A year and a bit in review: joining a dating service...

My best friend from high school got engaged on Friday which served as a good reminder that out of the “Fabulous Five” only two of us are still single and unwed. It is exactly this type of post in my News Feed that prompted me to start an adventure that I labelled “The Social Experiment”. AKA I suck at dating and need help.

So if, like me (until recently! Ha!), you suck at dating you can join a dating service in the hopes of finding your ‘soul mate’. You’ll soon learn some valuable lessons and gain wisdom about the person that you are. Or you can save yourself R8500 and read my blog. Or you can read this summary of the past year and a bit that I spent dating and looking for love.

A little more than a year ago I was sick of being single and after dating all the wrong kinds of guys and unsuccessfully scanning the church for my future husband I started looking elsewhere for a man that could accept me despite my imperfections, a strong man who would love me gently and a man that would stimulate me intellectually. As it turns out I wasn’t all that good in finding such a man. I mentioned that I sucked at dating, right? So I found a dating service who promised to find my “soul mate” and who would do this in Pretoria.

I went on 8 dates. I told 8 men about my family, my studies, and my interests. I attended social evenings and I completed the ‘do-it-right’ courses. I questioned the dating service, I questioned the existence of real men in the world, I questioned myself and even had the occasional meltdown of pent-up fear and sheer exhaustion claiming that I’m done with dating. Forever.

And then the dating service would call, or a reader would comment or send an email or a friend would encourage me yet again. I dated chartered accountants, engineers, medical reps and IT specialists. I dated them in coffee shops, in restaurants and in malls. I dated them healthy and once probably just shy of a hospital stay. I dated single guys, momma’s boys, a divorced guy and a married guy… But I dated and I learned and I lived one more crazy adventure that I call ‘my life’. What did you do this past year and a bit? 

Back to basics: does he or she like me?

I find it so ironic that although so much has been written about dating, flirtation, relationships and all that jazz we still grapple with the basic question which no-one seems to have been able to answer… ever. Sure, they have tried. There are quizzes and checklists and psychics and articles and books and movies…. Yet, we will all inevitably turn somewhere for an answer when asking: does he or she like me?

This is the basic question. I’m not even going to address the other questions that will necessarily arise from this simple question. Is he only after your body? Does he find you intriguing? Does he think you are sexy? Is he devoted to you? Does it only become official if it is Facebook official?

I’m only addressing the basic question: does he or she like me? This is the important question that we all need an answer to - for subtly we know that if we start dating this person we will either break up with them or marry them… Add into the mix that a feeling of acceptance is a basic need and the fear of rejection is our biggest fear and suddenly this question doesn’t seem to simple, does it?

My day with Mystery Man

This blog post has turned out to be very uncomfortable to write for two reasons:

1. My mother is going to read this
2. Mystery Man is going to read this

Anyway, here goes.

I want to keep my new found experiences and feelings mostly to myself. What we have at the moment is ours. It’s special and it is uncontaminated with opinions or advice. I love that. I cherish that.

However, since I am still single and vowed to write about my dating experiences I will share some details with you about the 24 hour period I got to spend with my Mystery Man. I will have to share some facts about Mystery Man in order to have this post make sense at all.

1. I’ve known Mystery Man for a few years now… and we dated for a brief period back in 2006/2007…
2. Mystery Man lives in Cape Town…

 So yes, if you know me and ever asked me for dating advice I would probably spurt some gems like “never EVER date an ex” and “long distance relationships never work”. Oh, life is cruel sometimes.

It's mating season people!

I’ve suddenly started noticing colours everywhere, fragrant aromas and soft winds, the purple puff of Pretoria’s Jacaranda filled streets, bees are buzzing and the birds are singing... And many of the songs you hear are mating calls.  Yes, spring and summer signal the arrival of that sexual behaviour in mammals that we call mating season. While it is clearly seen in hares and deer, I am very sceptical to refer to any specific time of the year as that being the human “mating season”. We have an Afrikaans saying that quite appropriately sums this up: Heeltyd speeltyd!

 

Hunny Bunny

However, there is just something about summer, isn’t there? There are some things that we observe which I can’t help but wonder whether these are mating behaviours. How else can we explain the excessive number of love junkies at the moment?

