A spectacular failure.
It was my first job in London and I was pleased to be there. I was living in Woolwich and working on an IT help desk in a dead end job, and still I was pleased to be there.

I'd spent the previous six months pursuing an ex who I'd decided should forgive me for finishing with her.

She had very a different idea; namely that she should sleep with as many blokes as possible and make it very apparent why I should never have broken it off in the first place.

She made a good case and I needed to be elsewhere, so I upped sticks and took myself to the big city.

At that time, anything that happened in my life would be celebrated, commiserated or simply tolerated with a spliff.

I get some good news; yay, have a spliff. I lose my job; boo, have a spliff. I'm awake and have some weed; hmmm, how about a spliff?

I smoked a lot of spliffs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I began my first day as a phone monkey in typical fashion, and wandered into the vast, half empty office with puffy slits where my eyes might otherwise reside.

It was a mixed team; students on their summer break, backpackers looking to get a bit of cash to finance their drinking, and some recent graduates getting their old, soiled shoes onto the first rung of the career ladder.

And then there was she. She with her coffee coloured skin & big, dark eyes. I was instantly smitten by this rare beauty and later, much, much later I was to discover that the feelings were mutual.

Unfortunately, she was a shy and demure young thing, unlikely to make obvious her feelings toward a potential suitor. Whereas I was a useless, stoned loser whose confidence was shot and who could miss a signal even if it was flashing brightly in his stupid face.

And I did. Signal after signal, hint after hint.

On my part, I made no effort to 'make a move' as it were, due to my utter lack of belief that she could find me attractive.

She clearly didn't take kindly to my knobbish disregard of her hints and gave up on me before eventually moving back to live with her Dad in a strange and distant land called Abroad (I even missed the hint she gave me then "...unless there's something worth staying in the UK for? Hmm, you fucking dopey twat, don't you get what I'm saying, knobface? No? Well, looks like you're never going to then!").

We've since discussed what might have been but what with her living in the Caribbean and me still in London (though no longer Woolwich, I'm pleased to say), the chances of anything happening disappeared long ago in a hazy puff of slightly sweet smelling smoke.

Remember kids; winners don't use drugs!
( Moey, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 13:41, 1 reply)

Having a fucking big sexy motorbike works wonders
If you can get them to sit on the seat, often they'll ask to, then you've got them. They have to lift their leg over onto the leather that your balls have caressed at 100mph and lean forward into an up the arse, tits hanging pose and twist your throttle with a particular smile that only women know how to do. If you take them for a spin, the vibrations will make them mad for it.
The current Mrs Pobblepop however, I managed to charm with Toblerone and a sad story about a hedgehog, so it's not always a neccessity :)
( Brandy_Bumwinkle, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 13:37, 6 replies)

Silence
A guy in uni went up to 3 girls to introduce himself, and the one just put her hand on his chest and pushed him away, without them even breaking conversation.

Bitch.
( Regger, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 13:37, Reply)

its a modern world....
Met this girl online, yes, myspack. But I guess that’s the new age for ya.

Anyways, got chattin on msn and stuff, found we had loadsss in common and just became real good friends over the following year. She lived across the country so meeting up didn’t happen (I was a poor student).

She had a fella, but one night she was all upset and said she had to split up with her then bf and didn’t know how. I wasn’t thinking "yes, here's me chance" but just wanted to help her out. So cue me giving words of wisdom, 10 mins later she was single!

More chattin and getting along happened over the coming months, then on bonfire night I was wasted and somehow got the courage to ask her out, shamefully by text, but she said yes! I was made up!

Now its been about year and a half, and we live 5 mins from each other, fully happy and fully in love :)

Personally I think its a bit rubbish that its all happening on the internets and there's less emphasis on real life stuff, but hey ho, doubt I’d be where I am without it.

Been dumped by text loads of times too lol.
(Lexachu A buh? no, not a buh, a bomb!, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 13:35, Reply)

Break up...
...not getting together, but breaking up.

She came over to me when I got in from work and said, "we need to talk about our future..."

I replied, "yeah, it's going to be fucking excellent. Flying cars, phones implanted in our heads, TV on demand...."

