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This is a question Will you go out with me?

"Bloody Kraut, a" asks, "How did you get your current flame to go out with you? If they turned you down, how bad was it?"

Was it all romantic? Or were the beer goggles particularly strong that night?

(, Thu 28 Aug 2008, 17:32)
Pages: Latest, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Falling head over heels and more of cupid's stunts
Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. The 'something blue' was my ass.

Last September one of my closest friends got married. We started early on the bubbly - a champagne bridal party breakfast then another bottle back at the flat while we deliberated over what hairstyle would work best, and by the time we'd remembered that we had to book a taxi, get her into her dress and make it to the venue we were in a very jovial mood. The bellinis following the ceremony only helped fuel the merriment and my inability to walk in a straight line.

Post-dinner, I cadged a cigarette from someone and joined the crowd of smokers outside. I found myself standing beside the bride's rather hot brother whom I'd met once or twice before. There, over roll-ups, pints and lengthy talk about cars, planes and music, we drunkenly flirted with all the subtlety of a brick to the forehead.

In my inebriation I'm not sure who made the first move - I had no intention of trying to pick up anyone but the opportunity was there and the kissing was very lovely. The other smokers had long since dispersed and we settled ourselves for a lengthy clinch against the front door of the venue...
...until the next smoker, desperate for a nicotine fix, opened the front door and I fell straight backwards through the space appearing behind me and into the hallway, landing smack on my ass - my face still attached to that of the bride's brother, and a glass of wine in my hand with not a single drop missing. Classy.

Five minutes later, as he went to buy another pint to replace the one he'd dropped, the bride's brother fell down the stairs.

The next morning I had to do the walk of shame into the post-wedding brunch where everyone had heard of my acrobatics and took great pleasure in mimicking my escapades from the night before.

Still, the bride's brother is now sitting on the sofa next to me eating a bacon sandwich and talking to me about cars, planes and music. We're two commitmentphobes doing monogamy with a large dollop of wariness. He's moody, bloody-minded, and predictable in his unpredictability. He's also kind, interesting, funny, capable, and the hottest damn man I haver ever had the pleasure of pleasuring. He makes me feel that I'm living. Maybe that's why I fell for him.
(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 15:24, 1 reply)
It was the dead of night…

I silently slipped up behind the little Fiat car and made sure no-one was looking…

I had rehearsed this moment over and over again in my dreams. Sure, some of the more ‘orthodox’ squares might think that my love was unnatural…an abomination…but as I popped the hubcap off and began to turn the cross spanner I knew it was the real thing…

Carefully prising her away from the brake discs was a delicious torture for both of us…and before long I was sprinting along down the road, jumping and whooping with ecstasy as she rolled along by my side until we reached my flat.

Once we arrived I breathlessly ran in and locked the door… We were together at last, and we were going to do things right. As we went into the bedroom there was one more thing to do to make it perfect…

After feverishly stripping nekked I reached into my dunghamper drawer and pulled out two huge black curly wigs. One was for me…one was for her.

I slipped mine on and could hardly contain my spurt reflex as I positioned hers in place…

But as I looked at her I instantly realised I could go no further…my previous ‘diamond cutter’ of a stonkie now subsided to flaccid, button mushroom proportions. She looked far sexier in a huge curly wig than I ever could. I simply wasn’t good enough for her…she had beaten me…I could not mess with perfection.

There was only one thing left to do.…

I set her on fire, wellied her out of the window and watched as she smashed through the windscreen of a passing unmarked Police Vauxhall Vectra.

I think my subsequent arrest, beating and imprisonment was a blessing in the long run….because I learned how to discover normal, non ‘car-part-and-hairpiece’ related love and vowed from that day on I would never let a...

You know what’s coming…it will be in the reply…

(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 14:55, 16 replies)
Potential Boastage...
So, young nubile 18 year old me is in my local 'nite club' enjoying the sights and sounds of everyone I've known since the age of 5 doing what children who think they are all growed up do. I spy this adonis across the room, and with the youthful bloom of confidence I decide that I want to keep him.

He comes over with a couple of his friends and starts to chat, it's all going well, very well, too well....5 minutes later he is trying to lick my feet (!!) and he has pissed off my best friend, I can only assume he had too many alcopops. I clobber him with a shoe until he lets go of my foot and go after my mate and we sit, fuming, and perform a full character asasination. Then we go home and I think no more of this gorgeous yet arrogant man.