“You’re being bombarded by pleasant, exciting, novel stimuli, and novelty stimulates the neurotransmitter dopamine, which in turn triggers testosterone production,” says Dr. Helen Fischer, a neuroscientist, professor at Rutgers University and author of five books on the science of love. Dopamine is the naturally occurring chemical your brain uses to make you want things. While there are other systems involved in love, when it comes to new love, dopamine is the main culprit. And with enough of it swirling around your system, you're prone to fall in love - and fall hard.

Friends, your body has turned into a dopamine factory. Did you know that brain scans of people flooded with the stuff look a lot like brain scans of drug addicts? I suppose this makes sense, since being high on dopamine feels, as many lovers would put it, euphoric.

Enough with the romance. Let's cut to the real science.

My date with Number 8

You might want to call me either a slut or a judgemental hypocrite after reading the following post. Just saying. I’m prepared for that though.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves just yet.

I received a call last week from my dating service to find out whether I would be interested in going on another date. Number 8 was described as a 31 year old, medical rep that grew up on a farm, lives in Centurion, values his Christianity and who is divorced without kids. He phoned me on Saturday to schedule the date for this past Tuesday evening. The conversation was brief but light and we joked around a bit.

As I stood outside the coffee shop I received a phone call telling me to be on the lookout for the guy in a pink shirt. About two minutes later I was greeted by someone… in a green shirt. After he introduced himself and I tried to wipe the confused look from my face he said he thought that his little joke could break the ice. Weirdo.

My date with number 7

I’ve been spending way too much time sleeping, catching up on some much needed Facestalking, browsing too many cat pictures and finally watching the naked Miley Cyrus video on the internet. In short: I’ve been having the best time ever.

I suppose you want to hear about my date…almost two weeks ago…

Let’s do it!

I was quite excited to hear from my dating service when she explained that my new date was a 28 year old accountant, who really values his Christianity, has never been married and doesn’t have any kids. I was very excited that I would be dating someone “young”.

Now, usually I receive a text message from the guys asking for an appropriate time to call me. Number 7 skipped the call altogether and in 3 WhatsApp messages we had introduced ourselves and set a time and date for our first meeting.

His photo on WhatsApp made me cringe. It was horrible. This guy had a proper beer boep and he was carrying an umbrella… and it wasn’t raining… My mom joked and said that I would probably be safe just taking my pepper spray with.

Oh behave!

Please don’t ever subject yourself to a “behavioural specialist” or "life coach". Or for that matter anyone who tells you that they speak three languages: English, Afrikaans and Subconscious…

Last Thursday I met up with a ‘life coach’ as part of my complimentary, obligation free session I was offered at our previous social. I use the inverted commas because basically you can ‘qualify’ yourself in this field. There is no supervisory body or universal standard of practice or training, so, in reality, anyone can call themselves a life coach.

After my ‘life coach’ explained that a life coach is someone who helps people help themselves we began our session with her explaining that her office was to be thought of as a “safe space” and a “neutral area where there are no wrongs and rights”. Oh, what had I agreed to?

Next she started asking me some basic questions regarding my view of success, balance and obstacles. When she asked me what I thought my biggest problem or obstacle was regarding my interaction with others and I told her that I thought it was my inability to properly deal with criticism. I really suck with criticism. Generally, if people say something negative about me, I want to stab them. I generally think that I am right most of the time… As you can see, I have a major ego problem as well. Anyway, biggest problem: criticism. And then we got started...

Finding something like a wolfsheep or sheepwolf...

I hate quotes like this one. It places me into a box. You are either a sheep or a wolf. My brain starts running at inappropriate speeds when faced with quotes like this. I start to ask the weirdest questions…

What is the context this quote speaks to? Is the Christian ideal to be a sheep? I love the idea of being shepherded and often dream of heaven where the clouds are actually…cute, fluffy sheep. Where is my Clarissa Pinkola Estes book Women Who Run with the Wolves? I need to finish that book. Could it be genetically possible to create a sheepwolf? Or a wolfsheep? What if you were a sheep, but chose to show some teeth now and again? What exactly does it mean to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing?

Okay, so you might think I have some weird unexplainable adoration for sheep (you are right) and that I think too much (probably right again). However, I was so confused after our little event my dating service hosted this past Wednesday that all these questions seem quite reasonable.

This quote was used to end our event. Our event, meaning the “life-changing talk” on balance my dating service hosted where after we would have the opportunity to socialise with the stunning singles who are members of our dating service.

