The Mick Cooney Show

Something unexpected happened a few weeks ago. I tried to kiss a girl, and instead of pulling a can of Mace and pressing charges, she kissed me back.

Naturally, me being me, it did not take long for my inherent ineptness to take command. Indeed, the Chameleon or the Author would be quick to point out that it was in command before we hooked up.

I will not go into further details, other than quote the Chameleon on how we got together:

"Well Mick, you didn't so much have a bunch of wingmen as a complete fucking airshow!"

Since then, I have noticed a few things.

I should make it clear from the start that we are not a couple or anything. Yes, we are seeing each other a lot, but it is too early be thinking on those lines. We enjoy each others company, and I am willing to let things flow. I decided early on that I was going to ignore my usual habit of forcing things.

I am also aware that this article may be revealing things about her that she would rather remain private. Because of this, I am showing this to her in full before I post it, and give her full veto rights over anything in this. Thus, none of you need feel voyeuristic - she has given consent.

I honestly did the following with the first few days of hooking up with her:

• Puked violently into her toilet about thirty minutes after we kissed for the first time,
• Called her by her friend’s name while kissing her on the couch,
• Sent a text message about her that was intended for a friend to her by mistake,
• Sent her a message over MSN Messenger that looked like a psychotic rant.

The fact that we are still seeing each other can only be for one of two reasons: firstly, that her understanding nature is so strong that my clumsy ineptitude somehow inverts into an endearing charm. Secondly, perhaps I am just unbelievably sexy.

The reaction to the news across the gender divide was nothing short of profound. When talking to any of the girls, I get the Third Degree.

“Do you like her? Do you think she likes you? What have you done together? What are you doing together? Would you like to go out with her? Is she your girlfriend? Would you like her to be your girlfriend?”

With the lads, things are much simpler:

“How many points are you on now, Mick?”

Seeing a girl in Dublin is strange. While I went out with a girl for almost three years, she was never really in Dublin, apart from a few months as the relationship was coming to an end. As a result, I have been effectively single in Dublin since I started college over eleven years ago.

Having a girl to meet up with is very new for me. Being able to call up to her in the evening on a whim to relax and chill-out is new, different and cool. Of course, all this happens as I finish up my PhD, but I was ever the one to do things the hard way.

Most people who know me were aware of my desire for the simple intimacies. As my friends coupled up, they would curl up on the couch in front of the television, leaving me to sit there beside them feeling both voyeuristic and impoverished.

Should the above make me appear as either a big girlie-man or a needy stalker-in-the-making, I have done myself a disservice, yet I know not how else to articulate this.

For quite some time now, my female friends have tried to match me. Appalling at going out on the pull, and lacking the simple skills of icebreaking, the confidence to engage a strange girl in conversation in a way that will attract her eludes me.

Consequently, my raging bachelorhood has proved an irresistable challenge to any females I know platonically.

Their reaction was hilarious (and not just for the afore-mentioned interrogation). Most of the girls I know immediately demand to meet her. It is a mystery if this is pure curiosity or a female desire to vet the new girl.

All I do know is how touched I was by their reaction. They were like excited schoolgirls and took the first opportunity they had to tell me how much they approved of her. I was a little taken aback, since such a reaction could only mean these girls held me in high regard. It was both humbling and gratifying to learn.

The second-most stupid thing about all this is how I have changed in DIT (second-most because being so honest about a girl in a public forum, in an article which she will read before everyone else would win any competition you care to mention in the sport of What-Is-He-Thinking).

DIT Aungier Street is full of women. Naturally, this means there are numerous lookers. Usually, I wander the hall in a permanent state of hormone-induced frustration and guilt. They are students, I am a lecturer, and it is unethical.

This hasn’t happened so much now. Perhaps it is my reduced state of ‘tension’, but I think not. My feelings tend to be focused and narrow, and I think it is the fact that I am seeing someone. I am still not sure if this is a Good Thing™ or a Bad Thing™ in this case.

I suppose, such answers are unknowable until things pan out over the next while.

Being single in Dublin has its benefits. For eleven years now I have done whatever I want, and have never really needed to consider the desires of others. Never one to be overly selfish, I do not need to have things my own way, but I was certainly used to pleasing myself.

In many ways, I am similar to Hugh Grant’s character in About a Boy, living in my own little island, sole star of the Mick Cooney Show. Other people make guest appearances from time to time, but only one name appears during the opening credit sequence.

It may still be airing every night, but I sense a “Gee Whizz” episode coming over the near horizon.