This is something of a ‘highlight reel’ to bring you up to date with the present situation. It’s been tricky to find time to post during may as I have had a lot of work stuff on (over weekends too) and have mostly been either knackered or seeing Jen. Since it’s probably a bad idea to write up posts whilst she’s visiting I’ve slipped rather far behind.
The first time I saw Jen as boyfriend and girlfriend I looked like I was covered in serious sex scratches. No, this wasn’t a repeat of my ill-fated date with Indy. I had been to a very moshy ragga-metal gig the night before.
She is an excellent ’concerned girlfriend’, wincing over my wounds which meant I could nonchalantly parade my war scars and feel extra manly as she hung at my arm like a medieval maiden (minus the pointy hat, those things are dangerous with the height difference between us; she could have my eye out).
We got to spend most of the day lounging around in bed with absolutely nothing to do, it was amazing. It has struck me since that that’s the first time we’ve really had the time to do it because we’re usually bolting from one place to another.
The following Friday Toast and I were busy at the Dominatrix’s birthday. Jen wasn’t actually coming but there was a telling incident involving strangers’ boobs.
Somehow the conversation got round to fake boobs and out of the table of four of us, I was the only one who had never felt fake ones. The friendy dominatrix (is that an oxymoron?) at the table decided that it would be her mission to rectify this for me as there were plenty in attendance at the party.
Now, I did think about this as it’s the sort of thing that tends not to go down well with girlfriends. I reasoned I could easily do it and just never mention it but that 2 things stopped me:
1) I don’t want to start down that road of little deceits.
2) If there were any good stories then I wanted to share them with Jen so we could giggle together.
I politely thanked the dom but said it would be bad form as I had a girlfriend. Then I text Jen to tell the amusing tale of enhanced norks offerings. The reply I got from her says a lot about why she is an awesome girlfriend:
“I say go for it, for science. But you are not allowed to do sexy feeling, more perfunctory”
Sadly I didn’t get to follow through with the offer but it’s reassuring to know that, in an emergency, I would be able to grasp firmly onto pumped ladybumps. Maybe for floatation.
The following night I had made plans to join Jen in town with her friends on the Saturday. Although she’s hung around with my chums a few times this was the first big friend test for me. Although I’d already spent the night drinking with her chums in the town where she lives, it turns out most of them were only casual acquaintences. Tonight it was the real friends.
No pressure then.
I’m usually fine so I pretty much just had avoid developing sudden explosive tourettes or backing myself into a conversational cul-de-sac about the Hitler Youth. By the time I arrived in the first pub all the friends were assembled and clearly curious to see who it was that had snared their diminutive friend.
Everyone was very friendly and played the ‘new boy’ game with me for a bit of pretending that different people were in couples, which was made all the more confusing as there was one gay couple there too. In all there were 6 friends there so I refused to let anyone move seats until I had all the names down.
The chums then took it in turns to quiz me about various tidbits of information that they know, much to Jen’s cringing. It turned out that her most recent ex was universally disliked amongst her friends for being a cock.
So far so good!
The main event of the evening was Eurovision so we all grabbed a cab to another bar which had a whole floor dedicated to the fiesta of trash pop. As I wasn’t bothered about standing shoulder to shoulder craning at screens of bad music performances I chatted to the few of Jen’s friends who remained when the others ran upstairs to see how our entry was performing against the competitors.
Towards the end of the evening as everyone was leaving, one of the chums leant over, slightly drunkenly, and whispered in my ear “well done, you’ve passed stage 1″, then gave me a knowing wink.
Very early on we had been on a date to see a filthy electro rock band. This establised the very important precedent that Jen is an excellent gig partner. Immediately after this we booked tickets to see the king of gangsta rap: Snoop Dogg.
We arrived at the venue much later than intended as Jen had a journey worthy of Ulysses on our much delayed public transport network so I was expecting to walk straight in and have to weave through the crowd to a good spot. Instead, we were faced with a queue that ran the entire length of the building, around the corner and the same length AGAIN.
When faced with so much time to kill there is only one reasonable course of action. Jen volunteered herself to run to the shop to grab some beers. THAT is the mark of an awesome girlfriend!
The gig itself was great and once again confirmed what a compatible gig partner she is. Music is a really important part of my life and being able to share that with someone who might be a potential wife is really important.
