Dating and Me

It is nearly two months since I wrote my blog on asexuality and I have written drafts of a follow up entry but nothing felt right. However, I decided it was about time I put my fingers back on the keys and write.

Eighteen years ago today I went on a blind date, I will probably always remember it was St Patrick’s Day 2001 for the following reasons. My friend Dianne had decided to set me up on a blind date, which in my years at university nobody else had tried to do or do since then. I was living in Aberdeen in the final year of my degree and had only had my first kiss the previous autumn at almost twenty two with a guy that stalked me by text for around three months and other things I do not wish to write about. To say I was nervous was an understatement as did not have a clue what the etiquette was for such an event.

We had been texting for a couple of days and agreed to meet that evening for a meal. All I knew about him was that he was 23 and Dianne had known him for a couple of years…oh and like me had glasses! I looked at my clothes and thought what do I wear…I don’t want to give out the wrong signals and not sure I want anyone in my life in that way. In the end I went for a long black skirt, grey jumper, boots and black coat. Just as I put my jumper on Dianne text me – “please don’t kill me after you have met him”. As if my nerves were not already in a mess and what was she meaning by this cryptic code!? Where was the reassuring good luck message? If she was sending that to me…what was she sending him?

I remember meeting Irish guys on my way to our rendezvous point, and part of me just wanted to go out with them rather than face this unknown person. I arrived five-ten minutes early (I was OCD with time and numbers so couldn’t be late at all for things) to see a man fumbling on his phone – 6ft tall, short dark hair and glasses – I realised it was him. My instincts said ‘run’ as still not too late. However, before I could my phone went off, it was him texting was I there yet as our eyes met. This put me off further as I was early and I knew from Dianne he was shy but this felt like someone ready to pounce or stalk me.

After the formalities were over and done with we were trying to decide where to eat – I love Italian, Thai and Moroccan food but wasn’t fussy. He led me round the back streets of Aberdeen to the biggest dump of a pub I had ever seen. I asked as we arrived if they had a lady’s toilet to which I was told ‘er I’m not sure if they do or not’! Where was I…not the notorious Grill Bar but one its equally appalling siblings by that response. My heart sank, how could someone bring a woman here for a date. It did not get any better as I felt like all the other men were staring at me for being in their pub. I declined anything alcoholic and went with water, after what had happened with the stalker I did not want any repeats.

Conversation was very hard, we had almost zero things in common…only he had graduated from the university department I was at and our mutual friend! It is almost ironic that Mr PMS I mentioned in my previous blog had exactly the same personality and interests…I have learnt my lessons believe me and will not let history repeat! I agreed to go onto another bar but I was allowed to choose so went to one which a friend managed so I could feel safer and politely tell him it was going nowhere as clearly did not get that. We were opposites in many respects – I love music, he only really liked heavy metal at a push; he preferred to spend Saturdays playing Dungeons and Dragons, I liked visiting art galleries and museums or going for walks in the countryside, to concerts and plays…! In this case opposites would not be attracting each other and I would not be killing Dianne but more demanding why she thought we’d click at all!

In the eighteen years since I have hardly been on any dates, even Mr PMS only managed one proper date with me to the cinema to see his choice of movie! I was told around twenty years ago that I am ‘far too independent for my own good‘ by a male friend. Perhaps that is true but being hurt and asexual means I have never looked for love and find the idea of ever finding romantic love more and more meant for others but not me. I do not judge others or have attraction as I am asexual so the idea of meeting someone through online dating makes zero sense to me. Equally, through this experience would I really trust someone to set me up with another person? Other friends do not date and that has helped me come to terms with this aspect of my life as slowly accepted I am just a girl that loves but not in a romantic love kinda way.

© Fi S. J. Brown

 

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First Dates

I am not a lover of reality television, but decided to try watch a dating one called ‘First Dates’ as one of the participants like me has alopecia and was interested how the woman would be shown to their audience as well as how it impacted upon her and her life.

The lady in question was called Eve, much younger than me and a beauty therapist from Wales. I felt her tears as she told her story and felt proud of her for telling it in such a public way. She approached the topic with her date early on, which if had been me this would be not a topic for a first date even if for TV and led to her removing her wig. I have to say she looked so much happier and confident without it, the style and jet black didn’t suit her at all. She had a tattoo on her scalp with a few patches of hair (I have neither) but seemed to fit her personality as shown on the screen. The confidence she gave out was incredible and her date was lovely about it all; in the end he was too nice for her (why do some women do that I have no idea). The media and people on social media I have seen have been very supportive and positive generally, which has made me cry a bit.

I have been wearing a wig for over twenty five years now and could never have done this so fair play to Eve. However, it has gone from seeing me naked if saw me without it to just part of what makes me who I am; only last night my best friend and I were discussing what colour and style I should try next time, which I could never have done a few years back as felt shamed that my body killed its own hair cells like they were a disease. Every time the wind blows heavily I worry it will blow away, which can lead to panic attacks and why I always have a scarf on me, but it fits my personality anyway. Being bullied for my hair loss and wearing a wig in my teens are still massive scars for me, which I don’t know if time will fully ever heal. I maybe able to take selfies and share some on social media but that took therapy and a huge effort to get there, going from an ogre to a rag doll, to rewire my brain that I am not ugly or a freak to the love child of Frankenstein’s monster and Hunchback of Notre Dame. One day I would love to do a charity walk without mine but for now I will plough on finding new confidence daily. This free spirit is learning to fly, the phoenix I will forever be, who needs hair anyway…not me!

© Fi S. J. Brown

Style over substance

Why is it is these days we judge by first impressions? The look or visual cues, rather then informational or intellectual content is lost. Instead it is the package or presentation of the messenger above the actual message.

Take modern music, the video, it is a representation or interpretation of a particular song that often overpowers the meaning of that song. However, 9 out of 10 times these days, if the song is mainstream it feels devolved of any creativity or soul. I feel, sense and see great works of art with music that the artist’s soul painted with their notes and rhythms.

With job hunting, companies want people to be part of their brand so have to look the part. Gone are the days of employing people due to their skills and intelligence, instead do they fit in with our company or can we mould them into being what we want and need. Style over substance. All sadly decided within the first fifteen seconds of meeting them.

Or take dating another human. How often is it the outer shell that judgement is based on, if they are “sexy” or not, it has become shallow. There is now no allowing time to get to know someone, perhaps as a friend first, and learning to accept them for who they are. Instead judge and jury on how they present themselves and not their actions.

Do designer clothing really say someone is more beautiful because they wear them? Saving up so can splash out to look like a princess at a ball. Even if catch Prince Charming’s eye, how to afford to keep up this new look presented if it is all about the outside and not what is inside? Clothing should show character and individuality, not identikit clones.

Winning some money on the lottery and buying a new house, not thinking of how to afford the monthly bills, but want to look the part with an expensive house as gives an impression to strangers, families and friends that this is what success means. Would paying off existing bills and living debt free not be far more a success and praiseworthy?

A first impression is just that. It is denying our instincts to judge someone on appearance alone, as their actions tell how they really are. Love does not have to blind. Even the greatest artworks need more than a glance to be truly appreciated.

© Fi S. J. Brown