Oh god, I'd forgotten about this.
Me and a few friends were in a dingy meat market of a nightclub. The drunken knobhead of our group sidles up to two girls. One was hot, the other was... less hot*.
He walks straight up to the ugly one of the two and says "do you wanna dance?". She nods enthusiastically, bingo wings aflappin', a look of mingled joy and surprise spreading across her face.
She turns to head for the dance floor but my mate doesn't move. She looks back in polite incomprehension, and he drops the bomb: "go on, then. I'm trying to chat your mate up".
Bingo wings or not, she had a fantastic right hook on her.
Totally worth it, he reckoned.

*Wouldn't have looked completely out of place in a circus.
(Paolo Nutini's Bikini Better than Frederick Fleet's optometrist, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 16:26, 1 reply)

Choice of words
There seems to be some kind of linguistic curse affecting me when it comes to asking people out. Whenever I have asked someone out using some variation on the formula "Will you go out with me?", it has failed, often miserably. When, however, I have asked them out indirectly, by complimenting them and making them laugh and so on, it tends to work about four-fifths of the time.

I also tend to avoid chat-up lines, just because 99.9% of them are nauseatingly cheesy. One fondly-remembered exception was when I was on the Tube with two male colleagues and a Canadian girl, Jess, who worked in the office. We were talking about the differences between Britain and Canada, and my colleagues (being the sophisticated type) started going on about how all British guys were hung like horses. Jess was standing in front of me on the escalator when we left the Tube and turned to me with a sly wink.

Jess: "Coming, Mr. Ed?"
Me: "Hey, baby. Looking for a stable relationship?"
( .Yeti., Thu 10 Dec 2009, 16:23, 1 reply)

Not really asking someone out, but a chat up line nonetheless...
But I think it fits.

Back when I was in high school, me and my best mate (David) were often referred to as the same person, because you'd usually find one of us taking the piss out of the other. All was well.

We had a decent sized group of friends, about evenly split between lads and girls. Between the two of us, we ended up either snogging/going out with all of the girls bar 2. One was a really nice girl (Becca), and had been with her fella for a couple of years at this point, so there was no chance. Angelic in behaviour, but with a sense of humour so dark, it would have made Chris Morris shit himself. The other was just a munter. Great laugh, but ugly as sin.

This story concerns the first girl. One monday we came in, to find her obviously quite upset. Turns out her fella had dumped her out of the blue (he was a bit of a tosser), and she'd spent the weekend feeling sorry for herself. Having decided against my original plan to cheer her up*, me and my best mate came up with something which is still one of my favourite lines.

At lunchtime, one of the knobheads had made a comment about her panda eyes, and she'd got even more upset. She'd eventually calmed down, and just quickly redone her makeup, showing how pretty she really was. We see her stood with her mates, walk over, and begin:

David: Wow Becca, you look half decent again! (we were cheeky little sods, but we were just charming enough to pull it off)
Me: Definitely
Becca: Aww, thanks guys.
M: I do have to ask something though...Did it hurt?
B: Did what hurt?
D: When you fell from heaven...
B & Mates: Awwww
Me:...And landed on your face.

Her face went from happy, to confusion, to shock, then to complete and utter amusement. She almost shat herself laughing, while her mates (who were all innocent and boring) looked at us as if we were the biggest pair of twats ever.

She later admitted that it was just what she needed that day, and I'm still glad we were able to brighten it!

*Knob her myself
( Agnostic Antichrist Baltimora, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 16:16, 2 replies)

Nervous talking.
I've been making a great effort, when talking to the ladies, to keep my answers short, sweet and to the point. Problem is you see, when I'm nervous I say the STUPIDEST fucking things and immediately regret them.

Example 1: Laura; My ex from when I was 17 moved back home for a while and seemed very keen to meet up. When we were 17 she was a bit religious and, basically, I didn't get any further than 3rd base. Now she was a bit older/wiser she knew what she wanted and wasn't shy about it. PERFECT.

SO. The first time we meet up (at her house) it was straight to bed :) We'd had a conversation earlier in the week about how many partners we had been with so after the deed was done and she was lying in my arms, her lovely dancers body against mine I say "hooray for number X eh?"

FUCK ME WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!!!! I think.

It didn't go down well. At all.

But I'd obviously made an impression of a different sort so I get a second chance the following week. I go round for her and she's just out the shower. She throws on some clothes and it's round to mine this time. All goes well but as she's getting dressed she checks her pockets and pulls out her bank card.

