An English Liuetenant in the Royal Navy and a Scottish Staff Sergeant in the British Army all in one weekend?
Naughty Datress!
...And a Gucci/Tom Ford/Burberry/Emporio Armani model next week?! Don't mind if I do!
Very naughty Datress ;-)
Will write them out soon my pets
In the meantime, Follow the Datress' new Facebook Page... You won't be disappointed (they never are) ;) xo
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Email of the Week- "From Paris with (vomit)"
"Who can ever say no to the young woman you are?
You are the woman I would like to spend thousands of years with.
hi,
my name is jack and would like to get to know you, skype, messenger, phone.
I am a French American.
I can move and travel easily as I am a journalist, a writer and a translator.
I am alone in Paris and I feel lonely quite often and I would like to share a lot of things with yoooooooooooooooooooooooooou.
By the way, I have always been told that I do excellent massage.
à bientôt"
....
Correction, AU REVIOR!!
... why am suddenly receiving lots of SlimY messages from Paris these days? ... Je ne vous aime pas! arrêt!
You are the woman I would like to spend thousands of years with.
hi,
my name is jack and would like to get to know you, skype, messenger, phone.
I am a French American.
I can move and travel easily as I am a journalist, a writer and a translator.
I am alone in Paris and I feel lonely quite often and I would like to share a lot of things with yoooooooooooooooooooooooooou.
By the way, I have always been told that I do excellent massage.
à bientôt"
....
Correction, AU REVIOR!!
... why am suddenly receiving lots of SlimY messages from Paris these days? ... Je ne vous aime pas! arrêt!
Monday, August 23, 2010
From Virgin to Baby-Daddy
The hysterical dating life of the Datress' is really heating up in the strangest of ways!!
last two consecutive dates, two different guys:
From:
Date, 27 years old: "I'm just Not that experienced... in the bedroom..."
--"Oooooh, that's oook..." (It's NOT)
To:
Date, 26 years old: "I've got something running around my feet on Sundays..."
-*Smile, "Do you have a dog?!"
"No, I've got a baby."
--"Oooooh, that's oook..." (It's DEFINITELY NOT!)
Stories to follow, bitches!! ;)
last two consecutive dates, two different guys:
From:
Date, 27 years old: "I'm just Not that experienced... in the bedroom..."
--"Oooooh, that's oook..." (It's NOT)
To:
Date, 26 years old: "I've got something running around my feet on Sundays..."
-*Smile, "Do you have a dog?!"
"No, I've got a baby."
--"Oooooh, that's oook..." (It's DEFINITELY NOT!)
Stories to follow, bitches!! ;)
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
The [Lack of] Punctuation says it all...
It's been a while my little darlings, post-Rhinoplasty, I've just begun logging back into the world of online dating... and it's good to be back. ;-)
A few prospects in the mix, and an upcoming date, however, this e-mail from 'Fahed' delights me on a whole different level. For Pure comedic value:
"sounds awesome
really love your desire lets know each other more if you wish to
i am so bored here actually living alone that is why i am on m____ dot com
want to organize more my lovely short life will be happy if someone loves me so much
and i do more than that which is intangible u can even imagine how soft and smooth my love is
if sounds cool let me know will be here answering u 0754XXXXXXX
oh sorry one more thing i aint bitch or whore if you guess so dont reply me please
i put the number bcos of best never stays longer so why not catch up soon
bye honey"
Don't be mistaken, he "...ain't bitch or whore if you guess"...
With a message this enjoyable, it only makes sense to check out the goods:
5'6 (oompla loompa), asian, hairy, scary.
Apparently Fahed speaks English...
The photos= Gold.
Photo 1- pouty face angled right with v-neck tee-shirt hanging far too low and showing off a cringe-worthy display of chest hair.
Photo 2- pouty face lying on bed with white, wire-rimmed, ladies, sunglasses Victoria Beckham would have worn back when she had a 'singing' career.
Photo 3- camera has replaced a perky-penis and looks upwards towards pouty face with aforementioned Beckham-bargain-bin shades, aforementioned v-neck 'shirt' which, upon closer inspection looks as though it is worn everyday, without washing, ironing or general socially acceptable human hygiene standards. Did I forget to mention the fluorescent-orange bandana tied ninja-style around his forehead?... To complement the shades, of course.
Photo 4- pouty face angled right with a new hideous excuse of a frothy chest-hair v-neck button up tee-shirt. however this shirt looks as though it has been laundered so many times that the material is so dangerously thin you really should avert eyes or hit Next button without delay! (this wafer-thin fabric throws me back to the days of flatshare with an eccentric Turkish gay 'Ratlu' who insisted on wearing said fabric in the form of tiny pyjama shorts with an equally worn elastic band- just think of the frightening possibilities. or better yet, Don't.)
Photo 5- pouty face looking at camera, same wafer-fabric, but add a long sparkly black 'i-got-this-at-Oxfam-and-think-it-looks-trendy-but-actually-never-was-and-never-will-be' necklace.
--now that you have an idea of what we're dealing with here, have a read of his write-up:
"what to say ........ easy going bit sporty always trying to be smiley . at the moment i am working also looking for a woman who will love me so much and make me laugh .gentle , friendly ,jolly ,always good suggestions for me being polite being creative and same for you too that all about who i am . im 25 looking for someone who loves my age and need my age . make sure believing is reliefing each other
dont be shy to know me more just email me as quick waiting for beloved one
thx"
seriously... believe it and it may 'relief' you...
A few prospects in the mix, and an upcoming date, however, this e-mail from 'Fahed' delights me on a whole different level. For Pure comedic value:
"sounds awesome
really love your desire lets know each other more if you wish to
i am so bored here actually living alone that is why i am on m____ dot com
want to organize more my lovely short life will be happy if someone loves me so much
and i do more than that which is intangible u can even imagine how soft and smooth my love is
if sounds cool let me know will be here answering u 0754XXXXXXX
oh sorry one more thing i aint bitch or whore if you guess so dont reply me please
i put the number bcos of best never stays longer so why not catch up soon
bye honey"
Don't be mistaken, he "...ain't bitch or whore if you guess"...
With a message this enjoyable, it only makes sense to check out the goods:
5'6 (oompla loompa), asian, hairy, scary.
Apparently Fahed speaks English...
The photos= Gold.
Photo 1- pouty face angled right with v-neck tee-shirt hanging far too low and showing off a cringe-worthy display of chest hair.
Photo 2- pouty face lying on bed with white, wire-rimmed, ladies, sunglasses Victoria Beckham would have worn back when she had a 'singing' career.
Photo 3- camera has replaced a perky-penis and looks upwards towards pouty face with aforementioned Beckham-bargain-bin shades, aforementioned v-neck 'shirt' which, upon closer inspection looks as though it is worn everyday, without washing, ironing or general socially acceptable human hygiene standards. Did I forget to mention the fluorescent-orange bandana tied ninja-style around his forehead?... To complement the shades, of course.
Photo 4- pouty face angled right with a new hideous excuse of a frothy chest-hair v-neck button up tee-shirt. however this shirt looks as though it has been laundered so many times that the material is so dangerously thin you really should avert eyes or hit Next button without delay! (this wafer-thin fabric throws me back to the days of flatshare with an eccentric Turkish gay 'Ratlu' who insisted on wearing said fabric in the form of tiny pyjama shorts with an equally worn elastic band- just think of the frightening possibilities. or better yet, Don't.)
Photo 5- pouty face looking at camera, same wafer-fabric, but add a long sparkly black 'i-got-this-at-Oxfam-and-think-it-looks-trendy-but-actually-never-was-and-never-will-be' necklace.
--now that you have an idea of what we're dealing with here, have a read of his write-up:
"what to say ........ easy going bit sporty always trying to be smiley . at the moment i am working also looking for a woman who will love me so much and make me laugh .gentle , friendly ,jolly ,always good suggestions for me being polite being creative and same for you too that all about who i am . im 25 looking for someone who loves my age and need my age . make sure believing is reliefing each other
dont be shy to know me more just email me as quick waiting for beloved one
thx"
seriously... believe it and it may 'relief' you...
Sunday, May 30, 2010
The Local Bore
Mid-May 2010:
Agreeing to a date on a whim… because the guy lives locally.
How I discovered that this in itself is NOT reason enough to meet up with a perfect stranger.
Inbox: an email from Andy, a 5’11” brunette, 24 year old in ‘property’. I cringe at the thought of dating an estate agent, but suggest a coffee date as:
A. He looks pretty cute in his photos,
B. Based on said photos, he has done his fair share of traveling(very important! After all, this frequent flyer is not looking for someone who prefers the comfort and safety of Mummy’s bosom to an international adventure.)
C. He actually lives within walking distance, and in London this is a bonus in itself!
Sounds like a decent plan, right? Not-so-much, and here’s why.
I had a busy weekend planned, so squeezed Andy in for a Saturday afternoon coffee; between first date with Sam on Friday night and friends on Saturday night.
Friday night comes and goes, and the first date with Sam is everything I hoped it would be and more. Beep, Beep, Beep- the buzzing alarm clock (Snooze button) on a rainy, windy Saturday morning, and all I want to do is cuddle my duvet and relive the previous night’s intricacies and analyse every minute detail (down to a fault).
Forcing my lazy legs out from under my down-feathered friend, I will my sleepy body into the shower and reassure myself that even though the previous night had been the best first date I’d had in Ages, it was just that: a First. And every seasoned Datress knows that there are any number of reasons why and how a great First could have been a fluke, so I really should give Local Andy a chance. As well as the knowledge that it is far too late to cancel now… In my books anyways, and this is the 1940’s Etiquette book unearthed at the family cottage 5 years ago. Contrast that with “Why Men Marry Bitches” and “It’s just a Fucking Date” and you’ve got my dating style.
Trusty ‘afternoon coffee/ beer at a pub’ date outfit on: skinny dark jeans, cute white tee, fitted v-neck long cardigan, and one bigass sparkly necklace. The footwear is dependent on weather, and on today’s rainy day the choice was knee high black boots. And off I trot up Devonshire, singing Miley Cyrus’ “Party in the USA” to myself on my way to meet Local Andy. It’s been an unshaken presence in my head ever since Griff told me he thinks Miley sounds Jamaican while singing “…nodding my head like Yeaaah, moving my hips like Yeaaah” last week, and now it’s all I can hear (damn Miley, I can’t stand you, but why you gotta be so catchy?)
