Having recently moved to a new city and meeting a whole new group of fabby girls on my course, I have found myself repetitively telling the story of how Lance won and then broke my heart. Where I thought I was completely over him, I now find myself thinking about him non-stop. And of course, my memories are not realistic. As with most break ups, the memories of arguments, tensions and shitty times fade away, but the memories of the amazing sex, the cute intricacies and in-jokes, the surprise trip to New York, all come flooding back and replay in your mind like the menu page of a DVD which you’re too hungover to get up and turn off.
This week I witnessed a truly god-awful date in the restaurant where I work, reminding me that not only have I not been on a date in an embarrassingly long time, but also of how painfully awkward they can be. The story is this: I was serving a couple who had met a few years ago, and had then been reunited on the dating app: Plenty of Fish (POF), the boy hand’t stopped pestering the girl for a date and eventually she gave in. I wasn’t fully aware of the situation until Nelson, our lovely barman, informed me that the female half of the date had been coming into the bar at every opportunity to get away from the male half and bitch about how awful he was. Before this discovery I had mistaken the fact that the couple were sat in silence, both on their phones, to mean they had been together for many many years and were bored of each other. When I went to take their payment, said boy scooted off, leaving the girl to pay their bill, and me and her to have a gossip. Apparently he was rude, arrogant, and both a conversation-ender and lazy conversation-maker, and to top it all off, had accepted her polite offer to pay the bill. This girl had been having such a bad time that Nelson had actually found her online on POF during the date itself, and sent her a cheeky “You’d have a much better time with me” message… time will tell if he makes a better impression.
Armed with the chat up line “Ici pour bonnes temps, pas longtemps” I took to French Tinder on my first trip to Paris in February. For those of you who don’t speak French, that says “Here for a good time, not a long time”. It is a line inspired by the Canadian who I thought I was exclusive with until my pal found him on Tinder with this very smooth line. Anyway, bad “ex’s” aside, it got me a superlike. Nice. This Superliker, Pierre, spent the next 2 months chatting me up via facebook, apparently desperate for me to come back to Paris so we could meet. Well, his wishes were answered because I love Paris and I LOVE my best friend Céline who is studying for her Masters there.
Last night I went on a blind date with someone who I already knew I didn’t fancy. Ok so it wasn’t technically a blind date, I had met him for about five minutes in a pub a couple of weekends ago. My friend Jen was seeing his best friend, James, and had gone over to the group of boys, asked who was single, and who fancied me. Nate answered yes to both, and my fate was set. Jen gave him my number and me my marching orders: “be nice to him, you can’t show me up” and a list of questions “does James like me, does he date many girls, is he seeing anyone else” and so on.
Detective Alexa to the rescue.
Continue reading “How to survive a blind date that you wish you were blind for”
the holy fail 