My bucket list

I knew from a very young age that I would want to live life to the fullest. At the age of 10 when asked to make a list of 5 things we wanted to do when we were grown ups I wrote “get married, have kids, become a doctor, own 10 dogs and go white river rafting in Zimbabwe”. That was the sum of my life’s ambition. As I matured I made a few other lists, though I kept these lists in my head. That is the worst place for a list …

A few years back I put pen to paper. As I aged, as I was exposed to various experiences, the more I experimented, the more of an identity I formed. My list still contained “get married”… but this time it had a name attached to it. Looking at that list now I am shocked how many items relate to my ex. Funny thing is - I achieved more on that list that improved his life than my own. 

I crossed off the items in blocks. I 'censored' my ex's name. Those that I blocked out... We shall not mention those.

So, in light of being single and fiercely independent, I decided to make a new list. This is my list.

I have been extremely lucky in that I have been able to tick off a few items already and once I achieve something new I will be writing about the experience. Yeah!

What an incredible experience compiling this list was in developing the clichéd “attitude of gratitude”. I am truly blessed.

Here goes!

Finding a new church or a new love: same difference!

When I moved to Pretoria earlier this year I knew that I had to find a new church. To me this was a process similar to dating. Many of the same rules apply when you are looking for the church that you can call ‘Yours’.

I started off attending what you could call a mega church (for South African standards). Let’s call her Number 1… Ha! I wanted to get involved as soon as possible and had even started following some of the ministers on Twitter and liked the group page on Facebook that catered for people between 20 and 30.

I was put in a small group which consisted only of 7 girls. 7 single girls. Apparently the bigger Young Adults group only met 4 times a year. So, somewhat impressed by die incredible display of cheese we spent our first evening watching a Louie Giglio DVD. I had not dropped the T-bomb (the ‘I-study-theology’ bomb) and received some weird glances when I didn’t proceed to make detailed notes in a notepad. Afterwards the girls discussed how they thought the parable of the 10 golden coins applied to dating… Now, I have a pretty active imagination but I could simply not see this.

What had I gotten myself into?

Ek lewe nog!

Ek lewe nog! En ek het weer ‘n ou skootrekenaartjie… Maar laat ek myself nou nie vooruit hardloop nie.

Ek was vir so paar weke op vakansie en ek moet erken, tot en met die laaste week, was ongelooflik. Ek het soveel waaroor ek wil skryf en belowe om binnekort meer van my en my sussie se roadtrip Kaap toe en die ski in Lesotho te skryf. Vandag gaan ek egter net fokus op die laaste drie weke…

Na twee weke se vakansie saam die familie was dit tyd om bietjie met die vriendinne op te vang die laaste week – of dit was die plan. Die Vrydagaand is ek saam ‘n vriendin uit, maar sy het my net na 10uur gaan aflaai sodat ek nog pynpille kon drink (jip, ek kan toe nie so goed snowboard soos ek aanvanklik gedink het nie). Die Saterdagoggend lekker laat gelê en toe is dit Kempton Park toe om met my beste vriendin op hoërskool op te vang en die rugby saam ‘n ander vriendin te kyk. Die Blou Bulle het verloor en ek moes dit tien teen een as ‘n teken vat van slegte dinge om te kom…

A dinner date function

On Friday evening I had an event with my dating service. This dinner took up "two function credits" and the email that accompanied the invitation read "if last year is anything to go by, you will definitely not want to miss this dinner".

I knew that my exams would be over so I booked. This was the perfect opportunity to 'scout' for some new dates and check out the other girls with whom I would be 'competing' with.

The event was hosted in the upmarket French restaurant, Brasserie de Paris, in Waterkloof, Pretoria. 

I was quite nervous as one would expect. Well, I am a INFJ personality according to the Myers-Briggs personality test - I do not like small talk. That and the fact that the dress code was "smart/cocktail". Thank goodness that my best friend is a stylist.

Dressed in knee high boots, stockings and a cocktail dress with my hair curled I set out.

I walked into the room and was immediately greeted by the lady from the dating service. She escorted me to my seat on a long table (thank goodness) where I found my name tag. Que the stares...

Happy Birthday to me!

About a week before my birthday every year I go into ‘reflection-mode’. I start considering the probability of my parents meeting, of that turning into a long-term relationship and the chances of that lasting long enough to result in offspring. I mean, look at the luck I’m having here – and I’m not even a ginger like my dad.