Two weeks later, I am invited to a house party two doors down from my house, I don't know the boys who live there that well, but when I didn't turn up by 10pm they came round and badgered me until I went back with them. I'd just settled in, got a beer and started chatting to people when this complete buffoon bowls into me a high speed sending me flying. As I picked myself up he turned, mortified to have sent me flying....It was him from the nite club. A furious, half hour row ensues about him being arrogant and me being a bitch which climaxed with the hose being turned on the pair of us and us kissing, dripping wet on a picnic table. After that night we became an item but only for about 3 months.

He now presents on a show which rhymes with slime botch.
(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 14:17, 7 replies)
I knew she was the one, from the first time I saw her on that fateful morning in Wales.

Her shapely legs, her beautiful brown eyes, and the sunlight glinting off her beautiful long hair.

Without saying a word, I walked up to her and kissed her lingeringly on the lips.

"BAAAAAAAAHHH!" she exclaimed, and ran off. I cried for weeks.

Until I made her into a wooly jumper. That taught the bitch.

(Oh, and just for the sake of a shit pun: Will ewe go out with me?)
(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 13:16, Reply)
I knew Mr. Jugular was the man for me
When he fixed my minky!
(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 13:05, 6 replies)
Another one i have to sit out
ive never been very lucky with relationships, but have quiet a few female friends. There have been the odd relationship that has lasted a few months but they all tend to go the same way. either im not interested in them or vice versa. why is it harder for men to find someone? i dont like internet dating but i just never seem to be able to find anyone of interest? i dont think there is anything wrong with me, why cant i just find someone?

length, it will be worth the wait!
(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 12:28, 5 replies)
A New Dawn
The dawn was just breaking, the sky a bruised violet as the sun rose. She was still sleeping in our cold bed as I stood watching the clouds slowly part.
I shivered a little and pulled the blanket closer around my naked shoulders.

“Come back to bed, love” she had woken up.

“I’m going to make coffee, would you like some?”

“Mmmrgh. Later. Come back to bed.” She pulled back the duvet and smiled.

I went into the kitchen and watched the sun rise from there.

Sometimes we don’t know what we’re waiting for. I had been waiting for a long time for something, anything, to happen. I had taken to watching the sun rise and set, marking off the days with painful rhythm.

Each day taking me further from then and closer to now.

When it started I had been full of expectations, full of hopes.

I had stood on the edge of crowds, avoided all people in the hope that I would be left in my solitude until the pain had subsided.

She had sought me out, she had known about my lost love.

She had stood beside me as I wept over the open grave of my first love.

She had been prepared to try to mend my broken heart with promises and kisses.

And now I stood here making bitter coffee below a cloud filled sky.
The kitchen was cold and still, save for the bubbling kettle puffing delicate balls of steam up into the smells of home.
Each puff curling with steam sinews and vaporous dreams.

Each puff whispering, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you’.

Each puff reaching the cool expanse of the window, the smooth clear prison wall forever forbidding the warm curling kettle steam union with its lover the great grey clouds.

A click and the water is boiled. I pour the water on the hard brown granules, little grits of hostility dried out and waiting to be scalded into releasing their acrid taste.

While I wait for the coffee to brew I light a cigarette, my first of the day, my first of the month, my first of freedom, my first for a long time.

I watch the lazy grey plume dance and cavort in front of my eyes.

It stings and I notice I am crying.
(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 12:23, 10 replies)
I can has...?
At a friend's surprise 21st a number of years back:

7.00: I see him across the room.
7.01: He see's me across the room.
7.05: I can has whiskey n ginger?
7.06: Oh wow, I loves whiskey n ginger!

(Several W&G's follow)

9.05: I can has kiss?

11.05: I can has phone nos?

12.30: I can has sex?

Three years, 5 months and having moved to a completely different country together for respective jobs, he's still trying to teach me l33t speak and to get me interested in his work, and I'm still trying to teach him to put his pants in the bin and to how to cook pasta properly: al dente, NOT crunchy...

(sorry for the crapness of the attempted 'i can has cheezburger' style)
(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 12:01, Reply)
Stupid things I've said in the process of the chatup
In the bottle shop......
"would you like a bag for your purchase"
"no, I don't use plastic bags, there bad for the environment. Maybe in the future there will be a sort of council who will prosecute people for using plastic bags. Not that that's the reason I don't use them. *nervous laugh"

In my home with an electrician checking wiring...
"You see the wood shavings that means there could be termite damage in this wall"
"oh...are termites a fringe benefit....*nervous laugh"
(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 11:37, 4 replies)
The old ones are the best
Earlier this year I was out watching the 6 nations with a couple of mates and we were enjoying watching England giving France a pasting (I think...please correct if wrong, may have been Scotland).

