reasons why I'm single (part 4 of a 78 part series)

I admit that most of the reasons in this series are to do with my social ineptitude; but once in a while it isn't my fault. Every so often I get to blame someone else's social ineptitude.

I went on a blind date a short while ago. Until recently the very idea of that statement would have brought a little sick up in my mouth - but I've given up worrying about these things now and I was at a loss for something to do.

I say it was a blind date but actually I had met the woman before. I knew her to be incredibly intelligent, attractive, complex... unreliable. So when I arrived at the restaurant right on time I wasn't surprised to receive a text from her saying she was running late and I should just go on in and wait. That's never a good look - the sitting at a restaurant table by yourself knocking back glass after glass of sparkling spring water; so I didn't. I checked at the desk to make sure the table was in order and, since it was a pleasant evening, waited outside for my date to arrive.

While I was waiting I people watched. There are three restaurants very close together at that end of Coleraine and they were all really busy. I watched an arguing couple arrive and make their way into one of the restaurants - the wife ordering her husband not to make a scene "like the last time." I watched a little old lady, so stooped that her face seemed inches from the ground, struggle to get out of a volvo - the young driver (her son?) making no effort to help her and seemingly growing impatient at her difficulty. I watched a car arrive at some speed and cruise round the car park looking for a space. There was only one and a mercedes in the next bay was over the lines, making the available bay tight - maybe too tight. The driver thought it worth a try anyway and began to squeeze into the space. 'She'll never make it at that angle' I thought aloud. She didn't - but that didn't stop her trying. Seconds later there was a gut wrenching screech as her black car scraped along the metallic silver paint job of the Mercedes.

There was a pause. Then, instead of pulling out and trying a better angle, the driver pushed further forward and the screeching started up again. My teeth were on edge just watching it from 20 yards away. Eventually the driver gave up and pulled out to change the angle. It was then that I noticed I hadn't taken a breath for a while - so I took a quick gulp of air. The driver changed the angle and went in for a second attempt. And got it completely wrong again. The screeching began even sooner than the previous attempt and sounded, if anything, louder and more painful. And there was no pause this time. The driver pushed on through until she had squeezed her little car completely into the space - and left a huge scar in its expensive neighbour.

The stooped old lady had witnessed the whole thing, and with a look that suggested she may know the owner of the Mercedes, took off surprisingly quickly to inform them that their car had been abused. In some cruel, twisted way I was enjoying the spectacle and began to hope my date would be a bit later so I could see what happened next. What did happen next was that the driver of the little black car was clearly spooked by the old lady sprinting for the restaurant, and pulled out of the space, scraping up the side of the Merc one last time - in reverse - before taking off round the back of the building. Seconds later a large, red faced man came running out of the restaurant and practically began to wail when he saw the side of his car. The old lady was at his side and was looking around, searching for the black car. I too looked to see where it was hidden. It was then that I saw it, parked round the side of the restaurant, and my date was getting out of the drivers seat.

With barely a flick of her hair and a deep breath she made her way to the restaurant, her long elegant strides seemingly effortless, even on some of the highest heels I'd ever seen. As I met her by the door she proffered her cheek for a kiss and apologised for being late, saying she'd "had a little trouble finding a parking space."

I was dumbstruck. We went on to have a lovely meal, full of incredible conversation - and all I could think of was what she'd done to that car - and just how easily she was able to act like nothing had happened. There is no doubt that she is an amazing person, and whoever she chooses to share her life with will be one incredibly fortunate man - but I knew there and then it wouldn't be me. How could I go out with someone knowing that the more I saw her the more chance there'd be that the car beside the only available parking space would someday be mine.

Friday the 14th - Or reasons why I'm single (part 3 of a 78 part series)

I will begin this post by pointing out that I actually don't believe in luck. I honestly don't. Sometimes I tell someone I've been unlucky, or sometimes I wish someone good luck - but when it comes down to it I believe things happen for reasons known or unknown. Life can be easy or sometimes life can cruel - but never lucky or unlucky.
Even if I did believe in luck I was under the impression that Friday 13th was supposed to be the unlucky one.

But let me tell you about Friday the 14th.

It is the most horrendous day ever conceived.

On Friday the 14th January 2011 I...

a) got caught speeding less than a mile away from home. I had been meeting up with some friends from a previous school and was on my way back when a speed camera in a white van caught me doing 50mph in the 40mph zone. I wasn't in a rush to get anywhere - I'm not a fast driver normally - I have no idea what happened or why I was speeding - I just was. Just a day earlier I had been giving my girlfriend a lot of stick about the fact that she had just been caught speeding. I boasted about how I've never had any penalty points on my license and how I don't speed. I guess that's what they call divine retribution.

b) got a lovely letter from the Inland Revenue informing me that they would be looking over my tax and income details with a view to me paying more tax. I don't make any money! How can I owe more tax?!

c) got another lovely letter from the Inland Revenue (a different department though) asking for nearly £200 of National Insurance I owe them because I didn't tell them that, because I don't earn over a certain level, I am exempt from paying the extra NI contributions. Technically I am exempt from the extra charges - but I needed to tell them that. And I didn't. So could I just send them a cheque and make everyone happy.

d) Found out that my girlfriend's ex had turned up on her door that morning at some unearthly hour declaring his devotion for her and showing himself full of remorse that he hadn't known just how ready he was to commit to her after all. Oh what a fool he'd been not to see that they were meant for each other.
Oh what a fool I looked as she decided she needed to give him another chance and waved me goodbye.