Then I start thinking about the fact that I’m the result of the fusion of one particular egg with one particular sperm.

Then I start thinking about the supremely unlikely and utterly undeniable chain of events that led up to my existence. All of my ancestors lived to reproductive age - going all the way back to Adam and Eve… (working in some theology there).

When I start thinking about the probability of all of my ancestors meeting and all of their sperm-meets-egg odds. Think about this, if even once the wrong sperm met the wrong egg, I would not be sitting here. In fact, some scientists estimate the probability of your being born at about one in 400 trillion.

One in 400 trillion.

Therefore, I reckon birthdays are definitely a day worth celebrating. You were the size of a watermelon (well, I was at 3.36kg) and you made your way out of an opening the size of an orange and you arrived into the world. At that very moment you changed the entire world, because you altered the dynamic of your family and your community and your city and your country and our world. That makes you pretty significant, as far as I’m concerned.

I entered the world on Monday, the 15^th of June 1987 at 15:10 afternoon which will make me 26 tomorrow.

 

On my very first birthday

My date with #6

I finally had a date with Number 6! I say finally because we were introduced two weeks back. After the initial phone call and checking of schedules, we agreed to meet in the next week, but we didn’t set a date. A week later, after not hearing anything from him, I sent a message to try and fix a date.

Our schedules just didn’t seem to line up. I spent last weekend in Thabazimbi with a friend at a real boere Wildsfees and we even saw a contestant  from the Boer soek ‘n Vrou show who entered last year… I’m taking this as a good sign.

Anyway, back to my date. The only time that suited him was on Tuesday evening. I was writing my first exam on Wednesday, but I thought ‘we really need to get this date going’. We agreed to meet at a coffee shop at 20:00. I pitch at the coffee shop at 19:55. At 20:05, at the risk of looking like my date had stood me up I go into the bookstore next door… Browsing…browsing… buying a book…ordering my own hot chocolate…reading my book…

At 20:18 I get a message from Number 6 that he is in fact in the bookstore. And then I see him.

Since he doesn’t have a Facebook account I had to go on his WhatsApp profile picture which is a ‘professional’ photograph. You know the photo where a man leans against a wall, hands in his pockets and stares longingly into the distance… My friend said he probably had make-up on as she noticed the discolouration comparing his face, ears and arms. Ha! I thought that was hilarious. He was not that bad. Hell, I even had a gay friend say ‘Oh, he’s cuuuuute’.

 

This is not Number 6... unfortunately!

My brief aan Fanie

Die inskrywingsdatum vir Boer soek 'n Vrou is verby en my brief is in. Yeah! Nou is dit net die gewag tot 25 Junie om te hoor of ek as een van die 10 meisies is wat deurgaan om my gekose boer te ontmoet - as hy ooit een van die top 5 boere is! Die reëls het my toe gekeer om aan 4 boere te skryf - jy mag net vir EEN boer inskryf en toe het ek maar my gut instinct vertrou en vir Fanie geskryf. Hy is tog so oulik met daai aksent en van almal het hy regtig eerste my oog gevang.

Die hele proses om in te skryf was soveel pret dat ek nie eers hartseer sal wees as ek nie een van die 10 meisies is nie! Die photoshoot sessie was ongelooflik vreemd omdat ek nie regtig 'n meisie is wat hou van 'n poseer en tittewyt nie. Dit is darem voorafgegaan deur 'n lekker sessie in die winkels, 'n afspraak by die haarsalon en ek het selfs my grimering laat doen! Ha! My foto's moes ek ongelukkig self edit - moenie 'n fotograaf vertrou wat jou R200 vra nie. Ek was in 'n toestand daaroor. Goeie nuus is dat ek darem nou 'n nuwe kiekie het vir my blog! Yeah!

Die pakkie opmaak was 'n fees! Ek het toe nie my beskuit bak vermoëns vertrou nie en eerder op twee oulike 'geskenkies' afgekom. 'n Sakkie lang vuurhoutjies vir braai en 'n bietjie 'Holbrandkerrie'. Ha! Ek het gedink dis nou die ideale ding om my sin vir humor ten toon te stel.  Ek dink my pakkie het heel oulik gelyk - dit gaan definitief nie terugstaan vir die ander meisies se pakkies nie. Daar word moeite gedoen, hoor! Dis nie net so eenvoudig soos om op 'n gewone exam pad iets neer te griffel nie en in 'n bruin koevert te stop nie.