I see him standing across the street and as I stride the zebra crossing (yes, the same one I crossed to meet Doctor Dick, different black boots) my first thought is “nice from afar…” As we greet, I am subjected to an awkward kiss-meant-for-the-cheek-ending-up-on-the-ear and think to myself (fuck!). This 24 year old is not very smooth and I remind myself why I don’t date guys my age- immature and generally without game (or at least the kind of game I wanna play). We walk towards the suggested café and from the sideways glances, my internal light bulb clicks on; He is an exact blend of two guys I work with! Seriously if ‘Russ’ and ‘Don’ were to mate, Local Andy (L.A.) would be their offspring. This is somewhat unsettling considering I had previously dated ‘Russ’ *shudder. And as my instincts are saying Game Over, that damn Etiquette book is coming back to haunt me and I politely agree to order food along with our coffees (I am starving, and it is just a sandwich, can’t be that painful, right?).
I have a pretty good idea of how this date is going to go (awkwardly-awfully) and the pin-dropping silence that ensues whilst we read the menu is killing me. I remain silent mostly out of curiosity to see how long L.A. is going to remain mute, for I had been the one to keep the conversation flowing up until this point, and hey, this is a two way street young stuff…
Tic.
Toc.
Tic.
Toc.
(I have chosen my BLT…with cheese)
Tic.
Toc.
Tic.
Toc.
(I have re-read and re-considered… perhaps a Club… with cheese)
Tic.
Toc.
Tic.
Toc.
(No, no, I really just want a BLT… with cheese)
Tic.
Toc.
Tic.
SILENCE BROKEN!
“So… what are you getting?”
Seriously?! Really? Truly?! You’ve had almost 4 minutes to come up with something to say and you really want me to explain to you why the BLT shouldn’t even exist without the accompaniment of an ample slice of cheese between the lightly toasted bread?!
My large double-shot Americano arrives. (And not a moment too soon)Two brown sugars in. Stir. Stop. Pour (milk). Stir. Sip.
This poor kid is sinking.
So am I, but at least now that I have sipped my first sip of my blessed hyper-caffeinated coffee, I am feeling slightly more human, and my sympathetic side begins to twinge.
I begin to ask him questions.
Questions about his work. He explains, but is finding it hard to maintain eye contact and repeatedly glances as my left shoulder.
His living situation. 3 Flatmates, and the eyes continue darting to my left shoulder.
(Is this the new, “I’ll pretend I’m looking at her shoulder but really am glancing at her cleavage”?)
His family. Two brothers, Mum and Dad all live close,
(No, mustn’t be, my boobs are a B cup and completely covered!)
His travels. Very limited apart from typical lads holidays to Menorca and Tenerife.
(I check my shoulder to make sure my bra strap isn’t on display. It isn’t.)
And questions about pretty much everything else I can think of to make the time pass faster…
The food comes out and I play ‘good little hostess’ (as if I don’t do that enough at work?!) by continuing to play question and answer with him. And as I race through every bite of my favourite sandwich (usually every bite savoured), I realise that I am playing therapist. I am on a date with an insecure child. Sexy. And seeing as he’s a child, I probably won’t even get a free lunch for my services.
Food done, L.A. asks if I would like to go somewhere else for a drink, I hasten to say I need to head home and collect my things for a dinner party tonight (which is in fact HOURS off). Up we get to pay, and as the cashier says £17.49, I notice he pulls out a Tenner… and motions to hand it to the cashier. I politely say, “Do you want to split it?” (Clueing in that perhaps he recognizes we Won’t be seeing each other again, phew! It’s not just me!) “Yeah, if that’s OK…” Underwhelmed, and not unexpected, I pay up, with another Tenner and he insists I keep the change… What a gentleman. Wait, make that a boy.
We walk outside and I need to walk South, knowing he is North-bound. So I make the departure short and sweet, a quick hug, “nice to meet ya”, and turning on my heel to quickly return to the comfort of my duvet.
All I can think is: ‘what a waste of a Tenner!’ The BLT was hardly anything to write home about, and I can make a better latte on my Nespresso at home. Oh well at least I think he got the hint at the end…
Down Devonshire, “nodding my head like Yeaaah, moving my hips like Yeaaah”…
Fast-forward a few hours, a debrief fag with Griff and a text from L.A. arrives.
“Had a really great time with you today, would love to meet up for another drink around town sometime.”
Were we on the same date?! Perhaps his favourite female body part is the full clothed shoulder and his ideal date is an awkward one-way therapy session, but to me that spells a creepy- disaster. Ignored.
I never did find out what was so special about my left shoulder, however, in my obstination I have certainly gained an affinity for my Right, and I begin to imagine the potential for a joint dating/therapy website. www.Date-a-Debbie-Downer.com.
Agreeing to a date on a whim… because the guy lives locally.
How I discovered that this in itself is NOT reason enough to meet up with a perfect stranger.
Inbox: an email from Andy, a 5’11” brunette, 24 year old in ‘property’. I cringe at the thought of dating an estate agent, but suggest a coffee date as:
A. He looks pretty cute in his photos,
B. Based on said photos, he has done his fair share of traveling(very important! After all, this frequent flyer is not looking for someone who prefers the comfort and safety of Mummy’s bosom to an international adventure.)
C. He actually lives within walking distance, and in London this is a bonus in itself!
Sounds like a decent plan, right? Not-so-much, and here’s why.
I had a busy weekend planned, so squeezed Andy in for a Saturday afternoon coffee; between first date with Sam on Friday night and friends on Saturday night.
Friday night comes and goes, and the first date with Sam is everything I hoped it would be and more. Beep, Beep, Beep- the buzzing alarm clock (Snooze button) on a rainy, windy Saturday morning, and all I want to do is cuddle my duvet and relive the previous night’s intricacies and analyse every minute detail (down to a fault).
Forcing my lazy legs out from under my down-feathered friend, I will my sleepy body into the shower and reassure myself that even though the previous night had been the best first date I’d had in Ages, it was just that: a First. And every seasoned Datress knows that there are any number of reasons why and how a great First could have been a fluke, so I really should give Local Andy a chance. As well as the knowledge that it is far too late to cancel now… In my books anyways, and this is the 1940’s Etiquette book unearthed at the family cottage 5 years ago. Contrast that with “Why Men Marry Bitches” and “It’s just a Fucking Date” and you’ve got my dating style.
Trusty ‘afternoon coffee/ beer at a pub’ date outfit on: skinny dark jeans, cute white tee, fitted v-neck long cardigan, and one bigass sparkly necklace. The footwear is dependent on weather, and on today’s rainy day the choice was knee high black boots. And off I trot up Devonshire, singing Miley Cyrus’ “Party in the USA” to myself on my way to meet Local Andy. It’s been an unshaken presence in my head ever since Griff told me he thinks Miley sounds Jamaican while singing “…nodding my head like Yeaaah, moving my hips like Yeaaah” last week, and now it’s all I can hear (damn Miley, I can’t stand you, but why you gotta be so catchy?)
I see him standing across the street and as I stride the zebra crossing (yes, the same one I crossed to meet Doctor Dick, different black boots) my first thought is “nice from afar…” As we greet, I am subjected to an awkward kiss-meant-for-the-cheek-ending-up-on-the-ear and think to myself (fuck!). This 24 year old is not very smooth and I remind myself why I don’t date guys my age- immature and generally without game (or at least the kind of game I wanna play). We walk towards the suggested café and from the sideways glances, my internal light bulb clicks on; He is an exact blend of two guys I work with! Seriously if ‘Russ’ and ‘Don’ were to mate, Local Andy (L.A.) would be their offspring. This is somewhat unsettling considering I had previously dated ‘Russ’ *shudder. And as my instincts are saying Game Over, that damn Etiquette book is coming back to haunt me and I politely agree to order food along with our coffees (I am starving, and it is just a sandwich, can’t be that painful, right?).
I have a pretty good idea of how this date is going to go (awkwardly-awfully) and the pin-dropping silence that ensues whilst we read the menu is killing me. I remain silent mostly out of curiosity to see how long L.A. is going to remain mute, for I had been the one to keep the conversation flowing up until this point, and hey, this is a two way street young stuff…
Tic.
Toc.
Tic.
Toc.
(I have chosen my BLT…with cheese)
Tic.
Toc.
Tic.
Toc.
(I have re-read and re-considered… perhaps a Club… with cheese)
Tic.
Toc.
Tic.
Toc.
(No, no, I really just want a BLT… with cheese)
Tic.
Toc.
Tic.
SILENCE BROKEN!
“So… what are you getting?”
Seriously?! Really? Truly?! You’ve had almost 4 minutes to come up with something to say and you really want me to explain to you why the BLT shouldn’t even exist without the accompaniment of an ample slice of cheese between the lightly toasted bread?!
My large double-shot Americano arrives. (And not a moment too soon)Two brown sugars in. Stir. Stop. Pour (milk). Stir. Sip.
This poor kid is sinking.
So am I, but at least now that I have sipped my first sip of my blessed hyper-caffeinated coffee, I am feeling slightly more human, and my sympathetic side begins to twinge.
I begin to ask him questions.
Questions about his work. He explains, but is finding it hard to maintain eye contact and repeatedly glances as my left shoulder.
His living situation. 3 Flatmates, and the eyes continue darting to my left shoulder.
(Is this the new, “I’ll pretend I’m looking at her shoulder but really am glancing at her cleavage”?)
His family. Two brothers, Mum and Dad all live close,
(No, mustn’t be, my boobs are a B cup and completely covered!)
His travels. Very limited apart from typical lads holidays to Menorca and Tenerife.
(I check my shoulder to make sure my bra strap isn’t on display. It isn’t.)
And questions about pretty much everything else I can think of to make the time pass faster…
The food comes out and I play ‘good little hostess’ (as if I don’t do that enough at work?!) by continuing to play question and answer with him. And as I race through every bite of my favourite sandwich (usually every bite savoured), I realise that I am playing therapist. I am on a date with an insecure child. Sexy. And seeing as he’s a child, I probably won’t even get a free lunch for my services.