I hate Friday the 14th. Money issues I can deal with - well to an extent. The speeding thing is a set back - but I'll survive. But I took the whole being dumped thing quite badly. As any of my friends will tell you.
I suppose I just thought that, for once in my life, I'd actually found the one. She seemed perfect - not that she was perfect, just that she was perfect for me; meaning that her imperfections fitted mine in a good way. If you know what I mean.
A day earlier I been getting cold feet. My commitment-phobia started to kick in. But I pulled myself together and realised - much like her ex - that actually I could see a future with her - and it looked good. Unlike her ex though I am incapable of the big romantic gesture - and unlike her ex, she didn't choose me.

So I'm back to being single again. And this time I'm blaming Friday 14th.

reasons why i'm single (part 2 of a 78 part series)

I am so smooth sometimes it hurts. Take the other day for example. I was filming a wedding locally. Everything was going well and I was getting along royally with one of the bridesmaids. We were making serious eye contact throughout the day and as the evening party approached I had made up my mind that I was going to save the last dance for her.

One of the services I offer in my wedding packages is called the Diary Room. That is where I find myself a spare, quiet room in the Hotel (usually a broom cupboard), set up a camera and allow guests to leave private messages for the happy couple. On this occasion the bridesmaid offered to help me set up (result!)

As we worked we made small talk – and for a change I did pretty well. Pretty well that is until it all went wrong.

With the room set up the bridesmaid prepared to leave the first message. As she was sitting down she looked up, smiled sweetly and said, “When you’re editing this you will be sure to make me look pretty.” Now, I wasn’t really concentrating, I was adjusting the settings on the camera. So when I thought I heard her say “…make me look prettiER” and replied with an ultra charming, “Ah, now we both know that’s not possible.” You can understand my surprise when she didn’t speak to me again that night. The whole thing was captured on film – but you’ll understand why I don’t youtube it.

Ah well, I tried.

reasons why i'm single (part 1 of a 78 part series)

I’m a people watcher. I watch people and come up with back stories for them. I find it amusing. Amusing, but not always accurate.

You see, while I like to believe that I am good at reading people, I have one fatal flaw – I can never decipher signals that are aimed at me.

It’s a long term issue. I remember years ago spending most of the summer with a group of friends. There was one girl in particular who was an outrageous flirt. She flirted with the guys in the group, she flirted with the guys we met up with, she flirted with the guys we passed on the street; it seemed to me that she would flirt with anything with a pulse. What irked me incredibly at the time was the fact that she never flirted with me. Not once.

I gave her every opportunity. We drank reservoirs of coffee together, walked miles of sandy coastline, took long drives through beautiful scenery, we had three hour conversations - mainly about guys and what she was looking for in one – I had become the dreaded “friend.”

Well, after a couple of months I headed off to university in Scotland and our three hour conversations became thirteen page letters (obviously this all took place before email jumped off nerds bridge into mainstream culture) I remember, having read a letter in which she described herself as an outrageous flirt, plucking up the courage to ask why she never flirted with me. The reply, a week later, was incredulous. She, I read, had spent eight solid weeks flirting with me. She had overcome a dislike of coffee, battled wind exposure on the Atlantic coastline and overdosed on travel sickness pills for three hour drives on tiny winding roads. She had described as many of my qualities as possible as the qualities she desired in a man. She had taken every opportunity she could to put her hand on my arm, brush the back of my head, stare deeply into my eyes…

I felt a bit silly.

A decade later and I still haven’t learned. One of the baristas at Starbucks left recently. I know some people who know me just sighed and raised their eyes heavenward at the mention of a barista. I am always making emotional attachments to baristas and waitresses. I think it goes back to my Tim Horton days. Anyway, on her last day working before taking a few weeks holiday before returning stateside we were chatting. She was telling me about all the things she was going to miss about Northern Ireland, she said that she was going to miss the food – how she had put on a pile of weight.

Now you know and I know that was a signal for me to tell her that she didn’t need to lose weight – actually she really didn’t. You and I both know that she was waiting for me to compliment her so we could begin trading compliments. We both know that in all the months I had been chatting with her, the fact that she had been laughing at all my attempts to be witty bore no relation to how funny she actually found me. If I asked I bet you’d be able to tell me what the prolonged eye contact and coy smiles actually meant. And you and I both know that I was completely clueless of all of this at the time.

So when she said that she had put on weight what did Mr Charming reply?
“Ah, don’t worry about it. You’ll soon lose all that.”

I know you’re sighing and shaking your head in a resigned manner – I know I am.