Tag Archives: Dating

52 Pickup

28 Jan

ImageAfter my recent disappointment at being spammed by a bot on Tinder named Harlan; who was neither real, Texan, or capable of satisfactorily responding to anything I said (like most of my previous partners who share Harlan’s inability to listen). I feel that it’s important to lay down some ground rules in order to save you being lefted – at least by me[1].

  1. Make sure people can see your face clearly. If I can’t see your face how will I know if you have a criminal shaped skull or not.
  2. A photo of you in natural light would be a good. At least to let people know you’re not one of The Others.
  3. It’s important to seem worldly. Just make sure all of your photos aren’t from overseas. If all your photos are of traveling then I’ll assume you’re swimming with the HIV after your slut tour of Eastern Europe.
  4. I’ll admit, sometimes it’s hard to find a recent and flattering photo. But don’t choose a picture where you’re blowing out your 16th birthday candles. Polanski doesn’t Tinder.
  5. I like the beach. I hate sand. This isn’t about sand. This is about your beach body. It’s unrealistic and intimidating. Don’t expect the same (think less a beach body and more of a beached body).
  6. If you’re over 1609.344 km (1000 miles) away and you’re not Vanessa Carlton then no dice.
  7. Unless you usually reside in my sisters box of Barbies/Ken dolls please don’t be a headless torso it will just make me think of prawns and seafood…Thai food…Vagina. Next!
  8. Don’t call yourself a “Young Professional.” You’re an over educated under 30 year old wanker with a full time job.
  9. Why would you describe your penis size as “decent”?  Does that mean it will treat me right? Is it polite and well mannered? Will it be wearing clothes? Please just don’t describe it at all.
  10. Fact: 33 year old men should not be wearing snapbacks. Ever.
  11. That’s a great sleeping photo. Do you have narcolepsy? Maybe I’ll finally have my dream date!
  12. The fact that you feel the need to tell me to “Say more than hi” makes me fear for your social skills. Also, why do I have to start the conversation? It’s a lady’s right to choose!
  13. Please have more than one facial expression because I will conflate lack of expression with lack of emotion and sociopathic tendencies.
  14. Like Nietzsche I think without music, life would be a mistake. Choosing lyrics from Riding Solo as your profound music quote is also a mistake.
  15. If all we have in common is “Winking” and “Pelvic Thrusting” then I’m guessing our conversation won’t be particularly enlightening.
  16. Don’t ask me inane questions in an attempt to be interesting. Opening with “What kind of dinosaur would you be?” is OK. Following it up with “What Sesame Street character would you be?” makes me think you like to dress up as an enormous prehistoric bird that spends a lot of time with children.
  17. Without cattle and dairy farms I would not have meats or cheese so I appreciate your selfie with a cow. I don’t appreciate you being elbow deep in that cow.
  18. Having a list of your likes and dislikes is useful. It helps me to decide if we could hold a conversation that lasts longer than Hugh Hefner. However disliking things like “people’s knees” and “the patch of skin between your nose and lip that acts like an oasis for sweat” is not. It’s just weird.
  19. I think correct spelling and good grammar is important most of the time. However saying things like #unevaknowwatmayhapn is an abomination that should have been flushed at birth.
  20. If we do not have Wine, Tea, Baths, Harry Potter, Soft Cheeses, 30 Rock or the Sound of Rain as at least one of our shared interests then you’re going down faster than a fat girl on a first date. The Grateful Head.
  21. What’s that? You’re at the gym? In all your photos? Why not date a mirror?
  22. Don’t talk about yourself for an uncommon length of time in the third person. I’ll think you have Dissociative Identity Disorder.
  23. I’m sorry philistine; “An energy drink a day” does not keep the doctor away. It gives you cavities and diabetes. Enjoy life without a foot or teeth.
  24. I will swipe anyone who shares a name with members of my senior year or a previous boyfriend. So that’s at least 160 I can cross off. I had a big high school; I’m not a slut.
  25. What business does a 30 year old have in a children’s playground? Please see number 4.
