Tag Archives: debauchery

>For Amy (aka ‘Return of the Buddies’)

>I have a feeling I’m going to regret this later.

Writing this, I mean. This will come back to haunt me. I can feel it. Like that creepy ghost-seeing pre-adolescent wanker in Sixth Sense. This blog post will be my dead people.

But.

But I was challenged to write it. Bullied into it. Forced against my will. Etc.

Well, “challenged” (and by extention “bullied” and “forced”) may be a little strong. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Amy “suggested” I should write about this because it would be funny. And you never know… she might have a point. It could turn out to be funny. If you aren’t me, I mean.

So.

Fine peoples who have been loyal readers (read: suckas!) of my blog will have to bare with me for a moment while I get the new kids up to speed. Because there are some truths you should know about me before we go ahead with my most recent story of debauchery…

1. Before I got to London I had never gone on a ‘date’ date. I’ve had boyfriends (at least two of them!) and the occasional short-term recreational partner (read: one night stands)… but I hadn’t been on a ‘date’ date. I had just hooked up with friends or random hot dudes on the dance floor.

2. I was 31 when I got to London which makes point 1 vaguely pathetic.

3. When I got to London, I knew only one person and he wasn’t even in the city when I arrived. To say the least, I didn’t have many friends. I wanted to meet more people (read: boys), so I signed up to match.com.

4. It was a fucking debacle. Please see my previous blog entry about Buddy1 (The Disaster) and Buddy2 (The Defect).

5. I gave up on online dating just a few dates after trying it out. See point 4 for more details.

And so there I was. Still roaringly single, but fed up with the online dating scene. Which is a shame, because there was no-one at work worth starting a relationship with (Caveat: assuming that “relationship” connotes something that doesn’t end the next day with me saying something along the lines of “You don’t need me to walk you to the door, do you? There’s a good lad.”) My friends have been UTTER CRAP (yah, I’m talking to you!) about having a peripheral herd of hot single guys that they can set me up with. CRAP.

Craptacular, actually.  So I gave up dating.

But then it was suggested that I try Guardian Soulmates. It was really sold to me. It sounded like I could fill out a form and find prince fucking charming with little more than a snap of my damned fingers.

The actual experience was somewhat less efficient and effective than advertised.

I ended up going out with a couple of guys from that site but didn’t bother to blog about it. I could have. And it would have been very amusing for y’all, I’m sure. BECAUSE MY PAIN MAKES YOU HAPPY. I have proof of this. Your reactions to my experiences in Hell (read: Aurghville) prove how happy my misery makes you. Jerks.

So why didn’t I write about those guys? Well, two of them “friended me” on the Book o’ Faceness, and I fear it is all too easy to find my blog from there (fuck you, Facebook, with your easy connections and shit) and I really have no desire to publicly humiliate them. For now.

So I’ll sum up my Guardian Experience in a short, concise list:

1. One was too distant and self-centred
2. One didn’t even get past the first date
3. One was too close and Jodi-centred

::SIDE NOTE::

Too distant officially wins over clingy. It isn’t that I like assholes, but I do like the use of my arms when I’m walking. Further, I don’t think hard-to-get is attractive. But seriously, STOP TOUCHING ME ALL THE FUCKING TIME. JUST STOP. Thank you.

::END RANTY SIDE NOTE::

And once I was through with those three boys I thought to myself, “Fuck online dating. I give up.” Again.

Seriously, fuck you, internet. You are great for books and shoes and stuff, but CRAP at meaningful relationships. Stop pretending you can help with this, you bastard.

But then a friend (who’s a good looking and awesome guy) said that he was using OKCupid. Which is free. So I thought… got nothing to lose, really. So I signed up. Because I’m dumb like that.

And it has been a hilarious experience for me. I may have individual stories later (like one poor bastard that I’m not going to meet… most unbelievably boring IM conversation in the history of the universe) but for now I’ll leave it like this:

I’ve managed to go on seven first dates in just under two weeks.