Obviously this rugby watching entailed an early start and after the match we decided to continue the revelry, going to Wetherspoons and watching Chelsea going out of the FA cup to Barnsley (great day, although not for the only 5 Chelsea fans in the bar) more drinking ensued and drunken bets were started including one friend doing a 'BLLLOOOAAAAHHHHHH' and head wobble into the largest boobs I'd seen on display but still slightly covered all night.

Obviously the night was getting on and we decided to drink some more and needed a later bar. After getting knocked back from Havana's we were told by a friendly bouncer that Watergates (10 points for guessing what city I was in) would accept us and I also knew the lady bouncer there.

Getting a round in and one of the guys wanted a smoke on the roof terrace (which we weren't sure was open) I decided to ask the young ladies if it was perhaps possible that the roof terrace would be open for some smoking pleasure with the following question:

'Hey, you look like smokers, is the roof terrace open?'

They weren't smokers...but she did say she worked for MI5.

Then a hairdresser, however I pointed out that her hair would be in better condition (Yep, I'm such a charmer...) if that were true

I then proceeded to get her drunk and persuade her that I should have her number so I could keep her safe (or somesuch).

6 months on and it's still going well!

Which is nice...

Never had to apologise for length, but I like to joke about it...
(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 11:09, 4 replies)
I've decided to hell with brevity, this one deserves words.
Well, way back in the mists of time I was in the first year of University, living in a halls of residence referred to by lecturers as Stalag 17 - yes, it was THAT nice.

Anyway, In the first term I was badly missing the current girlfriend, and after being drunkenly preyed on by a diminutive Scottish lunatic, and giving into the lonliness I was feeling in the arms of this smoke-tasting deviant I soon found myself single, even more alone and more miserable than before... Uni was, quite frankly, shit.

Towads the end of the term however, I'd assembled a new band, and a fairly large group of mates, I was starting to enjoy things again, but there was still a gaping hole where my romantic life should be. I went home for Christmas, bumped into the now-ex and didn't feel too bad, save for the longing to find someone new...

Upon my return I managed to get blind drunk, go running through the halls and smash my head into a door. The resulting bump was the size of a tennis ball, and it was only when I saw the copious amount of blood leaking from it that I decided to take action. I stuck a plaster on it and went out to a mate's gig.

That head injury became quite the talking point, and it wasn't long before I was chatting to a couple of ladies I'd noticed in halls a few times, thanks to their concern regarding my still bleeding head...

Over time I started to see one in particular around more and more... especially in the local pub (frequented by the Krays apparently, but then 90% of the pubs in London say that). She had chestnut curls down to her shoulders, Irish eyes that were deep brown and could have contained whole universes, a gorgeous pear shape that made her slim and curvy all at once, and a taste for alternative clothes and music. She ticked every single box I had, plus several I didn't even know about.

One night, after I was stuck between two tables and the aforementioned Scots deviant for hours, I'm rescued from the conversation by the chestnut curled angel. After chatting for a bit, I'm distracted by a mate at the bar and her group of mates seem to be heading off back to halls for the night, when one of them comes over and asks if I want to come back with them and watch Parenthood. Even I, with my near pathalogical need to fuck things up for myself managed to agree to a night in a room with a load of girls and Steve Martin film.

I ended up sitting next to a certain lady of Irish descent, and as the film went on, both with arms crossed, our hand touched... gently at first, then as we both got more confident this turned into a full fledged holding hands...

In time, the movie ended, I have no idea what happens in it to this day, and people began to leave and head back to their own rooms to sleep. Once outside the friend's room, we kissed, and kissed and kissed, not caring who was wandering past at the time (for the record though it was only a trainee teacher and rugby player from Leeds, off his tits on ketamine that walked past). When we finally stopped, I was shaking - my jaw, my hands, semingly my whole body trembled with joy. We parted ways, and agreed to meet up the next day as I stumbled, like babmi in the headlights of a juggernaut, back to my room.