"no need to pay me" Says I then instantly put my head in my hands and DIE INSIDE. 2 weeks later she had herself a new boyfriend and no more fun for me.
( Maffers I flow kinda strange like Spina Bifida footprints, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 16:11, 4 replies)

Capital Radio Vetoed me...
Several years ago as I was driving up the M1 listening to capital (the DJ was the odious Penk)there was a phone in asking listeners to call in and show how romantic their native tongue was by chatting up a fictitious member of the opposite sex.
The usual cotterie of Albanian women (nothings against them), Polish women (nothing against them) and Portugese women (nothing against them either)called in and rambled on in their language.
Being bored (and male) I called up....
Me: I think native Glaswegian is particularly sexy
Capital : What?!
Me: I think native Glaswegian is particularly sexy
Capital : OK... Give us an example then...
Me : Ur ye gaggin fur it?
Capital : Thank you for calling.. *Brrrrrr*
(bof, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 16:06, 1 reply)

When I was younger and stupider
I once asked a girl out by texting her Rammstein lyrics.

Yes, that's right, Rammstein lyrics, by text.
( Richard Earl of Cambridge Cruel, Savage, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 16:04, 6 replies)

I've never used a chat-up line but my favourite is definitely...
"That top looks VERY becoming on you...
Of course, if I was on you I'd be coming too."
( Maffers I flow kinda strange like Spina Bifida footprints, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 15:53, Reply)

my best chat-up line
i find a nice-looking bloke, point at his face and say "is anyone sitting there?"
really, you'd be AMAZED how often that works!
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 15:48, 6 replies)

Last year
I sealed the deal with a young man thusly:
'I'm not asking you out. I'm telling you out.'

Oh, to have that confidence again...
(jennymnemonic, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 15:41, 5 replies)

A private party
I'd been working in Reading and staying in a hotel in Maidenhead for quite a while.

Where was a lovely redhead Aussie girl working behind the bar. I flirted and innuendo'd for all I was worth for some weeks. Eventually I asked if she'd like to attend a private party for two in my room after her shift. I went back to my room and after half an hour popped outside for a smoke.

There outside the door was a bottle of red and two glasses....

We're getting married next year.

Yay to me and my flirty ways!
(penrose your dog's got tits, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 15:38, 1 reply)

String Theory's story reminded me
of the classic Australian chat-up.

Bruce is walking down the road when he meets Sheila:
"G'day Sheila, fancy a fuck?"

"Wee-elll, I didn't before, but I do now, ya smooth talkin' bastard!"
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 15:31, 1 reply)

Drunken Lies
When I’m drunk, and I get chatting to a girl, I inevitably end up lying about what I do for a living. So far, I’ve been:

- A dolphin trainer. This went down very well, especially when I told her that the dolphin I was responsible for, ‘Little Jacob’, had been orphaned by his mother, and that he now saw me as his parent. I made up a few hand signals and lied, saying “When I do this, he gets a ball”, etc.
- A Sex Toy Salesman.
- Guitarist in a band called The Racist Vicars. Strangely, they never question the name of the band
- A professional footballer

However, the latter nearly backfired somewhat, when the girl I was chatting up, asked what team I played for.

“Reading”, I replied, not thinking that she would ask further questions.

“Oh, my Dad’s a director there, what’s your name?”, came her reply.

And to that, I replied, without thinking, “Shaun Goater”.

“I’ll ask my Dad if he knows you”, said she.

I am white, just over 5ft tall and I hate to think what her reaction was when she went home the following day and spoke to her Dad....
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 15:27, 7 replies)

I was late getting into this dating game
The first time I asked someone out was in college. We had met on the very first day of first year and clicked instantly. We were both kinda shy/awkward so the fact we both had someone to hang out with until we were able to make more friends was a great help. Until I did make more friends and started spending more and more time with them and didn't even talk to her at all for the last few months of the year.

Fast forward to December in 2nd year and I start chatting to her again on a class night out. We were talking about someone outside that we thought looked familiar when she asked: "Are you seeing anyone?" "No", I replied, "I can't see anyone from this angle".

"I meant do you have a girlfriend". I didn't, and she said she wasn't seeing anyone either. (I found out later she had just broken up with someone, and it had ended pretty badly- he went a bit crazy)

I had to go home early that night, but I got it into my head that she might like me and now that I thought about it, I really liked her too. The next few times we were out with the class I was too nervous to make any kind of move in front of everyone and wasn't able to get her alone, so I needed a new plan.

