Hi, Mr here.
Miss came up with a good point last Friday. That around this time of year people see all those happy couples buying presents for each other and realise how lonely they are. And when people get lonely they get desperate. And when people get desperate they lower their standards. And when people lower their standards, we swoop in.
With only 30 shopping days left before Christmas we decided now is the time to start a serious plan of action to bag ourselves a 'special someone' to spend the festive season with. It's also the ideal time of year to bag a boy/girl friend because come 3 months down the line Valentine's Day looms large and you pray that this'll be the year where you, for once, don't have to spend the day making tired jokes about 'a truck load of cards being outside the door' to mask your embarrassment. Or staying in and having a wank and drinking flat champagne left over from P's birthday like last year.
The plan of action: spend one night on the computer, grooming potential dates VS one night in reality, grooming potential dates. At the very least we hoped to get a cheeky snog.
So...first stop - Facebook. Cue 3 to 4 hours of poking randoms in the desperate hope that they would see our picture and think 'Oh thank Christ, this is the person I've been waiting for my whole life'. Mr made sure to change his photo to one where is not a) smoking, b) unconscious, c) in drag, d) on the toilet. Miss changed hers to old faithful - the one nice picture she has of herself.
Come 1am, with only a handful of poke-backs between us, we realised that what people would actually be thinking is "Look at those sad, posing fuckers, in on a Friday night, trying desperately to get someone to fancy them. What losers." (Miss has just noticed that the word 'desperate' has already been used quite a lot in this particular blog).
Saturday morning we did have some results, but in the cold light of day they weren't really as attractive as their teeny pictures suggested at 3am in our darkened living room. Miss had a drag queen from Sweden.
So, back to reality. As it happens it was our mate's birthday and she chose us to plan the fun and games for her special night. Her stipulations were 'Cheese is allowed but please for God's sake, can we go somewhere that's not gay. Seriously, it's my birthday.' So being the dutiful friends that we are, we showed up 90 minutes late with absolutely no plan. Well actually that's a lie. We wanted to go to Trash Palace and after we'd plied the birthday girl with enough booze and scared off most of her straight mates, she was in no position to protest.
Why Trash Palace? For the simple fact that it's full of sexually active band geeks, cheap booze, and after a week of having to suffer seeing the Scot walking around with his muscles out, flaunting his rapidly increasing wardrobe of designer gear, we wanted to feel like the belles of the ball.
We didn't.
On arrival, Miss clocked (and immediately claimed) the rather fit doorgirl only to quickly discover (through interrogating the barman) that she has a girlfriend. Fail.
She then got chatting to a less attractive girl in a trilby, only to be told she 'has a fit back, but looks like Liza Minnelli'. Fail.
She then lowered her standards even more and started chatting to a pair of REALLY ugly girls only for them to disappear when she turned her back. Fail.
Mr, on realising that there was absolutely nothing going for him that night, ventured off to the streets of Soho to find one little pill that might fill the emptiness inside. £10 and a trek around Walker's Court later, he had minty fresh breath and a feeling of being absolutely robbed. Fail.
In short, Miss went home with a kebab and Mr went home with a digested tic tac (or it could have been a smint).
FAIL.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Virtual Insanity
Mr & Miss here,
sorry we've been missing so long, but our internet got disconnected because we didn't pay our bill for 5 months. So we thought we'd take advantage of the situation and interact with people in the real world instead of just poking random bodies on facebook hoping (please god) that they'd poke us back.
Well actually this is a lie. We didn't choose to take advantage...we were forced by our internet provider to find other, old fashioned forms of entertainment. And it must be said, it's been a pretty good week.
It all started last Tuesday when we arrived home to find a rather large bill demanding immediate payment. We, literally, spent the night sat around the dining room table panicking about what the hell we were going to do. We couldn't watch downloaded movies, we couldn't check facebook, we couldn't try and flirt with strangers who aren't interested, we couldn't stalk old flames and people we hate and we couldn't watch endless hours of hilarious animal clips on you tube (there are talking cats on there!). We eventually, in desparation, called P who 'apparently' has better things to do with his time rather than to help nerds like us.
