A roller coaster year of internet dating

I recently acquired Skype – yes I know this makes me a bit of a Johnny come lately on the technology front, a bit like the last dinosaur realising that the ice age was about to start, but bear with me OK?

And so I found myself one Sunday evening, as one does, chatting to a friend from Canada. Of course this did require a bit of time juggling – I was in contemplative evening mode (glass of wine in hand) while he was still warming up for his afternoon salsa class (don’t ask).

He’s very dear to me and we go back a long way but he was in a melancholic space and this was a bit tricky for me because I was feeling rather upbeat.

I think this is the curse of empathy: even when you feel down yourself, you put on your happy face for your friend who is more down! Or when you feel up you allow yourself to settle into a more neutral space – like a soufflé settles before being served (it still has body but it doesn’t intimidate the diner).

So what was Andre’s problem? Well he had just had another run in with a man he really feels for – they were getting close again after a bit of a hiatus in their friendship – and then the guy got cold feet again.

This man, dear reader, has had cold feet so often he could cross the ice cap without shoes. I felt a mixture of compassion and frustration – “Just move on,” I wanted to shriek at poor Andre, but I know what it’s like when someone has their hooks in you and you flounder like a fish on a line.

But it also got me thinking about me (funnily) and my year of living dangerously – which is how I think about the risks I have taken this year with dating, especially through that evil, yet compelling monster, the internet.

I have had some really weird experiences – men who did not show up for dates, men who talked about themselves through a whole evening, men who fell in love overnight, (heterosexually) married men looking for a bit on the side, men who declared they were happy with friendship and then never ever returned another call.

Of course there was even a bit of real, old fashioned, emotion from my side as I nearly fell in love with a younger man. Now “nearly falling in love” is for me the equivalent of marrying and having children for other mortals – you know how risk and vulnerability averse I am. It didn’t work out and now we are “friends” – though heaven knows, the friendship heap is ripe for a clear-out and really can’t cope with another well meaning dud.

But recently I had the oddest experience of all. It revolved around a “hook up”, that sexual version of a “take out” so revered and perfected by us homosexuals.

“I will be in your city this weekend,” he said.

“Great, I’ll meet you at your hotel at 3,” said I, ever ready for a bit of legover (hmm, alarmingly close to leftover). This was followed by a few risqué text messages, getting the fire going, as it were.

At 2.30 I called to say I was leaving home for his hotel (it wasn’t that far but I am rather punctual and I think being late for a sex date is so uncool).

He then told me he had not in fact left home! The back story to all this is that this was the third hook up which mysteriously dissolved into excuses, lost cell phones, broken down cars and good intentions.

Well, all I can say is, I gave this man the shove – elegantly of course (I sent him a text in which I told him he liked the chase and not the kill and to please delete my number as I was doing with his) – and moved along.

And so this brings me, much like the final scenes of many family-orientated sitcoms, to the moral of the tale. And what I have to share with you, my loyal fans, is that I still have not lost hope.

I still believe in love, I still think there are good men out there. I remain convinced it will still happen for me, and my self-esteem is still intact enough to refuse to allow myself be treated like dirt by anyone.

Yes, the happy pills may have kicked in, but this is actually the real me speaking. It’s been a roller coaster of a year but, hell, I’ve enjoyed the ride.