Scarlett Dates The…….

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While Bruno serenaded my ears about being ‘Chunky’ as a smirk crossed my lips at the song title, I scrolled through the previously logged and blogged post on dating adventures, experiences and the disasters that often are a result when it comes to dating.

Remembering the exact moment of where and when these posts had been written, these babies were often a result of another Single Saturday with Lady Blacksnot III.

Our Single Saturday nights would start with a friendly visit to our local goldmine of a sex store and when not browsing the wide range of vibrators and dildos and our porn preferences, we would get into a heated and heavy discussion with our lovely store hostess on all forms of anal play. Whilst browsing the options of flavoured non-latex lube and different condom sizes available for your purchase, Lady Blacksnot III and myself would begin to weave the delicious stories of our latest dates.

Least to say when it came to the weekend featuring lethal punch and a 3 day hangover that couldn’t be cured by anything but a bullet, our now mutual Sexy Hostess, discovered far more than what was normally discussed during our visiting hours on said Single Saturday.

After visiting our friend and discovering I preferred women with natural breasts over those that were proudly displayed bulging over Posh’s corset in the late 90’s, LBS and I would conclude our Single Saturday by talking about the normal things that plagued our normal adult life. Until the chocolate vodka cake would explode into our stomachs and we’d find ourselves spilling soulful secrets and sexual fantasies alongside whatever filled my cup at the time.

Having converted from our glassware at dinner to our ever classy green plastic wine glasses, I found myself in the same position as any other twenty-something year old woman who has that one person you confess your secrets to.

The filter between my brain and mouth had been removed long ago, somewhere between my third and fifth refilling of my wine glass, I grasped LBS’ tiny hand in mine and started drunkenly confessing of my need to buy a vibrator. Since I was facing the Sahara Desert that  had once resembled my vagina and a somewhat quick reintroduction to having a sex life.

While thoughts raced sluggishly through our minds and we sat there in her bed with the duvet pulled across our laps while leaning against the headboard, Lady Blacksnot encouraged me to finish whatever remained in my wine glass.

As she refilled my cup, she mentioned the various dicks, who had been creating waves in her various sized and shaped dating pools. But more importantly as if though sensing I was contemplating becoming a nun who got none, her parting words that’d set any thoroughly depressed woman currently grieving the loss of peen straight were, “men are bastards and they simply don’t wish to address something when its good. Instead, they run from it because it’s not something they’re used to.”

By agreeing to her statement, I didn’t think about where I had initially gone wrong as I felt like I didn’t have a playing hand in this particular game of Texas Hold’em.

Thinking about my upcoming opportunities with my relatively small dating pool, LBS nudged me with her shoulder and asked me how my date with Brisbane’s Business man had gone the week before. With flashback images racing through my head as the scene unfolded before me like it was a stun grenade of some sort, I glanced at her from over my shoulder and asked,  “Where do I begin?”

“Well like any story you tell, you clearly start at the beginning of the date,” LBS stated, before casually sipping from her wine glass while looking at me over the rim. “Start from after you sent me the message saying he’d arrived.”

Although the word finally had been deliberately left off the end of the sentence, I placed my wine glass back onto the ground beside the bed and get comfortable as it was a pretty darn interesting story.

“As you know, I sent you a message saying how he had wanted to extend the date to a later time as ‘something‘ had come up.” I said, using air quotation marks like I was fifteen again and relaying a message from a boy to a friend.

“Next minute while I was about in the midst of writing a message saying that I had something pop up and I’d have to decline this date for another time, I got a text saying that it had been cancelled and he’d be available at the original time”.

No longer against the headboard with her glass between her thighs but rather, was leaning towards me; I watched as Lady Blacksnot III raised an eyebrow.

“How convenient’.

I told LBS my thoughts on the matter and how convenient it had been all of a sudden and I informed her of how we had greeted one another at the place where I had graduated college from before popping over the road to grab a drink.

