Posts Tagged ‘love’
On principle, I was planning on refraining from a Valentine’s Day-themed post: there are enough people flogging the rose-covered dead horse without me clutching at its mane. Unfortunately, my resolve wilted like a cheap petrol station rose, leaving you with the cynically twisted rant you see before you.
Actually, it was more a case of succumbing to peer pressure than an issue of resolve. Chrystalyn, of The Future of Hope fame, challenged me to come up with a list of the most atrocious dates I’ve ever endured. It was harder than I thought. Some horror stories spring freely to mind, while others have been deeply repressed and will require gentle coaxing from a psychiatrist to pry loose.
I’m under no illusion that I’m by any means easy to tolerate, and I don’t purport to be the prized pig of the dating fair, but I really have dated some
unique challenging crazy-as-fuck women in my time.
Author’s note: to my friends who read The Dissemination of Thought, you will notice one glaring omission from Lyndon’s Dating Hall of Fame. This is because the mighty omitted one may truly be a psychopath, not adverse to lighting fires. Big fires. Besides, she’s already well aware she’ll hold the coveted number one spot on the crazy ladder in perpetuity.
Are you comfy? Good. Grab another drink, open the chocolates you bought yourself and help me celebrate Valentine’s Day by counting down my top 10 horror dates.
#10 – The Introducer
I don’t know what to say about this woman, other than to tell you that she invited me to a barbeque the day after our first date, an event at which she introduced me to everyone present – including her parents – as her boyfriend. She couldn’t seem to grasp why I kept correcting her, nor fathom why I lost her number.
#9 – The iPhone Freak
This charmer, circa 2010, truly was a puppet of the Apple juggernaut: she spent our entire date – all 50 minutes of it, give or take – texting and playing on Facebook. I could have slaughtered a goat or begun masturbating at the table and she wouldn’t have noticed.
On the two or three occasions she didn’t have her eyes glued to the phone, she was giving me 101 reasons why my BlackBerry was an inferior product to the apparent cure for cancer she held in her hand.
#8 – The Nympho
This is the woman who, after spending less than two hours face-to-face with me, attempted to mount me on the roof viewing area of a CityFerry. At about 2:30pm. On a weekday. When I advised her that I wasn’t overly interested in giving passing vessels and people on the riverbank a matinee performance, she informed me in a petulant tone that she didn’t need my help “to get off”. At this point, she sat in silence until we arrived at the next ferry terminal.
I wish this date was a figment of my imagination, but, sadly, it’s not; I couldn’t make this shit up if I had a bag of magic mushrooms and a bottle of absinthe.
#7 – “Is She Prettier Than Me?” Barbie
Our date lasted for about an hour. For sixty painful minutes, she asked me whether I thought every woman she saw was prettier than her. Just as I began consoling myself that it couldn’t get any worse, she locked eyes on a brunette in a particularly short skirt at the bar and unleashed her pièce de résistance: “If I wasn’t here, would you go and hit on her?”
#6 – The Restaurant Critic
Never, ever go on a first date to a restaurant that the guy or girl you’re taking out saw reviewed in a newspaper: it turns them into a gastronomic expert and critic of epic proportions.
During our date at a quaint Brisbane eatery, The Restaurant Critic criticised everything from the chairs to the temperature the water was served at. When she wasn’t castigating the lack of options on the menu, she was spewing forth mumbled comments about the quality of the service staff. Her entrée was sent back because the prawns, in her opinion, weren’t “of suitable quality”. She demanded that the waitress return her main meal to the kitchen, but I honestly can’t tell you why; by that stage, I’d stopped listening and was trying to work out how to beat myself to death with a buttered bread roll.
I’m pretty sure I ate spit that night. Or worse.
#5 – The Drunk
It’s never a good start to a mid-afternoon date when the woman you are meeting – let’s call her Stephanie – is already blind drunk when you arrive at the pub. Quickly adjudging the date as a write-off and any future encounters as pipe dreams, I adopted an “if you can’t beat them, join them” approach. This was to be the afternoon of the plentiful vodka and the hurling date.
I was drinking fast – really fast – in an attempt to make Stephanie more bearable, but her hands were like blurs: she left me for dust in the shadows of her white wine and tequila bottles.
