Love is Blind | Issue 25

Love is Blind | Issue 25

Critic’s infamous blind date column brings you weekly shutdowns, hilariously mismatched pairs, and the occasional hookup. Each week, we lure two singletons to Di Lusso, ply them with food and alcohol, then wait for their reports to arrive in our inbox.

If this sounds like you, email But be warned – if you dine on the free food and dash without sending us a writeup, a Critic writer will write one under your name.
And that won’t end well for you.


25 minutes late? Up to fucks.

A solid 25 minutes late I walked in and we introduced ourselves as he was seated at a table amongst a 20th birthday party. 

Having recently started new meds, I was stone cold sober for the entire date so I ordered a mocktail. Conversation flowed well, but he was quickly working, glass by glass of wine, through the bar tab.

By the time the food arrived, I was hoping that it might sober him up a little. He seemed like a lovely guy and I wanted to get to know him a bit better. He informed me that he lived with 18 other guys and was a big fan of skateboarding. A lady from the birthday party came over and helped herself to some of the food and then about 15 minutes later, embarrassed, came over to apologise. It was at this point I realised that my date was beyond drunk. Instead of accepting the apology and moving on, he continued to offer food to the poor lady and other party-goers, until I interrupted and forced him to stop. It was time to go.

I really should have gone home at this point. Especially when, while walking toward the Octagon, a condom fell out of his wallet, which he immediately denied was his. However, he had mentioned he had the new ‘Inside Out’ movie. I had wanted to see it since it came out, so, I saw an opportunity and I took it. We started watching the movie and he immediately removed his pants and got under the covers, looking at me strangely when I didn’t join him in spontaneously disrobing. He was fairly attractive sure, but I just met the guy.

I was happy to make out and keep it fairly innocent, explicitly stating early in the night that I wasn’t going to have sex with him. There was some innocent fumbling before I put a stop to everything and decided to settle with the movie. He left the room, a bit put out by me not wanting to go further and I watched the end by myself. After turning down his multiple attempts to pay for a cab home, I went to my friend’s leaving party around the block for the rest of the evening.

The movie was great, but the date not so much.


Ditched mid movie? Also up to fucks.

was just settling in for my usual 6pm, ‘finish the day on a high’ bong, when I get a call for this gig. No deliberation was needed as my recent dry spell made this opportunity not to be missed.

I spent the hour beforehand chipping away at a bottle of red, putting the smellys on and checking my new hair cut was in shape.

Arriving 10 minutes ‘fashionably’ late went unnoticed as I ended up waiting a further half an hour for her to show up. Unsurprisingly from her appearance she informs me she isn’t drinking, the classic “I’m on medication”.  

After usual formalities, the chat was marginal. She was nice but after hearing she went to St. Margaret’s, I knew I was in far too deep. I had a feeling we had different expectations for the night; her: out to find a husband, and me: out to get drunk.

So I spent half the time texting around and seeing what everyone else was up to, with a slight intermission to hear about her trip to Nicaragua – good chat but lasted around about two seconds so had to quickly think of other possible movements for the night. I was then asked “what are we doing after this”. It was obvious she wanted the post-drinks (or lack-of in her case) hang out so I offered some Netflix and chill, thinking that this slow night could have a happy ending. Netflix and chill amounted to an hour long gobby, and some lazy attempt at watching Inside Out.

After a few 10-minute trips to the lounge for beuges and one drunken bail resulting in a now broken coffee table, she got the hint and I politely offered her a ride home (only politely - on top of the red, I’d smashed the bar tab by myself so there was no chance of a ride).

Overall good story to tell, not a great story to live.

This article first appeared in Issue 25, 2015.
Posted 2:34pm Sunday 27th September 2015 by Lovebirds.