So we thought, "fuck you P", we can have this thing called a 'life' too. The following night Mr and myself went down to the Southbank for a lovely dinner and stroll along the river. Ok, granted, we did spend most of the evening talking about what we would be doing if we had the internet but, baby steps baby steps.
Then the night after we found a new local pub and did a quiz. Managed to bag ourselves a free bottle of wine for our efforts.
Then on Friday, we went to Popstarz...which we have never been to before, even though we have lived in London for almost 5 years. The Scot pulled after 5 minutes, I spent the night stalking a fit girl but couldn't pluck up the courage to go and humiliate myself by talking to her, L spent most of the night smoking out the back and Mr accosted some poor girl and demanded that she be his new best friend. Maybe if we hadn't spent so much time on the internet we would actually be able to start conversations with types of humans that don't intimidate us.
With this in mind we headed back to our old university, back to a simpler time when you could while away a whole week getting drunk in a cheap pub and chatting to whatever person you liked. It mattered not whether their facebook profile had similar interests to yours. I even met up with a girl I have been chatting to on the internet...and found it was more fun talking to someone when you can hear their voice.
Within 5 days we had all noticed that without the internet we had had much more fun, done more interesting things and met new people. In the spirit of this new freedom from technology we decided to get rid of our tv license so we'd have even less distractions.
The internet came back on last night. We haven't been out since. The Scot went upstairs with his new webcam and is still yet to emerge and Mr and I have been behaving like 12 year olds by winding up people with fetishes in cyber sex chat rooms.
It's all very well being one of these people who 'put's themselves out there', but we're glad to be back amongst the hoardes of anonymous faces pretending they have a life. Is it a bit sad that when we were taking photos of our adventures during that week we kept saying - 'oooh that's one for facebook'?
sorry we've been missing so long, but our internet got disconnected because we didn't pay our bill for 5 months. So we thought we'd take advantage of the situation and interact with people in the real world instead of just poking random bodies on facebook hoping (please god) that they'd poke us back.
Well actually this is a lie. We didn't choose to take advantage...we were forced by our internet provider to find other, old fashioned forms of entertainment. And it must be said, it's been a pretty good week.
It all started last Tuesday when we arrived home to find a rather large bill demanding immediate payment. We, literally, spent the night sat around the dining room table panicking about what the hell we were going to do. We couldn't watch downloaded movies, we couldn't check facebook, we couldn't try and flirt with strangers who aren't interested, we couldn't stalk old flames and people we hate and we couldn't watch endless hours of hilarious animal clips on you tube (there are talking cats on there!). We eventually, in desparation, called P who 'apparently' has better things to do with his time rather than to help nerds like us.
So we thought, "fuck you P", we can have this thing called a 'life' too. The following night Mr and myself went down to the Southbank for a lovely dinner and stroll along the river. Ok, granted, we did spend most of the evening talking about what we would be doing if we had the internet but, baby steps baby steps.
Then the night after we found a new local pub and did a quiz. Managed to bag ourselves a free bottle of wine for our efforts.
Then on Friday, we went to Popstarz...which we have never been to before, even though we have lived in London for almost 5 years. The Scot pulled after 5 minutes, I spent the night stalking a fit girl but couldn't pluck up the courage to go and humiliate myself by talking to her, L spent most of the night smoking out the back and Mr accosted some poor girl and demanded that she be his new best friend. Maybe if we hadn't spent so much time on the internet we would actually be able to start conversations with types of humans that don't intimidate us.
With this in mind we headed back to our old university, back to a simpler time when you could while away a whole week getting drunk in a cheap pub and chatting to whatever person you liked. It mattered not whether their facebook profile had similar interests to yours. I even met up with a girl I have been chatting to on the internet...and found it was more fun talking to someone when you can hear their voice.
Within 5 days we had all noticed that without the internet we had had much more fun, done more interesting things and met new people. In the spirit of this new freedom from technology we decided to get rid of our tv license so we'd have even less distractions.
The internet came back on last night. We haven't been out since. The Scot went upstairs with his new webcam and is still yet to emerge and Mr and I have been behaving like 12 year olds by winding up people with fetishes in cyber sex chat rooms.
