In October 2008 I decided I really wanted to work at Sanity Music, so I got a part time job there. In November 2008 I decided I could think of nothing worse than another shift at the hell hole that was Sanity Tuggeranong and I quit. During my brief employment stint I met a guy who I’m part crediting for the festival crowd hating path I now find myself mincing along.

I vividly remember, while completing one of the three shifts I turned up for, this guy coming into the store and asking for a CD.  He was about 20 (ish), with brown hair, t-shirt tan lines and he was wearing a baggy fluro singlet, cut off shorts, chewing gum and just being an all round hektik kunt in the Hyperdome. As I stood, pretending to put CDs in alphabetical order, he approaches and greets me with “Sup? Went to Foreshore festival last week and I heard this sick song, it like went wiillldddd stttrraawwwbeeeeirrreesss…wild STRAWbeerrieess! SO fuckin sick man, who’s it by??”

I immediately shudder, fuck I hate that song….

ME: “Oh, PNAU?”

The words were hardly out of my mouth when the guy, whom I now recognize as a classic HCFG, yells at me “PNAU! That’s it!! PNAU made the rain come at Foreshore!! Woot! Woot!” and then starts dancing around, singing “Wiillddd Sttrrawwwbeerriiesss!”

Um. What the fuck. There it was; a full time, HCFG in the flesh, wiggling around like a worm on a hook, loving himself absolutely sick. What an idiot.

This guy is an absolutely perfect example of a HCFG, allow me to elaborate….

 
So, as the name so cryptically suggests, HCFG’s do not muck around when it comes to music festivals. Serious as cancer, committed to the cause, first through the gates and last to leave, this group will attend any event provided it’s outside, they can wear fluro and there’s a chance PNAU might show up.
 
Distinguishing features of this crowd include brightly coloured clothing, whistles, big white sunglasses and crusty, old bands dating back to 2000 still on their wrist. It’s all a numbers game for this crowd, you can count on it.
 
They know everything about music festivals and spend the day talking about how many years they’ve been going to festivals, how many festivals they are doing this year and how many of the same festival they’ve been too….

“Man, last year I did Good Vibes in Sydney, Melbourne and the Goldie!! Why? I’m a sick ccccuunntttttt!”
 
The number of drinks consumed… “I’ve had 20 Smirnoff Ice cans!!!” *smashes can on forehead*
 
Number of drugs taken… “Man, I like double dumped and I started peakkkinnggggg during The Stafford Brother’s set” *said while sitting outside the St John’s Ambulance tent on a drip*
 
Number of friends they have… “Yeah, I’m here with like 20 people, I know like everyone but!! I’m going to get absolutely smashed! Ogga Booga!!  *sprints towards the stage wearing Havanas and denim cut offs*

20 tattoos
3 neck chains
10 brain cells….

The list goes on.
 
 
Unfortunately this group is as much a part of a music festival as a dirty portaloo with no toot roll and you can always rely on a HCFG to start a “Woot! Woot!”, bring a whistle, have a complete lack of spatialawareness and end up leaving the festival in an ambulance yet still make it to the after party.
 
Likes; Trent from Punchy, being a sick cunt, fluro, chucking sickies, everything electro and of course fuckin music festivals.

I’m one “Woot! Woot!” away from going ‘totes’ postal. 

Here’s how I feel about festivals; I don’t like them. I’ve been to like 3 in my life and every time, as I’m standing amongst the sea of sweaty youths, blocking my ears as they blow whistles and yell out “One.. two…WOOT WOOT!!” I think to myself “never again.” So then why when a festival line up is released do I instantly text my sister and say “Dood, Park Life? Get Tix!”

Maybe I’m excited just to know the artists on the line up because really, there’s nothing more satisfying then rattling off every featured artist - along with their most famous song and last tour date - to all your friends. Now if ya wouldn’t mind, I’m trying to build street cred….

“The Streets are playing! You know THE. STREETS?! They did that ‘Fit but you know it’ song?? No?! Well, they haven’t been to Australia for like 5 years, ya jist!!” I’m just SUCH a musio!