  26. If all you can tell me is that you’re a “Pisces who can’t drive.” Then you may as well be a virgin too because you are not an independent woman. The car I’m driving, I bought it. I depend on me.
  27. Seeing photos of you with pets is great. I know you can care for something without it dying from starvation. However, photos of just your pet are disconcerting. I barely know how to interact with other humans so I can only begin to imagine the hoard of inter-species faux pas and (p)awkward situations.
  28. If you’re a woman.
  29. Why are all your photos of photos? If we are gonna perform inception then we need imagination.
  30. Oh so you’re a professional Pokémon trainer? Did you catch all 152 STI’s? First generation syphilis.
  31. Nowadays everyone wants to be unique. Apparently the best way to do so is to use unusual spelling of your name. Let us take Cory as an example. In one swipe session I encountered Corey, Corry, Koray Korrie and Cori. Your future as a bogan stripper seems very bright indeed.
  32. If your reading glasses are so thick that they make you look like Professor Trelawney on crack how can I trust you to find the g-spot?
  33. It’s important not to take yourself too seriously. So calling yourself a loser is nice in a self-deprecating kind of way. Spelling loser with two o’s is not, it’s just slack.
  34. We can’t all have a winning smile but at least have a good dentist because your smile reminds me of some tic-tacs stuck in old chewing gum.
  35. There’s nothing wrong with tattoos except when they come in the form of the acronym LTD (Living the Dream). I hope you get cystitis and hit by a bus.
  36. This isn’t a soapbox. So please keep pseudo-philosophical quotations to yourself[2].
  37. I get the joke but not everyone looks good in a bra. Especially when it looks like you could actually use one.
  38. Encountering the ex is a tricky one. If you swipe to the right out of courtesy it may be construed as lingering affection. But if you swipe to the left then you look cynical and jaded. So, I guess only swipe right if they didn’t get fat.
  39. Why are you holding a baby? Is it yours? Who gave you that baby? Did they know you were using it to solicit dates?
  40. If it’s not a Chonmage, Sangtu, Sikha or a Tikitiki then you have no business in a topknot/manbun. The secret that they’re all hiding in their not so big hair is their equally small penis.
  41. How many attempts did it take you to get that sublime sunset watching photo? I hope you got a melanoma. And your silhouette looks gay. Tell your gay silhouette I said “hi”.
  42. Did I miss the point in time when “orifice” became part of everyday speech? I think you may have misunderstood Cher Horowitz.
  43. Please learn the basics of perspective. Things that are closer to the camera will appear bigger. So try and keep your lollipop head away from the aperture.
  44. I love that you build houses for orphans and work at soup kitchens. The closest I get to feeling charitable is watching Oprah re-runs. Subsequently I feel like if I’m not a pauper or a head case I’d be boring you.
  45. Are you Indiana Jones, Humphrey Bogart or Freddy Krueger? No. Therefore you have no business in a fedora.
  46. If you’re only here for “shits and giggles” go eat some raisin bran and hash brownies, you’ll get the same result. Plus the only asshole you’ll have to deal with is your own. We all win.
  47. Oh really, you love sports? From what I can see the only sport you like is channel surfing.
  48. I love your various ill-fitting, Hawaiian shirts and your sporadic growth of facial hair. It’s like a fat balding woman fell into my piña colada.
  49. Why are all of your photos with cakes? I can’t decide if you’re the best person ever or all your friends are actually cakes.
  50. That’s such a great photo of you and all your male friends. I’d love to know which one of the seven you are. I wonder if I’m supposed to construe your extreme desirability from the sea of frothing bitches around you. I’d quicker equate it with syphilis.
  51. I love your club photos. Are you a DJ? I too like to wear gas masks in abandoned warehouses. I hope you asphyxiate on your own sense of self-satisfaction.
  52. Describing yourself as simple, loyal and very friendly makes me think you could actually be a dog.

In summary: I hate everyone. Who knows though, maybe Mr. Right is buried at the bottom of the pack.

* But fate deals the hand and I see, the joker is me! *.