The next day, we met at 12:00, and didn't stop talking the rest of the day, learning everyting there was to know about each other. We spent the night together, and the night after that, and the one after that. In the time since I don't think we've been apart longer than three consecutive nights, and even then only because of work or moving house. Seven years on from that, we're now married, and expecting our first child. Sometimes, just sometimes, life deals you a winning card.

No apologies, it's been worth every second.
(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 11:07, 4 replies)
Will you still love me tomorrow?
If nothing else, this story will prove to you just exactly why drugs are bad, m’kay?

2005 was a very strange year. I’d moved back to the Metropolis of London, my heart having been well and truly broken, and had got myself a job in that most vaunted and worthwhile of careers, recruitment consultancy.

(“A Recruitment Consultant?” one potential squeeze once said to me, “That’s just one step above being an Estate Agent!” – but I digress.)

Not only was I a recruitment consultant, I was an IT recruitment consultant. The scum that floats on top of the scum, if you will. And this, dear friends, was the time that I met the oft-talked about but never fully introduced Mad Saffa.

She’d managed to wangle a job in the same company as I by virtue of the fact that she knew my boss. She’d arrived in the UK four weeks previously, and had a year’s work permit. And the author was pretty well instantly smitten.

The only problem with her was that she was a massive cokehead. And I, being desperate (once again) to ingratiate myself with the cool kids, ended up with a nearly crippling addiction to the white stuff, something of which I am not proud and, after some counselling and a good old fashioned does of friend based intervention, I am now completely clean.

But that’s not the crux of my story. The Mad Saffa had now departed from my life, leaving me with a heart that was not only broken but now shattered in to a thousand lonely pieces, yet I was still shovelling drugs in to my face like there was no tomorrow. And that lead me to a windowsill in a side street off of Fleet Street at 11pm on a Thursday night with three other similar idiots, one of whom happened to be yet another girl that I was trying to charm the pants off.

I leaned over and breathed in sharply, taking the drug deep in to my nose. And then, seconds later, there was a rumbling deep in my bowels that indicated something was about to happen, and it wouldn’t be an innocent little fart. I attempted the ‘tester’, and tried to see if I could relieve some pressure without shitting myself.

I leaned against the wall, surreptitiously raised a leg (but the chances of anyone seeing me while the hoarded around the little bag of white powder like a pack of vultures were minimal anyway), and attempted a little release of gas.

What I actually released, however, was a small piece of poo.

Oh, if you’ll forgive the pun. shit. What to do? What to do?

There was only one thing for it. Find an alleyway, ditch the pants, get back to it. That sounds like a plan!

“Oh, guys!”

Sniff “Yeah?” Sniff.

“I’m just off to er... Well, I’ll be back in a minute, OK?”

Sniff “OK.” Sniff.
I waddled away, hoping against all hope that my precious cargo wouldn’t make a bid for freedom via my legs. I found an alleyway, pulled off my trousers and carefully, oh so carefully, removed my boxers. I thought it best, at that point, to use them to give myself a quick wipe to avoid staining.

Just as I pressed the fabric of boxer to the bare crack of my arse, the girl who I was trying to impress walked around the corner.

We froze in a grotesque tableau – her, mouth agog, staring at me. Me, naked from the waist down (save for a pair of socks), a balled up pair of boxer shorts stuffed up my bum, looking for all the world like I’d been caught with my knickers down. Which, of course, I had been.

“Er...” I muttered, flushing beetroot “I, er, um, had a small, um, accident. I’ll be back in a mo.”

She turned tail and fled. I did my best to clean up, dropped the boxers in a bin (something which I remain excruciatingly embarrassed about) and made my way back.

To her credit, she had told no-one. And, soon after, the incident was forgotten. As we walked back to the tube at the end of the evening, I walked with her, her arm in the crook of mine, and we looked upon London’s nocturnal beauty. We stopped. We faced each other. I looked in to her eyes and said:

“How about dinner next week?”

And she replied:

“Do you promise not to shit yourself?”

We were doomed from the start.
(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 10:57, 15 replies)
he asked me...
about 30 times lol, about twice a day for 2 weeks he kept asking me out on dates, i kept saying no, mainly due the scary looking beard.
one day Patrick comes online all upset saying he was fed up with people messing him around online, cue me, major guilt trip i ask him out on a date and of course he says yes...hang on a minute, i think ive just realised he played me. ah well date went well, turns out beard is not so scary in person. just have to see what the future holds!!!
(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 9:38, 2 replies)
Eddie Izzard's good analogy for all my attempts at forming relationships...
"And then I had to chat up girls and I had never used my vocal ability to chat up girls, and when your voice is breaking it's very hard! It's going, "Why, Susan, I really kind of fancy you. I saw you in the playground."