My brief... hierdie een was rof! Ek het 'n hele naweek gevat om dit te skryf en toe nogsteeds elke dag bietjie verander. Ek het van 7 bladsye af verkort - ek wou my hele lewensverhaal vir die arme man stuur. Dit was 'n moeilike storie om so vir iemand te skryf wie jy nie ken nie en dit voel regtig met tye soos 'n dating CV. Die skryf van die brief het my laat dink, my laat kyk na my eie lewe en my uitgedaag om my 'kern' op te som. Ek wou nie een van daardie meisies wees wat die tipiese 'ek is avontuurlustig, ek hou van reis en lang stappies op die strand' briewe skryf nie. Ek wou uitbrei. Ek wou gehad het my persoonlikheid moes duidelik deurkom. Ek dink ek het dit dalk reg gekry.

Hoe fraai lyk my pakkie nie? Ek is maar een vir nostalgie - so, ek het my brief met die hand oorgeskryf, parfuum gespuit en dit met 'n lintjie toegedraai.

Hier onder is my brief wat ek aan Fanie geskryf het. Ek het ook 4 'professionele' foto's gestuur en 4 'Polaroid' foto's sodat ou Fanie darem kon sien dat dit wat ek in my brief geskryf het,  waar is.

Hou vir my duimvas! 

Boer soek 'n Vrou

To my English readers: This post is in my home language Afrikaans. It’s about a strange dating type show where girls essentially enter to meet a farmer. Culturally, this may sound weird and I’m sure if you try and put this post through Google Translate it will sound even weirder. Don’t bother. I’ll write the next post in English again as my next date has been introduced and we plan to meet up this week.

  

Afrikaans pappa! Hierdie inskrywing kan slegs in my ou hartstaal geskryf word en dit voel skoon vreemd om nie in die ‘taal van die vyand’ te dink nie.

Ek is seker daarvan julle het al van KykNet se program Boer soek ’n Vrou gehoor. Verlede jaar sou ek ingeskryf het omdat ek ’n weddenskap met ’n vriendin verloor het, maar kort voor die inskrywings gesluit het is daar darem vir my gesê dat ek nie meer hoef in te skryf nie. Ek was ongelooflik verlig want ek het nog nooit regtig die program gekyk nie.

Ek het so paar episodes laasjaar gevang, maar nie regtig veel opgelet nie. En toe is dit 2013, en ek is steeds alleenlopend en toe herinner my liewe vriendin my dat ek miskien hierdie jaar moet inskryf.

Hier is hoe die program werk: 10 boere oor die land word gekies en aan die land voorgestel. Daarna kry meisies die geleentheid om vir hierdie 10 liefdesbriewe te skryf waarna dit aan die boere voorgehou word. 5 boere word hier geelimineer omrede net die 5 boere wat die meeste briewe ontvang het aanbeweeg. Die boere lees dan hulle liefdesbriewe en kies dan ’n sekere aantal meisies om te ontmoet. Ek dink hierdie is 10 meisies – ek sê mos ek het nie regtig opgelet in die klas verlede jaar nie. Mos.

Na ’n kort onderhoud/gesprek met die boer kies hy dan 4 meisies om saam met hom plaas toe te gaan en dan stuur hy een vir een huistoe totdat hy nou met sy ideale plaasvroutjie opeindig. Pragtig.

Snaaks genoeg wil ek hierdie jaar inskryf en dis presies wat ek gaan doen. Ja, ek weet wat die meeste mense se reaksie is. ‘Neeeeee, Jeanine! Dis nou desperaat. Jy weet dis ’n klug en die hele land gaan dit sien’. Ja, ek weet dit. Maar regtig? Ek verstaan nie dat mense gereeld gaan draf en hul eetgewoontes kan aanpas om hulle nuwejaarsvoornemens te hou nie, maar as dit by ‘dating’ kom dan sit hulle net agteroor en wag vir iets om te gebeur. Julle ken die ou sêding: jy kan nie die lotto wen as jy nie ’n kaartjie koop nie.

The scum of the dating world: The Players

It’s funny how life works. My last post explained the very reason it’s a good time to fall in love. Unfortunately, I spent my time since then consoling my friends as it seems everyone is breaking up.

I asked two of my friends for permission to share some of their experiences as I believe both of them have come into contact with that type of men that have a certain bad-boy allure that drives some women wild. They know how to make a woman feel special and really turn on the charm to get what they want. You know the type - we call them ‘players’.

