This one time, at speed dating (part 1)

This is going to be somewhat of a retrospective blog about the first and only time I will ever go speed dating.

Luckily for you the events of that night were just so bloody strange that they have happily set up camp in a dusty corner of my memory, there to reside for eternity I imagine.

It was all Gustavo’s fault.

“Guys! So I’ve always wanted to give speed dating a go and seeing as we’ll all probably be in long-term committed relationships within the month (we weren’t), do you fancy going next week?”

At £10 a pop and the impending possibility of meeting a Gerard Butler lookalike (whom I would woo in four minutes with my discerning wit and goofy good looks, of course) how could I refuse?

Safe to say Gerard wasn’t there.

Gustavo, Esperanza and I walked into the room expectantly, excited by the prospect of candle light and soft acoustic guitar rhythms.

Instead we got a room that looked like the weekend hangout spot for some dodgy 90’s rapper. With a blingtastic bar, more spot lighting than was probably healthy and white leather sofas that would have looked more at home in R Kelly’s ‘Ignition’ video , I wasn’t feeling it.

Gustavo went to the bar while we girls made a b-line for the pimped out toilets, tactfully checking out any potential “action” on the way.

There was no action. Not even a smidgen of activity. There was a big fat ass nothing rocking around in the space where all the hot guys should have been.

We left the loos and went straight to the bar.

Gustavo had already allied himself with a couple of the troll men that were to be our dates for the evening…


So I ordered tequila! And a beer!

And then some more tequila.

I was so busy self-medicating for the night ahead that I completely missed the start of the dating!

I rushed back to my allocated seat to find a buttoned up Chinese guy waiting for me, already two minutes in to our four minute date.

“Oh hi, I’m so sorry! I didn’t realise we’d started. Here, I bought you a shot of tequila!”

“No thanks”

Strike one.

As far as dates go (and they were about to enter a whole new level of bizarre) this guy was pretty harmless. Granted, by the time I had sedated myself to a satisfactory level we only had two minutes left to chat, and you have to be pretty talented to make something goddamn awful in two minutes.

I can’t really remember what we talked about now. The only defining characteristic of date no.1 was his terrifying hysterical laugh that jarred uncomfortably with his very serious suit.

I made him laugh once and got scared. So I took off my funny hat for the rest of our date.


One down… fourteen to go!

So I don’t know about you but until speed date no.2 I didn’t have a clue what DKNY stood for.

“Hi, nice to meet you!  My name’s Valentina.” (You’ve probably guessed by now that I have a penchant for Spanish pseudonyms)

“I’m Karan. As in DKNY.”


Turns out DKNY stands for Donna KARAN New York.

Fine. Great! But…


This guy was just weird. Mainly because he had a silly hat on and was coked up to his eyeballs.

My four minutes with him were spent sat as far back in my seat as was physically possible, swatting away the barrage of aggressive drug fuelled flirtation that was coming my way.

Sweet baby Jesus ring the bell! Any second I could be roofied, chopped up into little pieces and stuffed into his DKNY suitcase!


So the tone of the evening was set …

I was in for an evening of atrocious flirting attempts the likes of which the world has never seen, including:

  1. A guy whose personal space boundaries left much to be desired. (He thought 3cm was an appropriate distance between our faces and he let his head RICOCHET INTO MY LAP when he laughed!!!)
  2. A guy who basically shouted at me for four minutes
  3. A guy who was practically trembling with pent-up sexual frustration

But more of that in part two…

This one time, at speed dating (part 1)

It’s my toothpaste and I’ll squeeze if I want to

For the last couple of weeks I have noticed something odd going on with my toothpaste.

Now I know we all have our little OCD tendencies (I HAVE TO shake out my duvet before I crawl in to bed at night otherwise the spider that is lurking under there is definitely going to bite my ankles) but the upkeep of my toothpaste tube has never been one of them.

That is why over the last week or so I have seriously started to doubt my own sanity.

Every time I go to brush my teeth (morning, night or after a particularly garlicky kebab) I’ve found my toothpaste tube in a constant state of immaculateness. It’s been squeezed to perfection so that all residual toothpaste now resides in the top quarter of the tube.

Handy, yes…

But my handy work? Oh hell no!

Has the tooth fairy upped her hours? Is she now a slave to overtime like the rest of us – her out of hours spent whizzing around my bathroom inspecting my toothpaste upkeep?

I decided to experiment.

I began to purposefully screw up the tube into a twisted unmanageable mess. I left the cap off. I left it balanced precariously on the side of the sink. I even went as far as smearing the outside with its own precious contents so that that pesky little fairy would get covered in the stuff and maybe think twice next time about TOUCHING MY THINGS!

But still, every morning and every night there it would be. Smoothed out, cap on and placed neatly back in its holder next to my toothbrush.

I asked one of my housemates.

“Gustavo, have you been using my toothpaste? I mean I don’t mind, I’m just getting freaked out ‘cause every time I go to use it it’s been squeezed really frickin’ neatly from the bottom and I’m not the one doing it. I just don’t care that much about toothpaste economy.”

Turns out, the same thing had been happening with his toothpaste!


Now, I’m not delusional. I don’t actually think there is a toothpaste fairy in my bathroom tidying up my stuff. So when Gustavo told me the same thing was happening to him the only explanation was that it was the doing of our other housemate, Esperanza (…ok, these pseudonyms are getting rather ridiculous now.)

This leaves me just a little bit confused. Is this an act of kindness or an act of control? Should I be thankful or threatened?

Do I let her know, that I know?

Esperanza, I know what you’re doing. KEEP YOUR GRUBBY MITTS OFF MY TOOTH CARE PRODUCTS, PUNK!…  (Oh crap, why is my assertive voice manifesting itself as a member of the cast of Annie?)

Or maybe she already knows that I know? She did straighten out the tube even after my creative attempt to make it as messy as possible…Is her maintenance of my toothpaste tube an act of defiance against my initial act of defiance?


Now I’m worried about what comes next. What if she sees me pair my socks one time and doesn’t like the way I do it. Is she going to go in to my room, sort through my underwear drawer and pair them again, her way!?

Ooo I dare you!

You’ll get a shock if you go in there 😉

It’s my toothpaste and I’ll squeeze if I want to