I got her phone number and was so nervous I wrote out what to say, but didn't want my house-mates to hear, so I went outside. There I was, pacing up and down the road, hands shaking, not even able to focus on the paper, and she answered the phone.

Annnnnnd...Bollocks!

She says no, but would like to hang out as friends. I think fair enough, I'll just try and get over her and not bother trying to pursue her any more.

About a year later, we're chatting and it happens to come up, she tells me she actually was interested in dating, she only said no because she was nervous and was hoping that I'd continue flirting with her while we were hanging out and something would just happen.

"Well" I said, "lets make up for it now"

"No point" she said, "Why would I go out someone who only treats me like a friend"

WHAT?

Turns out she considered all the times we hung out as a date and that how I treated her then was how I'd treat any girlfriend.

Things went down hill for us soon after, she started turning into more and more of a mental case and she kept guilting me into continuing to spend time with her. Now I understand why her previous bf went a bit crazy.

Apologies/length.
(cH3$h7846J#7, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 15:23, 2 replies)

Everyone a failure.
I have never had a problem (before marriage) making my way over to someone, and in my drunken bravado, and saying "I'm a little busy/wasted/unwashed right now, but if you don't mind, could I get your number with a view to doing something together next week?".

Usually, I'd walk away with a number on a beer mat, or fag packet. I'd clutch it tightly in my palm, deep in my pocket till I got home proud and excited at what lay ahead. Then, after sleep, I'd wake up and throw it in the bin.

Why?

Because I can't talk to someone on the phone. Face to face is fantastic, but phones really freak me out. Email is great. Webcam is great - although I think I have only ever made 5 video calls.. Skype - aces, as long as the word is written.

On the phone I'm a bumbling buffoon. It's not just women.. it's any phone call I have to make. I don't have a mobile, because I feel exposed whilst talking in open waters.

Entry phone systems are ok. You don't really converse on those, you just say "It's me. I has drugs. Let me in".
( Piper Alpha is being a grumpy northerm bastard on:, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 15:10, 6 replies)

I was a bit shy
I though I was completely rubbish at chatting up girls, and fearful of rejection I could never bring myself to ask one out. Also, for no good reason I thought my 6’4 athletic body and perfectly presentable face was fiercely repulsive.

I decided I wouldn’t try. Yes I’d fancy women, I’d be friendly and try and make them laugh, listen to what they said and enjoy their company but not waste my time on asking them out.

It’d drive some them of them nuts, I genuinely didn’t know what was going on. Once in a while one of my female friends would more or less leap on me and rip me shreddies off. I’d assume they were having some sort of aberration fancying an ugly beast like me.

Obviously, after a while I caught on to what was happening, I was happier in myself and slightly less surprised by the being leapt on and shreddy ripping incidents. But even after 15 years of marriage I’m still a little bemused that Mrs ROF hangs around and hasn’t found someone better.

So that’s my top tip kids. Just act nice and not like a smart-arse and you’ll be surprised what filthy behaviour will result.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Thu 10 Dec 2009, 15:10, 3 replies)

Ring my bell
I'd never had much success with asking out the girls through my schooling years, and I was adamant that it was time for a change. It was the early '90s and I was slowly approaching 14 as the new school year started. A face full of spots and curtains that curled so far round I looked like I had binoculars on my forehead, I was oblivious to my pending failure.

With the new school year came new class mates, and so there she was, my new object of desire. She was a fair bit taller than me and had a blonde bob, her bra shone through her blouse sending my hormones into a frenzy. It was a foolproof plan! She didn't know how popular I was(n't) in the school, so wooing her shouldn't be too much of a problem. I just had to act fast before the truth became apparent...

Naturally, my self esteem was never too high after taking several knockbacks through the years, so 'fast' turned into watching her mingle with the cool and popular kids while I hatched my foolproof plan...


I would call her.
I would ring her up and ask her out.

What could possibly go wrong? I'm not confident enough to speak to her in person, I just need to find out her phone number and then give her a call.
I set my friends on the case. A few of them travelled on the same bus to school as her, so it shouldn't be too hard for them to find out.

A couple of days later I was passed a slip of paper with a few numbers jotted down on it, and "Go for it" written underneath. I looked up to my friend and smiled wide. This was it. This little slip of paper would be the end to my spree of singledom.

That evening I rushed home, watched Neighbours and ate my tea in a fluster, anticipating the evening's success.
I'd already rehearsed everything I was going to say, everything for this very moment.
Confident that nothing could go wrong I lifted up the handset, heart pounding in my chest, and pushed the buttons in.