Single now.
(dchurch bah, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 13:29, 6 replies)

you!
Years of a crippling lack of self confidence were pushed aside as, for a few brief seconds, bravery carried me towards her.

Adrenaline was flowing through my veins as I caught her eye and smiled.

"what do you call a twenty stone penguin?", I asked, smiling in the knowledge that a cheesy line would make her smile.

In my mind it would be a perfect opening, and my nerves would see me carry on chatting.

"I've no idea." she'd reply, smiling but slightly confused.

"me neither," I'd grin, "but it breaks the ice! My.name's Dan..." and we'd chat away.

What I'd failed to take into account was that women can be bastards.

"what do you call a twenty stone penguin?" I asked, smiling.

A look of what can only be described as apathy fell across her face as her eyes scanned me from head to toe, before witheringly replying:

"I don't know... You?", turning her back to me as she finished the sentence.

Cow.
( SeasonTicketless is too often the statue, and rarely the pigeon., Fri 29 Aug 2008, 13:26, 4 replies)

keith
my ex is legendary amongst my family, due to wearing the same leather jacket every day, no matter what the weather or occasion. he was hardly a catch, but he could put the duracell bunny to shame.

how did i bag this manly prize? easy! i just walked up to him, pointed at his face and asked "is anyone sitting there?"*
after he'd finished laughing, he bought me a drink, and that was that!
several months of almost constant sex followed, making me a very happy bunny indeed.


*this has worked more times than i can count ;)
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 13:25, 6 replies)

Er, no thanks love
In my entire life, I've only been 'chatted up' once (at least, that I'm aware of: Mrs RWN has since pointed out that I'm chronically unable to pick up on 'signals').

Short story this one, which can be summed up simply by relating the girl's nickname: 'Cheesegrater'. Call me shallow but while beauty may only be skin-deep, when you can't even see the skin through the various dermatological afflictions well I'm afraid for me it's a problem that even super-strength beer goggles can't overcome.

After spending an evening fending off her unsubtle (read: desperate) advances, she finally got the hint. The last I saw of her she was having her face sucked off (possibly literally, although I try not to think about that) by a friend who'd had a lot more to drink than me -- or at least that was what he claimed the following day, just after turfing her out of his bed...
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 13:23, Reply)

I am stunning . . . .
.....ly useless with the opposite sex, shy beyond words, being a chicken shit we meet up, get on but I either don't read the signs or don't do the alpha male thing, so have a legion if female friends, a fair few of them I still fancy (Christ alive, im 33 for gods sake, how embarrassing) and the last 10 years have been a shambling disaster of semi-stalking someone I was working and living with, taking someone out for a meal and ending up at the same restaurant as my parents!!! dumped by text by someone who liked me but couldn't be arsed with the whole relationship thing, leaving someone who's ex wasn't so much an ex as currently living at her majesties pleasure and so on and so forth.

However, this isn't about them, this is a story about 2 things. Why I am still single and why I fucking hate my sister.

A fair few years ago one saturday I was feeling rather fluffy after a night out in Cambridge and was round my folks having a nice cup of tea. My sister waddled up to me and said "Halfy! Halfy! I was in Walden last night and this nice young woman came up to me and asked if I was your sister, to which I (my sis) replied yes I am"

Cool thought I

So once my sister had replied this woman said "I really like him, and have had a thing for him for ages" "I shall tell him so" answered my sis.

Winner thinks I

Me - "so whats this womans name please?"
sis - "Errrr can't remember"
M - "oh, ok, so what does she look like?"
S - "Err can't remember, but she was nice!"
M - "So did you get a number, an address, where were you drinking when you met her?"
S - "Err no, no and can't remember"
M - "did you give her my details at all?"
S - "Err no"
M - "Wonderful, so someone, somewhere,of indeterminate age, who looks like something fancies me but you haven't got a fucking clue who she is,what she looks like or anything whatsoever to distinguish herself by and now neither do I!??!"
S - "Pretty much, she did have only one hand though"
M - " "

Fantastic, fucking fantastic, so by all accounts there was a really nice girl out there (according to my lardy inept sister) but I know nothing about her, where she lived, worked, drank, looked like or anything, apart from she only has one hand.

Perfect.