It is really difficult to define a ‘player’. You will definitely not find a dictionary explanation. Some call them Pick-up-artists, Casanovas or even ‘dating predators’. In the simplest terms possible, I find good synonyms to be asshole, loser and jerk. You may have your own favourite terminology, of course, but the man himself is always the same.

The aim of a player is to win your affection and the mark that this has happened is often that the relationship becomes sexual – they have achieved their conquest. However, this is not always the case. Players these days are more cunning.

For me a player is so called because he is actively partaking in a game. Let’s say you have a rugby player who is partaking in the Super 15. He has to abide by certain rules, he needs to practice and above all the needs to know what the aim of the game is. The same is true for players in the dating world. They have certain rules by which they play. I’ve listed the most obvious ones and I’ve tried to make a few suggestions as to how you can spot whether he is following them…

'Tis the season to fall in love...

In the first quatrain of his 73rd sonnet, Shakespeare used autumn as a metaphor for aging

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

But in the face of deterioration and mortality, Shakespeare reminds us, love can not only endure, it can grow stronger.

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long

Okay, so maybe you don’t like poetry that much. Maybe you hate it. Maybe you hate it as much as autumn. It is the time for colds and flu and feeling miserable. We are only now starting to approach the half way mark until the end of 2013 and the falling leaves inevitably remind us of the passing of things. It is in this time of year that people all around start feeling depressed. Some even suffer from a form of depression called seasonal affective disorder when the days shorten, the nights get longer and temperatures drop.

Well, Prof. Till Roenneberg, a chronobiologist at the Institute for Medical Psychology in Munich, knows that autumn totally bums people out. What is a chronobiologist? It’s the dude in the white coat that studies a specialized bundle of cells that regulates our cyclical processes or biological rhythms (brought on by example: seasonal changes) and how that affects our physiology and behaviour.

Roenneberg discovered that we bounce back from the cold autumn blues by seeking to create more warmth on the inside. We fight the autumn depression with… falling in love!

You are going to love this.

The 'future spouse' list

A while back my best friend encouraged me to make a ‘future spouse’ list. You know the kind where you list all the qualities that you look for in a partner. Yeah, that list. Everyone needs to have some idea of what they are looking for and making this list, she explained, is like ‘praying with fine print’.

I don’t believe that this list will magically manifest itself if I burn it, put it under my pillow for a week or send it off into the internet… I don’t believe you can ‘order a soul mate from the universe’.

I also don’t believe that God will cater to all of my wants. I know that He will provide me with what I need.  This list isn't so much as a checklist or a rigid document to guide my future, as it is a reminder of what I learned about myself and about relationships.

I found the notes of Marilyn Graman, author of There is NO PRINCE and Other Truths Your Mother Never Told You quite useful and decided to shape my own list according to her mini-lists. It’s a great way to distinguish between what really matters and allows you to get clear about what you want in a partner.

Here goes:

Some Ex-perience

I have written this post about five times. I deleted it about 5 times.

I have been making amends this past year. It has been an arduous and testing experience of clearing the baggage of my past and learning to be honest with myself and with others. It has also been one of the most liberating and rewarding experiences of my life that has helped put me in a position to be of maximum use to the people around me.

This week, I had to make an amend to my ex.

Stalking is only one letter away from talking...

I am a self-confessed Facebook stalker.

Being single, I find this one of the greatest forms of easy entertainment on those lonely nights. Who doesn’t find themselves mindlessly clicking away from time to time? I don’t necessarily mean spying, just checking up on your friends from time to time out of curiosity.

I prefer to think of this activity as "research" or as I like to call it Facestalking. I find it pretty amazing that the ability to access information can lead us to find people in way that we never had before. We can find so much information on a person by simply typing a name into Google and hitting the search button. We have Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn and blogs.

Researchers at the University of Missouri School of Journalism have proved that online stalking, scientifically speaking, feels good. By monitoring students while they navigated Facebook and measuring physiological responses associated with motivation and emotion, the researchers found that the students derived the most pleasure from activities described as "social searching" or what they call "goal-oriented surveillance" (how cool is that!) that involved visiting another friend's profile page, reading their Wall posts, perusing their photos, checking out the events they'd recently attended.

So, why am I telling you all this? 