"Hello?" - a man's reply. No worry, it's probably her dad.
- "Oh hello, could I please speak to S?"
I'd played it cool. It could have been a foil in my plan, but I was past one hurdle.

"Hello, this is S" came the response
- "Hi... Uh, it's RM from School... I was uhm, I was wondering if you'd go out with me?"
"No."
- "What?" I shrieked.

How could she let me down?! and so cold! I was convinced it was a certain match?!

"I said no, weirdo." - her voice broke, and she suddenly sounded a lot more gruff than before.

My head slowly put the pieces together as I realised this was not her number, and it most certainly was not her.

I mumbled an expletive and hung up. My heart was broken and my limited reputation suddenly shattered into pieces.

The next day at school I was met with many laughs as they retold the story from their perspective. Several people all huddled around a phone in the village phonebox trying to listen in as I confessed my love to them all.

The teasing eventually stopped, and I grew older and wiser. Now just leave it to alcohol.

Cheers!
(random_monkey Dosadno mi e, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 14:57, Reply)

The negotiator:
"Hey, you know I brought you Tamiflu..."
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 14:56, Reply)

"Asking people out"
But this is B3ta, so there is no need for all that.
The B3tan Way:
Pander
Gaz
Gaz cock pic
then a) move onto next B3tan victim or b) marry the lucky gazzee.

I've heard there are variations.
( Roota zweeeeeoooooowm, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 14:55, 11 replies)

Pearoast for compo. But I think, worth it.
Anyone remember a brief lived night club in London called the Asylum? It was right near Tottenham Court Road station and lasted about two months before they got shut down for spending all the money on smack.

It had 3 or 4 levels or rock/punk/metal type fun. It was BRILLIANT.

I was there one night, being 19 and shit, with my mates (also 19 and shit) when I noticed the girl. In my memory she was the single sexiest, most beautiful, most amazing woman ever to exist. she was perfection. She was on the far side of the dance floor.

I danced with my mates, and looked at her. She danced with her mates and looked up, our eyes met. The next two songs were the single most exciting time in my young life as she and I slowly and imperceptibly went from "dancing with our mates" to "dancing with each other."

It was perfect, I was astonished, and as the song ended I leaned forwards to ask her something incredibly dashing and suave*.

She leaned in to meet me, and just then "Smells like teen spirit" came on.

The guys behind me cheered, knocking against me, causing me to lurch forward at the hips, which in turn caused a whiplash-stlye forward movement of my upper body. And my head.

I awoke to find myself being carried from the dancefloor by my friends. There was blood coming from my head. I didn't know a lot of what was going on. They sat me down at the bar, and the barman gave me a plastic cup of ice to press against my head. I sat for what I am told was 10-15 minutes, and as I pressed the ice to my head I thought "what happened?". " I was dancing, there was a song, there was a girl..."

Shit. The girl.

Being a gent, I asked for a second cup of ice, and went to find her. Perhaps it would be a funny story we could tell our kids. Perhaps I had not, in fact, headbutted her with terriffic force.

She was not on the top floor.

She was not on the third floor.

She was not on the second floor.

She was not on the ground floor.

She was not in the basement.

Just outside the entrance was a crowd of worried looking teenagers I vaguely recognised. They were her friends. They told me, in none-too friendly ways, that they had been UNABLE to wake her, and that she had departed with a friend in an ambulance. They were getting coats and preparing to follow by taxi. no, they would not tell me her name, give me her number, allow me to apologise or give my number. I could, apparently, fuck right off.

I never saw her again.

M.

_{* I was drunk and 19. Dashing and suave was probably going to be "can I get you a drink?" or "do you fancy a shag?", neither of which ever got me anything other than poorer to the tune of one drink.}
( Mockingbird Practitioner of SCIENCE, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 14:39, 4 replies)