First, this is easy to do. I’m a girl and boys on the internet are easy to attract (I have all my limbs). I’ve been trying (and this is hard for me) to not be Judgy McJudgerson and so if they aren’t horrifyingly stupid and/or just plain terrifying when they write to me, I’ll agree to meet with them. Always in public, mommies, I promise. The Captain always plays safely with others.

So I’ve met a bunch of them. And so far… I haven’t had the desire to go on a second date with any of them. I do have a few more first dates lined up over the next week or so… and now I’m wondering how many I’m going to have to go on before I find someone worth seeing twice.

The problem is mostly that I’m picky. I come home and Tyran (my flatmate) says, “How was your date?”, to which I have actually answered things like:

1. He had silly facial hair.
2. He has small hands.
3. He smells like soap.
4. He was from the Midlands.

I’m turning into a girl Seinfeld (see Wikipedia for what I’m talking about – my favourite is “because she had man hands”). Not pre-judging these guys (and, let’s be honest here, the pure abundance of them) is making me even pickier about the guys I want to spend time with. And I am already fairly fucking picky.

But in the meantime, I’m having fun. I’ve been to the zoo, to new pubs and restaurants, and to the movies. I’m going to a play next week and a museum. I’m seeing new parts of London. I get to tell the same stories OVER and OVER and OVER again. And because it is with a new person each time… they aren’t getting bored of them (or that’s what I tell myself). FUN.

Truth is, there are future blog posts about this brewing in my evil little brain. I just haven’t been writing all along because a) Amy just recently goaded me into doing it and b) so far the dates have mostly been uneventful and even dull. But… it’s me. So you know that dull and uneventful can’t possibly last. And then… let the games begin.

>Fun times on Hooker Hill

>

I’m not going to save any money (or my liver) if I keep this shite up. Seriously.

Friday

At least I didn’t swear that I wouldn’t go out Friday. Because that would have been a lie. Went to Joe and Orla’s place, had some beers, and headed to the Beer Cabin. It’s a friendly little place with this weird mural of an old dude sitting on a porch of his cabin in the woods (in his socks), holding a Cass Beer and miming that he is shooting a gun. A white dude. I DON’T KNOW WHY. But it was fun, with a lot of good conversation and a whole load of beers. All-in-all, a good night. Most excitedly, we found out on Friday night that there is a Subway coming a block away from the school. WHOOHOO!

::SIDE NOTE::

Orla, this one is for you, as per Merriam-Webster:

One entry found for bestiality.

Main Entry: bes·ti·al·i·ty
Pronunciation: "bes-chE-'a-l&-tE, "besh-, "bEs-, "bEsh-
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural -ties
1 : the condition or status of a lower animal
2 : display or gratification of bestial traits or impulses
3 : sexual relations between a human being and a lower animal

::END SIDE NOTE::

Saturday

Headed into Seoul in the AM (but not TOO AM, if you get what I mean) to do some shopping and endure some self-inflicted pain with Andy. We went to the Coex first to have a bikini wax done. Although I have had this done many times in Canada, I was nervous about having it done in Korea, as Koreans in general don’t have much hair. So what the hell do they know about removing it?? It wasn’t really any better or worse. It’s a beautiful, universal fact: having hairs ripped out by the root from your pubic area is god-damned uncomfortable no matter where in the world you might dwell. Ouch!

After that, we headed over to the Technomart (didn’t I say it was dangerous that I was brought there in the first place?!? Didn’t I?) so I could get my Nano. And wouldn’t you know… the 4GB black ones were all sold out! Fuckerpants! Looks like Colin will get his before me. But, you know what a trooper I am… I ordered mine online to be shipped to my moms. Who can send it to me. Hooray! This way I could have them engrave “i caught you a delicious bass” on the back for free. If you don’t know what that refers to, you probably didn’t watch the funniest movie to come out in years enough times. Go watch it again.