Author’s note: if your date has a predilection for 3:00pm tequila and you aren’t in Mexico, back slowly away, being careful not to make any sudden movements.
At one stage, after heading back to the bar for the 46th time, Stephanie simply disappeared. After 10 or 15 minutes, I was beginning to think she’d left, but then noticed that her handbag was still on one of the stools under the table. She eventually returned, looking like she’d survived the Apocalypse, and proceeded to tell me in graphic detail about how poorly the bathroom had fared in its encounter with her projectile vomiting. With that information shared, she picked up her handbag, muttered what I assume was an incoherent farewell and wandered off.
#4 – The Threesome
This adventure wasn’t as exciting or salacious as it sounds: my date, Andrea, brought a friend with her, but everyone was clothed and in full public view at all times.
When Andrea confessed that she had been too shy to meet me for drinks on her own, I really didn’t care: lots of women bring a human comfort blanket on a date, don’t they? After we’d finished a few bottles of wine and I realised that the blonde, bespectacled offsider was planning on joining us for dinner, the nuisance factor went up tenfold, but I didn’t say anything. After all, the conversation was great, and I was slowly getting used to the awkward way in which they kept looking at each other after I’d finished speaking, as if comparing telepathic notes about my suitability as a boyfriend.
Skip forward to the restaurant, and the arrival of the bill. It was at this point I became cognisant of the fact that Andrea was expecting me to pay for her and Free Meal Sally. I had no issue with footing the bill for Andrea, my date, but there was no fucking way I was paying for the hors d’oeuvre-scoffing parasite attached to her left hip. After I’d suggested to them that they needed to formulate a Plan B, they suggested that I was a bigger asshole than Hitler, walked to the counter to pay for their meals, and then disappeared into the night.
#3 – The Old Photo Girl
After chatting online for a few weeks and exchanging numerous photographs, The Old Photo Girl and I decided to meet for a drink. When she arrived, I didn’t recognise her, because all of the photos she’d sent me had apparently been taken prior to her finding an extra 40 or 50 kilograms and developing a fondness for appalling DIY hair colouring. Once lumbering greetings had been exchanged, the conversation went like this:
Me: “You don’t look anything like your photos.”
The Old Photo Girl (TOPG): “Yeah, I know, they were about 3 years old. I’ve changed a lot since then.”
Me: “No shit.”
TOPG: “You don’t want to have a drink now, do you?”
Me: “Not really. I prefer people who are honest. And besides, your hair—“
TOPG: “Fuck you then! If you can’t accept the real me, go to hell!”
That’s where the date ended. She stormed out. On a positive note, I got a free beer and a few laughs out of the bar manager, who had witnessed the debacle in its 4 minute entirety.
#2 – The Super Cougar
This predator used her own kittens as bait. Literally. The Super Cougar was a horny, 40-something-year-old woman who displayed pictures of one of her 20-something-year-old daughters on the online dating profile that said she was 26. I’ll give you a minute to absorb how fucked up that is.
When she approached me in the coffee shop, I had no idea who she was. She quickly confessed to the “misleading”* photos and age, and justified it by saying that she loved younger guys “like the ones her daughters date”, but that these guys were put off by her age. As I finished my latte, I suggested that they were more likely disinterested because she was a concupiscent, lying sociopath who would more likely than not eat them after copulating. She didn’t find this explanation plausible or funny, and left.
* Author’s note: this is The Super Cougar’s word, not mine.
#1 – The Ticking Clock
No, it’s not the name of an Alfred Hitchcock thriller. The Ticking Clock is the moniker I’ve bestowed upon the damsel who grabs the number one spot with both psychotic hands. Her real name was Melanie, but that doesn’t sound anywhere near as ominous and disturbing as her allocated pseudonym.
Upon arriving at the designated meeting place, I found The Ticking Clock two-thirds of the way through a bottle of red, which, given that I was 15 minutes early, wasn’t a good sign. When I sat down with my drink, we began talking and laughing, but she clearly had something on her mind. She asked me what my short-term plans were. I told her and, disappointed with the predictability of her questioning, fired the same query back at her. Her short-term plan was simple: she wanted to fall pregnant within the next three months, in order to have a baby before her 40th birthday. Girls, if you ever want to render a guy speechless twenty minutes into a first date, tell him you want to be pregnant inside 90 days.