Food done, L.A. asks if I would like to go somewhere else for a drink, I hasten to say I need to head home and collect my things for a dinner party tonight (which is in fact HOURS off). Up we get to pay, and as the cashier says £17.49, I notice he pulls out a Tenner… and motions to hand it to the cashier. I politely say, “Do you want to split it?” (Clueing in that perhaps he recognizes we Won’t be seeing each other again, phew! It’s not just me!) “Yeah, if that’s OK…” Underwhelmed, and not unexpected, I pay up, with another Tenner and he insists I keep the change… What a gentleman. Wait, make that a boy.
We walk outside and I need to walk South, knowing he is North-bound. So I make the departure short and sweet, a quick hug, “nice to meet ya”, and turning on my heel to quickly return to the comfort of my duvet.
All I can think is: ‘what a waste of a Tenner!’ The BLT was hardly anything to write home about, and I can make a better latte on my Nespresso at home. Oh well at least I think he got the hint at the end…
Down Devonshire, “nodding my head like Yeaaah, moving my hips like Yeaaah”…
Fast-forward a few hours, a debrief fag with Griff and a text from L.A. arrives.
“Had a really great time with you today, would love to meet up for another drink around town sometime.”
Were we on the same date?! Perhaps his favourite female body part is the full clothed shoulder and his ideal date is an awkward one-way therapy session, but to me that spells a creepy- disaster. Ignored.
I never did find out what was so special about my left shoulder, however, in my obstination I have certainly gained an affinity for my Right, and I begin to imagine the potential for a joint dating/therapy website. www.Date-a-Debbie-Downer.com.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Profile of the Week
I only wish I could post photos on here.
This tiny creature has short-man, gym-monkey syndrome. Combine that with an over-inflated ego and you get a profile with 7 (out of 10) shirtless photos. And I'm not talking about "I'm on a beach in Koh Phangan" or "I'm scaling a rock face in the mid-day sun" shirtless, I'm talking: "I'm shirtless making dinner; I'm shirtless randomly leaning on the kitchen counter-top; I'm shirtless in various poses with my arm above my head in front of the mirror; I've got a shirt on but completely unbuttoned and held open with my hands on my hips" kind of shirtless. (OK,OK, fine, make that 6.5/10 shirtless photos based on the last description)
...And with a write up like this, he Must have the girls swooning all over but-fuck-nowheres-ville South, South "London":
Interests: Weights/Machines
"...Anyway thas enough about me, lets talk about us, your place tonight, ill bring the wine :)"
"...Also enjoy kickboxing, gym,travelling, going to bars clubs and love cosy nights in front of the fire, actually make that makng love all night long in front of the fire!! :)"
--- Aww, see? Who said Romance was dead?
Now seriously, my gag-reflex is practically non-existent, however it is definitely induced by (extreme) cheese. And no, it doesn't taste salty.
This tiny creature has short-man, gym-monkey syndrome. Combine that with an over-inflated ego and you get a profile with 7 (out of 10) shirtless photos. And I'm not talking about "I'm on a beach in Koh Phangan" or "I'm scaling a rock face in the mid-day sun" shirtless, I'm talking: "I'm shirtless making dinner; I'm shirtless randomly leaning on the kitchen counter-top; I'm shirtless in various poses with my arm above my head in front of the mirror; I've got a shirt on but completely unbuttoned and held open with my hands on my hips" kind of shirtless. (OK,OK, fine, make that 6.5/10 shirtless photos based on the last description)
...And with a write up like this, he Must have the girls swooning all over but-fuck-nowheres-ville South, South "London":
Interests: Weights/Machines
"...Anyway thas enough about me, lets talk about us, your place tonight, ill bring the wine :)"
"...Also enjoy kickboxing, gym,travelling, going to bars clubs and love cosy nights in front of the fire, actually make that makng love all night long in front of the fire!! :)"
--- Aww, see? Who said Romance was dead?
Now seriously, my gag-reflex is practically non-existent, however it is definitely induced by (extreme) cheese. And no, it doesn't taste salty.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Email of the Day
"Subject: hi sexy how are u?i really like the smile in your face u also look impresive just the type of lady i had always dream about,i had never believe love at first sight until i saw u in this site.i believe i can fly and touch the sky if u be with.
Hi babes would u take me in your wings?"
---yes, the entire first paragraph is in the subject line.
yes, he lives at home.
yes, he is 5'5".
and yes, he quoted R. Kelly... he should know that that kinda shit only works on 14 year old girls...
Hi babes would u take me in your wings?"
---yes, the entire first paragraph is in the subject line.
yes, he lives at home.
yes, he is 5'5".
and yes, he quoted R. Kelly... he should know that that kinda shit only works on 14 year old girls...
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Email of the day
"I'd love to take you to Paris for dinner next week
what do you say?
Tye 075--------"
----What an offer! Hypothetically, I'm game if it's on a private jet, but would run screaming from the Eurostar.
Too bad he has no photo and his name is 'kindheartfunman'. £150k/year or not, it reminds me of something my little brother with Down's Syndrome would come up with...
what do you say?
Tye 075--------"
----What an offer! Hypothetically, I'm game if it's on a private jet, but would run screaming from the Eurostar.
Too bad he has no photo and his name is 'kindheartfunman'. £150k/year or not, it reminds me of something my little brother with Down's Syndrome would come up with...
Email of the day
"hi how are you ? i like your profile very much. i am going to move to London in september so would be great to know you more if you like ......................."
--- yes!! please!! lets have an online relationship for 4 months before actually meeting! that sounds like every girls dream!!! but please, while we're at it, instead of meeting in 4 months... how about 2thousand and NEVER!
--- yes!! please!! lets have an online relationship for 4 months before actually meeting! that sounds like every girls dream!!! but please, while we're at it, instead of meeting in 4 months... how about 2thousand and NEVER!
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Repost: Doctor Dick, Pilot Prick [Part Two]
I realise I now have less than one hour to wash my hair and get ready. Panic! (Hey now, as much as I Know this date is going to fail, that’s no reason not to look ShitHot.) As I run around (OK more like prance around) getting ready, I laugh to myself; for some reason an episode of Saved By the Bell pops into my head. The one where Kelly Kapowski is late for a date with Zack Morris because she had to wash her hair, to which Zack asks, “How many TIMES?!”, and I wonder if this excuse for being late would go over well with the Psychiatrist. Probably not, and so I keep my preparation-pace at the speed of a prance...
Outfit approved by my fashionista flatmate Griff (sidenote: are homos fashionistas or fashionisters? I never know) and out the door!
I can see him arriving outside the bar as I stride the zebra crossing in my black leather boots and my first thought is, “Well, I certainly wouldn’t do a double take. He’s fatter than his photos.” Apparently the look of disappointment is written all over my face (or so he later mentions) and after a kiss-kiss-hello, we’re inside and I request a Small (but expensive) Sangiovese and seat myself at the nearest table while he gets the drinks. The table is apparently the “longest table he’s ever sat at” and apparently “we couldn’t be further away, it’s as if you don’t want to be too close”. I ignore the commentary, a finely tuned skill that I practice and perfect several more times over the course of the next 2 hours.
A couch behind us frees up and he suggests we move over. I agree, before turning to realise it is one of those plush, deeply seated, brown leather love-seat couches that you are excited to find when you’re with someone you actually fancy- perfect for a PDA (public display of affection), and cringe-worthy for a first date with someone who actually makes your skin crawl. I made friends with the armrest to my left and position myself so that gap between us is as large as possible. With my neck craned at an awkward angle, my date continues to hound me about my reasons for not wanting to get into his car, bombards me with 20 questions that I must answer as quickly as possible without hesitation. I argue and comply where appropriate, and notice that the man sat next to us, alone, sipping his glass of russet Red (Cabernet Sauvignon?) and reading a paper, periodically looks over at the two of us, and makes eye contact with me. I am sure he is failing to telepathically communicate his willingness to step in and save me from this Psycho-analysing (which, when I asked, is apparently a normal way of getting to know someone on dates... as if I don’t have experience dating and will learn in time), and I am slightly saddened when my one ally packs up his papers and leaves.
I turn my attention, and thoughts, back to Doctor Dick, who, by the way, looks nothing of the pre-pubescent school-boy I had earlier envisioned, but actually a slightly overweight, slightly balding 30-something Jewish man… in D&G. I am repeatedly plied with meaningless compliments about my cute outfit, my cute ‘American’ smile, (of course I remind him it is in fact, 100% Canadian- my place of birth) and how generally ‘cute’ I am (what am I, a puppy?!) It all reads nauseatingly false and I make a mental note that THIS is how he gets girls, along with his MASSIVE wallet, and at least 3 tokes of shisha-roofies. In between this slime in the guise of compliments, he asks me my ‘type’ in men, and quivers in his Gucci shoes when I suggest I like real men who tend to favour growing a beard instead of using a mountain of gels, foams, waxes, and whatever other products men use, and who, on occasion aren’t afraid to throw a baseball cap over their bed-head hair. He takes this personally and his defences are pricked: I somewhat enjoy listening to him try to justify his metro-sexual lifestyle. OK, maybe I am slightly sadistic as well. ;)
He tires of trying to mask his arrogance and changes the subject to his ex-girlfriend who is apparently a supermodel, and relives how he hated being at parties with her. “Why?” “I Hated not being the person everyone knew. I Hated standing behind her and being introduced as HER boyfriend. I want to be the One everyone knows. I want to take My girlfriend by the hand, and be the one to introduce HER.”
My body automatically reacts, and I swallowed the little bit of vomit in my mouth before playing the one-up game and name dropping myself. A gent I had previously dated was with an actress who was nominated for Best Actress at the Oscars this year. Uncomfortable with this game, he changes the subject...
“So what do you think we should do on our second date?”
I hesitate, but realise that this is the perfect opportunity to Freudian-slip the matt out from under this Psychiatrist’s Ego...
“I don’t think there Should be a second date...”
(Cue confused face, wrinkled nose and all)
“Why?”