My first
Being a bit of a late developer, I didn't get my first proper girlfriend until I was 21. She was called Janet, 18 and fit. Her best mate was a mate of mine's girlfriend and when I saw her for the first time it was love at first sight. I did all the usual stuff, asking others if she was seeing someone, getting on the right side of her friend, getting her to put in a good word for me and all the other painful ground work that could have been avoided had I actually had the balls to talk to her myself.
I was at Poly at the time and so I didn't get to see her very often, but I did manage to get her home address and so thought a romantic hand-written tome would get her knickers off quicker than Gary Glitter on a council estate.
I sat at my student digs desk, gazing wistfully out of the window, constructing a love letter of such heart and beauty that I was sure, nay convinced, that the lovely young Janet would be mine. I sent it off, sure that she would be between my legs within the week.
I never got a reply but I was undeterred (this was back in the day before I realised that women were capable of ripping a chap's heart out and sticking it in a blender whilst cackling maniacally). I visited home a couple of weeks or so later and made it my mission to run into her.
And run into her I did. She saw me, she smiled, she walked over to me. My 'line' was all ready: "Hi Janet," I said, so nonchalantly that I would have won first prize in the 100m nonchalant race, "did you get my letter?"
"What letter?" came the reply.
Arse. I should really have had a follow-up line sorted out. I was fucked.
It turned out that I'd been given slightly the wrong address. My letter declaring undying fancyment had gone to number 47, not 147. 47 was a fucking hairdressers.
She never did get the letter but I can imagine a bunch of Tracys pissing their knickers at reading my childish scribblings. It did break the ice though: she asked what I'd written, I bumblingly told her that I was asking her out, she threw her arms around me, we kissed and dated for a year.
(Ghostlight, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 14:39, 2 replies)

Blunt and to the point
My first attempt at asking someone out was to pine after them for months, eventually get their phone number from the order form they put in where I worked and call them with a desperate "Go out with me."

"What..? Er... why?"
"Because I'm fed up with thinking about it."
"Er... I can't."

That's about all I remember, my brain skipped over the rest of it. She might remember the rest (she's a member here so you may be in luck) but I doubt it. At least I was forthright, is all I can say.

Now have a slightly more successful pearoast.

I was in Cardiff's premier student spot, Solus nightclub in the student union. I was out with my newly agreed housemates on a pre-living-together outing when I spotted a girl being strangled. Seriously, some dickhead had a belt round her neck on the dancefloor. I went over and with my customary good grace told him to "fuck off and stop being such a fucking knob".

(in another bravado-related incident a couple of months beforehand I had told a group of lairy chavs to "CALM THE FUCK DOWN" at the top of my voice. Surprisingly, they did)

Well, the girl was very grateful. And her friend was very appreciative. Her friend also had something about her that I found extremely attractive, and to wit, I spent a few minutes working my frankly resistable charm. And lo and behold, it worked, and vigorous tongueplay took place for much of the rest of the night. I'd forgotten her name, of course. So when her friend came to the bar while we were buying drinks later and said "So.. you and Nicola blah blah blah whocaresimnotlisteninganymoreyoujustgotmeoutofahole" I was very happy. Still, I fancied more.

Now this is where it gets interesting. Anyone ever read a book called the Dice Man? If you haven't, it's about a guy who governs his life by rolling dice for every decision he makes and then does what the dice command.

Now while I wasn't going to go as far as he did (I'm not into rape and murder) I had thought it would be a good way to decide things I don't care about - which drink do I want? Which club do we go to? etc - and maybe inject a bit of spontaneity into my life, which had become rather stale and shit since a bad break-up the previous year.

So at this point, I had two dice in my pocket. A plan formed. A few minutes later, with a mischievous smile, I laid my trap.

"So... tell me, have you ever wanted to be more spontaneous?"
"Well, of course, why?"
"I'm going to roll these two dice. Less than five, we go and have sex now. Less than ten, we wait until later. More than ten, we don't have sex tonight. Deal?"
"...yeah, okay."

In like Flynn! I am a golden God! I am the Prince Of Punani! I am flying by the pre-emptive feeling of my balls ridding themselves of 10cc of unnecessary semen. The more mathematically-minded of you may also notice that I had strategically put the odds utterly in my favour, insofar as there was a mere 1 in 12 chance of failure to get myself well and truly laid that night.

...rolled a fucking 11.
(cypherspace is not a toaster, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 14:38, 7 replies)

Ah bless.
Good times;
I met up with my lovely partner after finding him on an online dating site & chatting on msn for a long time.
We were both nervous when we met up, and when he tried to hold my hand the first time it was very awkward and giggly, partly because we took a wrong turning due to the confusion and almost walked into a wall.

Anyways, we ended up in bed together (as you do) and before we went to sleep he said ' Well. I suppose now is a better time than any to ask you out, because we're both naked. Will you be my girlfriend?'
I said yes, obviously.

Bad times;
I once asked a boy out. 'So..umm...do you..would you go for a drink with me or something, sometime?' and when he said yes I was so surprised I followed it up with 'Oh...Really? Like, you know I mean, as a date, right?'
He did. But then he stood me up. Oh well.
(Lalalalou, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 14:36, Reply)

The last time I asked someone out....

