Tag Archives: one night stand
I went out on a first date with Keith, a hot tall Australian guy with a sexy bronze tan, green eyes and perfectly combed black hair.
After months of yoga and flirty small talk with the instructors, I built up the courage to ask one of the instructors out.
University of Michigan. Peer Pong. Tight Superman Tee-Shirt. A happy ending that ends in a way a happy ending has never ended before. Need we say more? Yes. Let’s. Comedian Mike Kelton opens our June 3rd show with quite the tale….
You’ve been fake sleeping for about 30 minutes now, hoping he’d wake up – but you can no longer fight it – you’re near sober, it’s daylight and there you lie – in unfamiliar sheets. You glance to the bedside table and notice some mail, you nonchalantly look at the address to refresh your memory as to what part of town you ended up in….West Village – nice. Why is the light so bright; make it stop. Can I sneak to the bathroom to re-apply some bronzer – fuck it, you saw his bathroom last night and noted he uses Axe Vice, he clearly doesn’t give that much of a shit.
You attempt to move around, send some text so your phone vibrates and wakes this casanova up. No luck. So you decide to cling the sheet next to your body, because suddenly you’re shy – I mean sober, while you gather and re-apply your clothes from the night before, how did your underwear get over there?….Yes, that sheer top with the cut outs in the back is likely what got you into this situation, don’t worry – it’s a great day time blouse, if you’re name is Vivian and you’re in Pretty Woman.
Finally he wakes up. It’s time for MST….#MorningSmallTalk….
“I think I’m still drunk.”
“We had a good time last night” (duh)
“Big week this week” (what?)
“I feel awful.”
“I can’t even.”
“Can you believe so and so got kicked?”
His hesitation is all you need to know, neither of your are sure if you totally used a condom….the countdown begins….72 hours to self abort.
An excuse jumps into your head….suddenly you have a community service project, a family member’s birthday BBQ, you have to help your cousin with a science project….anything that will get you to CVS before that shot clock has expired.
You do that awkward dance at the door, are we hugging, are we kissing, are we giving each other a high five or am I just pretending I’m texting – either way, can’t wait for next week’s date*.
*If dates occur between the hours of 2-9AM….you’ve been on a ton of dates, Carrie Bradshaw.
You’re walking, this is the only time in your life you’ve thought…fuck. I wish I was a runner.
All the scenarios are going through your head….
“What would this kid look like?”
“What would our story be?”
“Is he father material?”
“How will I tell him?”
“Will my parents like him?”
Maybe you start to picture your life together in suburban New York, white picket fence, summers on Montauk, you cue up How Sweet it Is to Be Loved by You….suddenly, a Citi-biker almost hits you and snaps you back into reality….and you remember you just went on payment plan for Coachella, how the fuck are your going to support a kid…further more you just looked at mail to figure out where you woke up – what wisdom do you plan to bestow upon this child to guide him/her through the world.
You start to jog, in last night’s heels. You arrive to your Candyland. The pharmacist doesn’t even need to ask you what you need – she knows, but as a courtesy she says, “what can I get you?” As she’s reaching for Plan B….you can’t even muster up the words through the shame….you just nod, tears forming because you think, “I hope this doesn’t overdraft my bank account,” and you realize you just spend your brunch money on Plan B….Plan B-runch.
Before you have even left the store, you Keep Calm and Take Plan B (don’t you think that should be the design on the package btw?) You still have the package in hand as you walk outside and smell that sweet smell of McDonald’s hashbrowns, coming from those magical arches to heaven 2 doors down, you skip merrily like a puppy at Christmas, place an order for a sausage, egg and cheese with a hashbrown – no OJ, you’ll vom because you don’t taste OJ, you taste vodka.
Before you even turn from the counter you hide that shit in your purse, it’s way more shameful showing the world your just went to McDonald’s solo than it is admitting you just popped Plan B….don’t be a mess girl.
You continue your stroll home, your Sunday Anxiety is setting in….what Rom Com will you watch today? Maybe it’s time for He’s Just Not That Into You….or Annie Hall.
Side Note: Plan B should come with a voucher for a breakfast sandwich called the Hey Girl Voucher….just a thought.
This story courtesy of the awesome people at @WaitWhatTotes.
My first experience with match.com (AKA I like old movies) was a slight failure. But I thought I’d give it another go, because perhaps I was too fresh onto the dating scene the first time around and didn’t ‘play’ properly? So here is a concise(ish) rundown of round two:
We went out a few times. He bought me breakfast after our first date (yeah, yeah, first date…sometimes I get carried away). In hindsight, I’m baffled as to why I went out with him more than once. Sure, he was a nice guy, although a little immature…and then we get to the physical side of things. A little immature doesn’t really cover it. Unfortunately, it seems that he was under the impression that ‘faster is better’. Not only did I end up with a sore back, but my hair became so matted that the next morning I had to use half a bottle of (my good) conditioner to detangle. I thought perhaps he would improve with time (like a good red), but I was mistaken. After 5 months of not seeing him, I sort of accidentally on purpose booty called him and it was the same story. Another half bottle of conditioner down the drain.