I had to chat up girls and I'd only tagged them before and I didn't have the verbal power to be able to say, "Susan, I saw you in the classroom today. As the sun came from behind the clouds, a burst of brilliant light caught your hair, it was haloed in front of me. You turned, your eyes flashed fire into my soul, I immediately read the words of Dostoyevsky and Karl Marx, and in the words of Albert Schweitzer, 'I fancy you.' "

But no. At 13, you're just going, " 'ello, Sue. I've got legs. Do you like bread? I've got a French loaf. Bye! I love you!""

(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 8:51, 2 replies)
"So, do you read Bizarre magazine?"
"Yes actually"
"Did you see a couple of months back? I was in it getting titanium ball bearings put in my cock."

Ee ba gum. He wasn't lying either.
(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 8:47, Reply)
School relationships.
These were simpler.
As a bloke, you'd send your mate over to her, with the question, "Will you go out with my mate?" All her friends would giggle, whilst she decided yay or nay; you then sat on the playground wall, or showed off by kicking a ball, other people or the wall.
If she fancied you, she'd hit you over the head with her school bag. Sorted.
It doesn't really translate well over to the workplace/pub/club, when you've just hit 40.
Bummer really.
(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 7:28, 1 reply)
Lord of the Rings
I had a habit of dating assholes. Complete and utter assholes. When I noticed the assholery, I would stop flirting and curl up on top of Mason* to ditch the future headache. He was always obliging and had the safest arms known to mankind.

Eventually, the tension was palpable but I couldn't do anything that would "threaten our friendship". Until finally, I was curled up on his lap, leeching body heat, and leaned back talking. We were talking so close our lips were brushing. I still don't know who kissed who, but it was brilliant. We made each other happier than I thought was possible, outside of movies. And we made each other more miserable than we'd ever been.

We broke up a year ago and I moved 400 miles away for school. I spent the summer looking for anyone and everyone vaguely attractive and NOT MASON. I met a sweet boy who likes to do things for me; Mason met a theatre girl who was ABSOLUTELY NOT me.

I kiss the sweet boy and think "he's a pale imitation", I snuggle down on his lap and think I'll break him. Mason calls me in tears, needing to know how to feel how he felt with me again. I just want to be happy with anyone less infuriating than him. I don't know if that can happen.

*name changed to save me embarrassment.

Apologies for rambling, I'm exhausted and should not have a computer in front of me.
(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 6:18, Reply)
i showed him my tits
he liked them, but then he fell in love with me so i dumped him

harsh i know, but i didnt like him that much
(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 5:29, 2 replies)
I just showed her my knob...
...and she took pity on me
(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 2:35, Reply)
I wouldn't say I'm exactly stunning, but I don't think I'm a complete munter either but the judges are still out on that one. So any relationships I've had in the past have been few and far between.

However, one or two stick out in the mind.

cnutface for example.
One fateful evening, I decided to pop down to the local rock pub - now a bloody carvery =[ - to see a band or two with a friend. About an hour of being there and slightly tipsy already which wasn't too hard considering I was a few months shy of 17 and still a lightweight - still am even after a few nights of stomach hardening drinking at uni.

Then I notice my cousin has popped in with a few of her mates - most of whom I'd never met before, so go over to sit with them have a few more drinks. cnutface (CF) was one of the aforementioned people I'd never met, he seemed nice and to my slightly addled brain quite attractive too (Although in retrospect he rather looks like a chubby bulldog whose caught his face in a stapler - nothing against piercing infact rather like them especially my own nape piercing, but to date I believe he still has 13 piercings in his face and ears alone) and at 25 my 17 year old mind went "oooh older man, yay". And later that night went back to a mutual friends house, to smoke a few joints and where I was to be introduced to sambuca -still a bad idea. Ended up drunkenly chatting, then fell asleep between CF and dave. All going fine, then drunkenly got up to go to the bathroom, and proceeded to accidently kick him in the face (I can now see one of the reasons I rarely am in a relationship) and dave as well.

He finally asked me out a few days later round at his house, after a large quantity of rum and quite a few spliff (alcohol and weed tended to play a large part in that relationship) and I ended up staying at his. Not the best drunken plan I've had, as my mother freaked and phoned everyone I knew at 4am to find out where I was.