At the place I was working (up until a couple of months back) there was a colleague. A gorgeous young lady a couple of years my junior (I’m 35). She is one of those people who is always smiling, always smiling and always beautifully dressed – by beautifully dressed, I mean nicely snug jeans, Adidas shell-toes, indie t-shirt. Everything I find attractive. Plus she has long brown hair (dyed slightly so it had an almost red tone to it) and a wonderful smile. Did I say she is always smiling?

Oh, and she has on her perfect frame, the most outstanding set of top-bollocks I’ve never admired from afar. She was just wonderfully curvy. Beautiful face, beautiful body and, well, just beautiful.

Thing is, our paths rarely crossed at work, there was no need for them to. We both had different teams and projects on the go, there was no reason – other than we were part of the same department – to have anything to do with each other.

So, how do I try and win a date with the most beautiful girl if the company?

Well, walking up to her and asking her was a non-starter s she might say ‘no’ and I’ll look like a tool, all attempts of trying to get her and her team to join me and my team on a night-out fell flat (there are only so many times you can suggest the teams go out together before you look like you are stalking everyone) and ‘chance’ encounters over lunch or the coffee vending machine just never occurred.

But I really like her....

So I did, what I thought, would be the next-best-thing to walking over to her desk and asking her outright.

I emailed her and asked her if she fancied coming out for a drink with me.

The reply I received was less than encouraging. She replied saying ‘I think you sent this to me by mistake’

I should have left it there and gone back with a ‘oh, silly me’ type response, but no. Not reading between the ‘letting me down gently’ lines, I replied with ‘err, actually, I did mean to send that to you’

I received one final patronising mail, calling me ‘sweet’ and ‘cute’ as well as advising me that she was ‘kind-of seeing someone at the moment’ and that I seem ‘nice’ and that was it.

Thankfully, my contract came to an end before I suffered the ritual humiliation of everyone knowing what a tool I made of myself, but there we have it kids.

I’m shit at asking out the ladies.
( JeffTheDogFucker Can you dig it?, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 14:35, 2 replies)

The multiverse of Spimf
At precisely 11.51 on Dec 24 2009 Mrs Spimf and I will have been together for 21 years. As a fan of 'Back to the Future' see here this anal level of precision works well for me, that and the fact I am a hopeless romantic and do very much believe in the power of love.

It will also be our fourth wedding anniversary and exactly 5 years since I proposed. The proposal story is also quite QOTW friendly, “my proposal involved a concealed kitten a Christmas tree and some industrial fireworks - how did you, or would you propose to your beloved?”

Anyway…

Christmas Eve, 1988 there’s the fresh faced Spimf, 19-year-old and not really in the mood to go out that night. I was at my gran's house with my mum and sister. It was a particularly cold wet and miserable night even by Glasgow standards. My wee Welsh gran had the gas fire on a little bit too high. The combination of the moist thick heat and soft hissing noise from a gas fire has always made me feel safe, secure and a bit sleepy (having said that maybe the fire simply hadn’t been serviced for a while), I was quite settled for a quiet night in. After all Santa was coming and there would be presents in the morning! But I was an adult now and my mate Mark was not ready to let me forget this. After calling to assure me our usual haunt would be “hoachin with fanny” (we were such regulars our little laminated VIP passes were numbers 3 & 4 – oh yes! very much the young blades) I was confidently assured that if I didn’t go out that night, I was a 'definite bender' reluctantly I agreed to get ready for a night out. High waisted stonewash jeans, ridiculous huge gelled 80’s hair, a liberal dousing of Kouros and there it was – chick Kryptonite. Did I mention the rather expensive handmade cowboy boots? Well aside from now being deeply embarrassing they are also highly significant, and in hindsight probably made me look like a 'definite bender'.

Eventually the cabbie announced his arrival with a few impatient pumps on the horn. I kissed my mum, sister and wee welsh Gran goodnight, promised to be back in time for Christmas dinner, then set off into the drizzle worrying about my extravagantly gelled hair. Walking down the pathway to the taxi I still felt distinctly unenthused about going out. Then the heel of my stupid bloody handmade cowboy boot hit a wet leaf – immediately everything expanded to Matrix bullet time. Doing my flailing slo-mo goosestep I remember thinking very clearly “right, if I go arse-over-tit and get all wet and manky – fuck it! I’m staying in.” Somehow I regained my footing and what little composure I had in that get-up. Space-time was restored and some way off in the distant future, in a picture next to my bed my son faded back into view.

