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!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