Three months later, and the appeal of the older man has passed in to realising that he's rather ugly, rather clingy, rather weird - even for my tastes - and talks far too much crap. Cue my birthday, complete with proposal with a lovely £40 ring from argos complete with a ticket to see one of my favourite ska bands at the time a few days later. Decided to tell him to keep on the ring -as he knew I was very good at losing things, go to the gig (hiding from him all night then proceeding to run away hoping he wouldn't catch the train) and then gently let him down.

The last guy I went out with, I knew from work - which was lovely to find one day a very good looking guy looking manly lifting bags of compost around all day - it made me happy. One day when he got the call that there was a house party going on that night, he was just going off break whilst I had about five minutes left, see him walk round the corner, pull out a coin (he was behind a wendyhouse with windows so i could see ) flip a coin, walk back and ask me out. Turned out to be a good seven months.

Not technically asking out but:
Best Chatup Line Recieved
"I know you're not Sarah but will you get off with me"
Cue look of incredulity and telling him to piss off followed quickly
(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 2:35, 8 replies)
It kindof just happened.
Then she took my virginity and left.

5 days after we started "going out"
(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 2:02, 1 reply)
asking people out has never been a problem for me, just that i always ask the wrong people out.

one of my ex's had a very inventive way of getting me to go out with him. he pinned me down and poked me (not in the dirty way :P ) untill i agreed to go out with him. much squishy, geeky sex happened that night.

i got nothing else unless you want to hear about failed relationships.
(, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 0:35, 2 replies)
my lil cuz is a player!
One about my wee cousin, Wullie has been in the eternal on/off, boyfriend/girlfriend with his next door neighbour (not suggested for those that enjoy there space). She's just as fit as she is a bunny boiler! Anyways He's ended it "for good" (this time)

It's not even been a day and He's already being propositioned in his pies! (she works at greggs). Today he found a note in th bag with his pasties. The note included her number and "I fancy you" not sure if he's gonna call? I would but then I'm desperate!
(, Sun 31 Aug 2008, 23:32, 2 replies)
Lucky coincidence? Yes please.
Just last week, on Wednesday to be precise, I'd managed to get a new job. So me and the guy who got me an interview / the job (not sure which really) went out for a couple of drinks in celebration.

Moving on to the second bar, we were just getting ready to call it a night and head off to our respective flats when a guy I knew from first year of University turned up (I'll call him A, but a different one to the last post) along with a couple of his mates. The original guy I was out with disappeared at this point, but I didn't want to go home just yet so I stayed out getting slightly more tipsy with A and his mates.

Long-ish story short, we went out again last night and had an awesome time at the Union's Indie / Rock night thing and I'm seeing him again on Tuesday. Not technically going out yet, but it's all good.
(, Sun 31 Aug 2008, 22:43, Reply)
Let's see if I can crowbar this in here...
Perhaps it was the drink that had gone before, but her allure was so strong I couldn't resist.

She was introduced to me as the Green Faerie and as soon as we met I knew I'd be taking her home with me.

She claimed to be from Prague and everyone urged me to 'do' her.

I was powerless to resist.

When I opened my eyes this morning I saw immediately that she wasn't the same person that I bought home last night.

Not. Even. Close.

She had developed the body of a Russian Shot Putter and when she breathed an angry "good morning" my stomach clenched & twisted itself into a painful knot.

I rolled away from her and tried to pretend she wasn't there but she jumped on me and punched me about the back of the head.

Then she got herself in front of me and punched me in the gut so hard I had to run downstairs and yawn solidly into the toilet.

She followed me into the bathroom, of course. She followed me in and stood behind me, slapping me around the head while I engaged in a lumpy conversation with the bowl.

I lay down on the bathroom floor for a while but she just stood on my head, increasing the ache that bounced around my skull, before she jumped onto my stomach, reigniting the conversation neither I nor the toilet had enjoyed previously.

She hung around for hours; ensuring I wouldn't be able, or even want to eat anything and keeping up her assault on the inside of my head, not letting me keep any tablets down long enough to dull the pain.

She eventually left about three hours ago, but only after I'd locked myself in the bathroom and soaked in the bath until I shivered from the coldness of the water.