[1]Sometimes I like to listen to songs about fire when using Tinder for the sheer intertextual thrill: We Didn’t Start the Fire (Billy Joel), I’m on Fire (Bruce Springsteen), Playing with Fire (The Rolling Stones), Light My Fire (The Doors), Beds are Burning (R.E.M.), Set Fire to the Rain (Adele), When a Fire Starts to Burn (Disclosure), Disco Inferno (The Tramps), Ring of Fire (Johnny Cash), Burning Love (Elvis), Girl on Fire (Alicia Keys), Chariots of Fire (Vangelis), Firestarter (Prodigy), Great Balls of Fire (Jerry Lee Lewis), Fire and Ice (Pat Benatar) you get the idea.

[2] Don’t let the worst of your past be the best of your future. Live for now. Profound choice! Don’t dream your life, live your dream. What we do in life echoes in eternity. Doing what I do today so I can do what I want tomorrow. Family and friends are the bedrock that creates a person of the world. Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the number of moments that take our breath away. Respect yourself enough to know you deserve the very best. Life begins at the end of your comfort zone. Fantastical, satire, mysticism, romance.

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One of the Top Thirty Books of Our Time

2 Jun

Image74kg (up from last week, despite diet), alcohol units 6 (fathers birthday and depressing insight into what I’ll look like at 55), cigarettes 0 (v.g.), calories N/A as cheat day and yum-cha was involved, sexts sent 2, sexts received 0, hours spend contemplating life alone 3.

V. big news. The spinster bible has a new chapter and it’s about boys and madness. Two things I am a well versed in. Singletons rejoice. For with a new bible come revelations and most importantly, commandments: “Thou shalt not commit fuckwittage.”

I was initially concerned about Bridget’s return to the fore of the social consciousness. I mean she’s been out of the game for seven years and a whole lot has happened: Beyoncé is queen, Tina Fey is still funny and cats rule the Internet. O.K so not that much has happened. So then where would this thirty-something park her now continent-sized bottom and how could Helen Fielding possibly make her relevant again?

Here are my suggestions:

  1. There are GIFs of Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy emerging from a lake that Bridget needs to see.
  2. With Masterchef on the up and up blue is now an acceptable colour for food.
  3. There are so many faster, louder and quicker ways to embarrass oneself than misusing the fireman’s pole at Lewisham Fire Station.
  4. Spanx are not just popular with grannies the world over; now everyone hates their body shape.
  5. I forgot what real new years resolutions look like.
  6. I want to see Bridget turn into Natalie Portman in Black Swan
  7. There are lots of famous dead authors to invite to parties like whoever writes Amanda Bynes’ tweets.
  8. Journalists now say fuck-all.
  9. Tom would have to have done a duet with Sophia Grace & Rosie or simillar to get him laid for all of the noughties.
  10. Bridget is verging on “cougar” territory – she should fight Madonna for Brahim Zaibat.
  11. See through tops are commonplace. No tops/pants is the new way to go.
  12. Isn’t it terrible about first world problems?
  13. Google Maps will always show you where the toilets are.
  14. Knitted sweaters of any kind are fashionable.
  15. Titspervert is better known as Snapchat.
  16. ATTN Facebook: “How interesting. What a gripping life you do lead.”
  17. There once were two women who needed some food from a mans nether region. He showed them his back and opened his crack and defecated all over them kneeling.
  18. She needs cats. Lots of cats.
  19. Latin music is not a blip. J-Lo is here to stay.
  20. There are more alcoholics, workaholics, commitment-phobics, peeping toms, megalomaniacs, emotional fuckwits or perverts than there ever were before. They can be found primarily on dating websites.

Mostly though it’s her struggles with life. The things we face day in day out that she takes on the chin. Her ability to see things from the outside. For solidarity and cellulite. For fuckwittage and failure. For hopeless romantics and just the plain old hopeless. Bridget will be there. Shining like a wobbly inimitable beacon in the proverbial darkness.

* Feeling sentimental? *

Neurosis

26 Apr

ImageI am by no means mysophobic[1]; why just the other morning I ate a croissant that a previous patron nibbled and left on our table at a café. But what I cannot abide is the sharing of toiletries between members of a household, even if they are family.