So ladies and gentlemen of B3taworld, I put out this plea, maybe 6-10 years later. Do you live within a, ooh lets say 30-40 mile radius of Saffron Walden (we don't tend to get out travel much its a bit yokelly)?

Do you, or any of your aquaintances know of a possibly rather nice woman, between the age of maybe 25-40 who has only one hand?

Is she single?

If so, please approach her, and explain as non scarily as possible that a gentleman she fancied many moons ago, who goes by a name remarkably similar to a fat scouse comic who sung about doctor martins boots, would like to apologise for getting the worlds worst message from my fucking sister, and dinner is on me if you are still interested.

Thankyou.

Halfy
(Halfy By light alone, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 13:21, 3 replies)

Please Go Out With Me.
.
"Come on, lets go for a walk"

She just looked at me.

"Please? Just a quick walk 'round the park. You like the park."

She shuffled uneasily and wouldn't look me in the eye.

"What the fucks wrong with you? It's only a bloody walk."

She lifted her head and finally looked at me. Her big brown eyes swam with unshed tears.

"OK. If you won't go out with me - how about Chris?" (Chris is my brother) "You've always liked him"

She didn't make a sound. I was starting to get annoyed.

"Right you bitch. I'm going to get a bloody collar and leader and DRAG you. You're going out with me and that's final!"

Tanna sighed and got to her feet, all six tits swaying gently. It had been two weeks since she'd given birth and she refused to leave her pups except for a quick shit. The vet had said it's time to get her moving.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 13:11, 4 replies)

Gents
You have no real input into the decision making process that goes on in a womans head. Especially if youre in a a bar/club etc. She has decided before you even see her. There is sometimes a small window of opportunity that can be exploited. It takes a little bit of confidence and its brash. But, it does work. Sometimes. And sometimes is better than never.

I am not blessed in the looks dept but I'm no monster. I learnt this from a bloke who looks like he should never have sex - ever - on goverment orders - but who does. Its easier than you think.

This is for those of you who just want to have random, one night stand type sex.

If you see a girl you would like to have sex with, walk up to her, at what appears to be an oppurtune moment, and say to her clearly, the magic word, with a smile:

"Hello."

And crucially, shut the fuck up for a few seconds.

The reponse tells you everything. If she is still there, make a simple - but non cheesy compliment. Be spontaneous, but a little secret - shoes are always a good starting point. But not if youre a shoe fetishist. However, she spent a lot of time choosing those shoes.

Now. You have less than a minute. After you get her name, and give her yours, dont let small talk start up. Remember, this isnt about a relationship, dont tell her how many kids you want.

You need to be totally and utterly respectful here, if this next bit comes off wrong then you havent a chance. There is about a 5-10% chance of this working. Thats pretty good odds.

Say, (again, be cool, be fucking fonzie but not too fucking fonzie) politely, but firmly, and looking at her eyes (not her fucking tits)

"I find you very attractive, would you like to come back to my flat?" - leaving no room for confusion, or otherwise implication.

- or a similar, but simple variant. Remember, its not the words, its your eyes and your body language doing the talking. Check yourself - make sure you are giving the right impression with the non verbal clues.

Chances are, its a no. However, its occasionally a yes. And thats fucking brilliant when it happens.

Make sure you tell her to tell her mates where shes going and that they have your number/address or something - a good little trick is when getting into a cab, get her to text the license plate to a friend beforehand.

I really dont think this is a mysoginistic approach. I havent had anyone tell me its awful. Theres no pressure, its just cutting through the bollocks. As I said, many women make their mind up there and then. Its just about efficiency - for her and you.

Of course, this is just a sex thing. If you want more, i suggest that after you say hello, and something nice, you start talking. And that my friends is easy - really easy - ask her what she does. Ask questions. Shut the fuck up. And listen.

thats all.

Women. Drop your knickers now.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 13:05, 2 replies)

I did it the nerdy way...
...yes, I asked the future-Mrs-RWN out via email.

We'd been introduced by a mutual friend who worked in the same office as her, and met for the first time at a pub in the earthly paradise that is Slough. In a bid to impress and woo her I proceeded to get falling-down drunk, threw a traffic cone at a passing police car, talked incoherently in French and threatened to drown her pet cat.