This is where I politely suggest that I just don’t think we’re well suited, because even though he had mentioned earlier that he has tough skin and would rather hear it straight (when talking about sending that “thanks but no thanks” text to a hopeful lad) I still couldn’t be mean, and hey at least I was saying it to his face, right? Wrong. He wants reasons and examples of why we’re not suited. I mention the situation with the supermodel-ex (whose Daddy, by the way, used to be the richest man in the world, because it’s vital information) and how I wouldn’t want to be with someone who can’t take pride in their partner’s successes, and how I am not a docile wallflower who is willing to be “taken by the hand” and led around.
He accepts defeat (or so I thought) and we head for the door, would I like a ride home? No thank you. Have a good week. Thanks, safe drive home. Kiss-kiss-buh-bye.
As I walk home, I call Scottish B and give a wee recap, laughing all the way.
I enter the warmth of my flat and barely have time to light my debrief cigarette with Griff before my Berry buzzes.
“I just realised u dumped Me [yes, he capitalised Me] twice in one night now that’s a record! :) x”
One hour later- Berry buzzes- facebook mail:
“Between You and [Doctor Dick]
14 March at 23:39
I meant what i said btw, I really thought you were interesting and nice, ok so you did not feel any chemistry i think i realised that off the bat when you ordered a small wine!
But I would like to stay friends, as I think even our love of planes could make for some good future hangings out, despite the irony of what i said about not wanting to meet you to be friends, it is better than nothing , no?
I am sorry you did not like what I said about not feeling the man in the relationship when dating a famous girl, but I don't REALLY believe that is why you didn't think another date was a good idea, but that is ok, I am glad I came out, I am sorry I pricked your defences! I told you my dog should go not me xx sleep well and maybe we can go out again and do something fun as friends when we both are back in london?”
Ignored, but not before sharing with Griff, Scottish B and SW Datress.
Off to bed, thinking to myself how hilarious this social experiment was, how scary it is that people like this exist, and how the final score actually turned out to be a highly unanticipated:
Sadism= 6+
Masochism= 3+ (give or take a few)
Morning. Coffee. Facebook. (I take note of the fact that I have one less ‘friend’ and chuckle. Cursor hovering over the Delete button last night, Griff had advised that I had bruised this man’s Ego enough for one day and should let him be the one to delete me). Dating website. New mail:
“Date: 15 March 2010 - 12:54
Subject: Fuck yourself
I can't believe I was so nice to you last night, you are such a miserable cold fish. I knew when I spoke to you and you had no sense of humour I should not have bothered, next time just be honest and sooner about it instead of wasting 2.5 hours of someones life! No wonder you are on this site, no sane man would come anywhere near you let alone "hug" such a misery. No wonder you don't like pilots because they actually HAVE personalities!
Good luck with your beardy , cap wearing oafs, and YES not only do MODELS have brains they also have looks, neither of which you have. Good luck being a glorified waitress.”
I am tempted to send a message recommending a good Psychologist, but then realise I don’t actually Know any. And THANK FUCK for that.
Findings:
Score: Unknown.
Diagnosis reached: Delusional Psychopath.
[P.S. Advice to anyone seeking psychiatric treatment through the NHS, go Private, or better yet, enjoy your own crazyland]
Outfit approved by my fashionista flatmate Griff (sidenote: are homos fashionistas or fashionisters? I never know) and out the door!
I can see him arriving outside the bar as I stride the zebra crossing in my black leather boots and my first thought is, “Well, I certainly wouldn’t do a double take. He’s fatter than his photos.” Apparently the look of disappointment is written all over my face (or so he later mentions) and after a kiss-kiss-hello, we’re inside and I request a Small (but expensive) Sangiovese and seat myself at the nearest table while he gets the drinks. The table is apparently the “longest table he’s ever sat at” and apparently “we couldn’t be further away, it’s as if you don’t want to be too close”. I ignore the commentary, a finely tuned skill that I practice and perfect several more times over the course of the next 2 hours.
A couch behind us frees up and he suggests we move over. I agree, before turning to realise it is one of those plush, deeply seated, brown leather love-seat couches that you are excited to find when you’re with someone you actually fancy- perfect for a PDA (public display of affection), and cringe-worthy for a first date with someone who actually makes your skin crawl. I made friends with the armrest to my left and position myself so that gap between us is as large as possible. With my neck craned at an awkward angle, my date continues to hound me about my reasons for not wanting to get into his car, bombards me with 20 questions that I must answer as quickly as possible without hesitation. I argue and comply where appropriate, and notice that the man sat next to us, alone, sipping his glass of russet Red (Cabernet Sauvignon?) and reading a paper, periodically looks over at the two of us, and makes eye contact with me. I am sure he is failing to telepathically communicate his willingness to step in and save me from this Psycho-analysing (which, when I asked, is apparently a normal way of getting to know someone on dates... as if I don’t have experience dating and will learn in time), and I am slightly saddened when my one ally packs up his papers and leaves.
I turn my attention, and thoughts, back to Doctor Dick, who, by the way, looks nothing of the pre-pubescent school-boy I had earlier envisioned, but actually a slightly overweight, slightly balding 30-something Jewish man… in D&G. I am repeatedly plied with meaningless compliments about my cute outfit, my cute ‘American’ smile, (of course I remind him it is in fact, 100% Canadian- my place of birth) and how generally ‘cute’ I am (what am I, a puppy?!) It all reads nauseatingly false and I make a mental note that THIS is how he gets girls, along with his MASSIVE wallet, and at least 3 tokes of shisha-roofies. In between this slime in the guise of compliments, he asks me my ‘type’ in men, and quivers in his Gucci shoes when I suggest I like real men who tend to favour growing a beard instead of using a mountain of gels, foams, waxes, and whatever other products men use, and who, on occasion aren’t afraid to throw a baseball cap over their bed-head hair. He takes this personally and his defences are pricked: I somewhat enjoy listening to him try to justify his metro-sexual lifestyle. OK, maybe I am slightly sadistic as well. ;)
He tires of trying to mask his arrogance and changes the subject to his ex-girlfriend who is apparently a supermodel, and relives how he hated being at parties with her. “Why?” “I Hated not being the person everyone knew. I Hated standing behind her and being introduced as HER boyfriend. I want to be the One everyone knows. I want to take My girlfriend by the hand, and be the one to introduce HER.”
My body automatically reacts, and I swallowed the little bit of vomit in my mouth before playing the one-up game and name dropping myself. A gent I had previously dated was with an actress who was nominated for Best Actress at the Oscars this year. Uncomfortable with this game, he changes the subject...
“So what do you think we should do on our second date?”
I hesitate, but realise that this is the perfect opportunity to Freudian-slip the matt out from under this Psychiatrist’s Ego...
“I don’t think there Should be a second date...”
(Cue confused face, wrinkled nose and all)
“Why?”
This is where I politely suggest that I just don’t think we’re well suited, because even though he had mentioned earlier that he has tough skin and would rather hear it straight (when talking about sending that “thanks but no thanks” text to a hopeful lad) I still couldn’t be mean, and hey at least I was saying it to his face, right? Wrong. He wants reasons and examples of why we’re not suited. I mention the situation with the supermodel-ex (whose Daddy, by the way, used to be the richest man in the world, because it’s vital information) and how I wouldn’t want to be with someone who can’t take pride in their partner’s successes, and how I am not a docile wallflower who is willing to be “taken by the hand” and led around.
He accepts defeat (or so I thought) and we head for the door, would I like a ride home? No thank you. Have a good week. Thanks, safe drive home. Kiss-kiss-buh-bye.
As I walk home, I call Scottish B and give a wee recap, laughing all the way.
I enter the warmth of my flat and barely have time to light my debrief cigarette with Griff before my Berry buzzes.
“I just realised u dumped Me [yes, he capitalised Me] twice in one night now that’s a record! :) x”
One hour later- Berry buzzes- facebook mail:
“Between You and [Doctor Dick]
14 March at 23:39
I meant what i said btw, I really thought you were interesting and nice, ok so you did not feel any chemistry i think i realised that off the bat when you ordered a small wine!
But I would like to stay friends, as I think even our love of planes could make for some good future hangings out, despite the irony of what i said about not wanting to meet you to be friends, it is better than nothing , no?
I am sorry you did not like what I said about not feeling the man in the relationship when dating a famous girl, but I don't REALLY believe that is why you didn't think another date was a good idea, but that is ok, I am glad I came out, I am sorry I pricked your defences! I told you my dog should go not me xx sleep well and maybe we can go out again and do something fun as friends when we both are back in london?”
Ignored, but not before sharing with Griff, Scottish B and SW Datress.
Off to bed, thinking to myself how hilarious this social experiment was, how scary it is that people like this exist, and how the final score actually turned out to be a highly unanticipated:
Sadism= 6+
Masochism= 3+ (give or take a few)
Morning. Coffee. Facebook. (I take note of the fact that I have one less ‘friend’ and chuckle. Cursor hovering over the Delete button last night, Griff had advised that I had bruised this man’s Ego enough for one day and should let him be the one to delete me). Dating website. New mail:
“Date: 15 March 2010 - 12:54
Subject: Fuck yourself
I can't believe I was so nice to you last night, you are such a miserable cold fish. I knew when I spoke to you and you had no sense of humour I should not have bothered, next time just be honest and sooner about it instead of wasting 2.5 hours of someones life! No wonder you are on this site, no sane man would come anywhere near you let alone "hug" such a misery. No wonder you don't like pilots because they actually HAVE personalities!
Good luck with your beardy , cap wearing oafs, and YES not only do MODELS have brains they also have looks, neither of which you have. Good luck being a glorified waitress.”
I am tempted to send a message recommending a good Psychologist, but then realise I don’t actually Know any. And THANK FUCK for that.
Findings:
Score: Unknown.
Diagnosis reached: Delusional Psychopath.
[P.S. Advice to anyone seeking psychiatric treatment through the NHS, go Private, or better yet, enjoy your own crazyland]
Repost: Doctor Dick, Pilot Prick [Part One]
Scrolling through the lists and lists of faces-mostly heinous, and ridiculous emails-barely intelligible, I see a photo of a dapper man standing next to a fighter jet. Ding, ding, ding! I should now mention that I am dubious of pilots, being exposed to this particularly reptilian breed of man on a regular basis, is reason enough NOT to date one, however I do love planes, and have a weakness for military aircraft, so I’m immediately hooked….
First mistake.