It's all very well being one of these people who 'put's themselves out there', but we're glad to be back amongst the hoardes of anonymous faces pretending they have a life. Is it a bit sad that when we were taking photos of our adventures during that week we kept saying - 'oooh that's one for facebook'?
Monday, November 5, 2007
It's My Party and I'll Cry if I Want To
Mr and Miss here,
so the Scot has arrived. He is here. In the house. Poor bastard.
He moved in to find no light in his room, a chest of drawers falling apart and the living room had been taken oven by a pair of massive speakers and some decks. In true 'organised' fashion we had decided to throw a party on the night he moved down. I would like to say that the warm welcome we gave him more than made up for this, but as he came in Mr announced he was going shopping to find a wig for his drag outfit (it was a fancy dress party) and I lay on the sofa, taking up 60% of the collective seating area moaning about having a hangover for 3 hours. Until he left to go to GAY.
Parties are stressful. You spend a shit load of money to let people come and use your house as an ashtray and your garden as a urinal. Spend most of the week before thinking you should cancel it because no one is going to turn up and then moan when they do because you only wanted a handful of close friends there and can't be bothered to entertain randoms.
But i think everyone had a good time. Loads of lads dressed as buff heroes, girls in sexy outfits. Mr and myself got it completely wrong and went as hideous mutants. Surprisingly no one wanted to pull us. Next year we shall follow the 'Mean Girls' rule of dressing like sluts and getting away with it.
Notable highlights included Batman off his tits on acid spending the evening doing the washing up and another Batman walking about in a strap on. Mr walked in on the bird from Resident Evil going down on some random girl in my bed. And the Scot almost came home to find that a cheerleader had puked all over his bed and white curtains...thankfuly Mr is nippy with a wet rag.
In the end we locked ourselves in L's bedroom lamenting about the fact we are getting old, we don't like dance music, the neighbours were probably going to sue us and we just wanted to sing a bit of Disney karaoke. Wouldn't you love to come to one of our parties?
So the Scot was greeted home by a houseful of randoms, nobody knew he lived here bless him.
But we're pretty sure they will soon. He's very very chatty and nice. However it's becoming clearly apparent that he has much more money than us and we are not going to be able to compete with his lifestyle. He wears £400 jackets from Armani...we wear £4 cagouls from Primark.
And you know we said we wanted gay...well we got GAY. One friend of ours became increasingly suspicious that we're living in the Truman Show as all he had brought with him was an expensive wardrobe, Priscilla Queen of the Desert, Queer as Folk, lube, poppers and johnnies. It's as though we had requested a gay man and they had hurriedly had to buy him props to litter about the room to make it obvious his character is a homosexual.
We don't want to be too hard on him though as he is lovely and he can't do enough to make us feel like a little family. He is a few years younger than us (and we're not that old - well physically if not mentally) and he's like a kid in a fudge shop.
Oh fuck this - we're obviously just insanely jealous that he's younger, better looking, richer, with a better social life (he's only been here 48 hours and he has more friends) and happier than we are.
We'll soon change all that!
so the Scot has arrived. He is here. In the house. Poor bastard.
He moved in to find no light in his room, a chest of drawers falling apart and the living room had been taken oven by a pair of massive speakers and some decks. In true 'organised' fashion we had decided to throw a party on the night he moved down. I would like to say that the warm welcome we gave him more than made up for this, but as he came in Mr announced he was going shopping to find a wig for his drag outfit (it was a fancy dress party) and I lay on the sofa, taking up 60% of the collective seating area moaning about having a hangover for 3 hours. Until he left to go to GAY.
Parties are stressful. You spend a shit load of money to let people come and use your house as an ashtray and your garden as a urinal. Spend most of the week before thinking you should cancel it because no one is going to turn up and then moan when they do because you only wanted a handful of close friends there and can't be bothered to entertain randoms.
But i think everyone had a good time. Loads of lads dressed as buff heroes, girls in sexy outfits. Mr and myself got it completely wrong and went as hideous mutants. Surprisingly no one wanted to pull us. Next year we shall follow the 'Mean Girls' rule of dressing like sluts and getting away with it.