So there we are in the club, Joe Paparazzo’s in Glasgow, not our usual haunt; Tin Pan Alley in Mitchell Lane – no! A deviation was made from the norm that night, the gears of fate had shifted, an alternate time line had been struck (big queue outside Tin Pan Alley, fuck that).

So new horizons, fresh prey: there I was scanning ‘Joe Paps’; a converted porn cinema apparently, popular with the dirty mac brigade before VHS allowed us to perv in the comfort of our own homes and killed the sleazy cinema trade dead in its sticky slacks. Then it happened, amidst the ironic Santa hats and hair gel I chanced upon the most lustrous mane of long dark tumbling hair.

There she was. Slender, pretty and petite wearing a lacy black dress (80’s remember) some high spiky black heels accentuating a finely turned ankle, and cracking legs. Then she spun round, tossing her beautiful hair over her shoulder (things might have gone a bit slo-mo again here) and looked directly at me, as if somehow she knew I was there. I found out later her dumpy mate was on point saying, “right, he's looking now”. Men are indeed innocent lambs before the connivances of a woman and her fat mate.

Her eyes were dark, dangerous and utterly beguiling. After all too brief a glance she looked away disinterestedly but arched her back and extended one leg backwards slightly (apparently this made her bum look even more perfect - like I say, innocent lambs). I was crestfallen. Clearly she was out of my league. She looked a little older than me and far more sophisticated (not difficult). But that didn't stop me staring. Pathetically, I was utterly unable to approach. At that point my best chat up approach was a slightly deranged looking stare. This went on for a while, a long while, then a friend of a friend who was with our group moved in for the kill. Ramie; an unsavory character, dodgy, bit of a car thief, conman and womaniser, but handsome and smooth with it. Bastard. It all began to slip away from me, the picture of my future son self-erasing by my bedside.

Action was required. Immediate action. I strode over, all the while looking into her huge brown eyes. Spinning on my (Cuban) heel I turned to the smirking Ramie, “your round mate”. He looked me up and down, sneered a bit, then turned to Mrs Spimf “he reckons it's my round, what do you think?” Mrs Spimf looked at him sweetly, held out her glass and said innocently “fresh orange and lemonade please”.

We talked. She was perfect. I glanced at my watch to see when it would be Christmas – 9 minutes to go. At midnight we shared an awkward peck on the cheek, I’d muffed it again. Shortly afterward Mrs. Spimf looked deep into my eyes and asked...

“So did you have a nice Christmas”?

I kid her now that she was pouting and swooning at this point, to be honest she was more likely thinking “Christ! will this Muppet ever make a move?”

We kissed, I had a cheeky grope at her bum. All the future pictures were drawn.

On Christmas eve at precisely 11.51 we enter our 22nd year together, Mrs Spimf remains perfect, as does my son, smiling away happily in a picture beside my bed.
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 14:22, 21 replies)

My mother has a great one
A young man was having a go at chatting up my mum with the killer line - You dont much like the dark haired one from ABBA but you will do.

Ahhh the romance!
(Free pens 100, 101, 102 is still counting on, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 14:15, 5 replies)

MEMENTO
I have a memento, a keepsake I carry round in my wallet which reminds me what a spectacular twat I can be sometimes…

Back in 1993 when I was enjoying the fine weather and ambiance of Manchester as a student, I ended up going back to the halls of residence with a girl named Marilyn. And I’m proud to say that this fine daughter of Exeter took my cherry. Not too sure how that happened – chat up lines are a bit of a misnomer, I’d say. Personally I prefer the shotgun approach; just open your mouth and see what comes out. As a failsafe you could always try the real shotgun approach – but apparently its against the law in this country to demand sexual favors from a pissed up stranger whilst pointing a barrel of a gun at them.

Anyway, Marilyn and I did the deed and I left to stagger back to my own room just across the way. Feeling all manly on account of finally finding some bird who’d let me violate her body. But something weird happened while I was with Marilyn. Something unexpected. I actually felt – in our brief time together – feelings… the type of feelings that up until that point I’d never actually felt before. I actually wanted to be with her, just hang out, I thought I actually enjoyed her company past the point that she was in ownership of a fully functioning and working vagina. OK, she had let me experience the insides of a nice warm, moist vag for the first time ever, but… I felt I was actually in the very early stages of falling in love with her.