God, who cares? Well at the time I certainly do and I totally, sorry “totes”, get caught up in the excitement. Who’s gettin tix? When do they go on sale? Yay, I love music festivals!! Well no, I really don’t and, as the day draws closer, I find myself reconsidering my commitment and my former unbridled enthusiasm is now no where to be seen. Not only have I forgotten who’s playing, I’m completely under whelmed second time I browse the artist list. Ugh, is the same line up?? A few mere months earlier I was confessing my undying love for Example and yet now I find myself thinking ““Well that Kick Starts song is alright…I guess.” And it’s not just the line up, memories of festivals past are slowly making their way to the front of my mind and I start remembering just how much waiting is involved throughout the lloooonnnggggg day.

I’ll have to wait to get in, wait while my bag is searched, and wait for an hour to get one over priced drink served in a plastic cup. I’ll have to wait for the port-a-loo (ewww) and then wait to hear the only band I sorta like play the only song I kinda know. It’s all starting to seem a bit much for a white woman who hates waiting and I haven’t even started thinking about the other issue I’m going to be forced to deal with; the people.

Ah yes, the people. Certain types of people go to music festivals, certain types which can easily be grouped together by sweeping generalizations, observe!

Every person at a music festival falls into one of the following four categories:

The “Hard Core” Festival- Goer

The “Young, Dumb and Drunk –off- one- Drink” Youth

The “Hipster” Hippie

The “Elitist” Musio

Trust me, I’ve been to three festivals, I know what I’m talking about. I’ll explore these four categories in more detail over the coming weeks, but until then….One..two.. Woot! Woot!

No.

Stop.

Shut up.

You’re a pleb.

I consider myself a fairly, nay, an extremely honest person. I’m the worst liar in the world (unless I’m kidding myself about my how I look in a bikini) and I can’t stand people who lie; “liars” as they are commonly known… shit.me.to.tears. So, I’m sure you can understand the distress and cognitive dissonance I experienced when I found myself out right lying recently, unashamedly too I might add. My search for answers, understanding and self acceptance has lead me to the conclusion that everyone lies about this same thing at some stage and it might just be part of getting *shudder* older.

See, I’ve never lied about my age, actually wait, I have, but I’ve never lied about being younger than I actually am, never. Older? Sure!! I busted some of my best podium moves when I was still 16,

‘Of course I’m 18, see look! Here’s my ID!’

I’d rock out for hours pretending to be an ‘overeager’; a vodka raspberry in one hand and a lolly pop in the other, dancing the night away to the infectious beats of Mambo #5 – don’t mind me. But, until just a few weeks ago, I’ve never lied about being younger, why would I?

Ok, well here’s why I would…

I was in New York on a Girls trip, and we’d just had a very civilised late lunch at some place that was in Sex and the City – don’t ask me what it’s called, I was too hung over to go on the tour. When you’ve had 2 hours sleep, the idea of sitting on a bus full of screaming women while nursing jet lag and a massive hangover was all just a bit too much for me. Anyway, we followed lunch with a few cocktails and before I knew it, it was 10pm…whoo hooo! Now, bit more information, I was flying out to San Fran at 11am the next day so the sensible thing for me to do at this point would be to go home, pack and be up bright and early, ready for my next adventure. Makes perfect sense, right? So of course, I didn’t do it. It’s my last night in New York after all!!

Braving the torrential rain, one of my besties and I run from awning to awning on the street, squealing like banshees as we get absolutely drenched. We stop under one awning and I start talking to the door man about where two sophisticated ladies (ugh or us) should go on a Monday night in New York. He writes the name of a club on his card and tells us to show it to the bouncers when we get there. Ok, you’re the boss! We arrive at the club – The Mean Fiddler – and skip the huge cue, thank you random door man!! We head for the toilets and I’m wrapped to the back teeth to see my hair looks like I’ve licked a light switch and my so carefully applied eye makeup is now making it’s a wobbly trail down my cheeks – Argh!