Notable highlights included Batman off his tits on acid spending the evening doing the washing up and another Batman walking about in a strap on. Mr walked in on the bird from Resident Evil going down on some random girl in my bed. And the Scot almost came home to find that a cheerleader had puked all over his bed and white curtains...thankfuly Mr is nippy with a wet rag.
In the end we locked ourselves in L's bedroom lamenting about the fact we are getting old, we don't like dance music, the neighbours were probably going to sue us and we just wanted to sing a bit of Disney karaoke. Wouldn't you love to come to one of our parties?
So the Scot was greeted home by a houseful of randoms, nobody knew he lived here bless him.
But we're pretty sure they will soon. He's very very chatty and nice. However it's becoming clearly apparent that he has much more money than us and we are not going to be able to compete with his lifestyle. He wears £400 jackets from Armani...we wear £4 cagouls from Primark.
And you know we said we wanted gay...well we got GAY. One friend of ours became increasingly suspicious that we're living in the Truman Show as all he had brought with him was an expensive wardrobe, Priscilla Queen of the Desert, Queer as Folk, lube, poppers and johnnies. It's as though we had requested a gay man and they had hurriedly had to buy him props to litter about the room to make it obvious his character is a homosexual.
We don't want to be too hard on him though as he is lovely and he can't do enough to make us feel like a little family. He is a few years younger than us (and we're not that old - well physically if not mentally) and he's like a kid in a fudge shop.
Oh fuck this - we're obviously just insanely jealous that he's younger, better looking, richer, with a better social life (he's only been here 48 hours and he has more friends) and happier than we are.
We'll soon change all that!
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Social Experiments
Miss here,
this weekend was all about social experiments. Well there was 2 of them.
Ever since G announced she was moving in with O we have been searching for a new housemate. Someone who is going to fit in with our love of pissed house karaoke and nudity. We started off in earnest, asking people many a question over the phone and arranging viewing times. By the end of the week the standards had slumped to a perfunctory 'What's your name? How old are you? What you do for a living? Yeah come over when you want.'
I would like to say the callibre of people we saw left us torn between which fabulous person should join us. But I can't. They were all men...it would seem that straight girls are rather scared of living with lesbians (can't think why, thought we had a great reputation) but straight men, generally, don't give a rats arse who you wanna shag.
Or maybe they do, but they're so desperate because nobody wants to live with them that they just pretend they don't. Anyway...we saw one really smug, bearded monster who we allowed in the house for a grand total of 6 minutes. One man who Mr thought had a tick and kept telling us about all the secret services he had served in around the world. He did offer to teach us how to use 'mild' weapons though which was nice of him. One 'city boy' - God knows why he showed up - who we have still yet to tell the bad news. Let him down gently. And one lad who seemed so nervous that he obviously couldn't wait to run out the door.
Finally we had a call from a Scot, who J was convinced was passive aggressive, but we were scraping the bottom of the barrel and the weapons tutor was winning so we thought 'oh fuck it why not'.
He is lovely. Cheeky little chimpy face. Mr is already in love with him and he is as gay as Mr Motivator. He shall now go by the imaginative name of Scot. He is moving in Saturday and we shall let you know how it goes.
The second social experiment was us having the amazing idea of not smoking for the night and seeing if not stinking of fags makes you more attractive when you're out.
I thought some girl was hitting on me...only to discover she had a rather possessive girlfriend. Mr, sadly, had worse luck than usual. Oh no wait! We did both get felt up at the bar. By 2 fat straight bitches from Essex who were on a 'be gay for the night' trip.
We decided to leave, only to find all the attractive people milling about outside smoking chatting to each other because they weren't drowned out by some god awful Euro Pop from Slovakia.
It's a shit word, but a great concept - Smirting.
this weekend was all about social experiments. Well there was 2 of them.
Ever since G announced she was moving in with O we have been searching for a new housemate. Someone who is going to fit in with our love of pissed house karaoke and nudity. We started off in earnest, asking people many a question over the phone and arranging viewing times. By the end of the week the standards had slumped to a perfunctory 'What's your name? How old are you? What you do for a living? Yeah come over when you want.'