I couldn’t fathom her candour, or the matter-of-fact way in which she probed for what could only be described as family history details. She admitted that most of the guys she dated freaked out when she laid her plan on the beer-soaked table (wow, really?) and asked what I thought. I told her, skolled the last three mouthfuls of beer, wished her the best of luck and got the fuck out of Crazy Town.
So there you have it. My 10 worst dates of all time. How do yours compare? Cakes McCain, you should be able to beat at least a few of these.
To those The Dissemination of Thought readers who missed out on getting shot in the ass by the little guy with the nappy, please accept the flowers below as my Valentine’s Day cliché to you all.
Bloggers get lazy towards the end of the year. Select any tag topic at random right now, and you’ll be overwhelmed by a plethora of pieces that have “top”, “resolutions” or “2011” in the title. It seems that everyone in the blogosphere is either resolving their ass off or making a list of their Top [insert number between 1 and 6,914] [insert generic cliché – preferably movies, albums or kitten names] of 2011. A few bloggers are, thankfully, churning out fresh articles, but the majority seem content with reposting their favourite pieces of the year and then attempting to persuade their readers that it’s amazing new work. I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but it’s not. Literally publishing just the links to your ten best posts and then signing off with a corny festive season greeting isn’t entertaining, it’s boring. If you don’t have anything fresh to write about, don’t write; your readers would prefer you didn’t post inane, generic drivel each day just so you can convince yourself that you write daily.
Author’s note: the latter is why 365 day challenges have the potential to annoy the fuck out of everyone.
So, now that my beer and vodka-fuelled vociferation has concluded, I’m going to share with you a few new search terms that people have found The Dissemination of Thought with. While I’m fully aware it’s something I’ve touched on before, today we’re examining new stuff that people have looked for in the past three weeks. It’s a rehashed idea with fresh search phrases, so it’s technically new material, which officially makes this an original post and me less of a whinging hypocrite.
peter griffin naked
Everyone has issues; some people’s problems are just a lot worse than yours. If you ever think you can’t sink any lower into despair, just remember: at least you didn’t google a guy with balls for a chin in naked poses.
kelloggs shirazco pop
This search phrase is a little disconcerting, considering I only coined the name “Shirazco Pops” a week or two prior to writing this piece. Are Kellogg’s trying to pass my breakfast cereal and red wine masterpiece off as its own creation? Is there a chance they are preparing to make me an offer I can’t refuse? If it turns out to be the former, this means war; if it’s the latter, The Dissemination of Thought will cease to exist four seconds after their cheque clears.
my boyfriend thinks engagement rings are a ripoff and doesnt want to buy one
Whoever typed this into a search engine needs to run the fuck away from their frugal boyfriend as quickly as possible. While there is a chance the boyfriend just has no desire to propose to someone who uses Google like a Magic 8 Ball, the smart bet is on him using the ring money to finance an engagement jet ski.
sesame street the count snorts cocaine
What the fuck? Because there are so many things wrong with this, I’m not even sure where to start. Is there a Sesame Street spin-off that no one’s aware of called Blowin’ with Big Bird and Bert? Does Grover do a good deal on a kilo of coke? On a positive note, given that Count von Count is a puppet and has a felt nose, it’s unlikely that he would ever succumb to a perforated nasal septum.
Welcome to The Dissemination of Thought in 2012: I can’t wait to see what search terms the next twelve months bring.
There is no prepared TDoT post today per se, it’s more of an impromptu reaction to a conversation I overhead on the bus this morning between a woman who became engaged overnight, and a friend of hers who wasn’t yet aware of the situation. Perhaps the bride to be is yet to update her relationship status on Facebook.
For ease of identification, we will call the one with the ring Miss Engagee. Her ashen-haired, nodding sidekick is Enabling Friend.
If it wasn’t already hard enough for guys to figure out what the hell women want, hearing the following exchange amidst a flurry of squeals and animated hand gestures raised the bar another four inches.
Enabling Friend: “Oh babe, you must be so excited!”