After a quick ‘spruce up’, we are at the bar, and it’s the first chance I’ve had to look around at the crowd. Ugh, something’s weird in here but I can’t quite put my finger on it… Oh wait, yes I can, I’m the oldest person here by about 10 years, oh my god. The penny finally drops as I look around  at a sea of fresh faced, sunburnt, drunkin youths, wearing miniskirts and t-shirts, drinking slushie drinks out of novelty straws, girls grinding up against guys legs… dear lord. As two boys stand next to me at the bar counting $1 bills, I’m looking at my reflection in the bar mirror, counting the frickin crows feet around my eyes. I’m far too old to be in here, what am I going to do? I turn to my friend, take a deep breath and say “Dood, if anyone fuckin asks, I’m 23.” She agrees and elects to be 24, ok, works for me! Now, even though I am against lying, there is something extremely liberating about just changing your age, who’s gonna know?!

All of a sudden, I feel completely at ease, yes, I’m meant to be here, I’m only 23 after all!! I order us 6 shots to celebrate our new found youth and as a cute, young boy minces past, I chuck two his way “Here ya go, dood!” “Oh wow, thanks yeah.” Amazing. A gorgeous, naive, 21 year old boy, fresh off the boat from Birmingham and it’s totally not weird if I “snog” him, there’s only two years between us after all! But was the age gap (unbeknownst to him)    going to be an issue in our budding nightclub romance? Well, it was, but only on two occasions:

The first was when he tried to drag me on the dance floor for Lady GaGa’s “Let’s Dance” – pfft, let’s not.

“Come on Ness, I’m going to the dance floor!”

“Good for you, I’m going to the bar.”

And the second occasion, when he tried to drag me back to his place:

“Your place? Maybe…. where are you staying?”

“Oh just around the corner, it’s a hostel but it’s reall..”

“Hostel? Absolutely not! Haven’t you ever seen that scary film? The one where all those young people get murdered? You know….Scream? That’s a pretty good film, don’t you reckon? Oh yeah and Hostels are gross, I’m not going there….”

I won’t bore you with details (which includes a mad dash to the airport the next day and a 5 hour plane ride I spend with my sunglasses on, trying not to spew) but it’s safe to say, lying about my age wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever done. What’s even more satisfying is that no one questioned it. Maybe I could pass for 23 all the time? God, it makes a refreshing change from my Saturday nights in Melbourne; bouncers actually laugh when I attempt to show them my ID,

“Oh no love, you’re alright *chuckle chuckle* go straight in.” Oh great, thanks…Old leather face strikes again.

Look, I’m not going to lie about my age ALL the time, but I really see the benefits of occasionally bending the truth slightly, just by a few years. So, the lessons I’ve learnt from this experience? Because as you know, I always learn something and this time I learnt age is just a number AND hotels at 3am are expensive.

Friends, distinguished guests, people who’ve clicked on this by mistake, please be seated. We have arrived at the final destination, the last of my online dating adventures and I can safely say this final experience was by far the worst. Online dating most definitely has a dark side and I’m pretty sure I successfully stumbled right into it.

Here’s the dealio:

This last date was with the second guy I rescheduled because I got carried away  on the Saturday night.  His reply to my 530am message was very understanding; perhaps he is actually as “laid back and easy going” as he claims to be?

 Here are the details on the guy, Evan.

Age: 32

Lives: Melbourne

Occupation: Financial something or other

Nationality: French Canadian (you’ve been warned).

Interests; Learning languages, water skiing, being rude and arrogant (I may have added those last two in).

 Anyway, on Monday we decide to meet up for a coffee on the weekend, Saturday to be exact. On Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday I get emails confirming, reconfirming and re- re confirming the time and place. Yes, I get it; I’ll be there… geez! Then, on Friday, I get another email requesting I send him an “SMS” on Saturday just in case, you know, something has come up and he can’t make it. ARE you serious? You have been reconfirming this date all week and now I need to send you an SMS to confirm it, again?! Being as smart as I am, I quickly realize Evan is trying to get my mobile number, which I don’t want to give out for like, obvious reasons.