He has about 5 pictures, because let’s face it, this is paramount, and anyone who disagrees with me is outright lying, and they aren’t GREAT, but his profile is an enjoyable read and he is actually a Doctor by day and Pilot by hobby. Ding, ding, ding! An interesting combination and enough to prick my fancy. We correspond for a while before he suggests a facebook add. I creep his profile to find he;
A. Has an incredibly cute dog, and
B. He is FILTHY fucking rich. My investigation is worth it! A house in Primrose Hill, a Yacht in Florida, a pimp house in Spain, etc…
C. Lots of photos with Maxim models… hmmm…
We exchange numbers on Friday and text-plan a date for Sushi, somewhere near his, on Monday at 18:30. Over the course of the weekend, I receive frequent texts from this self-described “confident” man. Overly confident, yes! Over-eager, check! He changes the date back to Sunday, even though it’s Mothering Sunday and initially this was a problem, however its now OK for drinks, as he is “eager to meet”.
Score:
Mum=0
Datress=1
I take this in stride and play the game. I am out on the prowl with SW Datress on Saturday night, and receive “hello sexy hostess” on my BlackBerry, respond: “haha. Full of charm, eh?” “ :(” … Poor ‘confident’ man apparently can’t handle a smartass Datress.
I wake. Date morning. Hungover. Text received:“ Shall we say (station) at 7? Then maybe smoke a shisha at my place?” We debate. I will not get into his car (and don’t particular fancy shisha at his). He calls me a muppet and silly- My face is turning red. “…you’ve seen my facebook, I’m not a kidnapper, you nutter!”- Surely visible steam is whistling from my ears… Really, because all kidnappers advertise their latest abduction on facebook, this is clearly a succinct rebuttal on his part…
We finally agree on drinks near the tube station, he changes the time, being Sunday, the tube line is closed, and I recommend somewhere more accessible, he says, “How about I just be a gent and pick u up Or too scared?” My already scarlet face is near beetroot now, this man knows how to aggravate this Datress. We arg-text some more and I am told, “Your [you’re- my pet hate] going to be a challenge, I can tell… Maybe I’ll send my dog, you might like him more.”
This is getting ridiculous, Berry in hand, I dial.
The overly confident man has the voice of a pre-pubescent private school boy. I envision a spotty face, a teen-stache, a greasy side-part, and a gangly body dressed in D&G. I chuckle to myself and wonder if his balls have dropped yet. “Why are you worried, it’s not like I’m going to kidnap you and hold you hostage, I mean, trust me, har har, I have Enough Money, and I’m not about to risk my career and life on someone like you, someone I don’t even know…” … So you would risk your career kidnapping someone you DO know?! Interesting, Doc…
Have I mentioned my exploratory facebook creeping has uncovered he is a Psychiatrist?
My instincts say it’s time to deliver a light dose of venom and put this posh boy in his place, but my social-curiosity is unfailing, and sees the potential of this masochistic experiment.
Score:
Instincts =0
Masochism= 1
The date is arranged, 20:00 at a wine bar near me, let’s not inconvenience myself too much, right?
I sleep for one hour, and wake to 5 texts. Yes, FIVE. Asking to re-arrange the time and the place, I shrug these off and reconfirm the original plan.
10 minutes later- another request for change of time and place to somewhere where we can smoke shisha. I am now quite sure he probably replaces the tobacco with roofies and THIS is how he gets girls, so I say, “This is all getting a bit silly. Let’s just forget it. All the best!”
Score:
Instincts =1
Masochism= 1
Reply:“I just thought it might be more fun! :( OK”
Ignored.
10 minutes later- “PS if you change your mind I’ll still come 2 u was just trying to entertain you :(("
Throwing my hands up in exasperation, H, my flatmate’s boyfriend suggests that maybe he really was just trying to make it ‘memorable’. I am convinced that he is a control freak who just can’t handle decisions made by someone else, and also that he really IS trying to drug me and kidnap me, yet I respond with the time and location.
Big mistake?
Well, let’s just say, I haven’t gotten to the good part yet! …
Score:
Instincts =1
Masochism= 2+
[To Be Continued.]
First mistake.
He has about 5 pictures, because let’s face it, this is paramount, and anyone who disagrees with me is outright lying, and they aren’t GREAT, but his profile is an enjoyable read and he is actually a Doctor by day and Pilot by hobby. Ding, ding, ding! An interesting combination and enough to prick my fancy. We correspond for a while before he suggests a facebook add. I creep his profile to find he;
A. Has an incredibly cute dog, and
B. He is FILTHY fucking rich. My investigation is worth it! A house in Primrose Hill, a Yacht in Florida, a pimp house in Spain, etc…
C. Lots of photos with Maxim models… hmmm…
We exchange numbers on Friday and text-plan a date for Sushi, somewhere near his, on Monday at 18:30. Over the course of the weekend, I receive frequent texts from this self-described “confident” man. Overly confident, yes! Over-eager, check! He changes the date back to Sunday, even though it’s Mothering Sunday and initially this was a problem, however its now OK for drinks, as he is “eager to meet”.
Score:
Mum=0
Datress=1
I take this in stride and play the game. I am out on the prowl with SW Datress on Saturday night, and receive “hello sexy hostess” on my BlackBerry, respond: “haha. Full of charm, eh?” “ :(” … Poor ‘confident’ man apparently can’t handle a smartass Datress.
I wake. Date morning. Hungover. Text received:“ Shall we say (station) at 7? Then maybe smoke a shisha at my place?” We debate. I will not get into his car (and don’t particular fancy shisha at his). He calls me a muppet and silly- My face is turning red. “…you’ve seen my facebook, I’m not a kidnapper, you nutter!”- Surely visible steam is whistling from my ears… Really, because all kidnappers advertise their latest abduction on facebook, this is clearly a succinct rebuttal on his part…
We finally agree on drinks near the tube station, he changes the time, being Sunday, the tube line is closed, and I recommend somewhere more accessible, he says, “How about I just be a gent and pick u up Or too scared?” My already scarlet face is near beetroot now, this man knows how to aggravate this Datress. We arg-text some more and I am told, “Your [you’re- my pet hate] going to be a challenge, I can tell… Maybe I’ll send my dog, you might like him more.”
This is getting ridiculous, Berry in hand, I dial.
The overly confident man has the voice of a pre-pubescent private school boy. I envision a spotty face, a teen-stache, a greasy side-part, and a gangly body dressed in D&G. I chuckle to myself and wonder if his balls have dropped yet. “Why are you worried, it’s not like I’m going to kidnap you and hold you hostage, I mean, trust me, har har, I have Enough Money, and I’m not about to risk my career and life on someone like you, someone I don’t even know…” … So you would risk your career kidnapping someone you DO know?! Interesting, Doc…
Have I mentioned my exploratory facebook creeping has uncovered he is a Psychiatrist?
My instincts say it’s time to deliver a light dose of venom and put this posh boy in his place, but my social-curiosity is unfailing, and sees the potential of this masochistic experiment.
Score:
Instincts =0
Masochism= 1
The date is arranged, 20:00 at a wine bar near me, let’s not inconvenience myself too much, right?
I sleep for one hour, and wake to 5 texts. Yes, FIVE. Asking to re-arrange the time and the place, I shrug these off and reconfirm the original plan.
10 minutes later- another request for change of time and place to somewhere where we can smoke shisha. I am now quite sure he probably replaces the tobacco with roofies and THIS is how he gets girls, so I say, “This is all getting a bit silly. Let’s just forget it. All the best!”
Score:
Instincts =1
Masochism= 1
Reply:“I just thought it might be more fun! :( OK”
Ignored.
10 minutes later- “PS if you change your mind I’ll still come 2 u was just trying to entertain you :(("
Throwing my hands up in exasperation, H, my flatmate’s boyfriend suggests that maybe he really was just trying to make it ‘memorable’. I am convinced that he is a control freak who just can’t handle decisions made by someone else, and also that he really IS trying to drug me and kidnap me, yet I respond with the time and location.
Big mistake?
Well, let’s just say, I haven’t gotten to the good part yet! …
Score:
Instincts =1
Masochism= 2+
[To Be Continued.]
Email of the day
"hi sweetheart.....just want to start off by saying HOW THE HELL U ARE STIILL SINGLE BAFFLES ME!!!!!...ok..there,i said it...hahaha...sorry,just had to get that off my chest!...lol...ok...i'm ready now.....no,seriously...u just seem like a diamond...how u haven't been swept off ur feet yet is amazing???...u seem sweet,intelligent,caring,easy going,cool,fun,adventurous,kind,hard working,beautifull...and just in need of some genuine tlc...in other words...all that just from ur profile and pics...i think u are totally fab!!!.....and i'm a pretty good judge of character...
i apolagise that my profile is written in spanish,but i'm living in marbella,spain....and in case ur sitting there thinking how the hell is this guy's english so good,it's cause i was born and raised in london...and still go back there on a frequent basis as my mother lives there...(anything else u want to know,just ask me)
i would really love to speak to you some more,and get to know each other better...
hugs and kisses
maurizio.x"
---- "...and in case ur sitting there thinking how the hell is this guy's english so good..."
?!?!?!?!
With so many points of ellipsis, his English or at least his writing, is either intended to be frighteningly suspenseful or he has just decided not to finish his thought...
At least my thought is final and complete: HELL NO!
i apolagise that my profile is written in spanish,but i'm living in marbella,spain....and in case ur sitting there thinking how the hell is this guy's english so good,it's cause i was born and raised in london...and still go back there on a frequent basis as my mother lives there...(anything else u want to know,just ask me)
i would really love to speak to you some more,and get to know each other better...
hugs and kisses
maurizio.x"
---- "...and in case ur sitting there thinking how the hell is this guy's english so good..."
?!?!?!?!
With so many points of ellipsis, his English or at least his writing, is either intended to be frighteningly suspenseful or he has just decided not to finish his thought...
At least my thought is final and complete: HELL NO!
Monday, May 03, 2010
Email of the day
"Hi
I hope you ae well, my name is adam i read your profile and you seem realy nice so i thought id email you and say hi.
Humm ok some bits about me, im 28, 6ft i work for the police as an SPCSO, i love my job im waiting to sit my exsams and if i pass i can go back to hendon and train to be a polcie officer.