I would like to say the callibre of people we saw left us torn between which fabulous person should join us. But I can't. They were all men...it would seem that straight girls are rather scared of living with lesbians (can't think why, thought we had a great reputation) but straight men, generally, don't give a rats arse who you wanna shag.
Or maybe they do, but they're so desperate because nobody wants to live with them that they just pretend they don't. Anyway...we saw one really smug, bearded monster who we allowed in the house for a grand total of 6 minutes. One man who Mr thought had a tick and kept telling us about all the secret services he had served in around the world. He did offer to teach us how to use 'mild' weapons though which was nice of him. One 'city boy' - God knows why he showed up - who we have still yet to tell the bad news. Let him down gently. And one lad who seemed so nervous that he obviously couldn't wait to run out the door.
Finally we had a call from a Scot, who J was convinced was passive aggressive, but we were scraping the bottom of the barrel and the weapons tutor was winning so we thought 'oh fuck it why not'.
He is lovely. Cheeky little chimpy face. Mr is already in love with him and he is as gay as Mr Motivator. He shall now go by the imaginative name of Scot. He is moving in Saturday and we shall let you know how it goes.
The second social experiment was us having the amazing idea of not smoking for the night and seeing if not stinking of fags makes you more attractive when you're out.
I thought some girl was hitting on me...only to discover she had a rather possessive girlfriend. Mr, sadly, had worse luck than usual. Oh no wait! We did both get felt up at the bar. By 2 fat straight bitches from Essex who were on a 'be gay for the night' trip.
We decided to leave, only to find all the attractive people milling about outside smoking chatting to each other because they weren't drowned out by some god awful Euro Pop from Slovakia.
It's a shit word, but a great concept - Smirting.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Room with a view...of fag packets, beer cans and a paddling pool full of strange little maggots
Evening, Mr and Miss here.
We have learnt a couple of important lessons over the last few weeks.
1) Don't ever live with a couple.
2) Generally don't do anybody any favours.
A few months ago we helped out our friend G by allowing her to crash on our sofa, completely free of charge, while she settled into London. She had had a run of very bad luck over the past few years so we decided to help here get back on her feet.
Things started off great, we helped her get a job, she was coming out (not like that) and we seemed to be one happy family so when P moved out, we gave her his room (the best in the house we might add).
However about 3 weeks in she shagged our other friend O and within 6 days they had completed the steps to married life. A process which takes normal people about 3 years. Or about never in our case. She rapidly dumped her friends, barricaded herself in her room and became all...whispery.
Last Thursday we received some news (by text) informing us that G was moving in with O. When we returned home on Friday she had managed to clean out her room. Do you remember that episode of Sex and the City where Carrie gets dumped on a post-it note? Well there wasn't even a post-it note.
In a week we have received, by way of apology, one defensively short email. Moral of the tale? There are some friends who will always put a partner before anything else. Recognise them quickly and don't do them any favours.
So with an empty room for the taking and rent day looming ever closer, we need to find a new housemate. Or more realistically some god awful freak who nobody else wants to live with, whom we pray will stay in their room, out of our sight.
In keeping with our quest to become more liberal, we have decided on the pre-requisite that said housemate must be gay. But not too gay. Baby steps.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Get Fresh for the Weekend
Miss here. How do?
Well it's a Saturday night and I have just, literally, come home and I am typing this in my underwear. Already I have had to delete about 8 words due to spelling mistakes and I am going to get Mr to read through this after.
I love rugby. I do. I am a celt and i am born to do be patriotic whether I like it or not. So tonight was the rugby World Cup Final.
Obviously I supported South Africa (you can curse me as much as you want but you know every Irish, Welsh and Scottish person was doing the same) so I went to cheer the buggers on.
Now, I am pretty sure that somewhere in Soho would have been showing the game where I could have chatted to girls about the skill and to the boys about the legs...yes I am stereotyping. But somehow I ended up in a tiny pub sat next to a racist football fan and chatting up a man.
I even gave him my phone number and invited him to our house party. There is something predominantly wrong with my genes.
