Broke London

A car crash guide to surviving life

How to Impress a Boy

I don’t think its necessarily been a massive secret that the last couple of years have not been kind to me in terms of romance.
Let’s take little stroll down memory lane shall we – the 2015 – 16 hall of fame

There was Sunglasses man – the fan favourite. The prince Charming of my dreams who made me search through a bush for his sunglasses and pinched my nipple on the street.
(fun side note about him: my brother has the same name as him. I consequently, accidentally rang this freak of nature whilst drunkenly trying to call my sibling – what a lovely sister I am. He then text me to enquire whether this was a booty call to which I replied ‘Are you joking. Do you remember our first date? The bruising on my nipple has only just subsided and you owe me 8.99 for the cream I had to buy for that insect bite. No it was not a booty call. SASSY)
There was the bartender who described me as a ‘Super Fly Honey’ which still wasn’t enough to indicate to me that he was, infact, a ‘Super Huge Knobhead’ who basically used my flat as a boarding house and then stole a pair of my pants. YAY
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There was BMS who started out so sexy and Irish and lovely and ended up telling me that his role model was Hank from Californication and that even though he was 38 I was borderline too old for him at 26. Cooooolllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
God this is depressing
There was the guy who was always high, the guy who brought his entire office on our first date (miss you Barry from accounts, I’ll never forget our winning round on the pub quiz machine!), the guy who showed me with his hands the approximate size of his penis without me asking him to do so and the guy who basically started ignoring me whilst we were dating which made me behave like a lunatic and (deep breath huge first time admission coming) call him drunk at 3am to tell him I’d fallen over and hurt my leg in a bid for attention. This also meant I had to wear a fake tubey grip and plaster arrangement when I met up with him so he could dump me.
Ps: It also cost me £7.50. cool right.
Don’t get me wrong there have been some peaks but yeah there have also (evidently) been some pretty large troughs. And after the last date that saw me sobbing on my friend H’s shoulder in the pub (hi H! let me take this moment to say thanks so much for always letting me snot on you) and I was at the point where dating was no longer fun and living life with only my cat for company actually seemed pretty appealing.
So when NSF came in brandishing a new app I was not that enthusiastic.
But this was no ordinary app…oh no no…It’s basically an app that lets you double date.
This appealed to me for a number of reasons

  1. It was basically an excuse to go on 100 nights out with NSF who is my partner in crime and all round hilarious human.
    NSF and I on the town
  2. When I date on my own bad things happen. E.g. I get awkward, nervous, my voice goes really high and posh or I get wasted and tell weird lies about myself such as “I was on x factor once” – um yeah in your DREAMS you were or “I’m from Australia” – I do do a pretty good aussie accent but even I couldn’t pull off a mid-date nationality change after three bottles of wine.penny-laptop-gif.gif
  3. I am really bad at choosing men to date and invariably end up on dates with complete weirdos or self-obsessed models/actorstumblr_lm0w3m6cps1qbuouuo1_r1_500.gif
  4. I am very good at ignoring warning signs and over romanticising conversations with my online loves of my life. When your friend is involved in that conversation this is considerably harder to do. Especially when your friend is NSF who can spot a douchebag a mile away with her eyes shut.tumblr_mtqybaAbhn1si5x45o1_.gif
  5. Everything seems less end of the world I am bridget Jones’ fat single cousin esque when you can laugh it off with your mate. If your date turns up and leaves after 10 minutes (despite this never happening to me it is my single greatest fear) you can pretend that maybe it was her that offended them, not you. If its heinous you can leave and carry on drinking like the boozehounds you are rather than going home on the night bus doing that drunk heavy breathing thing and muttering ‘sss’alllright…hic….sss’okkk’ to yourself. So many possibilities.