* Oh no! Not in Big Momma’s house! *

Evidently my sister’s recent adoption of my razor is making me Amanda Bynes crazy. I don’t know what’s worse; the fact that I have used something on my face that has at one time or another high thighed my sister or that it seems to be strategically timed with visits from her boyfriend. I guess you could say she’s rubbing it in my face[2].

* Newman! *

I also got hit on this week by a beautician who took my friendly conversation during a state of undress as a go ahead to rest her hand on my bum for a rather protracted period of time. I didn’t mention it so she gave me a discount. I have subsequently added another job to my career path. It now reads:

1)    Get divorced (twice).

2)    Become a prostitute.

I had to remove “Be Maggie Smith” because I don’t have the cheekbones.

* Love you. Love everything about you. Thinking about being you for Halloween. *

Anyway without sounding like I have a thing for “damaged goods” or that I’m part of a self-fulfilling child of divorce prophecy where every relationship is doomed to fail. I have come to the realisation that bar one or two people I’ve dated, the rest have all had some serious underlying issues. Issues that I tried my hardest to help them deal with often at my own detriment. Then once they have achieved a state of normalcy they dump me[3]. I don’t want to be the one who brings people up to dateable level. I don’t want to be The Starter Boyfriend because Debra Messing terrifies me.

* Will find nice sensible boyfriend to go out with and not continue to form romantic attachments to any of the following alcoholics, workaholics, commitment-phobics peeping toms, megalomaniacs, emotional fuckwits, or perverts. *

I don’t really like getting emotional; I don’t think anyone really does unless they’re on The Biggest Loser. It’s just so much easier to laugh and joke than address real issues. That’s why we have ice cream, retail therapy and anonymous blogs. Emotions are gross and I’m an even more unattractive crier than any of the vampires on True Blood.

* This is the first time I’ve ever seen you look ugly, and that makes me kinda happy. *

I have a couple of PostSecret style confessions to make:

1)    Sometimes I pour part of my wine into my bath because I think it will make me a youthful alcoholic.

2)    If I’m at home alone I’m in one of three outfits.

  1. Naked.
  2. Naked with bathrobe.
  3. Naked with cheese platter.

3)    I think cargo pants are the human equivalent of saddlebags. Saddlebags filled with the regret and rage that 35 years olds feel when they’re still living at home with their parents.

4)    I skip the first 10 minutes of Disney Pixar’s UP.

5)    My mother still cuts my hair.

6)    I narrate when I drive because I find it reassuring.

7)    I watch Embarrassing Bodies with my family.

8)    I once ran over a possum and didn’t stop.

9)    I will always tell people if they have lipstick on their snaggletooth.

10) I can’t touch cotton wool balls because they hurt my teeth.

11) I sometimes sit the other way round on the toilet for fun.

12) I only listen to “cool” music on the bus cause I’m worried people can hear through my headphones.

13) Urinals terrify me.

14) I have never kissed a guy while completely sober (except once we’re dating).

15) One of my exes tried to Simba me.

16) I think my cat understands me better than some people.

17) I own a replica of Snape’s wand from Harry Potter[4].

18) I believe in ghosts.

19) I’ve been cheated on twice.

20) When I was discussing a hypothetical situation where I have children with my friend, my offspring referred to me as “mummy”.

I guess I’m kind of weird…Oh well, I better get back to making my Snapchats into famous portraits and having a heart to heart with my good friend SavvyB (Sauvignon Blanc).

* Everybody loves me, and I intend to keep it that way. *


[1] Also known as germophobic or spermophobic. No joke. Sperm.

[2] Adding insult to injury tells she tells me out of the blue that she’s going on a holiday to the Whitsundays with her boyfriend and that I’m single and alone.

[3] I have never broken up with anyone I have always been the one who is broken up with. Half of which were over coffee in the morning while it’s raining so now I hesitate to combine those three things in any capacity of my life.

[4] Amongst other memorabilia including the Marauders Map, two Slytherin scarves, a Slytherin Beanie, a Deathly Hallows necklace, several Hogwarts badges and a signed copy of One Day in the Life of Daniel Radcliffe.

Why Are You Dressed So Scary?

