The hopeful lovers on the Critic Blind Date are provided with a meal and a bar tab, thanks to Mamacita. If you’re looking for love and want to give the Blind Date a go, email blinddate@critic.co.nz

Sharon

Running late from dying my hair blue and my hands looking like I’d just fingered a Smurf, I came into Mamacita fizzing for a frozen marg, free kai and good company. With nerves high and blood alcohol levels even higher, it was a relief to find my date was cute, blond and strangely familiar. We’d previously met in O-week during the OUSSC Tour de Goon (where he'd manu’d a BBQ three times before my very eyes, with the word SEND emblazoned across his face in black vivid), so I knew then we would get along juuuust fine.

Mutual interests included ReBurger, doing dumb shit and frothing over the white stuff, so I was surprised to learn that he was “sober” following a particularly traumatizing Agnew St. Stoked for a margarita jug all to myself, my cooked ass was absolutely gutted when the waitress informed us that there would be no bevvies tonight as the duty manager was away. I even busted out my best law school negotiation skills to no avail. But while the sparkling blackcurrant was a poor substitute for a marg jug, the food was mean, the chat was easy and the fanny was a-flutter.

We got kicked out around 9.30pm, which coincidentally was when my second date (strictly business) was scheduled for the evening. Nothing says romance like dragging your blind date out to the backseat of a shitty Corolla to pay a stranger for a g. Transaction complete, we continued at DSC where a couply drinks later (“sober”, my ass), we were on the dance floor. Cue the slow dancing and white ppl bangers until he held me hostage on a Lime and we scooted back to his. Clothes came off, lights stayed on and it was full send from there. 

What followed was a somewhat strange sexual awakening, consisting of generous amounts of belt-whipping, celery and a priest, but as far as kinks go, could be a lot worse, so thanks to my date and cheers Critic for the juice and feed.

Ozzy

This date started like any other with some manscaping into a porno strip because you know this man isn’t here to fuck spiders. When she walked through the doors, it just so happened to be a cutie that I’d seen around. After much talking and a stern conversation with the Mamacita staff about the lack of a duty manager, we decide to gap. This led us to an ATM because little did I know that this bird was about to buy a gram which proceeded to be the most obvious drug deal in history.

We then decided to hit DSC because clearly the night wasn’t going to end at a measly 9:30. We drank some brews which led us to the dance floor, of course. This is where the moves would be set, one banger after another I proceeded to get closer and when James Blunt’s ‘You’re Beautiful’ came on it was my time to shine. We danced and sang, locking eye contact I grabbed her hands to bring her closer. As the moment got more heated, the bamboo began to rise. She lifted her head and I lowered mine and just as you thought we would kiss I pulled away, teasing her on what could have been (just to keep her interested). We proceeded to tandem Lime back to mine where I finally secured the kiss. Shit got heated quick. After seeing her sexy lace undies underneath her tights I knew I’d scored myself one fine bird. She told me she was on the rags but had a cup in and I followed in Bear Grills’ footsteps (a real man loves his women every day of the month). Halfway through going down on me, she tried to carry on the conversation which comes out as a muffled sound (but hey it felt pretty good tbh) which she likened to when the dentist has a fist in your mouth. I said ‘oh my dentist doesn’t do that, it’s mostly my priest’ which may have been the wittiest/dumbest move because after that, every 30 seconds she came up and said ‘hahaha priest’. We didn’t end up getting to sleep until roughly 4am which speaks for itself. Was a great night all in all had so much fun! Cheers Critic!