I like to be active i train in kickboxing and kungfu, i like to be spontaniouse and adventurouse when ever i can, i love to be passionate and romantic i think both are very inportant in a relationship.
Id like to ask you a question about long hall flight, do the staff ever get to sleep ? i mean surely on like a 12-28 hour flight you must be able to sleep for a bit some where,
Working for the met i would maybe 3 in 5 weekends but have alot of time off dureing the week so i understand you rota some times its sucks but i finde it an advantage when it comes to things like shoping ect.
Hope you email back for a chat.
Kind regards"
---Learn to spell.
And save your 'kind regards' for your application to be a 'polcie officer'...
I've never been so glad they don't give cops guns in the UK, he might decide to be "spontaniouse and adventurouse" with it...
I hope you ae well, my name is adam i read your profile and you seem realy nice so i thought id email you and say hi.
Humm ok some bits about me, im 28, 6ft i work for the police as an SPCSO, i love my job im waiting to sit my exsams and if i pass i can go back to hendon and train to be a polcie officer.
I like to be active i train in kickboxing and kungfu, i like to be spontaniouse and adventurouse when ever i can, i love to be passionate and romantic i think both are very inportant in a relationship.
Id like to ask you a question about long hall flight, do the staff ever get to sleep ? i mean surely on like a 12-28 hour flight you must be able to sleep for a bit some where,
Working for the met i would maybe 3 in 5 weekends but have alot of time off dureing the week so i understand you rota some times its sucks but i finde it an advantage when it comes to things like shoping ect.
Hope you email back for a chat.
Kind regards"
---Learn to spell.
And save your 'kind regards' for your application to be a 'polcie officer'...
I've never been so glad they don't give cops guns in the UK, he might decide to be "spontaniouse and adventurouse" with it...
Email of the day
"hi there, great profile, not sure if im ur type, probably not but one thing is for sure i reckon i could make u smile and i think we have a lot in common, why not give me a few mins chat time? what u got to lose, promise u wont regret it x"
--- this would be creepy enough on its own, but is made even creepier as there is no photo. i imagine a 4'5" cross-eyed ginger... and i am willing to risk my one chance with a pikey Danny Bonaduce by Not responding to this e-mail..
--- this would be creepy enough on its own, but is made even creepier as there is no photo. i imagine a 4'5" cross-eyed ginger... and i am willing to risk my one chance with a pikey Danny Bonaduce by Not responding to this e-mail..
Thursday, April 08, 2010
Email of the Day
"Hey Miss,
I wrote you an email a while ago, and I know you have been busy so I have prepared some answers for you:
1. Baxter ate your computer, and you thought I was very hot, but you have been busy waiting for it to come out the other end.
2. Unfortunately my email got lost in the sea of jackasses, but you think I am very hot.
3. You saw my email, but you were so taken with how hot I am, that you have been crafting a long and heart felt love letter ever since.
4. You saw my email, and you were immediately obsessed wit me. As you read this email you are sat outside my house in the bushes with your laptop.
5. You don't think any of this is funny. You take yourself way too seriously...but you think I am very hot
Write me back and tell me which of the five apply. ;)
Mitch"
Note: He is actually the Hunchback of Slough.
I wrote you an email a while ago, and I know you have been busy so I have prepared some answers for you:
1. Baxter ate your computer, and you thought I was very hot, but you have been busy waiting for it to come out the other end.
2. Unfortunately my email got lost in the sea of jackasses, but you think I am very hot.
3. You saw my email, but you were so taken with how hot I am, that you have been crafting a long and heart felt love letter ever since.
4. You saw my email, and you were immediately obsessed wit me. As you read this email you are sat outside my house in the bushes with your laptop.
5. You don't think any of this is funny. You take yourself way too seriously...but you think I am very hot
Write me back and tell me which of the five apply. ;)
Mitch"
Note: He is actually the Hunchback of Slough.
Friday, April 02, 2010
Email of the Day
"Subject: My Penguin Lost His Hat
Perhaps im a touch forward, but I couldnt resist asking you something...
1. Are you fun?
2. Do you have all your arms and legs (2 of each) :)
3. Are you a good kisser?
It's taken care of the looks thing quite nicely, but the rest are vital too. ;)
Reply before my bacon gets burned
-Jon"
Perhaps im a touch forward, but I couldnt resist asking you something...
1. Are you fun?
2. Do you have all your arms and legs (2 of each) :)
3. Are you a good kisser?
It's taken care of the looks thing quite nicely, but the rest are vital too. ;)
Reply before my bacon gets burned
-Jon"
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Email of the Day
"London can be quite lonely. People are so unfriendly here sometimes! I've been working in Swansea this week and everybody talks to you here its great. I could do without the old naked guy in the sauna that keeps chatting to me though. I wish he would put some shorts on! :("
... Note to men, DO NOT force-feed a mental imagine of chatty old naked men in saunas when trying to pull a woman. It is not, and never will be sexy. *shudder
... Note to men, DO NOT force-feed a mental imagine of chatty old naked men in saunas when trying to pull a woman. It is not, and never will be sexy. *shudder
Friday, March 19, 2010
Email of the Day
"I am the prince charming !
But be careful, I am not a first choice model who gets soft as if you put a cake inside your tea, no no, I am the luxury model robust and made with a high quality standard: I am Alex and delivered already tuned.
Would you be able to ride a horse with me and being wise at the back?"
... Say Whhhhaaaatttt??
But be careful, I am not a first choice model who gets soft as if you put a cake inside your tea, no no, I am the luxury model robust and made with a high quality standard: I am Alex and delivered already tuned.
Would you be able to ride a horse with me and being wise at the back?"
... Say Whhhhaaaatttt??
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Email of the Day
The only person he is embarrassing is himself:
"hey sweetie
how r u?
wot u bn up 2?
i cnt believe dat such a sweet, lovely and sexy girl like u is still, u r drop dead sexy, how r u single, hope i ave not embrassed u
hope we can chat sumtime,
all da best
killza xxxx"
... Who told this young lad that advertising his ignorance in chav-text, and signing with a name that easily turns into "Killaz" with the flip of two letters, is the way to meet a woman? They should be shot. Hey, they already know a Killa(z).
Ignored.
"hey sweetie
how r u?
wot u bn up 2?
i cnt believe dat such a sweet, lovely and sexy girl like u is still, u r drop dead sexy, how r u single, hope i ave not embrassed u
hope we can chat sumtime,
all da best
killza xxxx"
... Who told this young lad that advertising his ignorance in chav-text, and signing with a name that easily turns into "Killaz" with the flip of two letters, is the way to meet a woman? They should be shot. Hey, they already know a Killa(z).
Ignored.
The SW Datress' Blog
Hello all,
just a quick note to let you know that my dear friend has started a new blog and you can now follow the SW Datress' through:
http://swdatress.blogspot.com/
happy reading!
The Datress xo
just a quick note to let you know that my dear friend has started a new blog and you can now follow the SW Datress' through:
http://swdatress.blogspot.com/
happy reading!
The Datress xo
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Doctor Dick, Pilot Prick [Part Two] -The London Datress xo
I realise I now have less than one hour to wash my hair and get ready. Panic! (Hey now, as much as I Know this date is going to fail, that’s no reason not to look ShitHot.) As I run around (OK more like prance around) getting ready, I laugh to myself; for some reason an episode of Saved By the Bell pops into my head. The one where Kelly Kapowski is late for a date with Zack Morris because she had to wash her hair, to which Zack asks, “How many TIMES?!”, and I wonder if this excuse for being late would go over well with the Psychiatrist. Probably not, and so I keep my preparation-pace at the speed of a prance...
Outfit approved by my fashionista flatmate Griff (sidenote: are homos fashionistas or fashionisters? I never know) and out the door!
I can see him arriving outside the bar as I stride the zebra crossing in my black leather boots and my first thought is, “Well, I certainly wouldn’t do a double take. He’s fatter than his photos.” Apparently the look of disappointment is written all over my face (or so he later mentions) and after a kiss-kiss-hello, we’re inside and I request a Small (but expensive) Sangiovese and seat myself at the nearest table while he gets the drinks. The table is apparently the “longest table he’s ever sat at” and apparently “we couldn’t be further away, it’s as if you don’t want to be too close”. I ignore the commentary, a finely tuned skill that I practice and perfect several more times over the course of the next 2 hours.
A couch behind us frees up and he suggests we move over. I agree, before turning to realise it is one of those plush, deeply seated, brown leather love-seat couches that you are excited to find when you’re with someone you actually fancy- perfect for a PDA (public display of affection), and cringe-worthy for a first date with someone who actually makes your skin crawl. I made friends with the armrest to my left and position myself so that gap between us is as large as possible. With my neck craned at an awkward angle, my date continues to hound me about my reasons for not wanting to get into his car, bombards me with 20 questions that I must answer as quickly as possible without hesitation. I argue and comply where appropriate, and notice that the man sat next to us, alone, sipping his glass of russet Red (Cabernet Sauvignon?) and reading a paper, periodically looks over at the two of us, and makes eye contact with me. I am sure he is failing to telepathically communicate his willingness to step in and save me from this Psycho-analysing (which, when I asked, is apparently a normal way of getting to know someone on dates... as if I don’t have experience dating and will learn in time), and I am slightly saddened when my one ally packs up his papers and leaves.
I turn my attention, and thoughts, back to Doctor Dick, who, by the way, looks nothing of the pre-pubescent school-boy I had earlier envisioned, but actually a slightly overweight, slightly balding 30-something Jewish man… in D&G. I am repeatedly plied with meaningless compliments about my cute outfit, my cute ‘American’ smile, (of course I remind him it is in fact, 100% Canadian- my place of birth) and how generally ‘cute’ I am (what am I, a puppy?!) It all reads nauseatingly false and I make a mental note that THIS is how he gets girls, along with his MASSIVE wallet, and at least 3 tokes of shisha-roofies. In between this slime in the guise of compliments, he asks me my ‘type’ in men, and quivers in his Gucci shoes when I suggest I like real men who tend to favour growing a beard instead of using a mountain of gels, foams, waxes, and whatever other products men use, and who, on occasion aren’t afraid to throw a baseball cap over their bed-head hair. He takes this personally and his defences are pricked: I somewhat enjoy listening to him try to justify his metro-sexual lifestyle. OK, maybe I am slightly sadistic as well. ;)
He tires of trying to mask his arrogance and changes the subject to his ex-girlfriend who is apparently a supermodel, and relives how he hated being at parties with her. “Why?” “I Hated not being the person everyone knew. I Hated standing behind her and being introduced as HER boyfriend. I want to be the One everyone knows. I want to take My girlfriend by the hand, and be the one to introduce HER.”