12 Apr

ImageWhat could be a more disastrous Friday night than staying in and eating cold leftovers while watching Dante’s Peak? Oh right, choosing an outfit for your mother to wear on a date. A date that arrives 5 minutes early and requires you to entertain him. What a horrendous prom night role reversal!

* Oh somebody kill me please, somebody kill me please, I’m on my knees, pretty pretty please kill me *

I’ve spent the last couple of days reading Memoirs of a Geisha and I decided that I should try to adopt some of their principles like grace, poise and the ability to walk in ill-fitting shoes.

* Would you excuse me? I cut my foot before and my shoe is filling up with blood. *

So it is only right that I welcomed her date into our home, offered him some tea and a seat in our living room. What a well-mannered host! If only I could say that I was just as composed at a certain impromptu birthday dinner at my friends house earlier in the week.

At my request she cooked me a birthday stew! There was even wine and cake. What more could a boy want? Oh, perhaps an awkward, pointy triangle of sexual tension with Mitch Buchannon and her other housemate Ryan Atwood. As it turns out Mitch is a friend of someone else in the house who invited him over for tea. Immediately after my friend had just mentioned that Ryan is cute and totally available.

* Damn, damn, double damn! *

I even sat on my knees for 20 minutes and tried to make polite conversation while the house trolled for penis pictures on Grindr in order to create a “Wall of Dicks”; Another brilliant suggestion by yours truly. When the conversation came to a lull I had seconds, then thirds and by the time it came for everyone to go to bed I got a lift home with Mitch. Damn him and his quick, free and non-public transportation.

Don’t worry though; I managed to keep it together during the car ride. We even shared a delightfully awkward Voldermort hug…then sexting happened.

* Very bad start to the year. Have been seduced by informality of messaging medium into flirting with office scoundrel. *

I suppose I should have modeled myself on a better vocation rather than one made up of mysterious women who get completely over-dressed, encourage excessive drinking, and artfully manipulate wealthy men’s affections in order to become their mistress.

Speaking of getting overly dressed I’m supposed to attend a house party tomorrow night in some form of costume. Alas it’s not “Tarts and Vicars” themed but rather “The Sound of Music”. So short of wearing whiskers, a blue satin sash or a Hitler youth outfit I’m kind of stuck.

I do have a tendency to somewhat overdress at costume parties. I often find myself at the Cady Heron end of the spectrum. The worst part is I don’t normally know a lot of people at these parties so I think that a funny costume will be a good icebreaker.

So without further ado here are five examples to contrary:

  1. A Friend’s 21st birthday. The theme was “Black, White & Gold”. I interpreted that as an excuse to go as male Ke$ha. She raps (Black), she’s white trash (White) and likes to be covered in semen and roll in glitter (Gold). Everyone thought I was a stripper.
  2. Halloween 2011. I got changed in a quiet lane in the dark and sculled a few beers before turning up to the party in a Miss Trunchbull outfit. Now this would probably be fine if not slightly terrifying. But I also decided to bring with me a small doll with blonde pigtails and a box of chocolates that I would offer people only to deny them and scream loudly “Much too good for children!” I’d rather be locked in the chokey than talk to me.
  3. Halloween 2012. I got a taxi this time and just as well because I had inadvertently dressed in black face. I had purchased black paint, a giant sheet a single red helium balloon and a plastic pumpkin. I intended to be invisible from the neck up in the darkness after I’d painted my face and neck. I hoped I looked something like “The Ghost of Halloweens Past” Instead I looked like the ghost of Michael Jackson. Just as well my pumpkin doubled as bucket sized beer glass.
  4. A Friends’ combined 22nd Birthday. The theme was “Offensive”. I printed out an A3 sized picture of a “Blue Waffle” and hung it around my neck. Enough said.
  5. Halloween 2013. My friends and I have a plan to dress as euphemisms for vagina. Think George Bush masks, a box, a taco, a Venus flytrap, a gash, meat curtains, a wizards sleeve, a penis cozy – you get the idea.

For “The Sound of Music” 2013, I’m thinking a white shirt with this on it:

Maria =Image

Get it? It’s one of the Millennium Prize Problems from the Clay Mathematics Institute. I call it: “How do You Solve a Problem Like Maria”.