This obviously scared the living shit out of me and I went through the next week attempting to come to terms with this bizarre new development. I avoided Marilyn like the fucking plague. I was too much of a pussy to actually go and ask her out, properly like. Even though we’d done the deed this was mainly down to my best mate Boddingtons and her best mate Bacardi and coke. We’d hardly ever actually exchanged a word. (Actually, I do recall on the big night I whispered, very lovingly in her ear: “I want to fuck you like an animal,” which didn’t go down too fucking well). I was an absolute fucking mess.

So, being completely chickenshit, I hit on the idea of writing her a note and posting it in her letterbox (not her fanny, the actual real letterbox for her halls). Took me ages to write. I had to come up with something not too heavy, but also something that would make her realize I really was the one for her. I had to convince her she was definitely onto a good thing if she wanted to take things further. So I wrote the note, sat back and waited. This is what I wrote:



Which reads: Marilyn, You are incredibly hot. I think I love you! When we were together it was like time stood still. We should get together more often. I'd really like to be your boyfriend! Let me know what you think. PS – I promise I usually last longer than 10 seconds! (First night nerves)!

Now, you’re probably wondering how I managed to get this note back so I could fold it into a teeny tiny square and secrete it away in my wallet to wail and wank over for year to come… No, she didn’t come running into my arms, gushing, crying with joy. No, she didn’t pop it back into my own letterbox without another word. No, she didn’t call the police and have a court injunction taken out against me.

No – instead one drizzly March morning I heard a loud repetitive bang on my room door, followed by: “Spanky, you twat!” I opened my door and one of my flatmates, Blackpool Ben held in his hands a photocopy of my letter. “TEN FUCKING SECONDS! WOOOO! YOU SUPER FUCKING STUD!”
I snatched the letter out of his hands, seriously pissed off. I was lovestruck, vulnerable… I savagely tore the letter into little pieces and lobbed it in my bin. Blackpool Ben continued: “No point doin’ that, son. Marilyn and her flatmates have taped about a zillion copies all over the fucking place…”

Fucker…

Didn’t get laid for a whole year after that. Just had random people coming up to me in the SU saying: “Are you the ten second man?” with a look of utter contempt, disgust, or consolation on their face.

Chatup lines, possibly… Chatup LETTERS…

Don’t. Just fucking don’t.
( SpankyHanky, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 14:12, 6 replies)

I would
One time when I was out drinking and dancing and looking for sexeh guys to snog (I'd just become single again) I started chatting to an interesting guy who was a friend of a friend.
As the night went on we had a few dances, laughed, bought eachother drinks and had a general good time.
We'd been in eachothers company for a good few hours when we decided to have another dance. It was then that he turned to me, looked me up and down and said
"...fair do's. I would" *wiggles eyebrows*

Sadly for him though, he didn't.
( Mellicious is made of candy, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 14:00, 2 replies)

Yay me, boo her
Night on town with friends, dinner, too many drinks, same old same old. Persuaded to go to local bar renowned for being too busy, too smokey, too loud etc.

Mate introduces me to a friend of his we bump in to at the bar. She is with her 'nice personality' friend. She has a pint of stella in her hand, me a bottle of Veba (for those of you who don't know it is sugary, ruby red stuff, crap but hey this was late, don't judge me and I won't judge you!). My opening gambit is "Why are you drinking a bloke's drink?" She replies "Why are you drinking a girl's?" I then proceeded to lambaste her for her choice of previous boyfriend (who it turned out I knew)...following this I picked her up (yes, you read that right) carried her to the dance floor and danced at her for a bit. I am neither graceful nor talented in this regard. I also forgot her name and had to put her number in my phone under * so that I would be able to identify it later.

That was six years, one wedding, two kids and three houses ago. She still hasn't forgiven me for forgetting her name.
( number5 has been fighting tramps and losing., Thu 10 Dec 2009, 13:53, Reply)

When I was single I drunkenly passed a group of three girls
"Any of you girls fancy coming back to mine for a shag?" They declined, "well if you change your mind I live over there I said pointing at my house. Four hours later there's a know at my door and its one of the girls. We go in and she gives me possibly the worst shag I have ever had. Afterwards she tell me I had better not tell anyone as she had a boyfriend and was a virgin and didn't want to be crap her first time with him and was using me for practice. Win win I thought. So it was crap but hey ho a shags a shag.
( Peej, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 13:52, Reply)

Isn't this the same as:
"Will you go out with me?"

If so, I won't bother reposting - just go to my profile and see the top story.



If you can be bothered.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 13:49, 5 replies)