My body automatically reacts, and I swallowed the little bit of vomit in my mouth before playing the one-up game and name dropping myself. A gent I had previously dated was with an actress who was nominated for Best Actress at the Oscars this year. Uncomfortable with this game, he changes the subject...
“So what do you think we should do on our second date?”
I hesitate, but realise that this is the perfect opportunity to Freudian-slip the matt out from under this Psychiatrist’s Ego...
“I don’t think there Should be a second date...”
(Cue confused face, wrinkled nose and all)
“Why?”
This is where I politely suggest that I just don’t think we’re well suited, because even though he had mentioned earlier that he has tough skin and would rather hear it straight (when talking about sending that “thanks but no thanks” text to a hopeful lad) I still couldn’t be mean, and hey at least I was saying it to his face, right? Wrong. He wants reasons and examples of why we’re not suited. I mention the situation with the supermodel-ex (whose Daddy, by the way, used to be the richest man in the world, because it’s vital information) and how I wouldn’t want to be with someone who can’t take pride in their partner’s successes, and how I am not a docile wallflower who is willing to be “taken by the hand” and led around.
He accepts defeat (or so I thought) and we head for the door, would I like a ride home? No thank you. Have a good week. Thanks, safe drive home. Kiss-kiss-buh-bye.
As I walk home, I call Scottish B and give a wee recap, laughing all the way.
I enter the warmth of my flat and barely have time to light my debrief cigarette with Griff before my Berry buzzes.
“I just realised u dumped Me [yes, he capitalised Me] twice in one night now that’s a record! :) x”
One hour later- Berry buzzes- facebook mail:
“Between You and [Doctor Dick]
14 March at 23:39
I meant what i said btw, I really thought you were interesting and nice, ok so you did not feel any chemistry i think i realised that off the bat when you ordered a small wine!
But I would like to stay friends, as I think even our love of planes could make for some good future hangings out, despite the irony of what i said about not wanting to meet you to be friends, it is better than nothing , no?
I am sorry you did not like what I said about not feeling the man in the relationship when dating a famous girl, but I don't REALLY believe that is why you didn't think another date was a good idea, but that is ok, I am glad I came out, I am sorry I pricked your defences! I told you my dog should go not me xx sleep well and maybe we can go out again and do something fun as friends when we both are back in london?”
Ignored, but not before sharing with Griff, Scottish B and SW Datress.
Off to bed, thinking to myself how hilarious this social experiment was, how scary it is that people like this exist, and how the final score actually turned out to be a highly unanticipated:
Sadism= 6+
Masochism= 3+ (give or take a few)
Morning. Coffee. Facebook. (I take note of the fact that I have one less ‘friend’ and chuckle. Cursor hovering over the Delete button last night, Griff had advised that I had bruised this man’s Ego enough for one day and should let him be the one to delete me). Dating website. New mail:
“Date: 15 March 2010 - 12:54
Subject: Fuck yourself
I can't believe I was so nice to you last night, you are such a miserable cold fish. I knew when I spoke to you and you had no sense of humour I should not have bothered, next time just be honest and sooner about it instead of wasting 2.5 hours of someones life! No wonder you are on this site, no sane man would come anywhere near you let alone "hug" such a misery. No wonder you don't like pilots because they actually HAVE personalities!
Good luck with your beardy , cap wearing oafs, and YES not only do MODELS have brains they also have looks, neither of which you have. Good luck being a glorified waitress.”
I am tempted to send a message recommending a good Psychologist, but then realise I don’t actually Know any. And THANK FUCK for that.
Findings:
Score: Unknown.
Diagnosis reached: Delusional Psychopath.
[P.S. Advice to anyone seeking psychiatric treatment through the NHS, go Private, or better yet, enjoy your own crazyland]
Outfit approved by my fashionista flatmate Griff (sidenote: are homos fashionistas or fashionisters? I never know) and out the door!
I can see him arriving outside the bar as I stride the zebra crossing in my black leather boots and my first thought is, “Well, I certainly wouldn’t do a double take. He’s fatter than his photos.” Apparently the look of disappointment is written all over my face (or so he later mentions) and after a kiss-kiss-hello, we’re inside and I request a Small (but expensive) Sangiovese and seat myself at the nearest table while he gets the drinks. The table is apparently the “longest table he’s ever sat at” and apparently “we couldn’t be further away, it’s as if you don’t want to be too close”. I ignore the commentary, a finely tuned skill that I practice and perfect several more times over the course of the next 2 hours.
A couch behind us frees up and he suggests we move over. I agree, before turning to realise it is one of those plush, deeply seated, brown leather love-seat couches that you are excited to find when you’re with someone you actually fancy- perfect for a PDA (public display of affection), and cringe-worthy for a first date with someone who actually makes your skin crawl. I made friends with the armrest to my left and position myself so that gap between us is as large as possible. With my neck craned at an awkward angle, my date continues to hound me about my reasons for not wanting to get into his car, bombards me with 20 questions that I must answer as quickly as possible without hesitation. I argue and comply where appropriate, and notice that the man sat next to us, alone, sipping his glass of russet Red (Cabernet Sauvignon?) and reading a paper, periodically looks over at the two of us, and makes eye contact with me. I am sure he is failing to telepathically communicate his willingness to step in and save me from this Psycho-analysing (which, when I asked, is apparently a normal way of getting to know someone on dates... as if I don’t have experience dating and will learn in time), and I am slightly saddened when my one ally packs up his papers and leaves.
I turn my attention, and thoughts, back to Doctor Dick, who, by the way, looks nothing of the pre-pubescent school-boy I had earlier envisioned, but actually a slightly overweight, slightly balding 30-something Jewish man… in D&G. I am repeatedly plied with meaningless compliments about my cute outfit, my cute ‘American’ smile, (of course I remind him it is in fact, 100% Canadian- my place of birth) and how generally ‘cute’ I am (what am I, a puppy?!) It all reads nauseatingly false and I make a mental note that THIS is how he gets girls, along with his MASSIVE wallet, and at least 3 tokes of shisha-roofies. In between this slime in the guise of compliments, he asks me my ‘type’ in men, and quivers in his Gucci shoes when I suggest I like real men who tend to favour growing a beard instead of using a mountain of gels, foams, waxes, and whatever other products men use, and who, on occasion aren’t afraid to throw a baseball cap over their bed-head hair. He takes this personally and his defences are pricked: I somewhat enjoy listening to him try to justify his metro-sexual lifestyle. OK, maybe I am slightly sadistic as well. ;)
He tires of trying to mask his arrogance and changes the subject to his ex-girlfriend who is apparently a supermodel, and relives how he hated being at parties with her. “Why?” “I Hated not being the person everyone knew. I Hated standing behind her and being introduced as HER boyfriend. I want to be the One everyone knows. I want to take My girlfriend by the hand, and be the one to introduce HER.”
My body automatically reacts, and I swallowed the little bit of vomit in my mouth before playing the one-up game and name dropping myself. A gent I had previously dated was with an actress who was nominated for Best Actress at the Oscars this year. Uncomfortable with this game, he changes the subject...
“So what do you think we should do on our second date?”
I hesitate, but realise that this is the perfect opportunity to Freudian-slip the matt out from under this Psychiatrist’s Ego...
“I don’t think there Should be a second date...”
(Cue confused face, wrinkled nose and all)
“Why?”
This is where I politely suggest that I just don’t think we’re well suited, because even though he had mentioned earlier that he has tough skin and would rather hear it straight (when talking about sending that “thanks but no thanks” text to a hopeful lad) I still couldn’t be mean, and hey at least I was saying it to his face, right? Wrong. He wants reasons and examples of why we’re not suited. I mention the situation with the supermodel-ex (whose Daddy, by the way, used to be the richest man in the world, because it’s vital information) and how I wouldn’t want to be with someone who can’t take pride in their partner’s successes, and how I am not a docile wallflower who is willing to be “taken by the hand” and led around.
He accepts defeat (or so I thought) and we head for the door, would I like a ride home? No thank you. Have a good week. Thanks, safe drive home. Kiss-kiss-buh-bye.
As I walk home, I call Scottish B and give a wee recap, laughing all the way.
I enter the warmth of my flat and barely have time to light my debrief cigarette with Griff before my Berry buzzes.
“I just realised u dumped Me [yes, he capitalised Me] twice in one night now that’s a record! :) x”
One hour later- Berry buzzes- facebook mail:
“Between You and [Doctor Dick]
14 March at 23:39
I meant what i said btw, I really thought you were interesting and nice, ok so you did not feel any chemistry i think i realised that off the bat when you ordered a small wine!
But I would like to stay friends, as I think even our love of planes could make for some good future hangings out, despite the irony of what i said about not wanting to meet you to be friends, it is better than nothing , no?
I am sorry you did not like what I said about not feeling the man in the relationship when dating a famous girl, but I don't REALLY believe that is why you didn't think another date was a good idea, but that is ok, I am glad I came out, I am sorry I pricked your defences! I told you my dog should go not me xx sleep well and maybe we can go out again and do something fun as friends when we both are back in london?”
Ignored, but not before sharing with Griff, Scottish B and SW Datress.
Off to bed, thinking to myself how hilarious this social experiment was, how scary it is that people like this exist, and how the final score actually turned out to be a highly unanticipated:
Sadism= 6+
Masochism= 3+ (give or take a few)
Morning. Coffee. Facebook. (I take note of the fact that I have one less ‘friend’ and chuckle. Cursor hovering over the Delete button last night, Griff had advised that I had bruised this man’s Ego enough for one day and should let him be the one to delete me). Dating website. New mail:
“Date: 15 March 2010 - 12:54
Subject: Fuck yourself
I can't believe I was so nice to you last night, you are such a miserable cold fish. I knew when I spoke to you and you had no sense of humour I should not have bothered, next time just be honest and sooner about it instead of wasting 2.5 hours of someones life! No wonder you are on this site, no sane man would come anywhere near you let alone "hug" such a misery. No wonder you don't like pilots because they actually HAVE personalities!