The following Sunday we had one more gig planned. Toast was supposed to come too but couldn’t.In stark contrast to Snoop Dogg, This was a Balkan Brass Battle. We were late getting there (again) so necked a couple of drinks from the off licence on the way there. The bands were amazing (I thoroughly advise you to check out both of them) and we danced our way through most of the 2 hours.
The more we drank the more I was convinced I had authentic gypsy dancing down to a tee… in retrospect I probably just looked like a spaz waving his arms around and gyrating badly but we both had a euphoric time!
Towards the end Jen needed to pop upstairs the terrace for a quick fag so I joined her for a rest from the dancing. The next bit is, sadly, a little bit of a blur but it unfolded something along these lines.
We were sat roof lined by flower filled planters and I was just filled with the joy of being out with someone who has proven to be consistently awesome, funny, tolerant, exuberant and an absolute delight to spend time with. Because I’ve rushed into things in the past I’ve been trying really hard to be measured and slow about this but that evening I felt like a freshly shaken bottle of pop and was having to try hard to contain myself.
It’s strange opening up to someone again after being burned so badly by Cupcake but I really feel like I can trust Jen. I would lend her my lightsabers and everything.
I gave her a massive hug and, with a big grin on my face, I looked into her eyes and said “I do love you!”. She hugged me back and said, with palpable relief, “Oh I love you too. I’ve loved you for weeks.” I’ve even talked told my mum!”.
I told here that I knew (about how she felt, not about her mum… her mum asked her what was wrong with me since I hadn’t been married or had any kids by the age of 3… but she is from the north), I could tell and tell that she was holding it in. I said that I didn’t want to say anything when I had been drinking as I didn’t want her to think that it was just because of the booze.
We made our way back downstairs for the last of the band and eventually left the venue hand in hand, buoyed along by amorous bliss and alcoholic exuberance.
The following morning we both had the day off work to lounge around, have sexy times and generally be work-shy hedonists.
What actually happened is I was ill. Very ill. There were lots of visits to the toilet as my body punished me, somewhat unreasonably, for the relatively meagre amount of booze I had drunk.
Jen was just really concerned and kept asking if there was anything she could do to help. Grimly I professed that there was nothing she could do until I weathered the storm unless she wanted to sit and stroke my feet for hours as that’s the only thing that seems to ease the pain.
She was just really happy to be ably to do anything to help so sat at the far end of the sofa stroking the soles of my feet as I suffered behind a pair of sunglasses, occasionally softly weeping to myself that I didn’t want to be ill any more.
I love booze, but occasionally we fall out and I always come off worse.
Eventually I stopped planning my will and improved. Jen was amazing all day and still loved me when I looked like I was suffering with cholera. This is one of the many reasons why she is awesome and why I am keeping her.
Marriage percentage: 65%. She has no problem with me feeling boobs for science, grabs beers in an emergency and will play Florence Nigtingale if I’m ill. What more could I want?
Lessons I have learned:
- Margaritas have tequila in, a LOT of tequila.
- Loudly proclaiming “VAGINA!” will not win you friends in either wine bars or restaurants.
- Being obstinate to snooty girls in a restaurant is not clever (and will also not win you friends) but it is funny.
- Sporting visible sex injuries from a previous partner is not good bedroom etiquette.
Chapter 1: The Aquarium
So, the much anticipated aquarium date. I thoroughly recommend it as a date location. The only bad thing is that I was sad there was no octopus (it was new and shy and so I was sad). Aquariums allow you to point, giggle, coo and touch a starfish. I want a starfish.
The aquarium was about 3 hours of quality date. I got Indy one of those squashed pennies where you put your money in the machine and squash it between rollers to print a design on it (never let it be said I’m a cheap date). We looked at fish, heard the word “Nemo” about 25 times in one minute when looking at clown fish. I had a couple of special moments involving a wall of mirrors and accidental use of the phrase “turtle head”.
Basically that is how a date should go. This is before the booze.
Chapter 2: The Wine Bar
Then we went to the wine bar. Having never previously stepped into one, my opinion of wine bars has been pretty low and based on the “Only Fools and Horses” episode where Del Boy falls through the bar flap. This was actually a pretty cool place with rustic wood panelled walls and a deli bar doing continental cheeses and meats and things. Every now and then staff would wander by holding a beautifully presented delicious smelling cheese based snack.