As I browsed the list of what was available and seeing once again that another pub didn’t do martini’s, I settled for a corona and a chair next the exit.With post introductions and pleasantries that exceeded beyond “how was work” while trying to establish a ground where we mutually both stood, I thanked the waitress who delivered my much needed beer.

Whilst trying to not appear like I was gulping down my beer like it was fine wine that had been aged for a hundred years and there was going to be an escape plan put into use at any given moment. Before I knew it, my moment of escape had come and gone before I realised when I was asked straight off the bat, “How and why do you write as a blogger because it must be about the monetary value for you, correct?”

I lifted an eyebrow in question while my brain tried to decipher the emotional context behind the suddenly abrupt question.

Knowing full well that the question was meant to be deliberately abrupt and silently disagreeing with something that is a passion of mine because it went against his ethical framework of mind. As I opted to use common sense and not rip this delightful person to shreds within the first 15 minutes of my date, I casually took a sip of beer before staring at them and returned my bottle back to its original position.

“I wanted something visual. My blog was started 5 years ago when I began college and wanted to write about experiences and personal development.” I said, pausing. “Why did you feel like it was necessary for you to go into finance and business marketing?”

Thus began the thirty minute tennis match between this person and myself as we dealt and backhanded questions to one another as soon as they entered our minds like we were Serena Williams versus Andy Murray.

Having defended my right to obtain and actively use social media as a form of understanding the power and use of technology for both personal and professional growth and development, I was told that social media was and still is the enemy of the 21st century.

Always been one for fascinating specimens and trying to understand how people with degrees can be absolute wankers or completely bonkers in the head, I had agreed to moving on to dinner because he was a self-absorbed specimen. It was during this time of my Chicken Thai Curry with rice being placed in front of me and the waitress walking away, I was informed of how I should listen to a Ted-Talk (isn’t this a form of social media?) on how it captivates your brain into being a hostage.

While wondering if the floating piece of chilli in my curry would be worth a hospital emergency after rubbing it into my corneas to get out of this date, I was in the process of dipping my loaded chopstick that contained rice into my curry when I felt the other couple who happened to be sitting next to us, staring unashamedly.

I put down my chopsticks and while munching on my mouthful of curry coated rice, I looked at the couple who’d been staring and noticed that the man’s mouth had opened so I could see partially chewed food. Before turning my gaze towards this man’s date and noticed the woman looked at my date with disgust on her face.

Smiling at them apologetically as my date continued to go on about social media and what a waste of brain cells I seemed to be losing on a daily basis, I decided in that moment that my date had gone from being awkward to down-right shit awful. And that, it was time for me to leave this circus act of a date.

He signed the bill like a somewhat gentleman he thought he was before my date and I set off to cross the road in an awkward silence.  After thanking him for a nice evening before wishing him well on the sale of his apartment, because I’m nice like that even if I do dislike you as a person, I dodged the hug offered and settled for a firm ‘don’t f*ck with me’ handshake.

With the parting words of, “we should do this again” fluttered in the air like discarded confetti, I smiled meekly and pivoted on a heel before walking into the evening.

“Okay, so when is your next date?” LBS asked before shoving a small amount of chocolate into her mouth.

“There isn’t going to be one”.

With a delicate hand patted her chest after a near choking experience, LBS raised an eyebrow and said, “Oh. It was that bad of a date was it?”

“No,” I replied while picking out the brown m&ms before popping them into my mouth. “At least with Gelato Boy, you got an excuse for him being rude.”

That was how I came about having a date with ‘The Ghoster’ from The World’s Most Racist Gay Cop date. It can be put to the record that it’s been a month and still no word from him.

Not that I’m crying into my pillows at night or contemplating murder because clearly, he can’t stand the thought of social media being a potential for breaking up and my need for world dominance as I clearly am not going to be a little 50’s housewife like he expected.

Until next time,

~S xo

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