Why can I flirt very easily with men but not at all with women??? Seriously, I could get a boyfriend so easily but I can not chat up women to save my own life. Maybe I have the mental capacity of a 15 year old. Who knows?
I do know my spelling is rather great right now though. Every cloud has a silver lining and all that jazz.
Well it's a Saturday night and I have just, literally, come home and I am typing this in my underwear. Already I have had to delete about 8 words due to spelling mistakes and I am going to get Mr to read through this after.
I love rugby. I do. I am a celt and i am born to do be patriotic whether I like it or not. So tonight was the rugby World Cup Final.
Obviously I supported South Africa (you can curse me as much as you want but you know every Irish, Welsh and Scottish person was doing the same) so I went to cheer the buggers on.
Now, I am pretty sure that somewhere in Soho would have been showing the game where I could have chatted to girls about the skill and to the boys about the legs...yes I am stereotyping. But somehow I ended up in a tiny pub sat next to a racist football fan and chatting up a man.
I even gave him my phone number and invited him to our house party. There is something predominantly wrong with my genes.
Why can I flirt very easily with men but not at all with women??? Seriously, I could get a boyfriend so easily but I can not chat up women to save my own life. Maybe I have the mental capacity of a 15 year old. Who knows?
I do know my spelling is rather great right now though. Every cloud has a silver lining and all that jazz.
Friday, October 19, 2007
London to Brighton
Hello, Mr Here.
Miss and I have returned to the big smoke following our 'adventure' in the gay capital of England. There was much debate beforehand as to what can be classified as the 'gay capital' - London, Manchester or Brighton. This was mainly due to Miss, having been there for almost 3 minutes, not having spotted one overtly gay person. However as we were there at the time we decided on Brighton.
We won't bore you with what we did in the day time as this involves watching animal clips (the best kind) on 'You've Been Framed' and seeing England beat France in the rugby (a sore point for Miss who is a celt).
Then it was on to Brighton's premiere nightclub Revenge.
Some things you should know about gay clubs outside of London.
1. The clientelle are much less attractive. This results in there being less opportunity to pull someone who isn't a monster...or someone who is far out of our league and too pissed to know better. It does however have the added bonus of making us feel more attractive and superior. In a club inhabited by men dressed as Fred Kruegar, fat girls with poppers stored between their even fatter tits and a midget Angelina Jolie look-a-like, we were the shit. Not to blow our own trumpet but one girl actually stopped us to take a photo simply because '[you] are the most beautiful people here'. This almost never, ney NEVER happens back home. And just for the record we're not biased because we are not native Londoners.
2. The music is a lot less pretentious. You can feel free to dance around like a complete twat without fear of being scrutinised by some poncey gay in skinny black jeans and one of those Yasser Arafat neck-scarfs. Plus you know all the words so you can have a good sing rather than mumbling along to some cheesy lounge shite because everyone else knows the words and you don't.
3. The choice of narcotics on offer extended to said bottle of poppers between fat girl's tits. One whiff and the gays were seen to flock to her mammaries like a gaggle of honking geese. (Miss would like to point out that Mr was the alpha goose).
4. Drinks were an absolute steal.
5. People still think it's more than appropriate to give hickies after the age of 12. Mr learnt this to his detriment and is still ashamedly sporting a range of polo necks to the office.
6. They are rather nice beaches a stone's throw from the clubs' doorsteps.
Leading on from points 5 and 6 takes us to Mr's adventure for the rest of the night...
Seeing it only right that I pull when in the gay capital of England our friend LG chivalrously intervened as I am pathetic at pulling for myself and still play by the playground rules of 'my mate fancies your mate etc'.
Enter The Giant.
He seemed nice enough. Rather posh, nice hair. Oh and he did seem to be a smoker which always gets me excited. That's about all I can remember, I would tell you more but Miss and LG promptly did one and left me on my own.
Somewhere between them leaving and me finding them again I acquired 3 dark and painful lovebites. I do remember pointing out to him that this was 'quite irritating actually' as I would have to attempt to cover them up for the next week. I am so cool.
I finally made my excuses (I got up and walked off in silence) and ran to find Miss only to announce I needed to throw up. So we quickly gathered our things, ran out to the pier, where I proceeded to expel the total price of £7.20 worth of Red Stripe and tequila.
