Welcome to the next long overdue edition of low key amusing disasters that make up Hannah’s very mild dating life.  All of these encounters are now six months’ old, some even longer, so buckle up for a rose tinted look into the past friends. I promise to not leave it so long between drinks next time.

Sculptor
I guess if I’m honest, it didn’t really matter how wonderful or amazing the sculptor turned out to be. He was my first foray back into dating after having my little heart low key stomped on (not to mention my ego damaged as well ) earlier in 2017, so he was always going to be a test run. Not much more to say other than a series of ticks and crosses.
Creative. Tick.
Worldly. Tick.
Hair cut different (read: worse) than his pics. Cross.
Kid he hadn’t mentioned before we caught up. Cross. (Caveat here: a kid is not a cross. Not mentioning you have a kid when there is a lot of back and forth texting is)
Compliments my eyes. Tick.
Suggests to catch up again Tick.
Never responds to my week later message about falling over in the snow (you had to be there). Cross.
End game.

Shy artist
I will say labelling him as a shy artist might be somewhat misleading. If I had to guess, I’d say he wasn’t so much shy as couldn’t get a word in during the couple of hours in which, upon reflection, I dominated all of the conversation. In my defence he did leave long pauses between conversational points, which I felt the need to fill because I am me and SILENCE KILLS. Overdramatic? Yes. But still, this poor dude didn’t stand a chance against my never ending barrage of conversation, and neither did the option of us going on a second date.

The clothes folder
Apart from the fact this guy was in an open relationship where he described his partner as a “housemate I share a bed with” (when I pushed him to find out how she would describe him, he said “oh, maybe as her primary partner” which sounds a bit nicer than his description tbh, but whatever works), this dude was most memorable because of this clothes folding, as his name suggests. After a couple of dates, I invited him back to my place, and, as Elaine Benes would say, “yada yada yada”. After getting up to get some water, I came back into my room to find he had neatly folded all of our clothes up and placed them on my chair. Bless! We never really spoke again, but this stays one of the sweetest and weirdest actions I’ve seen in the bedroom.

Genuine artist round two
Some of you may remember the “genuine artist” from the last post (if not, read here!), and well, I’m not ashamed to say he made a repeat appearance. After reading about himself in previous blog, some mutual name calling ensued, followed by some mutual apologizing, followed by some mutual flirting, and eventually mutual sex.  It all crashed again when I couldn’t take not knowing what the future held, and he couldn’t take my not taking not knowing. I blocked him on my phone, and when he tried to text and I never responded, he unfollowed me from Instagram. Which is how you know it’s really over in this day and age.

Musician and dog walker (and p overzealous gent)
This guy lasted all of an hour long date, after which I knew I wasn’t into him and responded to all of his many follow up texts (that ranged from “would love to see you again” to “OK but what about even just something casual” to “I’m making brunch at my house, would you like to come?” and a Facebook friend request) with “sorry I’m not ready to be dating” which is the equivalent of “I am not into you” from girls in their 30s.

Dallas
Dallas gets a real name because Dallas is a real gem! But that’s all Dallas gets written about him because we are still real life friends and Facebook friends and Dallas doesn’t deserve to have everyone knowing his business. But I can assure you only positive, glowing things would be written if I were to write. So if you are reading this, “Hi Dallas!” *waves*

Genuine artist round three
“Oh my god!” I hear you all say exasperatedly, “again?! Will she never learn?”. Hmm, I probably won’t learn, but I’m going to blame this one on drugs. After taking LSD for the first time (which by the way, how had I made it to 31 and NOT taken it? I think this is an Australian thing – feel free to contact me to discuss this), I felt the strong need to contact him and tell him (only because psychedelics are this “thing” OK? OK), obviously while still on my trip.  Cut a long story short and after a bit of arguing and accusing each other of being terrible human beings (read above where I didn’t respond to his text), we ended up back around the dinner table and back in bed together. Not necessarily in that order. After some more arguing and more sex, finally one morning we walked out of his apartment, his arm around my shoulders with his breakfast broccoli in hand (no idea, don’t ask), and we kissed goodbye, went off to our separate work days, and mutually never contacted each other again. Pretty civil after all that, really.

Honourable mentions
Shout out to the two under 25s who have featured in the last twelve-months-plus but can’t really count as guys I’ve dated (mainly cause we didn’t go on a date at all. Go figure). One I still get to call a friend and has a heart of gold underneath his equally gold exterior. And the other, who after the condom broke mid sex (and who followed this discovery up with “oh I thought it started feeling a bit too good there towards the end”), and I checked my app to discover I was in a “high chance of getting pregnant” zone, told me not to fear, and produced a Plan B from his bedside table because he keeps himself stocked up (what a gent!). $30 on amazon, who knew?! That’s $30 cheaper than a pharmacy ladies, take note. Not cheaper than a visit to the gyno to check for STIs though. That’s still a $70 co-pay.