When oxford met Cambridge

So Cambridge I have written about before. We’ve met each other a few times since our first time, but we are totally in different places so we just see each other casually and consider each other friends.

Enter Oxford. Oxford is ginger (swoon). funny. Oxford educated (you know my obsession with a good education). And American (no need to explain). Yes, he gets me, my intellect, my sense of humor and my weird accent… what’s not to like about him?????

So we meet at my fav place (y’all know the one), and have some dinner. He’s charming and very funny. Albeit a little too loud and slightly arrogant (I think I may be a little arrogant also, so I can overlook this).

He also doesn’t put his hand in his pocket when ordering the first drink which irks me. Now, I’m not one for expecting a guy to pay at all. I much prefer “going Dutch” on a date. Or, if I’m late, I’ll offer to buy the first round. I don’t expect a guy to pay, but a gesture towards pretending to pay makes a difference to me.

So anyway, we seem to be doing rounds now. I’m down.

He had told me previously that he had never been to an open mic night so I suggested that we go to Cambridge’s (yes the same one I went to with the Australian). I don’t mind, if he doesn’t mind.

So we walk across to the open mic place and he’s literally power walking ahead of me. This drives me mad as shows no awareness of others. He’s starting to grate on me.

It’s only when we rock up to the open mic that I realize that he is acting this way as I am making him ridiculously nervous. For such a confident guy, my presence is effecting him. He also downs another 2 drinks and we listen to the singing. Being the musical theatre buff that I am, I know all the songs (which he seems impressed with), and am giving him the back story to all the songs. I am also getting tipsy and wanting to get up and sing. But trying hard to resist.

Between the songs, we are having the best chat and he very vocally expresses how much he likes me.

He was also super nice about all the singers who got up (even those who were struggling) and he Just turned into a lovely, lovely guy once the drinks had relaxed him.

He held my hand and encouraged me to lean against him when the soppy numbers were sung, and played with my hair.

We stayed till the end. Said goodbye to Cambridge (and his date), and Oxford waited with me for my Uber Home.

He’s defo worth seeing for a second date.

Called Cambridge when I got home to congratulate him and he said Oxford was lovely and seemed visually into me. I always preferred Oxford to Cambridge anyway 😉

Gave a guy from okCupid my Instagram account details and he saw my before and after weight loss pictures and said “you look very sexy now”. I’ve now totally lost all interest in him.

No mate. I looked just as sexy before, just different!! My weight loss (or gain), does not dictate my sexiness.

So ?

Drummer boy
Date 2

So the tinder pool was running dry and Drummer boy from Tinder 1.0 recently messaged me to reconnect.
He was a lot of fun and super interesting the first time around so I jumped at the chance.

He wanted pizza. I always want pizza. It was a match made in heaven. So I invited him to my usual place for the best pizza ever. It did not disappoint.

He looked just as cute as I remember him, with a mop of tight curly hair and strong facial features. He’s also a drummer so had nice arms (not that I was objectifying him in any way!!) ?

The venue was packed so we ordered pizza and food and searched for a seat. Once we found one, we vowed never to leave.

The pizza was good (as per usual), but what made me happiest was how impressed Drummer boy was with my rather awesome venue choice. He loved the venue, food, and drinks.

Now dear reader. Drummer boy is a actually a FB friend of mine and seemed rather disappointed when nothing spectacular was happening in order to make it into a #tindertale ….. however, the night was still young ?

After 3 hours of solid eating and drinking, his guard was down and (dare I say it), he was starting to get a little flirty.

I decided to go to the bar and get us another round of ciders and after paying for our drinks and about to walk away, some random wanker bumped into me, making me spill the drinks and smash the glasses. Within seconds, my bouncer friend was on the guy, ready to chuck him out. He had pinned him against the wall and was asking “are you alright Kim?”, “is he harassing you?”.
Wow Chris, thanks for the backup, but I’m cool. Glad he had my back though. I am given 2 new drinks and return to our seats.

So drummer boy and I were getting on super well. I think he just wanted to see me again to talk business, but I was taking any attention I could get. He wants to help me create my app ideas and I was making a Tinder date out of a job interview. Don’t judge me people. However with the number of ciders I had had already, I didn’t even care anymore.