Somehow, god knows how, LG had gotten hold of The Giant's number and had heard on the rumour mill that he had procured some beers and was down on the beach. The next logical step was for us to join him there and steal as much said booze as possible.
Miss had had enough and stumbled off to get chips. When she returned she found us 'engrossed' in conversation with The Giant's older lesbian (!) sister and her 'girl'friend who introduced herself as 'too lazy to pronounce my own name so call me H'.
Lesson learnt - if you're not willing to let someone rape your neck do not expect to be able to rape their booze supply.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Allow us to introduce ourselves
Welcome to the lives of the worst gay man and worst lesbian woman in London. Introducing Mr and Miss.
Two best friends, having lived in London for the past 2 years, and inhabiting Soho for the majority of that time (as well as numerous internet social networks). You would think one of us would have managed to establish a meaningful relationship. Or, failing that, normal casual sex.
But no...
We can't.
Now don't get us wrong. On our day we ar not unattractive people. Fair enough we may not make an effort on a daily basis but when push comes to shove (into the shower) we do scrub up rather well. Nor are we afflicted with the personalities of wet mops. Many people have been known to comment on our outgoing social behaviour and we are, generally, pleased with our ability to create humour. In fact, many people have frequently commented that they wonder why we are still single.
So do we.
There could be numerous reasons for this.
1) We're too outgoing.
2) We spend too much time with our incestuous group of friends.
3) We appear to be in some form of unhealthy relationship with each other.
4) We are really fucking picky.
We probably should have started this earlier - but to recap, here are some examples of things that have gone awry since our time here.
* Miss manages to get a date with a model (after her straight friend- L - pulled her) only to somehow turn her straight for a year and make her run off to LA.
* Mr, in failing to procure the man that he wants, instead indulges in random foreplay with his psycho boyfriend. Said psycho boyfriend (who looked like Bradley Walsh) ends up punching our good friend in the face and pissing on her whilst she's vsiting. She hasn't been back since.
* Miss falls for another ridiculously good looking girl, who fails to mention she has a girlfriend and Miss spends a good year of her life trying to convince said girl to go out with her. She doesn't.
* Mr, in trying to get over a horrific break up manages to sleep with a man with no stomach. You may think this is medically impossible - but you are wrong.
* Miss dates a girl who makes her feel like a paedophile.
* Mr dates a boy that makes him feel like a paedophile.
* Miss gets an opportunity to sleep with aforementioned straight model and doesn't because of the paedophile girl.
* Mr sleeps with a boy that looks like the crazy frog whilst at a reality TV show audition. Neither of them gets the part.
* Miss spends many nights out trying to pull her friend of 13 years, who is too drunk to thankfully remember.
* Mr dates an apparently nice man who turns out to have a distinct hatred of homosexuals and spills class D drugs on him before ordering him into a shower...alone.
* Miss resorts to inappropriately touching up her friends for physical closeness.
* Mr arranges a date via the internet with an old school friend (far out of his league) and realising this practically rapes him.
* Both Mr and Miss try to break up happy relationships and fail abysmally...we are nice people though. Just lonely people.
However, there has been a shift lately. Mr has decided to strike out on his own and explore the world. Miss hasn't realised there's a world outside London and Greece yet.
So, as a way to maintain our adventures, and a sort of social experiment, we have decided to keep a record of our time apart and see whether we can finally form a fully functional relationship. Miss believes that Mr will finally see she has been a complete hinderance to his love life for the past 4 years and Mr believes that a month on his own will render him to come crawling back.
But we are not alone in our adventures. Below are a cast of close characters that help us on our journey. As a brief outline let us inform you that we all met, one way another, through university 4-5 years ago.
L - housemate. Asexual. Female.
J - twin of housemate. Bisexual. Female.
Z - on/ off girlfriend of J and best friend of L. Female. Doesn't know what she is.
P - ex housemate. Straight. Male.
G - new housemate. Straight. Female.
O - housemate of J. Boyfirned of G. Straight. Male.
F - soon to be housemate. Straight (apart from one fateful night). Female. Gimp.
