, which has been nice, no responcibilities, remote control domination ect but I dont want to spend to much longer this way, everybody needs somebody I think, someone to tell all to.
Here is my predicament, I have a fantastic life, I have a secure job which im lucky enough to enjoy and I also run my own business in the entertainment industry which enables me to travel and have some great fun. I have no ties, no baggage, no problems, no ghosts in the closet and no phobias, apart from hair in food and grotty feet, I draw a line there.
I want to find someone to share this life and fun with and someone who wants to be open, honest and sharing in return, someone who has the inspiration and motivation to make the most of the time we have on this earth, someone with independence and the ability to be close at the same time, someone who can keep up with me as well, I party, I dance, I do a lot of things it probably sais I should not realy do in the rule book (not bad things I hasten to add).
Its taken me a long time to reach my present state of mind and I am very happy I have discovered it, I thought I would find someone like minded very easily on here, I thought most people forty plus may have reached this Utopia, sadly this is far from true as my six encounters and numerous email buddies on here have proven.
I am not sure anyone will tick all the boxes, what I do know is I need to find someone that I will "want" to share life with, that has not happened for a while.
All this babble has a purpose, I hope it allows you to understand that I am sincere, genuine, honest and caring, the six dates I have had are all very keen to meet me again, two of them a little bit to keen but it is not going to happen sadly, they all repeat what I have just said, one even said I was probably the nicest guy she had ever met and couldn't understand how I was single, I am sorry this all sounds very conceited but whats the point of beating around the bush. I don't proclaim to be a stud but I am a very nice person and am very different, I am honest.
I have come to the conclusion just lately that appearance is a very very important part of a relationship, it allows you to forgive some of the boxes that are not getting ticked and, though you shouldn't ignore incompatability, physical attraction does enable you to be a little more "flexible" shall we say.
This was all a long winded way of saying that I am flicking through this place now looking at photos and saying, "she is well nice, fancy her, wow !! "and so on but I hope you understand it is not a neanderthal grunt, I am just being completely honest and looking at people who make me go bumpity bump inside.
I have no idea if we would be compatible, not a clue, I know I fancy the pants of you though and thats a good start :-)
Well, at least you know I am honest in this place that is glazed in bull s*"t.
Would love to hear from you.
Andy.
I hope you can tak a moment to read this and I hope you understand it.
You know what, I have been in this place for seven weeks now, I have met some lovely people, six to be precise and though I thought they all looked and sounded ideal on there profiles it just hasn't happened, you know, that thing.
I spent fourteen years with my last partner and do not regret a moment, I have been single for over a year, which has been nice, no responcibilities, remote control domination ect but I dont want to spend to much longer this way, everybody needs somebody I think, someone to tell all to.
Here is my predicament, I have a fantastic life, I have a secure job which im lucky enough to enjoy and I also run my own business in the entertainment industry which enables me to travel and have some great fun. I have no ties, no baggage, no problems, no ghosts in the closet and no phobias, apart from hair in food and grotty feet, I draw a line there.
I want to find someone to share this life and fun with and someone who wants to be open, honest and sharing in return, someone who has the inspiration and motivation to make the most of the time we have on this earth, someone with independence and the ability to be close at the same time, someone who can keep up with me as well, I party, I dance, I do a lot of things it probably sais I should not realy do in the rule book (not bad things I hasten to add).
Its taken me a long time to reach my present state of mind and I am very happy I have discovered it, I thought I would find someone like minded very easily on here, I thought most people forty plus may have reached this Utopia, sadly this is far from true as my six encounters and numerous email buddies on here have proven.
I am not sure anyone will tick all the boxes, what I do know is I need to find someone that I will "want" to share life with, that has not happened for a while.
All this babble has a purpose, I hope it allows you to understand that I am sincere, genuine, honest and caring, the six dates I have had are all very keen to meet me again, two of them a little bit to keen but it is not going to happen sadly, they all repeat what I have just said, one even said I was probably the nicest guy she had ever met and couldn't understand how I was single, I am sorry this all sounds very conceited but whats the point of beating around the bush. I don't proclaim to be a stud but I am a very nice person and am very different, I am honest.
I have come to the conclusion just lately that appearance is a very very important part of a relationship, it allows you to forgive some of the boxes that are not getting ticked and, though you shouldn't ignore incompatability, physical attraction does enable you to be a little more "flexible" shall we say.
This was all a long winded way of saying that I am flicking through this place now looking at photos and saying, "she is well nice, fancy her, wow !! "and so on but I hope you understand it is not a neanderthal grunt, I am just being completely honest and looking at people who make me go bumpity bump inside.
I have no idea if we would be compatible, not a clue, I know I fancy the pants of you though and thats a good start :-)
Well, at least you know I am honest in this place that is glazed in bull s*"t.
Would love to hear from you.
Andy.
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