So yeah, I was excited.
We had a few teething problems to start off with.
“NSFFFFFFFFFF – YOU ONLY LOOKED AT ONE OF THEM AGAIN DIDN’T YOU” I would wail from inside the room as we matched with some smokey eyed Italian man and his small fat bald friend with a bad nickname like ‘Boyo’.
Let’s take a wild flying guess who would end up snogging Sexy Mc Beppe di Marco and who would end up having to listen to how Boyo wasn’t over his ex yet whilst he sobbed into his chubby hairy hands.
Boyo + me 4 lyfe.
And then we struck gold. If striking gold means matching with two seemingly normal humans who made us both raucously laugh all night long before arranging a double date the week after.
We were dating experts. We had a date, a place and a time and we’d even planned it for a Friday night so that neither of us would have to suffer the judgemental stares of the colleague who always fits in the gym before work and still looks pristine as you try and scrub the BOGOFF cocktail stamp off the back of your hand.
But things didn’t go quite to plan (I’m a freak so I ruined everything). HOWEVER – and this is a huge HOWEVER…….drum roll…..dun dun dun duuuuuunnnnnn DUNNNNN
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Yeah serious. He full on asked me and everything. Following which I played it really cool.
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Me: OMG. WAAAHOOOOOOO Do you like me? How much do you like me?
Him: Stop it
Him: Seriously calm down
Me: How much do you like me though. What exact bits about me do you like the most
Him: I like you very much. All of you. very much.
Me: ok I feel like you’re lying but fine.
Ps: He has agreed that for the duration of time that he puts up with me I am allowed to feature him on this blog (lol buddy sorry but there was never a choice) as long as I refer to him as MOD.
MOD = Man of Dreams. I know I’m sorry I make myself sick too.sub-buzz-7524-1464713365-2.png
Come on guys be nice. Remember when I crawled through the bush and got an infected knee cap? Remember when my work colleague K had to give me a gin in a tin at 11am because I had cried all my tears out over some tall idiot? Remember when I was sick inside my jumpsuit after drinking too much wine on a date (no you won’t remember that one because I’ll be taking that one to my grave) (ok fine next week!)
Here’s a guide on how to impress a boy seeing as I did such a cracking job with MOD. I expect we shall be moving into a flat in one of the ham’s* any time now and having smug dinner parties forthwith. Probably.
*Twickenham, Balham, Clapham etc – if you don’t own a rugby shirt and have a shrill girlfriend/red faced boyfriend who owns a Barbour you don’t belong here.
4.30pm: Go to a barbecue and on the way put two bottles of pale pink wine into your shopping basket.
4.36pm: Remember that your life’s motto is ‘DON’T DRINK THE PINK WINE. IT MAKES YOU MAD BAD AND SLUTTY’. Purchase a third.
5.00pm: turn up to barbecue and proceed to eat none of the food but to drink all of the wine.
6.00pm: Text MOD and tell him that you’re at a ‘blurr shite barbecue’ and other pearls of wisdom such as this. Remember guys like girls who have to shut one eye to text at 4pm. That’s SEXY. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. When MOD (who obviously is mental in the head) suggests that you might like to come for a drink with him instead start immediately ignoring his messages/lose your phone.
9.30pm: Be irrationally outraged when people start to leave at around half nine. Mutter things like ‘boring bastards’ and ‘I’ll drink it myself then’ about your oldest and dearest friends.
10.00pm: Find a group of soul sisters (also all dressed in black) and have one (thousand) more for the road whilst the host pointedly washes up around you.
10.30pm: Decide that, although you have a lovely double date set up with MOD, NSF and MOD’s friend the very next week you simply must have all the attention NOW.
10.45pm: Locate phone in flower pot. Dust soil off it and send MOD this message: ‘Drink. Now. It’s now or never bitch.’ Boys really like it when you talk to them like that. It’s CHARMING.
11.00pm: Get yourself home and jump in the shower. Get out with wet hair and realise that your text to MOD didn’t send. Send it again.
11.45pm: When he replies explaining that its 11.45pm and that the last train will shortly have left his station, lie to him and say you are on your way. Give him a little shove.
11.50: throw on a dress that looks slightly like your granny’s curtains and tie your wet hair into a bun. Learn from previous mistakes and do not attempt to drunkenly do your makeup. It’s a lose lose situation.
12.30pm: Turn up at your chosen pub only to find that the whole place has been hired out for a hen do. Don’t take no for an answer from the bouncer. Insist you must be allowed in for a drink as it is basic human rights. Bouncers really love this. Show the bouncer the text from MOD that reads ‘I ran to the station, missed the last train and then my phone died. I’ve run all the way home and am charging it while I wait for a taxi to bring me to you. I will be there. Sorry’. When the bouncer relents and lets you in tell yourself it’s your ‘Rachel Mc Adams in a romantic comedy mishap’ style that won him over but know in your heart it’s that he probably feels so sorry for MOD he can’t bear to make his night any worse by denying him alcohol.
1.00am: When MOD finally arrives pretend that there you find nothing out of the ordinary about having your first date at someone else’s hen do. Be quite defiant about it. That’s sexy too.
1.45am: go to the loo and make friends with the bride to be. Convince her to make herself a wedding veil about of toilet roll and help her do this.
2.00am: arrive back at the table to find the pub is shut and MOD is holding your coat and bag and piss wine. Down it in one and tell him that you are both going back to his for more booze.
2.15am: realise that MOD hasn’t kissed you yet. Why hasn’t he kissed you yet. This is madness. Take matters into your own hands and jump on him in a deserted car park whilst he’s on the phone trying to order a taxi to get you both home.
2.45am: realise as you get back to MOD’s that you have left your purse in the pub. Bugger. Make him give you 20 pounds to get home.
3.00am: Drink another ten hundred bottles of wine and then force him to give you a ‘coupling up’ speech from Love Island. Sulk when it’s not loving enough despite the fact that he only met you about two hours ago. Proceed to showcase both your singing and dancing. You are so sexy.
5.00am: get in a taxi absolutely off your head and snore all the way home. Make the taxi driver help you out of the car. Hold his beard to keep you steady – they really like that and your uber rating will be great as a result.
11.00am: wake up in a stupor of sinking shame and awfulness to the following messages
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Mum: Did you call me last night. I think you left me a voicemail by mistake. It was very late, were you drunk?
Best friend: umm who is this boy you’ve sent me ten hundred selfies of yourself with? EXPLAIN
NSF: WHY did you go on a weird secret date with MOD? What about our double date next week? Why would you do that? It’s so annoying of you? Did anything happen?15684573.gif
And then…. this.
MOD: Did you get home ok? I had lots of fun. When can I see you again?
Ummm what?!?!
To be continued until I drive MOD crazy and he runs for the hills….

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