So we begin our blog on the weekend that we decide to travel to the mecca of Gay Britain...Brighton. Our quest revolves around our hope that we can become more tolerant and pull as many different varieties (or even one nice one) of homosexuals as possible. Actually to pull anyone that we remotely fancy may actually break the curse and send the earth spinning towards the sun. Who knows???
Wish us luck.
Two best friends, having lived in London for the past 2 years, and inhabiting Soho for the majority of that time (as well as numerous internet social networks). You would think one of us would have managed to establish a meaningful relationship. Or, failing that, normal casual sex.
But no...
We can't.
Now don't get us wrong. On our day we ar not unattractive people. Fair enough we may not make an effort on a daily basis but when push comes to shove (into the shower) we do scrub up rather well. Nor are we afflicted with the personalities of wet mops. Many people have been known to comment on our outgoing social behaviour and we are, generally, pleased with our ability to create humour. In fact, many people have frequently commented that they wonder why we are still single.
So do we.
There could be numerous reasons for this.
1) We're too outgoing.
2) We spend too much time with our incestuous group of friends.
3) We appear to be in some form of unhealthy relationship with each other.
4) We are really fucking picky.
We probably should have started this earlier - but to recap, here are some examples of things that have gone awry since our time here.
* Miss manages to get a date with a model (after her straight friend- L - pulled her) only to somehow turn her straight for a year and make her run off to LA.
* Mr, in failing to procure the man that he wants, instead indulges in random foreplay with his psycho boyfriend. Said psycho boyfriend (who looked like Bradley Walsh) ends up punching our good friend in the face and pissing on her whilst she's vsiting. She hasn't been back since.
* Miss falls for another ridiculously good looking girl, who fails to mention she has a girlfriend and Miss spends a good year of her life trying to convince said girl to go out with her. She doesn't.
* Mr, in trying to get over a horrific break up manages to sleep with a man with no stomach. You may think this is medically impossible - but you are wrong.
* Miss dates a girl who makes her feel like a paedophile.
* Mr dates a boy that makes him feel like a paedophile.
* Miss gets an opportunity to sleep with aforementioned straight model and doesn't because of the paedophile girl.
* Mr sleeps with a boy that looks like the crazy frog whilst at a reality TV show audition. Neither of them gets the part.
* Miss spends many nights out trying to pull her friend of 13 years, who is too drunk to thankfully remember.
* Mr dates an apparently nice man who turns out to have a distinct hatred of homosexuals and spills class D drugs on him before ordering him into a shower...alone.
* Miss resorts to inappropriately touching up her friends for physical closeness.
* Mr arranges a date via the internet with an old school friend (far out of his league) and realising this practically rapes him.
* Both Mr and Miss try to break up happy relationships and fail abysmally...we are nice people though. Just lonely people.
However, there has been a shift lately. Mr has decided to strike out on his own and explore the world. Miss hasn't realised there's a world outside London and Greece yet.
So, as a way to maintain our adventures, and a sort of social experiment, we have decided to keep a record of our time apart and see whether we can finally form a fully functional relationship. Miss believes that Mr will finally see she has been a complete hinderance to his love life for the past 4 years and Mr believes that a month on his own will render him to come crawling back.
But we are not alone in our adventures. Below are a cast of close characters that help us on our journey. As a brief outline let us inform you that we all met, one way another, through university 4-5 years ago.
L - housemate. Asexual. Female.
J - twin of housemate. Bisexual. Female.
Z - on/ off girlfriend of J and best friend of L. Female. Doesn't know what she is.
P - ex housemate. Straight. Male.
G - new housemate. Straight. Female.
O - housemate of J. Boyfirned of G. Straight. Male.
F - soon to be housemate. Straight (apart from one fateful night). Female. Gimp.
So we begin our blog on the weekend that we decide to travel to the mecca of Gay Britain...Brighton. Our quest revolves around our hope that we can become more tolerant and pull as many different varieties (or even one nice one) of homosexuals as possible. Actually to pull anyone that we remotely fancy may actually break the curse and send the earth spinning towards the sun. Who knows???
Wish us luck.
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