We ended up chatting sci fi and Netflix and I ended up sharing my Netflix list with him as recommendations (I never do that).

After a while, we ended up playing on each other’s Tinder profiles. He was annoyed he didn’t get many matches, but I get loads. Side note: I do get loads of matches but maybe 1% I actually end up talking with.

So literally as he is complaining that he doesn’t get any matches, he suddenly gets a notification from Tinder that he has a new match. The excitement on his face was just adorable. He was so happy to have a match (other than me Obvs), and it was sheer glee on his face as he opened the app to see who from. We were both waiting with baited breath as he clicked to see that he had matched with….. a man!!!! A man, pretending to be a woman!!
He’s not into men. Poor drummer boy.

The cider was beginning to catch up with me so I decided to “break the seal” and pee. The line for the ladies was ridiculously long (seriously, why is this always an issue?), and I started chatting to the girl standing next to me.
She was super adorable, but very drunk.
So drunk in fact that she was having difficulty standing up properly. When it was her turn to go to the toilet, she semi dragged me in with her and asked for help !!!
While I have been dragged into my fair share of bathrooms by friends needing help with Buttons, zippers, or holding hair back. I have never been dragged in by a stranger asking me to check….. a mole between her breasts!!!!!
She told me She had only just noticed it and she was worried…. drunk but worried.
We both pulled out or phones to further inspect the mole, only to discover it was…..a black bean from her tacos which had somehow “glued” itself to her breasts!!

Crisis averted, I returned to my date… and another cider.

Having the most brilliant time. Mostly talking about Blade Runner tbh.

Come 11pm, we were both in need of chips (fries my American friends), but all of the stalls were closed. That was until I had the genius plan of using my “hey I’m a regular here” card, and went and flirted with the vegan stall guys for some food. They obliged, and I became the hero to drummer boy when I returned with the said food. Not all heroes wear capes people.

Twas nice.

The first time I used Tinder (Tinder 1.0 back in January), I met the most incredible guy from Scotland. He was smart, funny, charming, (all my usual weaknesses). The only problem was that we didn’t connect in a romantic/physical level. I’ve never been more annoyed with myself for not fancying a guy. I’ve fallen for some real scoundrels, and here was this LOVELY guy who was everything I thought I wanted, and there was just nothing….. we went on 3 separate dates, just to try and make it work (all 3 were amazing), and still nothing.

So…. back to the present.

After all the disaster dates I’d been on recently, I decided to reapproach The Scot to see if a stint of crappy men made him more appealing to my weird taste. I sent him a message (see previous post here), and he agreed to take me on a bike ride. I’m not going to lie…. I was excited. My friends were excited. My mum was excited. The Scot was the perfect man in so many ways.

We met at his apartment and I was impressed that he was a home owner and seemed to mostly have his shit together. As he opened the door, his hands, face and arms were covered in oil and he was servicing his spare bike for me to ride. I’m not sure if this was a planned display of sexiness or not. I’m pretty sure there is a similar scene in every great porno, with the mechanic covered in oil. I should have found this hot as hell (he does have nice arms), but my libido was dead and it did nothing (yes, I am annoyed at myself also).

So he gives me a tour of the flat (it’s cute), shows me the curtains in his bedroom (this isn’t a euphemism), and makes me a drink.
We catch up for a couple hours talking about his planned trip to China, his job, his life in general. I’m just talking as much as possible to avoid going on the bikes.
Now dear reader, I’m an above average cyclist. I can’t do wheelies, but can get from A to B quite competently. The problem however is London motorists are notorious “bicycle murderers”, and frankly going on the roads in this city really scares me. I was happy for the conversation to keep flowing in order to avoid the inevitable cycle hell.

At this point, he wants to show me the roof garden, with its 360 views of London. Again, any other situation, this would have given me goosebumps (I love a good view of the city).
The view was incredible, and he points out all the sights. He also rather magically produces 3 juggling balls from his pockets. I had noticed them in his apartment earlier (he has a playful side), but hadn’t commented. He then went on to try and teach me to juggle.  I was shit. We did however hav a beautiful “Ghost” moment, where he stood behind me and wrapped his arms through mine to help me get the hand motion right…. what’s wrong with my body guys? This should have been hot!!! 🙁

So, the inevitable happens and he asks if I’m ready to get on the bikes. Fine. It’s time.
I brought my helmet, and a padded seat cushion (I have a gentle ass), and I secretly wish I had stabilizers.