The place was HEAVING but we found a corner by the bar and drank wine. Over a bottle between us. This was the first of the “VAGINA!” episodes. This was entirly relevant in the course of the conversation but the explanation isn’t nearly as good as the effect. Indy was so amused that she egged me on to do it one more time (after the first 3) as more people passed..
Top tip: Loudly proclaiming “VAGINA!” will make anyone passing suddenly look alarmed and surprised at you.
Chapter 3: The Restaurant
We were hungry so then found a Mexican restaurant. We were told it was half hour wait for a table so hit the very crowded bar area. I was instructed to buy a jug of margarita so I bought a jug of of margarita. A very LARGE jug of margarita.
Margarita is apparently full of Tequila. I did not know this. In retrospect, I think I was confusing it with sangria. The two are VERY different.
It was then I was obstinate to the snooty girls and was shot daggers by them . Although this all seemed the correct course of action at the time, it was around this point of recounting the story that Dragonforce exclaimed “Oh my god, you’re the worst date ever!”.
So we ate our meal. I concerned nearby diners with another cry of “VAGINA!” and by magically producing fire out of my hands. Conversation got quite excited and earnest in that drunk way when you proclaim all sorts of intentions and beliefs.
Chapter 4: The Aftermath.
This is the point I probably should have gone home.
I did not go home. My earlier stated plan of ‘meeting up with friends’ was totally up the spout as I had killed my phone battery with music listening and aquarium photo taking, so I decided to take up Indy’s offer of accommodation.
Both hammered on the heady and incongruous mix of wine, tequila and Triple Sec we somehow made it by foot,tube and bus to Indy’s place. We did the cursory polite chat to Indy’s housemate and her boyfriend (which should have been mildly embarrassing but I was feeling appropriately brazen).
Now, I won’t offer this next little lesson as a tip as it is rather well known already: Copious lashings of alcohol do not make for good sexy-times. In short (and restraining from anything too graphic) there was nakedness, there was an earnest attempt at hijinks. Around this time I also realised that I was not so interested in hijinks. This made for a rather failed attempt. There were various other shenanigans before I was overcome with the NEED to sleep.
Whilst I was done for the night, karma was not done with me. I awoke at 7am feeling bad. Not morally bad or the kind of bad where you have accidentally killed the hamster and framed your younger sibling, but the kind of bad where you know you are about to be punished. I necked the collection of painkillers I had and hunkered down for the rough ride.
All I needed to do was keep them down long enough to work. If my stomach ejected them now there was no hope for me.
20 minutes later I could stave off the seemingly inevitable no longer and hit the toilet. The good news is that I managed to retain my pharma-meal. The bad news is that it was now that I saw myself in the mirror and realised that I was marked. I was marked on my back from a very recent sexual encounter and just about to head back into the now light bedroom.
At this point I feel I should probably explain myself. This blog is an account of mine and Toast’s attempt to win the wager and get married first. As such, and according to the rules, I have included all the dating related tales. However, a few days ago a very good female chum and I were drinking. We drank a little too much and ended up engaging in rather inappropriate activities. Activities which left *ahem* ‘marks’.
I reasoned that I could probably explain them as scraping on a rough wall but Dragonforce later inspected and assured me that their origin was rather obvious.
It was then that I had my second revelation. Without either of us realising, the ‘painters’ had quite seemingly begun their visit the previous night. Further evidence of this was quite obvious back in the bedroom as there was quite a lot that had beer, err, ‘painted’ (although I should say that this does not bother me at all).
With a pounding headache and rising nausea all I wanted to do was leave to get some fresh air. I settled for breathing at the open bedroom window like a dog in a car. Sullen, sorry, and quite, quite deserved.
Eventually the drugs knocked me out and I slept off the worst of the side effects. There was another brief spell of hijinks but I was feeling so rubbish that I really didn’t feel up to it.
My name is Biscuit and I should not get drunk on dates.
The thing is, I did rather enjoy spending time with Indy and we clearly egged each other on in the drinking stakes. I have realised that I am just not really feeling the chemistry I’m looking for.
Marriage percentage – 20%.
After my behaviour, I think my own marriage percentage would be substantially lower. This is not going to do my odds of winning the wager any favours at all.