In spite of the above performance, I was encouraged to contact her so, not having phone number but able to guess her email address (since I knew where she worked), sent her a long-winded email that concluded with an offhand '...and maybe you'd like to go out for a drink sometime?'.

Having secured her phone number, I then even failed to call her at the appointed time -- I mistakenly rang her work number and assumed that she wasn't in when in fact she was waiting for my call at home, it being the evening.

Quite why she ever agreed to go out with me -- and in due course, agree to be my wife -- remains something of a mystery to this day: she claims my arrogance, foolishness and general incompetence was somehow endearing. I'd say that it was my sheer animal magnetism that swung it, but frankly that'd be a blatant lie given that I have all the charisma of a dead stoat.
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 13:02, Reply)

I'm Not A Slag
.
I think I've told this story before...

When I was a student I worked on a fruit farm during the summer. It was some of the best times of my life.

This one summer, a contingent of Irish girls arrived, about 12 of them, and they were all fit as fuck but one stood out. A beautiful statuesque brunette. About 5' 8'', gorgeous green eyes and a chest that looked like a dead heat in a Zepplin race. I was smitten.

So that night everyone went to the local pub and the drinking games commenced. The beautiful Irish lass was there and I tried not to ogle her too much. I sighed. She was waaaay out of my league but, on the principle that Shy Bairns Get No Toys, I tried to chat her up. She convincingly blew me out of the water and I retired to my usual crowd and got off with one of the Polish birds instead and got on with life.

A few nights later I was walking back from the pub on my own when I entered the camp site. Helen, the gorgeous Irish bird spotted me and came charging at me, whirling her handbag around her head, shrieking like a banshee. She was pissed as a Judge. She came up to me and clobbered me with this bloody hand bag, laughing her head off.

It fucking hurt. I swear she had a half-brick in it. Then she lined up for another shot and I quickly grabbed her wrists, squeezed to make her drop the bag then asked her what the fuck she was doing.

"Let go of my wrists" she said.

"Will you behave" I asked.

"Yes" she giggled.

So I let go and the bloody witch poked me straight in the eyeball. That *really* hurt. My temper flared. If this had been a bloke I would have broken his jaw. But, as it was a woman, I just swept her legs our from underneath her so she went flat on her arse and I stalked off into the darkness. I headed for a campfire well away from my usual haunts and sat down to nurse my injured eye and feelings. Bloody women!

Over the next hour I could hear Helen calling for me but I kept quiet and hoped she's fall in the cesspit. However, she eventually found me and came up to me, still drunk, but very contrite. I was still boiling but over the next hour she gradually brought me round. That night we went back to my tent together and then spent the rest of that golden summer together.

But that first night I asked her why she'd belted me.

"Because you'd trapped off with that Polish slut the night I met you."

Eh?

"But I'd already tried to get off with you and you made it more than plain that you wouldn't touch me with a barge-pole" I spluttered "You made me feel about 2 inches high and then laughed in my face!"

"I was playing hard to get" she explained gently "I didn't want you to think I was a slag"

Women. I didn't understand them then.But now, as I've gotten older and *much* more experienced, I understand them even less.

Cheers


There are some rare exceptions. Mrs Legless, Tourettes and K's Mrs

( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 12:54, 2 replies)

Fear and loathing in the dating world.....
To be honest, I've never asked a lady out. I'm absolutely terrified of rejection. I'm single through fear, more than anything. It's easier for women (Sorry, but it is).

I do have a friend who is obssessed (and I mean "try to assassinate the President of United States of America for Jodie Foster" obssessed) with speed dating. He'll go to 5 or 6 events A MONTH (God knows where he gets the money from). So his way of chatting up a girl is:

Friend: Hello! My name is XXXX. First time speed dating?"

Event organiser: Ding! Change places!

I also have another friend who was sitting on a sofa in a nightclub and fell asleep. 10 minutes later a girl sat on the settee next to his, prodded him and starting chatting him up!

So, believe it or not, it IS possible (at least for him) to pull someone in your sleep! Jammy git!

Though I do remember a friend of mine telling me about a trick he used in interviews to calm himself down which was to "imagine everyone interviewing you is naked. They'll be just as vunerable as you..." He told me to apply the same principle to asking women out......