Look, at least it’s pretty innocuous if not marginally pretentious. Who knows, perhaps I’ll meet an attractive, smart yet bashful mathematician that’s into horrible puns and loves romantic comedies. I’m more likely, statistically speaking to scare the other guests and compensate by drinking too much. Forget “Adelweiss” it’s time Adelwine bitches.

* Better beware, be canny and careful, baby you’re on the brink.*

Best Laid Plans

15 Mar

Image

I’m feeling very evil Disney queen today. Very Hannibal Lecter. Very Sarah Michelle in Cruel Intentions – basically if you fucking cross me I will castrate you, fry up your testicles and make your mother eat them while you watch, all the while singing Friend Like Me in my best Robin Williams voice.

* Now that was some straight-up David Copperfield shit! *

I don’t know what has brought on this wave of irrational fury. Maybe when I made a list about what I would do if I had a vagina No.7 actually came true:[1] Having a period that would put elephant placenta expulsion to shame, freaking out from the hormones and scratching some miserable bitches eyes out. That’s how it works right, Sissy Spacek?

Or maybe. Just maybe. It has something to do with the fact I had a shit second date followed by coffee with my ex.

The Second Date:

After some delicious drinks and dumplings with Mr. Sheffield, we relocated to a nearby bar in order to refuel. I love a bar with a bit of atmosphere: loud, but not unpleasant music, a raucous crowd and the type of environment that encourages you to lean in that little bit closer. Alas, with three other patrons and minimal privacy save for some dim lighting, the bar he chose left me more exposed than a priest in a playground.

I was however, once again, very impressed with his ability to include words like scopophilic, loquacious and esoteric in general conversation. But after a couple hours I kept wishing he’d swallow a dick instead of a dictionary.

* Lava, stop teaching her these big words before she choke on one. *

When we left the bar I decided we should grab some desert, mostly because I wanted after dinner snacks but also because the best gelato happens to be right around the corner from his house and I needed to use his facilities.

* It’s all part of the plan. *

We got back to his place, which was when things became particularly uncomfortable. He stood while I sat, he didn’t offer me a drink and I had to ask for a tour before finding it so awkward standing shoulder to shoulder in his tiny laundry that I loudly declared it was time to go home. Take the hint!

* I hate the fact that you wore a football jersey to dinner, because I hate football, but you can fuck me if you turn the lights off, okay? *

He walked me to the bus stop. I had to ask for bus money. That’s the end of that.

Lucky for him I’m over my sexy stealing phase.[2]

The Coffee:

The hardest part about coffee was trying to look like I’ve spent the last 6 weeks and 2 days listening to Independent Women by Destiny’s Child on repeat while working out.

* First, look gorgeous. Two – then totally suck up to famous authors. *

The conversation was very pleasant if not tinged with a bit of sadness and the realisation of how boring our current lives are. We caught up on friends and family stuff, but I laughed more in that hour than I did across two dates with Mr. Sheffield.

* I like a joke as well as the next fat person! *

You often look back with hindsight and view things a certain way; that your thought process was unemotional. That what you felt at the time was empowerment and confidence. But the overwhelming impression I’m left with is that I miss his friendship and now have to figure out if it’s possible to be friends with an ex. Or if I preempted me being OK with his general presence and decided to have coffee with him because I didn’t cry when I unblocked him from my Facebook news feed.

* Glurg.*

Ultimately I’m just going to have to decide what I want at the moment[3]. I’m pretty sure on all fronts though that it is not a relationship. At least not right now. Especially when I get 50 shades of crazy at the mere hint of one.

* I just want someone who wants to hang out all the time, thinks I’m the best person in the world, and wants to have sex with only me. *


[1] Numbers one through seven: 1. Use it for storage (mostly stationary). 2. Make it talk, then stage a domestic between it and my belly button. 3. Give it a fun nickname like Princess Labia or Loose Lipped Lara. 4. Pretend I’m pregnant and spend a couple of hours on my back screaming and crying. 5. Feed it chocolate and then say to it “Look at yourself. You’re a mess!” 6. Be charitable and give my hymen to a good cause (Taylor Swift).