The Turktalian (see what I did there? Like Brangelina but with nationalities)
Date one consisted of wine in Marylebone, then a nice kiss on Oxford Street before he went back to work (something to with the Asia shift?). Date two was supposed to be the following Friday but he cancelled. I was not optimistic at this point, however I decided not to lose all hope. He disappeared for a week, to Canada, apparently – and when he returned he asked if he could cook me dinner. I accepted. Turns out though, that the amazing scallops he had bragged about were not available, and so we were having a takeaway instead. Seriously?! Don’t tell me you’re going to cook me one of my favourite things, and then replace that with a bloody curry! Yes, I love curry, but if you say you’re going to cook me dinner, then actually do that! In fairness, it was a nice curry. Later that evening…things progressed to the bedroom (date two, I’m getting better). Whilst in said bedroom. Turktalian starts paying a LOT of attention to my feet. Now, I like a good foot massage. I could have a foot massage everyday and be happy as a clam, but when other things start rubbing against my feet, I get a little freaked out. Especially if there was no pre-warning of this. Now, I’m not opposed to a fetish in general, I just don’t like being surprised, and I don’t like to be surprised all over my feet. Needless to say, I did not see him again. Actually saying that, I didn’t even hear from him again, not that this caused any great distress.
Holy Hotness, Soldier!
I met this man in a bar in Balham, and proceeded to drink several glasses of wine quite quickly. When I am in the company of a very attractive man, I get a little nervous and tend to drink more than is probably socially acceptable. This can be either very good or very bad, as I am a temperamental drunk. Sometimes, and most often, I am endearing and giggly. Occasionally, I am messy. Messy as in I fall over/become irrational/cry. It seems that the odds were in my favour on this occasion and I became endearing, giggly, and apparently irresistible. After the wine, we went for dinner, then ended up in Brixton of all places, for more alcohol. The soldier was very entertaining, if a little arrogant, and yes, he came back to my place. However I was far too drunk and fell asleep as soon as I landed in my bed. Standard. The next morning, we were both slightly more coherent so the bedroom activities were a little more varied than plain old sleep, and much more enjoyable than recent encounters had been! Finally, someone who knows what they’re doing! As we walked later (him to the tube station, me to Sainsburys for hangover food), he informed me that he’d had an amazing time, and wanted to see me again at the weekend. I agreed with with the summary of the evening/morning and accepted the weekend invitation. Lo and behold, he suddenly realised three days before I was due to see him again, that he couldn’t possibly see me as he was ‘not in a place for commitment at the moment’.
I’m starting to get seriously pissed off with that line. You don’t want commitment? Don’t be on a dating website where the majority of women are looking for a relationship. No commitment? Don’t tell a girl how amazing she is and then leave her hanging. Men want to know why some women are a little bit nuts? You make us that way, idiots! Mixed signals and last minute cancellations make us wonder what the hell it is that we’re doing wrong. And the fact of the matter is, we’re not doing anything wrong. Well, most of the time anyway. All we’re doing is putting ourselves out there, going on date after mind numbing date in the hope that eventually, we will meet someone who makes all of the horrendous conversation and dull company seem worth it. Because eventually we will meet you, the love of our life. The person that you would not only walk through fire for, but who you would also drink cheap chardonnay for (and that’s a lot worse that fire).
There have been many other Match dates, but to go through them all would be far too tedious. The three above were the best worst dates (no, I haven’t written that incorrectly), and all the others aren’t really worth mentioning again.
Next time, a story of a boy who made me cry. While I was naked.
[We can’t wait….xoxo BDGS editors]
Kate is 27, lives inLondon and is divorced. Until last summer, she had never actually been on a ‘proper’ date, so this experience so far has been very educational. She’s met some good guys, some bad guys and some ugly guys. She’s laughed and cried and is still looking for the person who makes me stop looking. On the whole, she is enjoying my misadventures in the dating world, although sometimes she does feel on the verge of drowning herself in a bucket of red wine. You can follow her on twitter @LDNSingleGirl and on her blog.
She was tall. That’s what attracted her to me. Six feet tall. Okay, she was also young, 21 to my 30. Everything about the scenario was promising.
“Hey, you want to come over and watch a moo-vey,” she asked.
“Hell yeah I do.” I know the code. Four minutes of movie, 45 minutes of petting, then we have sex.
Not this one. I haven’t had blue balls since I was 19 years old, but it happened. Making out. Hands all over. Etc. But no more.
I woke up 30 minutes after the room went silent and we supposedly went to sleep. I walked into the bathroom and jerked off into a folded three inch piece of toilet paper. Slept like a baby.