You can only imagine how bad an idea THAT was!

Length? About 6 months in prison and 2 weeks' community service.....
(The Stig, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 12:52, 3 replies)

The N29 (booze did help)
For once I actually have a relevant(and true) story for this.

I met the current Mrs Threepwood on one of Mr Livingstone's finest innovations, the night bus. It was about 2am on a Saturday morning and I'd staggered on around Tottenham Court Rd after a Friday night spent in various less than salubrius Soho establishments.

I sat down next to this attractive petite brunette but the only thing I really noticed was that she was reading a book as that was a bit odd for that time of night even in London.

Anyway we got as far as Camden and a couple of wasted Camdenites (trilbys, skinny jeans etc) got on with their Maccy Ds and started talking loudly about Razorshite or some such while playing something similarly crap on their phones at full blast.

At the start I thought it was quite amusing as they were so pissed they were struggling to stand. But then one fell completely arse over tit and deposited the majority of his coke in my lap.

I was pretty pissed by this, but stayed sitting and conveyed my disgust verbally in a suitably sarcastic fashion. He however jumped up spitting obscenities in my face.

Before I could react, the girl next to me got up pushed him backwards while yelling something along the lines of "Why don't you just fuck off? You're dressed like a cunt and noone gives a monkey's fuck about your shite music!"

He looked a bit stunned by this. Then stepped forwards like he was going to start something further. However she curtailed this by punching him in the nuts (I've since found out she's been doing jujitsu since she was 15, whether this was a regulation move I don't know).

Wisely he left it at this and him and his mate got off rather sheepishly a couple of stops later.

This was quite a good ice breaker so we started chatting and it turned out she lived just a couple of stops before me. We exchanged numbers and it went from there.

I'm still shit scared of her, but that's by the bye.
(Milo Minderbinder, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 12:45, 2 replies)

Sorry hun, can't be bothered.
Unfortunately, I do not have any wild stories of love and romance to share with you. No kisses, hugs, no brilliant pick-up lines, and no happy endings.
Please bear with me, and practice your patience, for this tale will be long, and possibly slightly off-topic.


Somewhere between 5 years ago and 5 years into the past, on a very ordinary afternoon, a slightly younger and less mature Obsidian found himself browsing the wonderous works the world wide web has blessed us with.
Suddenly, and without prior warning, a well known green-skinned amputee jumped into view from the corner of my screen. He, so he stated, has been sent across the globe to convey a single simple message.
Someone wanted to chat with me.

After careful consideration, I accepted the bold request. As soon became clear, she invited me in a particular random mood, brought on by the dark and insidious spectre of boredom.
hypnotized by the blonde beauty that graced her display avatar, I felt my mind go weak, in starc contrast to my body, and had no choice but to commence in innocent flirtation.

Two years later, the anonymous messenger had become a real girl. The girl had become my girlfriend.
And ultimately,
the girlfriend became an ex.

While one might argue that 'such is the nature of countless other relationships', the ending chapter of our lovestory could hardly be considered natural.

The change happened gradually, and as such, went unnoticed right up until the very end. She was a great lady, lovely beyond belief, with the ability to brighten up a day - nay, a lifetime - in seconds. And she still is, for she hasn't changed a bit.

I have.

You see, as we spent more and more time together, my feelings for her waned, and ultimately disappeared altogether. One faithful friday, we found ourselves discussing plans for the weekend. We would meet up with eachother, go out, see things, and spend the night doing that sexy thingy at her place.

"I can't," I stated suddenly, "It's been a rough week and I'd prefer to sleep in." Mind you, I was still in college by then, and a 'rough week' to me was attending more than 14 hours of lectures. It was a filthy, obvious lie, but the truth was even dirtier. I just couldn't. Be. Bothered.

Indeed, you dedicated readers (dedicated for sticking up with my rant'o'junk un until here), I just couldn't be bothered getting on the train to meet her. And no, I didn't want her to come over here. After all,the girl wanted 'attention'. Which I simply didn't want to give.

We broke up right then and there. Tears, curses, the whole "it's not you, it's me", we didn't broke up, we smashed, shattered, mutilated, and demolished our 2-year relationship.