Miss Engagee: “I was thinking about breaking up with him, but this ring is beautiful.”
Enabling Friend: “You’d probably have to give it back if you split.”
With that sort of logic, what chance do we have?
Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry on my BlackBerry Bold 9700
Internet dating. The virtual park bench for loitering 21st century singles looking for love. A quagmire of lies, sexual tension, three-year-old profile pictures and ticking biological clocks.
I’ve dangled my toes into the cold, often choppy waters of online courting on several occasions through websites like RSVP, but have stagnated while using Oasis Active. To be fair, most of the torpidity I’m currently experiencing can be blamed on my sporadic use of the website, and the fact that I’m not really taking it all that seriously. That said, I am convinced that part of the issue is that it’s a free website, which means that anyone can join on a whim, either out of boredom (guilty) or because they see it as an easy – and cost-effective – way to line up as much casual sex as they can. The result is that there’s no filter for high maintenance psychopaths, sex-crazed philanderers or plain old idiots. Buyer beware: with free internet dating, you get what you pay for.
While carrying out a lackadaisical appraisal of my apparent matches and reading Miss Maribel Maeve’s candid recollections of her internet dating experiences, I began to ponder whether or not I’d learnt anything during my time searching for love via a prepaid broadband connection. What I came up with was a realisation that regardless of which website you use, or whether you look at male or female profiles, some things are never as they seem.
I’m sorry ma’am, you can’t bring that into the cabin
I know we all have some emotional paraphernalia – it’s something that’s impossible to move forward through life without accumulating, but some people seem to have difficulty estimating how heavy their bags are. While a tote or cabin bag is generally the accepted standard, some individuals can’t travel without a full set of luggage, even on an overnight jaunt. Don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s raining: not only is your bag well over 23kg, the zipper is fucked and one of the wheels has fallen off.
Personally, I prefer something that fits comfortably in the in the overhead locker, but each to their own.
There’s occasional, and then there’s internet dating occasional
If someone says in their profile that they are an occasional smoker, don’t be surprised when they make a beeline for the door every fifteen minutes, desperately fumbling for the lighter that they only had their hands two mouthfuls of their drink ago. Things are different in the online dating universe, and words don’t always keep their true meaning. People need to upsell. Think about it in this context: if you were selling a used car, would you want potential buyers knowing about the appalling noises coming from the engine before they fell in love with the leather interior and kick-ass sound system? No, you’d want them smitten with the two dozen speakers and sound quality as it dawned on them that the engine noise was a little more constant than the ad indicated.
Should your date define themselves as a regular smoker, prepare a Skype link-up to the smoking area if you are expecting a decent conversation. If they get through less than half a packet in the first few hours, they aren’t really trying.
Pictures may not lie, but they may be a little forgetful, especially after three years
Unless they specify that the photo of them at what looks like a millennium party was taken in mid-2011 at a Noughties theme night, you need to assume that the snap is as old as everyone’s Y2K fears.
I don’t know why, but some people refuse to upload recent photos, and then seem genuinely bemused by you wanting to walk out on the date. My best personal example of this phenomenon? I had a date with a woman whose profile picture turned out to be not only about three years old, but taken prior to her putting on over thirty kilograms. She looked nothing at all like her photograph, so much so that I didn’t recognise her when she walked into the bar. While I may not be all that and a bag of chips, at least people will know what sort – and quantity – of chips they’re getting when they look at my profile.
While on the subject on profile pictures, if someone only wants to display photos of their dog, feline friends or the random garden gnomes that they’ve amassed, run away. Fast. Can you say crazy cat lady?
Seriously, if as many people actually liked piña coladas and strolls during periods of precipitation as they professed to online, Australian retailers would sell tens of billions of dollars worth of white rum and umbrellas annually. If everyone was as laid back and relaxed as their profiles suggested, the country would slow to the point of being comatose and pharmaceutical companies would go bankrupt due to the drop in Prozac, Xanax and Valium sales.
The cliché situation is really that bad on dating websites. Don’t believe me? Spend a few minutes perusing any of them, and then send me your letter of apology, clearly stating that you will never doubt me again.
So there you go. Let’s hear your online dating stories.