Me Love You Long Time | Issue 3

Me Love You Long Time | Issue 3

Dunedin is renowned for many things, but its dating scene is not one of them. Getting boozed and pashing people on the dance floor is hardly anyone’s idea of romance, so Critic wants to sort you out. Every week we’re sending two loveless loners on a blind date to Tokyo Gardens (with a bottle of wine to ease things along of course) to see if we can make some sparks fly. If you want in on the action, email


When I applied to go on this date I was half a bottle of vodka deep. My reasoning was that to go through with the date I would need to be in a similar state. Following this logic, I turned up at Tokyo Gardens fairly sozzled but still standing. My date, I was pleased to note, was a cutie. We discussed all the usual introductory topics, and the waitress had to come to our table four times before we were ready to order because we were so engrossed in conversation. A great start!

I didn’t manage to eat very much of my teriyaki chicken because by this stage the concept of chopsticks was pretty much beyond my comprehension. After the meal we thought it would be a good idea to move on to the neighbouring Bog. It was still unnervingly light outside, and I was stumbling along George Street generally making a fool of myself. Nothing new there.

Like the gentleman he is, my date paid for all our drinks. We had our first kiss in the Bog at a table in front of the stage, tasting of cider and smacking of class. Unfortunately, from here the night gets quite hazy. We bought some pizza and wandered back to my house, where I taught him about the Kardashians while he looked suitably bored. When quizzed by my flatmates about my behaviour at the date, he told them I was “smooth as a mango lassi”. Hereby my new favourite simile of all time, and probably one of the main reasons I insisted we retire to my bedroom. I won’t go into detail about what happened next … suffice to say, I am sitting here in my international marketing lecture completely exhausted and looking like shit.

My flatmate just reminded me that in the middle of the night I ran into her in the bathroom and asked her if the man in my bed was the same man I went on a date with. Thank you very much Sauvignon Blanc.

Anyway, he left this morning and went straight to a lecture, while I went out and got a mince and cheese pie to nurse my hangover. With a second date already arranged, I’d consider this a roaring success.

Remember kids, spooning always leads to forking.

Thanks Critic! xosexo


Arriving slightly early after having some confusion between Tokyo Garden and Tokyo House I finally got seated at the correct restaurant while the staff all grinned and giggled at me like spectators at the zoo. To take the edge off I decided to have a wee line of Ritalin in the bathroom and crack open the bottle of wine that Critic so kindly supplied me with.

When my date arrived I was pretty pleased, she was both aesthetically pleasing and easy to talk to. We survived the few moments of awkward questions while the Ritalin and wine started to take hold, and then the banter began to flow freely. Over dinner my date casually mentioned her 15-year-old sister’s breasts; this prompted a conversation regarding appropriate date conversations, as I had been well prepared by my flatmates not to say anything too crass. I think I did all right, I’m pretty sure I didn’t even drop a C-bomb.

From there we moved on to The Bog, where we launched into the ciders and had a sneaky pash. Off to the toilet for my final line of Ritalin before we made an exit. Then we just “happened” to bump into her flatmates at the delicious Pizza place and she berated me for not eating my crusts before it was home time. We briefly discussed which location we should go; her place won because it meant not walking up any mammoth hills. However, I did have to walk down an alleyway that would have been a prime location for her to stash my mutilated corpse.

Upon arrival I sat in the lounge with her and her flatmates as we watched the Kardashians and discussed my secret vice (fantasy fiction) before popping into the bathroom for a tactical vom and some chewing gum. After that things kind of all happened very suddenly. Everyone went to bed, the lights and television were switched off, I was shown into a bedroom and we were discussing my red underwear. Her phone went off about 40 times during coitus, and I realised that the cocktail of alcohol and Ritalin was not conducive to good sex moves so I relied on cunnilingus to carry me through the first couple of times. Then waking up this morning we swapped numbers and I went to class feeling absolutely exhausted as I hadn’t had much sleep at all.
This article first appeared in Issue 3, 2012.
Posted 6:37pm Sunday 11th March 2012 by Lovebirds.