And the funny thing? Since then, for nearly three years now, I have never showed the slightest interest in anything even remotely female. At the young age of 20, I do not share my age group's obsession with sex, girls, or anything related.* Friends and parents might well live under the false - but nonetheless understandable - assumption I must be gay, others think I'm suffering from some psychological disfunction, and a few went as far as call me downright crazy.

So my answer to this week's QotW? I got asked out once. Haven't been quite the guy I used to be since. **

(*) And to those interested in urban myth; No, none of my physical traits have swollen to supernatural, basketball-like sizes. Myth busted!
(**) Overly dramatized paragraph. The story itself is very much true, I do *not* see myself as a victim, or sufferer of anything. In fact, I'm quite satisfied with my current life, thank you!
(Obsidian, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 12:38, 3 replies)

Ahhhh..Whisky..
We had broken up for about 3 months but stayed in contact.One night we were drinking together when she went home with another boy. I managed to finish my bottle of whisky and when she arrived at our friends flat in the morning she was greeted with a drunk rabbit yelling 'MARRY MEEEEEEEE!!!!'

It's been 2 years now :D
(bunneh, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 12:36, Reply)

I've always been really bad at making that first step
I was introduced to the current girlfriend by a friend of mine in uni halls at a halloween party and she came to a couple of our parties after that - she didn't really know anyone as she was fresh in Vienna, having come from Romania and not meeting many people where she was living.

Anyway, I gave her a lot of attention, as I was instantly struck by how pretty she is, and most people weren't really talking to her that much (partly because her german back then wasn't excellent in comparison to her english). Eventually she asked me if I wanted to go drink some mulled wine (big thing in austria once you're getting close-ish to Christmas) and I agreed. We got on very well and we did that again several times, and one sunday at midnight she text me if I wanted to meet her, I agreed and she got lost in Vienna, so I had to help her find her way. She gave me a big hug when she saw me, as she'd been really scared. You see, parts of Vienna resemble a ghost town at night - simply no activity at all. I probably should have kissed her then. She says it would have worked.

Next day, or the day after, we were at a bar after a very long walk through the narrow streets and along the Danube's canal and, cringeworthily, I said "would you like to be in a relationship with me?" or something similarly totally unromantic and coming from the 11 year old in me. It hurts just reading it now, but I was shitscared. She noticed how scared I was, said I was cute, and kissed me, and there we go!

Couldn't hide my smirk for 3 days.

We've had our ups and downs, she's a bit crazy but smart, pretty and funny. And I like it when they're unpredictable. So what if she's a little clingy at times? It's all part and parcel, and 9 months later I love her.

Unfortunately, there's a high chance she won't be coming back to Vienna for uni this year, so it looks like it could be over :(

no apologies for length
( morrybyte made a subtle namechange at, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 12:29, Reply)

The previous ex
Let me take you back into the dim and distant past of October last year...

.....Wavy lines.....

I'd just finished a physical chemistry lab from hell and decided I needed alcohol, so me and a couple of friends decided to disappear off to the student union bar for a bit. We saw some of our friends in the year above and so went off to sit with them. Someone was sitting with them who I didn't recognise so I introduced myself and as was the bar was busy I didn't hear his name, so he shouted across the table "You can call me Hannah". This amused me somewhat as he had long blonde hair and my housemate is called Hannah and has long blonde hair.

Skipping forward to the chemistry christmas social..

We had been flirting for a month or two on and off and as he had labs next door at the same time as me he'd often come in to talk to me while something of his was refluxing, and the whole department was talking about whether we were gonna get together. We had both had a bit to drink and were sat together talking while some of my even more drunk lecturers were "dancing" (a very funny sight to behold!). Anyway I realised he was going to kiss me and in my drunken state I thought "Oh, that will be nice. Hang on....we're sat in full view of the entire department and all of my friends....shit." My ever-wonderful friends then proceeded to follow us round the entire evening, taking photographs.