In order to make up for not spending too much on an Apple product, I bought some more movies and socks. Not Techno-socks, but they are still cool. Then to Itaewon, where we ran into Orla (small country, you know) and went to Hanan Market. Got more dill pickles. Yummy!

::SIDE NOTE::

Regarding the weather this week: It is fucking cold.

::END SIDE NOTE::

After jaunting home for a quick change of clothes, we headed out for (another) night on the town. Long story made short: the girls and boys were each having their own night out. The boys were supposed to be going… somewhere, but the plan fell through. So, they ended up going to Itaewon, same as the girls. But they weren’t allowed (nor did they want to) come with us. They were probably 2 buses behind us. Crazy. Anyhoo, the girls all went to The Hollywood Grill, had some pitchers, then headed up Hooker Hill.

Yes, moms. Hooker Hill.

Andy kept telling us about a bar up there called “Polly’s Kettle” that was supposed to be good times. After ascertaining that she was, in fact, serious about dragging us up Hooker Hill, we relented and went with (I make it sound like she twisted our arms. We were on our way to drunk already by this point. The conversation probably went like this: “We could go to Polly’s Kettle on Hooker Hill…” “Okay.”) It was just a bar, but we had tons of fun dancing and drinking beers. While we were on our way up, we said that we would have to slaughter the boys if we caught them on Hooker Hill. They showed up in Polly’s Kettle not too long after us. Stupid boys. They didn’t stay as long as we did (they weren’t busy shaking it on the dance floor). After it got super-late, we headed back to Hollywood Grill, drank some more beers. Then ate some chicken skewers and headed home.

Sunday

Recovery.

::SIDE NOTE::

Honestly, after Friday and Saturday, what the hell did you think I was going to do Sunday??

::END SIDE NOTE::

Multiple France vs. the bidet


I swear I have permission from Frances to tell the funniest story I have heard in a long time. PERMISSION TO TELL THE WORLD. I’m giggling right now… this is something that doesn’t happen to people you know. Unless you know Frances.

Tonight Frances and I skipped the gym and headed to Lotte Mart. We concurred that our first order of business was to stop and use the toilets. Frances mentioned that the bathrooms there were nice (trust me, not all the bathrooms in Korea are nice, so this is a big deal. Some of them are bad enough that I would rather pee my pants. No, really.) and I asked if she had been to the ones in the new E-Mart. She had.

You need to know that the toilets in the E-Mart are equipped with bidets. Now, I’ve never used one before coming to Korea either, and it was slightly intimidating, because the damned thing is in Korean. But, I gave it a try because… well, there are some things you should try before you die. Having water squirted on my bum in the supermarket bathroom was apparently on my list of things to try. Try to picture the control panel for this bidet: there are about six buttons on this wee box attached to the side of the toilet, and it is all in Korean. Frances didn’t realize that it was a control panel for a bidet. She thought it was how you flushed the toilet.

Before you can start laughing (I am), this gets better. Because Frances was already standing up when she tried the buttons. (Now I really am laughing). She pushed one, and it didn’t seem to do anything. So she pushed another one, and she says “this weird little nozzle poked out from under the rim”. So Frances leaned in closer to see what it was.

Okay, wait a minute… I have to get control of myself.

Okay, I’m okay… nope.

Okay. I’m okay. I can finish this without laughing now…

So of course the damned thing starts spraying water (cold water, she tells me) and Frances panics. She backs up and the water pressure is good enough that it was hitting the stall door. She was crammed into the wrong corner, and got hit again when she had to unlock the door to escape. Then, of course, you now have to picture the toilet spraying water right out of the bathroom stall and hitting the opposite wall.

Oh no… here I go again. I gave myself the giggles.

I’m okay.

Poor Frances! She finally escaped the bidet and had to try and dry herself off using the hand drier. At the supermarket.

Oh Frances: thank you so much for this story! I will treasure it forever…