Harry
My night started at 6:30. I was under pressure and unprepared. Not one piece of blind date research was done on Google, unlike my female counterpart. I instead decided to wing it and hope for the best. 20 minutes and a number of shots later I was on my way with a bit of Journey mentally preparing me for the night.That pre-date tension was released when the “mysterious” figure walked in. First impressions: Good. Really nice and extremely easy to talk to. Pretty face with extremely beautiful eyes! She had a very nice figure. But the whole casual black pants look does you absolutely no favours.
The mood was set with the soothing tunes of Tokyo Garden filling the room and before long we were holding a good conversation and finding the odd thing out about each other. And I mean odd. Cheers Critic, you hooked me up with a feminist lesbian. Although at times she came across as straight, the main summary I got was that her goal for the year was to have a full-on lesbian experience.
Besides liking the idea of cunnilingus, we did find something else we had in common. The thought of drinking the cheap, complimentary bottle of red wine made us cringe. So it was only fitting we order sake, which, may I mention, is meant to be served at room temperature. Now I don’t know what “room temperature” is to these Asian folk but to me room temperature doesn’t involve boiling the sake in a kettle thus giving you a burning sensation when you take a drink. (Also Critic, while I’m on this topic, is the name change from “Summer Lovin’” to “Me Love You Long Time” due to the change of scenery from Toast to a popular Asian restaurant? Racist, very racist.)
Two hours later, after finishing the bottle of wine and watching my date woefully devour her udon noodles, we headed off to The Cook for a game of pool and a couple of jugs. Look, I’m not going to lie. Obviously going into this blind date, it does run through your mind that potentially The Cook’s aren’t the only jugs on the cards … but ahh no. They were. Perhaps tugs is a better way to sum up the end of my night. But all in all an enjoyable night and I would definitely take her on a second. So thanks Critic.
Rebecca
Pre-date debate: Should I shave my box (having a Brazilian on Friday)? What are the chances of him being an inept, anti-social loser/psycho? The flat votes keep the hairy box, if I don’t root him one of them will. I began the evening by downing chasers, most of which ended up on my face. I’m not currently feeling sexy and free!Hazy-eyed and trying not to slur I enter the restaurant. He’s sitting at the back. Blindness means I can’t see him but if he’s not the goods I’m contemplating being my German exchange student alter-ego, complete with ze accent, to get the night even more raging. I decide no.
First observations: Looks slightly like a “One Direction” member, shoes are a decent size and crotch … has potential. He’s sober and I’m rolling drunk. He claims that he’s had shots and RTDs (seriously?!?) beforehand but I’m unconvinced. He adds that he’s filling in for a mate; I’m unconvinced of this too. I say that I’m desperate and sent my own name in.
I see a bottle of red wine (red wine Critic, really? I’ll crawl out of here) but decide to order us sake, which he pays for. I’m thankful for no awkward silences; my pre-date preparation of “blind-date” questions has succeeded. Food comes out almost immediately. I battle for three hours to finish mine. I hope he didn’t think I was an ano but believe me, eating udon noodles with chopsticks at my levels of inebriation is no easy accomplishment.
In no time we’re told the restaurant is closing, so we demolish the wine by playing “I’ve never”. Not to brag but I’m King of this game. We head to The Cook despite his complaints of hating it. He attempts to put a wager of a kiss on a game of pool, but it’s all too PG for me and sounds like a cringe-worthy “One Direction” line. He claims he’s a professional pool player but (women rule) I won.
He walked me home. We didn’t poon. For the first time in my life I am a lady of abstinence. He got my number … this is new. I walk inside to two of my flatmates in the process of taking advantage of some poor drunken victims. Critic, you have not yet restored my faith in the male species, but maybe put me a nudge closer. Even if this doesn’t blossom into a romance (I HATE ROMANCE!) at least I know we have one thing in common: We have both had a strange anal sex experience.