He dumped me in June for a 29 year old, and one of the photos is now on my friends' "Wall of shame" in their living room, to forever serve as a reminder as to why I shouldn't go out with effeminate idiots with long blonde hair. I have promised them that next time I will find a "real man". Romance is well and truly dead.
(Petite chien is going to do science to it, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 12:24, Reply)

my story
is cute but offset by involving light bondage.
(CatfaceJones, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 12:14, 2 replies)

Not the last girl i asked
but the girl before i asked threw up on me

to top it off


she then said no


GET IN!
(Mister Negative Who watches the welshman??, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 12:13, 1 reply)

u r dumped
I've just been dumped, can we have another question plz?
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 12:04, 7 replies)

Mrs Humpty.
A long time ago, I moved to Sweden.

363 days later, I left the nightmarish control-freak of a cow that I'd moved here to live with and struck out on my own. I moved to Malmö and Started to get my life into some sort of order. My next-door neighbour turned out to be an English bloke: An utterly nice fella.

Since I got to know him he's had the same lass, has bought a house, moved in together, got a dog etc. At a party at his little house I was ribbing him... "Well, you've got the house, the car and the dog and the missus.... Kids.. it's time you got some kids" (I hate it when people take that tack, So I enjoy doing it for the sheer devilment).

Frothing at the mouth and spraying my all-too-near face with gobs of indignation he exploded... "Kids? KIDS?? well... you... YOU need kids!! HA!"
Pointing out the futility of my situation I replied. "I don't even have anyone to HAVE kids with... I'd need a willing lass first"... at which very point, A lass tripped over my foot.
"How fortunate: I need a someone to have kids with too... pleased to meet you: I'm Ellinor"

Last monday we'd been together for a year.
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Fri 29 Aug 2008, 12:02, 10 replies)

Near miss
I met my current Mrs in The Viper Room, LA, which is about as rock and roll as it gets. I played a show, she was a lone English girl in the audience, so she came over to say hello. Alas, her eyesight isn't amazing, so she actually chatted up some American guy on the other side of the room for five minutes, before saying to him "You sounded English onstage..."

The problem was thankfully rectified and we're currently living happily ever after.
(franktard, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 11:56, 2 replies)

Well, actually..
It all started when she was in the kitchen of my flat with my flatmate (they were old friends from Sydney) and they were talking about dodgy song lyrics. I pointed out that verse in Rapper's Delight about dodgy chicken not stopping people being friends. I sat there for about 15 minutes while they chatted and then said "hey, here it is!". Then my flatmate was ill so I had to look after her. And we went to a party and I drove her home, and then we spent all week staying up late watching TV together, and well, one thing led to another. And then I moved to Sydney for a year, and then it was on, for most of the year. And then it was off again, and then I came home, and she came here, and in the end, we both got drunk and said maybe we'd been too hasty... And now it's all ok.

So basically, I got her drunk.
(sabre-tooth monkey, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 11:55, Reply)

Failed attempt
I really liked this girl at school...a lot! She was the school hottie and she asked me if I wanted to play tennis with her after school one day. Needless to say I jumped at the chance.
It must be added at this point that I was extremely shy young lad and just socialising with a girl outside of school hours was a major breakthrough for me.
During the game her sister happened to be wandering past on her way home and stopped for a chat. After she left I looked at the hottie and remarked, "You know, you have much better tits than your sister".
"err...thanks" was her curt reply. Things went downhill rapidly from there.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 11:52, Reply)

You think that getting together with your girlfriend was a happy accident?

Not so, friends.

Girls are sneaky devils (I should know. I am one), and situations where you’ve met the woman of your dreams are more likely than not to have been cunningly engineered without you suspecting a thing.

A few months ago, I met a lovely fellow, but not knowing how to get to run into him again without seeming mad/desperate and putting him off, I decided to manipulate the situation to my advantage. I set my facebook status to “schnuff is going to [insert name of small music festival here] this weekend”. I chose an artfully casual outfit and waited for Saturday. Sure enough, he read the update and decided to come too, all nonchalant-like, of course. We got together. I spent all weekend at his. It’s been half a year and I still haven’t left. He thought he was taking the initiative, but actually, everything went according to my cunning plans. But it all worked out fine in the end so I don't suppose he'll mind if he reads this.

Men? Sexual predators? Peh. There’s one born every minute (statistically speaking, that’s actually probably true).
(schnuff, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 11:52, 2 replies)