[2] I had a couple of one-night stands where I stole things like remote controls because I knew it would piss them off and they’d never expect me. The sexy part came about because I’d shimmy while I did it. But then I realised I was technically robbing people. So I stopped.

[3] Prince Eric and Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s gay love child

What’s My Line?

7 Mar

Image

Waking up hung-over on Monday morning to a note in my phone that described the Milky Way as the freckly ginger of the universe and a Google search for “balls” I realized that once again gay Christmas had been and gone and had taken with it the little bit of remaining dignity that I had been stockpiling for the winter months.

Cut to Saturday night at the Gatsby Party[1] heaving with Swedes. I find myself asking the age-old question: Gay or European? Rather than make any concerted effort to solve this ongoing conundrum or even approach the midriff baring, makeup wearing, Aryan guests I started talking instead to one of the hosts’ brothers, Mr. Potter.

* Mister Potter. Our new celebrity. *

Mr. Potter is a 26ish Law grad with a cute smile and huge vocabulary. And me, being several drinks deep, thinks it’s a good idea to try and engage him in intelligent conversation. After failing consistently to understand any of the legal jargon he was spouting I decided it was time to change the subject.

“Is that a young Lee Lin Chin on your shirt?”

Smooth! I’m informed, cultured and marginally concerned with the often-idiosyncratic dress of the weekend presenter of World News Australia on SBS.

“No. It’s Aung San Suu Kyi.”

Ah, minor setback. Doesn’t matter that I have no idea who that is. Will think a witty non sequitur before-

“Is that Lena Dunham, naked on a toilet and eating cake on your shirt?”

Fuuuuuuuuuck!

* It was a brilliant…Post-Modernist masterpiece of oratorical fireworks, really. *

I resolved instead to spend the rest of the evening making crude jokes about our host needing to sit on a stack of phone books to fuck her tall Swedish lover and finishing any drink in sight.

* I’m drunk. What’s up bitches! *

Later in the evening after hitting the clubs and dancing to Robyn (sans yellow mesh shirt) I heard that Mr. Potter had relocated the Gatsby party to his house around the corner. Me being substantially more intoxicated and determined to recover from my previous indignity I decided we had to go. Even with the unfortunate knowledge that my ex just so happened to be there too.

* Aloof. Unavailable. Ice queen. Aloof. Unavailable. Ice queen. *

I walked straight past him looking flawlessly intoxicated, and parked myself next to Mr. Potter. Hours later as the party was thinning out and I was getting up to leave, Mr. Potter said I should stay and we can watch an episode of Girls. Be still my beating heart! We went upstairs. The episode finished. Then I got up at 11 to go to work.

I win.

After the successful weekend that was I finally had my date with Mr. Sheffield on the Monday night. Not the best timing considering I had just done a nine to fiver after a five to niner and all I really wanted to do was be horizontal.

* Yeah. Be still like vegetables. Lay like broccoli. *

To be honest though as far as first dates go it was pretty damn good. I got out of the whole “what do I wear” dilemma by coming straight from work and knowing that I had work the next day meant it could only realistically last for 4 hours maximum.

* You wanted cake, you got cake! Now EAT IT! *

There was delicious pizza by the slice, good conversation and a variety of imported hipster beers including one called “Narwhal” that probably spent 69 days in a moustache shaped barrel in Nick Cave’s basement.

We did the whole getting to know you thing: family, schools, friends and Jennifer Lawrence. He also has a job with a salary and is genuinely interesting! The night wore on, we played pinball and then he walked me to the bus stop and kissed me goodnight.

Date two is lined up early next week!

* Not with a fizzle, but with a bang. *

Finally before I go, I watched Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion today for the first time and I loved it. But I have one major issue. Mira Sorvino’s accent. Honestly, did she spend the majority of her time off screen sucking dick? Because she swallows every vowel like she’s being paid for it.

* Have a “Romy and Michele” day! *


[1] The Gatsby party was less Flappers and Philosophers and more of an excuse to invite the person you love under the guise of an extravagant party. Watch out Ryan Gosling.