DREWspective

It turns out that I’d left this as a placeholder post, which I haven’t added anything to yet. I’ll briefly go over what happened now.

On Tuesday 5th, I went to yet another speed dating event in London. The venue was the 101 Bar near Tottenham Court Road: a venue I’d been to twice before, and a very good one for this kind of event.

The turnout was very poor on the girls’ side, even for a 20s event: there were only 11 girls to 17 guys. The good news was that the quality of the women was much more consistent than at the other events I’d been to; you pretty much knew what to expect.

I was hesitant to tick anybody this time around, but I’d met this very attractive French girl whom I seemed to get on with. As well as ticking her, I’d ticked four other girls whom I wouldn’t mind seeing again.

The next day, having convinced myself I’d get nothing after a long, hard stretch at work (and accidentally getting on a fast train to St Albans, before heading back on a train that missed my stop), I was rewarded with one match. Except it wasn’t the French girl; she’d decided to follow her less interesting mate, which was a damn shame.

But like all of my previous "matches", the match hasn’t responded to my friendly introductory email.

I’m certainly thinking that speed dating isn’t ever going to work out as well as I’d like. The girls don’t take it seriously at all, and in the end most of them are just after trophies. Whatever you do, don’t expect it to be any different to going to a bar or a night club to meet women; you’ll get the same results. Anyone who says otherwise is either a) a girl or b) good at pulling in night clubs.

I’ve talked about it a fair bit on DREWspective already, but as with a lot of things I talk about a lot, it’s an important subject for me. Friends are the one most important thing that has been missing in my life, and it pisses me off because I could have gone so much further with them.

Don’t get me wrong: I have friends, and I used to have a lot more. Or at least, I thought I had them. Around 90% of the people I thought were friends turned out to be bad friends; around 8% of the rest were people that I somehow managed to drive away. I am grateful for the few people who have stuck around long enough, though. Being my friend is one of the most challenging things you’ll ever undertake.

Here I’m comparing my definition of a good friend with that of a bad friend. Some of my points you’ll agree with; some you won’t. Either way, I would like to hear your views and maybe some comparisons of your own.

Following from my rather emotional weblog entry last time, I thought about the amount of Facebook contacts I’ve gotten rid of in one fell swoop.

People are (metaphorically) like trees, with their relationships with other people like branches. Having a lot of branches isn’t for everybody, yet that’s what society teaches us to strive for. Some people concentrate on having a stronger foundation, and having only a few, strong branches.

What happened last week was like pruning dead or infected branches from the trunk—people who weren’t real friends to begin with, and were really part of someone else’s already overcrowded and blooming tree.

As with real plants, there are times when you have to remove connections to further yourself, or to free yourself from bad situations. Some of your branches could be doing nothing but producing bad fruit, or producing nothing at all. Some branches just weigh you down, or get in your way.

The person who I decided to cut myself away from was a great friend, let’s not get things out of perspective. She was someone who did things for me that every other girl was far too scared and girl-like to do, and every other peer was far too chickenshit to provide. I will always be grateful for that.
But she was also someone who was part of what I call the “everybody army”: someone who became, spoke for and sided with “everybody” else.

As much as this person was close to my heart, this was someone who would kick me and gloat when I’m down. I know this, because they did.

This is the time of year when such decisions should be made anyway, and the sooner one makes these decisions the better. 2008 is going to be a fresh start.

I asked this question on deviantArt a long time ago, after one of many speed dating events gone wrong. I’d been called a “nice guy” or “great guy” after asking for feedback from the girls.

(If you get any kind of feedback from a girl, be very grateful.)

Anyway, I received the usual spiel about nice guys from many other members of deviantArt. But I’ll never forget, as long as I live, one member’s response—it went something like this:

“it means they’re worried you’ll find out how shallow and boring they really are.”

I don’t know about you, but that shit is ballin’! Seriously, it’s one of the deepest statements I’ve ever heard, let alone this year. Big up whoever said it, although there’s no way of finding out.

Once again I mustered up the courage to talk to a girl, on the way home from work. We got talking after some initial confusion, and I became lost in her eyes… well, I was secretly trying to get her number. (Unfortunately I’m still at Level -1 of the dating game.)

Briefly talking to start with, she had a positive spin on the "nice guy" phenomenon. Apparently the term can be used in different contexts, and the meaning can be interpreted through their body language. There’s an area I’m unfamiliar with, and most people could do well to learn about it. In this times of false advertisements, lists of adjectives and textbook one-liners, body language is probably the most reliable means of communication.

When a girl calls someone (you) a "nice guy", look at what she’s doing. If she’s moving away - and that happens a fair bit - then apparently she likes you on a friendship level and nothing more.
If she’s moving closer, apparently it means "you’re a nice guy… a very very nice guy…" and smiles will follow for hours.

The most unusual thing I’ve heard yet is that apparently guys call girls "nice girls" too. Now I’ve heard everything.