Love, sex, dating, blah, blah, blah: revisited

Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve had a few conversations on the topics of love, sex and dating. If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you’ll know that these are topics I’ve covered quite a lot. However, these recent conversations have compelled me to revisit the subjects as, more than ever, I’m completely, utterly, cunting perplexed by them.

A couple of weeks ago I was in a pub with a female friend of mine discussing whether we, as women, should actively chase a man we fancy and want to date. From a personal point of view, I’d love to be able to do that. I’d love to be able to say ‘I really like you and I’d like to go on a date with you sometime’. So why don’t I? My friend put it beautifully: ‘We have to look after our dignity’. I grew up believing that if women actively chased men, they were either (a) clingy and obsessive, or (b) sluts. Of course, now we live in the 21st century, equality and all that, but the mindset has been ingrained in me. There’s also the fact that I’m a fucking emotional retard with the courage of a cocking hamster. One of my major character flaws is that if someone tries to have a really serious conversation with me, I deflect with jokes. It’s how I deal with any uncomfortable situation. Another character flaw of mine is the complete inability to read subtext. On the rare occasions I’ve lost my head slightly and asked men out on dates, men who I thought fancied me, they’ve all come back with a resounding ‘no’. So, not something which has done wonders for my confidence. And are men happy with women asking them out? Or do they still like to be gentlemenly?

And then say you do get into a relationship, what then? In my blog post ‘No sex please, I’m British’, I talked about my utter confusion about sex, when it should happen in a relationship and a trillion other issues I have with the subject. One thing I do know: I’m far too old, lazy and just damn not interested in one-night stands. I was talking to a friend on Saturday regarding one-night stands. This friend has friends who are happy to go to a Polish nightclub, not being able to speak much Polish, and get off with some Polish person, who can’t speak much English, then go home and shag them. As, for them, being able to talk with one another isn’t deemed important. Fair enough, if that’s what you’re into. But surely that must be really fucking awkward in the morning? Not only do you wake up with a monster hangover, feeling like a badger’s died in your mouth, after a night of probably shit sex (see blog post ‘No sex please, I’m British’), with someone who really didn’t look like that last night in the club, they then can’t understand you when you tell them to piss off home.

I’m not saying I don’t want to have sex. I love sex. I’d just rather it be with someone I felt comfortable with. Which means dating someone for a least a little while instead of jumping into bed on the first date. Something else which attitudes have changed towards. As an adult, if you’re dating someone it’s naturally assumed you’re going to have sex with them right from the beginning of the relationship. Which would be OK if I wasn’t worried about them fucking running and screaming for the hills after catching a glimpse of my naked, wobbly body. I need to make sure I’ve snared them with my charming personality before I let them into the boudoir.

And snaring is bloody hard to do. There’s always the chance that you’ll go on a few dates with someone, and they realise there are more shitty things about you than good things. One of my favourite comedians, Jon Richardson, said once in a routine that dating would be so much easier if you saw someone you liked, gave them a laminated list of what you’re good at and what you’re shit at, and then let them decide if they want to see you or not. At least then they couldn’t complain about your flaws, because they already knew about them.

So what am I looking for? I always thought I’d find someone who was a cross-between Charlie Brooker and Ben Fogle. Weird combo, I know. Charlie Brooker for his wit, talent and humour; Ben Fogle for his sense of adventure and inherent sweetness and kindness. I suppose I want what everyone wants: someone who I can talk to, someone to hold, someone to travel and share adventures with. It’s just asking them out which is the fucking problem…