The Blind Date…

…And the drinks…

I know, I know, sorry guys! I’m a little very late getting this post out but in my defence, my dog just had surgery (cue the sob story and exorbitant vet fees…). As I mentioned ages ago in my first post -which in hindsight, is terribly written- my dogs are my first love. I’ve had many lovers who were figurative dogs, but my pooch can’t help having back hair and smelly breath. After two night and day vigils at his side, my dog is finally feeling better and I learnt how sociopathic I am. Little old lady hits the pavement? That’s a bloody shame, I hope the inheritance is good, one shiver from an animal and I turn into Florence Nightingale. I’m not even playing this up, I literally spooned water into my dogs ungrateful mouth, however, when my Ex had food poisoning I left him a paracetamol and went to party with my friends. I think it’s a neediness issue, the second someone yearns for my attention I turn frostier than a blowjob from Mr Freeze. As animals lack the capability to ask for my love they’re going to get it whether they like it not…

Top Tip #73: Accept your fate and invest in cats…

Right, enough about my men issues, let’s move onto more men issues… The theme of this weeks post is ‘being set up’ or as I like to think of it ‘Having loved ones and friends pick out someone they want you to have sex with’ …yay… Firstly the guy from work (Harry) is a bust. He was a bust to begin with being the width of a fruit roll up and approximately the same age but I thought I’d give it a go anyway.

My turn on’s include exercise and being able to see a man’s heartbeat through his skin…


My colleges were being tremendously sweet pushing us together so I asked him to come for drinks. Harry is new to the area and I casually asked if he wanted to come out with some friends of mine to get to know the nightlife. Being a six-foot rake which somehow was covered in tattoos did make me wonder if our tastes would align. He arrived to Whorey and I having a cigarette, and we did what we do best, judged the shit out of him. The first thing I noticed is he never seems to wear socks… I might be falling behind on the hot trends (if I was ever ahead it was simply because they lapped me…) but a knit-jumper and no socks sends mixed and sweaty messages. One should never judge a book by its ludicrously tattoo’d cover, but in Harry’s case it seemed someone has tore out the pages and replaced it with Pound cake, sweet but dense. My thoughts were confirmed when I noticed that he managed to have a thirty minute conversation with Heels, our fun but busted token drag queen. That might seem like a snap judgement but I’ve probably only spent twenty minutes talking to Heels (not including time spent hearing about how ‘beat’ his face is) and all I’ve gathered is he enjoys raspberry sambuca and prefers to throw up in un-occupied cubicles.

I will definitely keep Harry as a friend, he’s young and adorable, unfortunately those qualities are only sexy to paedophiles. He seemed to have a great time and I made sure all my friends looked after him whilst politely telling Whorey to let him breathe a bit before they go in for the kill (cock).

Whorey’s standard response


My second setup this week came in the form of… Ronaldo (I used to write alias for the CIA but agents kept getting killed with names like Quinten Fakestien). Ronaldo is the brother of a friend who also just moved to town and apparently I was perfect for him, a bold statement considering my perfect match is Dr Oetker. Other than growing anxiety that I seem to be a welcome hamper from the city, I felt pretty good about this date. I was told Ronaldo is a banker, twenty eight and Portuguese, the last two being irrelevant considering the economic climate and my desire to be a trophy wife.

Top Tip #12: Marry someone rich regardless of any other factors, it’s impossible to be unhappy on a yacht. 

We arranged a causal dinner, two friends would be there to make it seem very relaxed and because I have a tendency to be later than Octo-Moms period (I shot for 2016 but my relevant pop culture is stuck in traffic…) I was twenty minutes late so good call guys, and in keeping with the ‘relaxed’ vibe everyone had to swap chairs to put me as close as physically possible to Ronaldo… smooth… My initial impression was really good, he was attractive, affable and attentive (one glass of wine and I throw in more alteration than a crappy comic… intentional I promise). I was attempting to eat calamari in an alluring manner -side note, I wasn’t- when Ronaldo said:

“Oh, well I can have a look at your laptop if you want, I work in I.T.”

The computer department!? My millionaire fantasy dissipated quicker than Bernie Madoff’s, like unicorns and wendigos, young kind bankers didn’t make it onto Noah’s ark. Ultimately it doesn’t matter, Ronaldo was really nice, we enjoyed a good meal and went for a drink afterwards. In the two years I’ve been single this is first time a date has ended well. No creepy messages and not even a hint of scary penis, I would say he’s the one but that might just be psychosis brought on by the drought of decent men.

– Me, being brought to life by a mediocre date…


That’s it for this weeks gossip guys! One date and one friend made, not too bad considering it’s usually one hangover and one trip to the clinic. I will say although Ronaldo was lovely, I didn’t get a spark from him. I think this is the inherent problem with setups, it’s so unnatural and you can’t replicate that deep feeling of attraction edged by apprehension that they don’t feel the same way. The artificial nature of dates made through a third party (be it friends, tinder etc.) won’t allow for that because you both know you’re there to connect. Maybe you’re lucky and love can grow from the sim-styled machinations of your friends. Personally I like to get that gut feeling and spend weeks agonising over whether they feel the same, it makes that first kiss feels amazing.

But then I also give blowjobs under tables so pick your poison…


Cigarettes: I rushed the first paragraph so I could make it in time to buy more before the shop shut.

Exercise: Look my dog is bed bound and I’m bound by its side, it’s unethical to exercise.

Dates: One! Not with Ronaldo so keep posted guys…



2 thoughts on “The Blind Date…

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