He can tell I’m nervous so he says we will go to a park just at the end of the road. This guy is such a good guy that as soon as we get to the end of the road, he gets off the bike and walks his bike across the zebra crossing, just so I don’t have to cycle across a busy street. Girls, he’s perfect. I’m disappointed in myself also.

So in the park, he goes over how the gears work. His super fancy bike cost more than my car (which I bought on eBay), so you bet I’m paying attention. I also like learning and being taught something new by a smart Ivy League equivalent is usually hot. In this instance, it felt like a sibling.

So to “warm up”, we cycled around the football pitch. We laughed. We smiled. We talked about movies, etc. he asked if I was ready to try a road yet. I wasn’t. So we went round the pitch again. And again. And again. We probably went round about 35 times in total. The footballers had stopped playing their game and were now just watching us and cheering us on every time I managed to change speed and gain some speed. The children in the play park next to the pitch had taken to betting on who would “win”. I was white bike and the cheers of “go white bike”, “white bike girl” and just “white girl”. This defo fueled my competitive edge. I felt like I was doing the Tour De France. I sneakily looked over at The Scot, and he was trying so hard to hide his mortification in the circumstances. He is a semi pro cycler and was clearly embarrassed by the entire thing. But he saw I was looking, and he just smiled the widest smile.

After a few more laps. We did a little stop by a pond. Where I showed off the Latin plant names for all the plants I knew. And we talked about butterflies (I have a phobia), and bees (I don’t have a phobia), and everything under the sun.
It started to get late, (and I decide to save him the mortification of cycling around in a circle past the footballers again) so we drop the bikes back at his. Neither of us want this day to end, so we decide to go for a walk along the River and grab a coffee. He does what any good guy does in Starbucks when offering to buy me cake (my weakness), and asks the ingredients for every slice to see if I can eat it. I can’t. But he buys me ice tea and we sit outside enjoying the rest of the evening.
Conversation flows so easily with The Scot that neither of us realized where the time had gone and the staff had closed up and removed all of the outside tables (including ours). They now needed our chairs.

It was the most abrupt ending to the most perfect afternoon. And no, reader. I still don’t fancy him. But I’ve made a new friend

Did you know that it was possible to be in such a state of ennui, that time stops still?
That your entire life force is being sucked away from you as your brain cells die, and you find yourself counting bubbles in your drink Just so you remember to breath? No? neither did I Dear Reader. Neither did I!!

I had high hopes for the gardener. His sense of humor seemed on point. His profile was cute, with just the right amount of edginess. His pictures showed him skiing around the world. An athlete I hear you cry! We all know how Kim likes a fit body.
He gardens and volunteers at his local community garden also so he has philanthropic tendencies with a dose of humbleness. We all also know how much Kim likes a gardener. Alan Tirchmarsh and Monty Dom sandwich any day. A man who knows his heuchera from his herbaceous borders is damn sexy. And I defy you to say otherwise.
As you saw in my last hashtag, the picture he sent of him handling a courgette seemed to suggest a playful sense of humor (or vegan dick pic as some of your suggested). Sadly, the comments on the most boring Facebook page in the world has more of a sense of humor or playfulness than this man. It turns out that the picture had nothing to do with humor, but everything to do with his prize winning courgette from the local “County Fair” competition!!
I just stared blankly at him, waiting for the punchline. There wasn’t one.

