Me Love You Long Time | Issue 22

Me Love You Long Time | Issue 22

None of you read this anyway. It’s just that little weird standfirst bit above the action below. But anyway ... The Blind Date has been at Metro bar for the last few weeks, and it sounds like they’ve been putting on quite a show. Great feed, good drinks, excellent service etc etc. If you want in on the action, email with your details.


The evening came on with a storm of X-rated dialogue and cocky remarks to the flatmates along with the swift choppage of half a doz park lanes like any self-respecting male would consume pre-date. After rocking up to Metro and getting acquainted with the GC on the bar I patiently began to chop back gin and tonics. After about half an hour and another four drinks, my buddy went back to the kitchen only to let me know the date’s on tomorrow. Fuck I’m slick. Time for a quiet masty and some beauty sleep. Feeling good, bit more chillaxed as a I rock into Metro, second time lucky, lo and behold there’s a chicky having a yarn and grabbing a drink from my mate from the night before. Cheers Critic, good dress sense, casual, cool, good figure from what I can deduce through multiple layers, probably wearing some nice black lacy panties but who knows could be anything. Rock in for the casual how’s it going handshake, hug, kiss on the cheek, flowing smoothly, grab a drink and rock down by the fire, nice and romantic. Start off with the casual 20 questions, so you’re from Invercargill aye you know everyone from Invercargill talks like pirates, probably not the best icebreaker. Soon enough I’m sharing my life story, hopes, aspirations, trying to slip in the occasional question in between… So we decide to share a pizza (gluten-free for the lady -> gentleman) and just as it gets to the table I pull a slick as fuck line “We should get our first kiss out of the way, so it doesn’t hang over the evening,” only to be shot down like an Indian at Monkey Bar with the old “Are you kidding? I can’t tell if you’re serious” haha yes… After that we pawned the pizza, which was fucking delicious and by now I’m thinking probably the only meat I’ll have in my mouth tonight. Conversation carried on, got a few laughs out and had a bit of banter, soon enough her texting at the table became more frenetic as she explained her flatmate got cheated on. I started getting a bit concerned, which was justified as within 10 minutes her flatmate arrived to pick her up. We exchanged numbers, did the old hug/kiss on the cheek and she apologised for gapping. I’m a trusting bloke so I’ll take her word for it. I had a good time, would like to see her again potentially for more than an hour, got a lift home just in time for the latest Geordie Shore, booya. A bit mystified and subtle blue balls. Cheers Critic!


I left after an hour. Am I a horrible person? Bear with me as I recall my first and probably last blind date. I arrived at Metro at 7pm sharp and ordered the first of many vodkas. I cannot be sure if this is the reason for why (in my mind) things slid downhill so swiftly. First impressions were not distasteful. He seemed friendly enough and was more than eager to go in for a cuddle, which was happily accepted (affection from a male had become foreign to me).

Once we sat down and started talking he started to reveal his true colours. He had a very distinctive laugh, adding a “haha-na” after the majority of his sentences, especially when making comments that referred to his impressively extensive dating history. On multiple occasions my date referred to himself as a “balla”.

I found his choice of beverage, gin and tonic, to be very questionable. As a Southland girl surrounded by do-bros and (God forbid) barrel 51s, a gin and tonic would usually result to a jab in the family jewels. After much talk (mostly revolving around him) the pizza finally arrived, and just as I was about to reach for a slice he stopped me to ask a question that he obviously hoped would get him a ticket to the goods. “Should we just get the first kiss out of the way before eating?” I laughed, thinking he was joking. Sadly he was not. Sorry buddy, had to shoot you down point blank with that one. I like to save PDA for the sickening sexually curious freshers in the Monkey chlamydia pit. No shocker that the conversation continued with him informing me of his “original” big plans to move to Australia and earn the big bucks in the mines (you and the rest of New Zealand). Using his fortune, game, and pilot’s licence he plans to whisk some lucky ladies away for finger-banging weekends in Bali.

By this point I had drunk enough to drown a small cat and his arrogance had become too much to bear. I planned an escape route involving a distraught flatmate and her cheating boyfriend. I apologised for my rude table manner regarding the obvious texting but I simply could not ignore the situation. Minutes later I got the fateful text of arrival and I was out the door. We did exchange numbers, as I am not a total heartbreaker. Thanks for the drinks mate, and no offence but you were not the anticipated Prince Charming. Thank you Critic and Metro for the drinks, pizza and the unforgettable experience.
This article first appeared in Issue 22, 2012.
Posted 5:17pm Sunday 2nd September 2012 by Lovebirds.