According to Le Internet, opinion is divided on if itz ok to google stalk a date (potential, first or otherwise).
Are you fucking serious? I’d be concerned for the mental health of anyone who didn’t google a date, themselves and random people they’d never met but maybe fancied. Nowadays we’re all google stalkers. This, mes amis, is par for the course.
Sure there’s googling and there’s stealing his bank details, copying his photos and pasting your face in where his girlfriend’s was and doing Landgate searches to find out where he lives (and then using google maps before you drive past it 20 times a night). That is creepy. Don’t do that.
But on the other hand, you can fairly easily find out some basic information on someone – such as if they have ever been convicted of a crime, already have a girlfriend or regularly post on anti-Semitic websites. And this you probably should know before dating someone.
We’re all finally realising that shit about us is on the internet For Ever whether we like it or not. But if you take it as a sum whole, I’m betting it creates a not-totally unrealistic picture of you. There are some faceplant moments, like the time I tweeted about David Bowie in Labyrinth being my “sexual awakening” (read earliest wank bank) after seeing it in the cinema. That’s awkward. But then it is true and it is something I would probably say to a room of friends whilst pissed. I just did it on the whole internet.
But unless I’m being massively stalked by a weirdo, commit murder or am found murdered, I’m not too fussed. Here be me. I’m not a puzzle. And if you knew me, you’d realise I do and say dreadfully stupid things all the time. And I drink a lot. And swear far too much. I’m also 34, female, a journalist and I have a cat. Hardly revelationary stuff.
Little known facts about me you will not find on the internet include: I once won several rosettes at Pony Club, I got stopped by the police for buying a bottle of vodka from a pub whilst underage but was let off and allowed to keep the vodka, I once maybe committed a slight bit of quite archaic and irrelevant crime in a fit of pique that hurt no one (no I did not. I will deny it) my heart was first broken in 2001 (the chap in question then travelled to the other side of the world to ask me to marry him and I said maybe and then no, because that’s just how I roll) and I’m allergic to scallops.
There you go internet, have something new on me.
Aaanyway, this brings me to my actual point. For reasons best known to my drunken self I agreed to go on a date with a male person. Let it be known I was asked out on said date (and said yes because I was drunk and flattered) a while ago. I promptly forgot about it.
The rest of the story is boring but I have finally agreed to go for a drink with this person, ostensibly because it felt rude not to and I suppose that’s what single people do so maybe I should be doing it. I can’t say I’m that interested, probably because I can’t even remember what he looked like and also just because. And dates scare me.
So yes, dear reader, I googled him. If it all ends disastrously, of course I will share the gory details of what I may or may not have found. But until then I shall reveal this: I discovered, knowing only his first name and place of work – his job title, his age, his hobbies, his interests and what he looks like with precious little on.
Some of those things were fine. Others were not. Watch this space. And also call the police if I’m not home by 10pm.