Don't drink Absinthe people, just don't.
(, Sun 31 Aug 2008, 22:06, 12 replies)
On a beach, around a fire, with a guitar...
...the group had dwindled from twenty-odd down to just five, none of whom I'd known for more than 24 hours. The now Lady Slapknackers (also, as far as I know, in the company of at best casual acquaintances) suggested, for reasons that made perfect sense at the time, that she and her female companion would be willing to divest themselves of their clothes and run into the sea if only the three gentlemen present were to take the lead and perform said act themselves.

The three of us spent a couple of seconds looking at each other, said something the effect of, "Buggrit, why not?", promptly disrobed and legged it into the wet stuff.

And they didn't bloody keep their (well, strictly speaking, her) side of the bargain. Wasn't very warm either. Harumph.

Still, either allowances were made for the temperature of the water or bonus points were awarded for drunken bravado or something, but either way, that was seven years ago and our kids are very happy, as are we.

Edit: BTW, first post after a long lurk. Length, um... think of the cold! I'll try harder next time.
(, Sun 31 Aug 2008, 21:55, Reply)
Carpe Diem
Festivals are great. I'd never been to one before and had a top time at Glastonbury with some mates this year. After three days of booze, dancing badly to bands, camping, aquiring a mexican poncho stylee thing & glowsticks plus several different hats I thought I had it all figured out. We had a great time wandering about the little cafe places, eating over priced but delicious take away food and seeing some awesome acts. Of course in the evening you have to unwind and for those of you who have yet to enjoy the chaotic goodness that is Glasto, the stone circle is basically the place to go in the evenings. Its a big stretch of hillside you can head for where you can sit around bonfires, meet other merry inebriated revelers and basically talk shite till the early hours. You can also laugh while various plebs do not-quite-so-professional fire breathing & dancing and the old pros launch chinese lanterns into the night which always gets everyone going wooo! as the next one sails off into the night sky..

Anyway, I was out there on the last night and left the gang and general hubbub in search of the loos down at the bottom of the hill.. I was "really quite surprised" when out of the blue a very warm, very fit and very drunk girl ran over, threw her arms around and pressed herself against me. Maybe it was the glowsticks in my ten gallon hat, maybe she was a sucker for guys in crap mexican poncho getup, or maybe she'd just had way too much stella.. regardless she seemed warm, curvy and well up for getting to know me better. Well hello..! (thinks the part of my brain that speaks in the voice of Leslie Philips) as she goes straight for the in depth snog and my hands start tracking down her waist and onto the top of her toned rump. Out of nowhere I had suddenly gained every drunken man's dream girl and if anything she seemed to view me in the same way!?! (Definitely too much stella) This is sadly where is all goes a bit wrong.. despite having had at least a couple of shandys the annoying part of my brain that is always right (and tends to ruin my life) had been "doing the math". The short term benefits were immense, being a hot chick who seemed up for going back to my tent for a night of athletic rumpy pumpy. The slightly longer term outlook was quite bad.. she was clearly quite wasted and the likelihood of her chundering everywhere seemed scarily high. - Plus if she was happy enough to jump on me out of nowhere she'd probably already shagged her way around most of Glastonbury!? Hmm, it didn't really seem right so I brought up the fact that I had a (quite fictional) girlfriend. "That's alright, I've got a boyfriend! (hic)" she slurs and tries for another snog. Eventually I convince her in a friendly way that I'm not the one for her and that I am deeply in love with and dedicated to my imaginary girlfriend. - So that was that, I'd blown a definite shag, and our relationship had lasted all of five minutes.. she staggered off and no doubt found a new best friend and I finally got to go for a pee. Ahhh..

~~~ Epilogue ~~~

When I woke up the next day I was hungover, dehydrated, had got only a couple of hours sleep and the fresh memory of how I'd turned down a fit enthusiastic lass despite having been single for ages. To top it all I'd suddenly developed a KILLER sore throat. Speaking was hard, coughing agony and eating solid food near impossible. - Regrets? I've had a few. - Looking back in mild agony I was somewhat bitter that I didn't make the most of the extreme good fortune that had been bestowed on me. It would have made feeling utterly shite somewhat easier to live with. *sighs*

Length..? bah, the glasto-flu lasted at least three weeks in which time I infected most of my work place. meh heh heh.. (though not through direct transmission.)
(, Sun 31 Aug 2008, 20:29, 2 replies)
met my wife at the bus stop at the hospital i work at*.
i haven't got the hang of the question of the week yet.....
*gets coat*

*not mental hospital
(, Sun 31 Aug 2008, 20:24, Reply)

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