Good luck with your beardy , cap wearing oafs, and YES not only do MODELS have brains they also have looks, neither of which you have. Good luck being a glorified waitress.”
I am tempted to send a message recommending a good Psychologist, but then realise I don’t actually Know any. And THANK FUCK for that.
Findings:
Score: Unknown.
Diagnosis reached: Delusional Psychopath.
[P.S. Advice to anyone seeking psychiatric treatment through the NHS, go Private, or better yet, enjoy your own crazyland]
Dimitri The Stud
This DID NOT happen to either myself or the SW Datress... but worth a listen, and a second listen... because you'll doubt what you're hearing could actually be real.
It IS.
People of Toronto have enjoyed this for months, time to share with the people of London,
Click on the Title,
Listen and weep.
London Datress xo
http://melodymaker.posterous.com/the-reason-some-girls-stay-single-very-funny
It IS.
People of Toronto have enjoyed this for months, time to share with the people of London,
Click on the Title,
Listen and weep.
London Datress xo
http://melodymaker.posterous.com/the-reason-some-girls-stay-single-very-funny
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Doctor Dick, Pilot Prick [Part One] -The London Datress xo
Scrolling through the lists and lists of faces-mostly heinous, and ridiculous emails-barely intelligible, I see a photo of a dapper man standing next to a fighter jet. Ding, ding, ding! I should now mention that I am dubious of pilots, being exposed to this particularly reptilian breed of man on a regular basis, is reason enough NOT to date one, however I do love planes, and have a weakness for military aircraft, so I’m immediately hooked….
First mistake.
He has about 5 pictures, because let’s face it, this is paramount, and anyone who disagrees with me is outright lying, and they aren’t GREAT, but his profile is an enjoyable read and he is actually a Doctor by day and Pilot by hobby. Ding, ding, ding! An interesting combination and enough to prick my fancy. We correspond for a while before he suggests a facebook add. I creep his profile to find he;
A. Has an incredibly cute dog, and
B. He is FILTHY fucking rich. My investigation is worth it! A house in Primrose Hill, a Yacht in Florida, a pimp house in Spain, etc…
C. Lots of photos with Maxim models… hmmm…
We exchange numbers on Friday and text-plan a date for Sushi, somewhere near his, on Monday at 18:30. Over the course of the weekend, I receive frequent texts from this self-described “confident” man. Overly confident, yes! Over-eager, check! He changes the date back to Sunday, even though it’s Mothering Sunday and initially this was a problem, however its now OK for drinks, as he is “eager to meet”.
Score:
Mum=0
Datress=1
I take this in stride and play the game. I am out on the prowl with SW Datress on Saturday night, and receive “hello sexy hostess” on my BlackBerry, respond: “haha. Full of charm, eh?” “ :(” … Poor ‘confident’ man apparently can’t handle a smartass Datress.
I wake. Date morning. Hungover. Text received:“ Shall we say (station) at 7? Then maybe smoke a shisha at my place?” We debate. I will not get into his car (and don’t particular fancy shisha at his). He calls me a muppet and silly- My face is turning red. “…you’ve seen my facebook, I’m not a kidnapper, you nutter!”- Surely visible steam is whistling from my ears… Really, because all kidnappers advertise their latest abduction on facebook, this is clearly a succinct rebuttal on his part…
We finally agree on drinks near the tube station, he changes the time, being Sunday, the tube line is closed, and I recommend somewhere more accessible, he says, “How about I just be a gent and pick u up Or too scared?” My already scarlet face is near beetroot now, this man knows how to aggravate this Datress. We arg-text some more and I am told, “Your [you’re- my pet hate] going to be a challenge, I can tell… Maybe I’ll send my dog, you might like him more.”
This is getting ridiculous, Berry in hand, I dial.
The overly confident man has the voice of a pre-pubescent private school boy. I envision a spotty face, a teen-stache, a greasy side-part, and a gangly body dressed in D&G. I chuckle to myself and wonder if his balls have dropped yet. “Why are you worried, it’s not like I’m going to kidnap you and hold you hostage, I mean, trust me, har har, I have Enough Money, and I’m not about to risk my career and life on someone like you, someone I don’t even know…” … So you would risk your career kidnapping someone you DO know?! Interesting, Doc…
Have I mentioned my exploratory facebook creeping has uncovered he is a Psychiatrist?
My instincts say it’s time to deliver a light dose of venom and put this posh boy in his place, but my social-curiosity is unfailing, and sees the potential of this masochistic experiment.
Score:
Instincts =0
Masochism= 1
The date is arranged, 20:00 at a wine bar near me, let’s not inconvenience myself too much, right?
I sleep for one hour, and wake to 5 texts. Yes, FIVE. Asking to re-arrange the time and the place, I shrug these off and reconfirm the original plan.
10 minutes later- another request for change of time and place to somewhere where we can smoke shisha. I am now quite sure he probably replaces the tobacco with roofies and THIS is how he gets girls, so I say, “This is all getting a bit silly. Let’s just forget it. All the best!”
Score:
Instincts =1
Masochism= 1
Reply:“I just thought it might be more fun! :( OK”
Ignored.
10 minutes later- “PS if you change your mind I’ll still come 2 u was just trying to entertain you :(("
Throwing my hands up in exasperation, H, my flatmate’s boyfriend suggests that maybe he really was just trying to make it ‘memorable’. I am convinced that he is a control freak who just can’t handle decisions made by someone else, and also that he really IS trying to drug me and kidnap me, yet I respond with the time and location.
Big mistake?
Well, let’s just say, I haven’t gotten to the good part yet! …
Score:
Instincts =1
Masochism= 2+
[To Be Continued.]
First mistake.
He has about 5 pictures, because let’s face it, this is paramount, and anyone who disagrees with me is outright lying, and they aren’t GREAT, but his profile is an enjoyable read and he is actually a Doctor by day and Pilot by hobby. Ding, ding, ding! An interesting combination and enough to prick my fancy. We correspond for a while before he suggests a facebook add. I creep his profile to find he;
A. Has an incredibly cute dog, and
B. He is FILTHY fucking rich. My investigation is worth it! A house in Primrose Hill, a Yacht in Florida, a pimp house in Spain, etc…
C. Lots of photos with Maxim models… hmmm…
We exchange numbers on Friday and text-plan a date for Sushi, somewhere near his, on Monday at 18:30. Over the course of the weekend, I receive frequent texts from this self-described “confident” man. Overly confident, yes! Over-eager, check! He changes the date back to Sunday, even though it’s Mothering Sunday and initially this was a problem, however its now OK for drinks, as he is “eager to meet”.
Score:
Mum=0
Datress=1
I take this in stride and play the game. I am out on the prowl with SW Datress on Saturday night, and receive “hello sexy hostess” on my BlackBerry, respond: “haha. Full of charm, eh?” “ :(” … Poor ‘confident’ man apparently can’t handle a smartass Datress.
I wake. Date morning. Hungover. Text received:“ Shall we say (station) at 7? Then maybe smoke a shisha at my place?” We debate. I will not get into his car (and don’t particular fancy shisha at his). He calls me a muppet and silly- My face is turning red. “…you’ve seen my facebook, I’m not a kidnapper, you nutter!”- Surely visible steam is whistling from my ears… Really, because all kidnappers advertise their latest abduction on facebook, this is clearly a succinct rebuttal on his part…
We finally agree on drinks near the tube station, he changes the time, being Sunday, the tube line is closed, and I recommend somewhere more accessible, he says, “How about I just be a gent and pick u up Or too scared?” My already scarlet face is near beetroot now, this man knows how to aggravate this Datress. We arg-text some more and I am told, “Your [you’re- my pet hate] going to be a challenge, I can tell… Maybe I’ll send my dog, you might like him more.”
This is getting ridiculous, Berry in hand, I dial.
The overly confident man has the voice of a pre-pubescent private school boy. I envision a spotty face, a teen-stache, a greasy side-part, and a gangly body dressed in D&G. I chuckle to myself and wonder if his balls have dropped yet. “Why are you worried, it’s not like I’m going to kidnap you and hold you hostage, I mean, trust me, har har, I have Enough Money, and I’m not about to risk my career and life on someone like you, someone I don’t even know…” … So you would risk your career kidnapping someone you DO know?! Interesting, Doc…
Have I mentioned my exploratory facebook creeping has uncovered he is a Psychiatrist?
My instincts say it’s time to deliver a light dose of venom and put this posh boy in his place, but my social-curiosity is unfailing, and sees the potential of this masochistic experiment.
Score:
Instincts =0
Masochism= 1
The date is arranged, 20:00 at a wine bar near me, let’s not inconvenience myself too much, right?
I sleep for one hour, and wake to 5 texts. Yes, FIVE. Asking to re-arrange the time and the place, I shrug these off and reconfirm the original plan.
10 minutes later- another request for change of time and place to somewhere where we can smoke shisha. I am now quite sure he probably replaces the tobacco with roofies and THIS is how he gets girls, so I say, “This is all getting a bit silly. Let’s just forget it. All the best!”
Score:
Instincts =1
Masochism= 1
Reply:“I just thought it might be more fun! :( OK”
Ignored.
10 minutes later- “PS if you change your mind I’ll still come 2 u was just trying to entertain you :(("
Throwing my hands up in exasperation, H, my flatmate’s boyfriend suggests that maybe he really was just trying to make it ‘memorable’. I am convinced that he is a control freak who just can’t handle decisions made by someone else, and also that he really IS trying to drug me and kidnap me, yet I respond with the time and location.
Big mistake?
Well, let’s just say, I haven’t gotten to the good part yet! …
Score:
Instincts =1
Masochism= 2+
[To Be Continued.]
These are quality men?
Sick and tired of the previous dating website, I decide it is a good time to test out a new site… Hey, this is one where you actually have to sign yourself up, and pay, the men must be more serious about dating on here, right?... Let's see what we find... "Doctor Dick, Pilot Prick" coming soon...
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