visually challenged raisin

Well, my mass blind date didnt go according to plan exactly, but was a very interesting evening nonetheless.

Half thinking it was a scam a la Shooting Fish, i wandered up Cleveland st looking for no:100. I gaped in khaki horror at the gap between numbers 99 and 103. A derelict building for let. Scam, SCAM, SCRAM! I thought disheartedly, before realising that 100 is actually an even number and was on the other side of the street.

The premise was that after filling in and emailing an intimate questionaire on life, love and blushes, my perfect match at the party of 100 strangers would be sat opposite me at the table. The room was full of lovely touchy feely folk, any one of whome would have made me a happy camper for the evening, and i even had considered the possibility that my date may be male, as no such eliminating questions were asked!

HOWEVER. The girl opposite me was an 18 year old A- level student, who sat next to her friend and talked to her all night, both ignoring their blind dates. Its not the age i minded, or the fact she was quiet. But to be queit, dull AND rude is inexcusable. Worse still she was the spitting image of Celine Dion, and everytime she flashed her side profile i ducked for cover in case her Quebecian missile silo of a nose poked me in the eye. How could Celine Dion be my perfect match??

Fortunately i had a couple of good blokes next to me to talk to. One of who was a copywriter at Bates Dorland advertising and actually had a job interview at my EHS a while back! He has also agreed to go on a blind date with Emma, as they had sort of met before but he was so off his face he cant remember too well.

I was relieved when Celine lost her ring and i was able to fake looking for it under the table in a bid to avoid having to see her or try in vain to make converstaion with her. To assist me in my search i took the candlestick holder under with me and sat crossed leg beneath the diners. It was strangely seductive being under the banquet table by candlelight, looking at all the shiny shoes and stockinged toes in the flicker of the flames. But paranoia about the plastic table cloth and the slight aroma of singeing made me return to my seat.

It was then i discoverd my real date for the evening was at the other end of the table. The poisoned witch that was Celine had switched seating labels with my true date so she could sit with her dead pan fried! The bloke next to me and i got up in disgust and moved our chairs to the other end of the table, abandoning the anti dates.

My real date was a real funny, spanish looking girl called Cat Miles Something. With a name like that she had to be a winner. Our first conversation was twisted. She managed to almost convince me she used to be a man, and her neckscarve was actually covering up her adams apple. I'm not a gullable person but not wanting to offend her either way, sort of went along with the joke. She even revealed to me that she has on ocassion used mens urinals, to unfortunate results. While we didnt fall in love over our kebabs or anything had a laugh and I gave her my email address so I'll hopefully catch her on the keys.

The embarassing answers fron the questionairre were then used as a parlour game..."find the person who did X", great for meeting even more people. But embarassing for the girl who had to look 99 people in the eyes after they all found out she once let out a series of fanny (uk) farts in a business meeting! She promptly went home.

So there, a sort of testiment to the effectiveness of total blind dates, and further reinforcement to the long standing fact that Celine Dion and all visually derived persons thereof are beeeeeeatch whores from hell!



The eve of the visually impaired sultana Well, my mass blind date didnt go according to plan exactly, but was a very interesting evening nonetheless. Half thinking it was a scam a la Shooting Fish, i wandered up Cleveland st looking for no:100. I gaped in khaki horror at the gap between numbers 99 and 103. A derelict building for let. Scam, SCAM, SCRAM! I thought disheartedly, before realising that 100 is actually an even number and was on the other side of the street. The premise was that after filling in and emailing an intimate questionaire on life, love and blushes, my perfect match at the party of 100 strangers would be sat opposite me at the table. The room was full of lovely touchy feely folk, any one of whome would have made me a happy camper for the evening, and i even had considered the possibility that my date may be male, as no such eliminating questions were asked! HOWEVER. The girl opposite me was an 18 year old A- level student, who sat next to her friend and talked to her all night, both ignoring their blind dates. Its not the age i minded, or the fact she was quiet. But to be queit, dull AND rude is inexcusable. Worse still she was the spitting image of Celine Dion, and everytime she flashed her side profile i ducked for cover in case her Quebecian missile silo of a nose poked me in the eye. How could Celine Dion be my perfect match?? Fortunately i had a couple of good blokes next to me to talk to. One of who was a copywriter at Bates Dorland advertising and actually had a job interview at my EHS a while back! He has also agreed to go on a blind date with Emma, as they had sort of met before but he was so off his face he cant remember too well. I was relieved when Celine lost her ring and i was able to fake looking for it under the table in a bid to avoid having to see her or try in vain to make converstaion with her. To assist me in my search i took the candlestick holder under with me and sat crossed leg beneath the diners. It was strangely seductive being under the banquet table by candlelight, looking at all the shiny shoes and stockinged toes in the flicker of the flames. But paranoia about the plastic table cloth and the slight aroma of singeing made me return to my seat. It was then i discoverd my real date for the evening was at the other end of the table. The poisoned witch that was Celine had switched seating labels with my true date so she could sit with her dead pan fried! The bloke next to me and i got up in disgust and moved our chairs to the other end of the table, abandoning the anti dates. My real date was a real funny, spanish looking girl called Cat Miles Something. With a name like that she had to be a winner. Our first conversation was twisted. She managed to almost convince me she used to be a man, and her neckscarve was actually covering up her adams apple. I'm not a gullable person but not wanting to offend her either way, sort of went along with the joke. She even revealed to me that she has on ocassion used mens urinals, to unfortunate results. While we didnt fall in love over our kebabs or anything had a laugh and I gave her my email address so I'll hopefully catch her on the keys. The embarassing answers fron the questionairre were then used as a parlour game..."find the person who did X", great for meeting even more people. But embarassing for the girl who had to look 99 people in the eyes after they all found out she once let out a series of fanny (uk) farts in a business meeting! She promptly went home. So there, a sort of testiment to the effectiveness of total blind dates, and further reinforcement to the long standing fact that Celine Dion and all visually derived persons thereof are beeeeeeatch whores from hell!

Back Slice Menu Main Menu