So the evening started in my fav local eatery (you all know the one). I met The Gardener outside and gave him a little hug as a hello. He just looked bored out of his mind and really unimpressed with both me and the venue. Now, I’ve taken a lot of people to this eatery and it’s anything but unimpressive, so that left me.
Every insecurity I’ve ever had about myself came to light and I started to rack my brains to find out where I had maybe mislead this guy in my online profile. Maybe I was too tall? Maybe I was too fat? Maybe I wasn’t cute enough? Maybe I was too bold with my dress choice? Maybe my bra was showing? Maybe he didn’t like career women? Maybe my confidence came across as arrogance? Maybe I had used the wrong word in a sentence? Maybe he knows that sometimes I have to double check to ensure I’ve used the correct “effect/affect”?
I literally dissected my every flaw in the 2 minutes it took to get to the bar and couldn’t work out what was so unimpressive about me….. until precisely 332 seconds later when he told me one of the main perks of his career was that he just found out he received 75% off all rail travel in the country. That’s 75% off. That means he only pays 25% of a ticket. He then went on to explain to me exactly what 25% means.
“So if a ticket is £100. I only pay £25!!!! That’s 25%”
Me “wow, that’s a great saving”
Him “I don’t think you understand. So, if a ticket price is listed as £10. I only pay £2.50”
Me “yeah I get it”
Him “are you sure?”

And then it hit me. The problem he had with me was that I was smart. I could work out 25% of something without his help!!!
Hand over that Mensa application boys, my IQ is coming to get you.

So I got my cider (grace a dieu) and bought him a beer, and we sat outside to enjoy the last of the sunshine. Not before I managed to say hi (or ciao and bonjour) to everyone I knew in the Venue (great seeing you Massimo Guasti), just to prove that not only was I friendly, but I could also work out 25% of something in multiple languages.

Did you know that you can’t make your brain explode just by wishing it? It turns out that all the Tony Robbins “if you think it, it will happen” BS, isn’t real.

After an hour of him talking about his patio garden, I was bored. Don’t get me wrong, I was impressed by the 32 vegetables he grew on his balcony for about 3 minutes. Then I was hoping the conversation would move on…. it didn’t. He then started showing me multiple pictures of every stage of each vegetables growth cycle like I was a child!!! I told him the only thing I watch religiously on tv was gardeners world, and while all my friends were monthly subscribers to “Take That monthly”, I was a 12 year old with a subscription to “Gardeners world magazine” and “succulents and how to love them”. This isn’t actually even a joke. I had over 300 cacti at one point with my own greenhouse to house them. I wonder why I had no friends in school.
But even I was bored by this conversation and patronizing photo journalism.
Every time I tried to steer the conversation away from his balcony, we somehow ended up back on it again. I’m a pretty good conversationalist but I Just couldn’t get this man past his passion for horticulture. I started counting the vowels on the label of cider and creating my own version of Countdown in my head.

He asked if I wanted to get food. I didn’t. Y’all know this fat girl loves to eat but I was so scared that if we ordered food, it would prolong the agony of this date for even longer.

I started to strategize a way out. As I didn’t want to be the douche (not that kind of douche David Wildman!), who pulls her phone out on a date, I started a fake coughing fit. I mean, I do have a respiratory infection so it wasn’t entirely fake….. ok it was. I started such a hard coughing fit, that he was concerned for my well being and went to get a glass of water (the Academy Award goes to…).
As soon as he was out of sight, I whipped out my phone. Posted a “bored” message on fb, and arranged for my friend to call me in exactly 30 minutes with a dog related emergency.
As he returned with my water (and a beer for himself…wanker!!), I resumed my fit of malinger and started to make excuses.
This is where he finally changed the subject to darts!!!!
I know nothing of darts, I care nothing of darts. The only “dart” I was currently interested in was getting out of here.
He talked and talked and talked and talked. The only thing I learned was that darts always ended on a double (not a double shot as I hoped for!). He told me probably the most hilarious story in his repertory (about how he got his Captain of the darts team nickname), I feigned interest and pondered another coughing fit.
He finally got the hint that I needed to go home because I was ill, and we made a rather swift exit. I showed him to his bicycle and pretended to walk home. What I really did was hid behind a car, called my friend, waited for him to leave and circled back to the venue to get food!! I looked too pretty to waste the evening.

I listened to jazz, had some great food, sexy cocktails, met with a prior Tinder date for a chat, and bought random boys beers (well, they give me free brownies so not totally random boys).

I’m not sure how much more of this Tindering I can do . Do matchmakers (like in Mulan) exist?