My date with Number 5

My dating life has turned into a slow churn, understandable for the amount of work I have been swamped with. I have been throwing myself into many different projects and I have been relatively nonchalant about the need to find my Prince Charming at this moment.

My dating service has not been too preoccupied and notified me that I would be receiving a call from Number 5 last week. Our conversation over the phone was nothing to write home about but we decided to meet on Tuesday as I was in Cape Town the weekend. Busy as always.

Here is what I knew beforehand: He is a 32 year old who lives in Johannesburg. He owns his own IT company. He loves reading, being outdoors, Latin and ballroom dancing and he was described as being an ‘energetic and outgoing personality, a real gem’. He is English. Never been married. No kids. (Yeah! No kids!)

My date with Number 4

You might want to read my previous post first (or again) for the pre-date summary of Number 4. This is the post-date post. Yes, I know I said I would have this post up the day after, but I needed some time to think the date and my response through. Here’s why.

My date with Number 4 (the technically still married with two kids dude) had originally been scheduled for Wednesday evening, but a few days ago he sent a SMS to reschedule as he had “forgotten that his daughter had something on at school” which he needed to attend. He told me that he had quite a busy week and that we could meet on Tuesday at 20:30. To me, 20:30 was a weird time. My mother joked that he probably had to put the kids to bed before coming out and my sister and I speculated whether or not he had a cunning plan to try and get me drunk and take advantage at such a late time.

Anyway, I arrived early and my whole being was determined to simply ‘get through’ the date as I had clearly made up my mind that I was not prepared to date a married man with two kids.

And then he arrived. Holy moly!!! This man was gorgeous. Think Blue Bull’s player, Flip van der Merwe-meets-Channing-Tatum gorgeous. (Okay, Google Flip van der Merwe and just know that I like the rugged type). I’m not exaggerating – this man is some serious eye candy. He is quite taller than me and has that rugby type body. Hubba-Hubba! I was completely thrown by his appearance and as we were walking towards the table I kept thinking that I was surely going to hell for desiring a married man. Well done Jeanine!

First comes love, then comes divorce...

I found a website that can calculate the days between your last date and now. It has been 116 days or 3 months, 24 days since my last date with my dating service.

I have a date for TONIGHT! I got a call from the dating agency last week just as I was about to give the lady a call – it has been a while and I am now ready to embrace the dating world again. So very excited I listened to this description: “He is 33 years old, lives in Pretoria. Non-smoker. He has his own, very successful IT company, drives a 4x4, he loves the outdoors, going to theatre, socializing with friends etc…

At this point I’m thinking… NICE!!!

BUT, then she adds… his divorce is almost finalized… and… he has two kids.

... What the?

Some people call it Valentine's Day - I call it thanks-for-reminding-me-that-my-life-sucks!

Ah, Valentines Day. I find it amusing that a day that is supposed to be all about love can conjure so much hatred inside of me. Yes, it is because I’m single. Still single.

Call it whatever you want, Valentines Day, Singles Awareness Day or Forever Alone Day, this day comes every year 14 February and to be single on it sucks. Don’t try to fool me with all that ‘I’m so content and free’ crap. Not on Valentine’s Day. This is a day where even a cute angelic depiction of Cupid wants me yelling: "Get the hell away from me - you useless, flying, half naked, midget bastard!" Yes, I have some rage issues.

Being single on this day, February 14, means you’re way more single than you are on February 13 or February 15. Like, way more. Now, there’s a lot more you can do than cry, eat ice cream, and feel bad for yourself.

Last year, I got extremely drunk and passed out in a parking lot. Not good. So, this year I decided that I needed a plan. 

Moving on up...

I’ve been a bad blogger. It has been far too long since I have last written a post. I have been busy though. I spent two weeks on what you can call an African safari, whitewater rafting the mighty Zambezi river, helicopter rides, exploring Botswana from Savuti to the beautiful Okavango Delta. Back home I spent my time packing and abusing the uncapped ADSL line.

Yes, I am way too excited to move out of this hell hole that is Kempton Park. Hate might be too strong of a word, but I dislike my home town a lot – way too many bad memories. I have lived in Pretoria before for 4 years when completing my first degree and I can’t wait to get back.

As every year ends I move into a mode of self-evaluation. I start questioning where I am, what I’ve accomplished, what I still want to do, what I need to change and the list goes on. I’ve been wrestling with the idea of “place” a lot lately. I’ve got this overwhelming feeling that God wants me somewhere else.