 I email back and say politely I don’t give my number out, but I’ll be there and I trust he will be too. What I get back is:

 “Pretty confident for someone who cancelled the day of last time, wouldn’t you say? Well, you better check your email in the morning then I guess.”

Better I, really? Pffttt! I get another message later that same day, confirming (again!) the time and place and that he will, most definitely, be there. Ok great, so wait, are these plans tentative or confirmed? Arrgghhhh Lord, give me strength!

Saturday morning rocks around and BIG surprise: I don’t wanna go. I’m beginning to think this guy is - in the words of me bestie Andrew -  a “smug tool” and I really can’t be bothered.

It doesn’t help that on this morning I’d managed to work myself into an absolute fit about something unrelated and was forced to go spend hundreds of dollars at Sportsgirl to calm down. As always happens when I’m in Sportie, I completely lose track of time and my budget and before I know it, it’s 1130 and I’m going to be late. Fuuccckkkk! I literally run back home, arms a kimbo, Sportsgirl bags flapping in the breeze, my little legs running like a frickin hamster on a wheel, Jesus!

As I’m  hectically weaving in and out of traffic on Chapel street, I realize I’m actually scared of this guy; well not of him, but more of the grief I’ll get if I’m late, it’s so not worth it. I throw myself together, jump into my car and fang it to Port Melbourne. I arrive with 10 minutes to spare, pheew!! With time on my side, I sit in the car for 5 minutes listening to tunes and putting on layer after layer of lip gloss. I look at my clock, 12:25pm, well here goes nothing!

I get out of my car, mince towards the café and after a quick scan inside reveals no Evan, I take a seat outside in the sun and await my fate. Right, so I know what I’m about to write is going to sound completely unbelievable, but loyal blog readers I swear, SWEAR on my life, what follows is an honest and accurate account of events…

When I signed up to RSVP I made the decision to let the males come to me; I wouldn’t contact anyone, I’d just sit back and see what happens, bask in the lazyenss that is possible with online dating… don’t mind me!

A couple of days before this date I was trawling RSVP, minding my own business, when this guy popped up as a potential “match.” I clicked on his profile and I must admit, I wasn’t completely uninterested.

The guy was 29, from the UK, a graphic designer and part time DJ, and his photo actually reminded me of Calvin Harris, raaiinnnggg!! And just to seal the deal, it was free (FREE) for me to send him a kiss. Alright, I thought, might as well. Besides, the majority of the people who had contacted me so far looked like serial killers, who says I don’t deserve a hot boy every now and then? So, I did it. Kiss = sent. A few hours later I get a notification saying he had responded to my kiss, goodie! As I opened the email, I remember praying he didn’t write something lame that turned me off him, pleeassseee sweet Jesus.

It did not actually enter my mind for one minute that he would not be interested, which, as it turns out, he wasn’t. There it was, my “kiss” saying “I’d like to get to know you, would you be interested?” and his reply “Thanks for the kiss, but I don’t think we have much in common.” Oh, well….. good. I was absolutely shocked. Umm hello, don’t you know I’m in like the Top 100 on here? I’m like frickin RSVP royalty, what do you think you’re doing??

I sit back in my chair, looking with complete confusion at the screen and my online rejection. Lots of thoughts begin running through my head and I quickly come to the conclusion that he had hit “not interested” by mistake and now he was too embarrassed to correct his mistake. Poor guy, talk about living in regret. Whatever gets you through Vanessa, whatever gets you through…

 With this new information in mind, let’s return to Saturday……

So, as I’m sitting by myself, waiting for my date with Evan, who walks up with a girl and sits down at the table RIGHT next to me? Yep, you guessed it, the very guy who’d rejected me 2 days before…. HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN? We make eye contact and he knows, I know and to make it worse, he’s so obviously on an RSVP date with some chick – Argh!!

They sit and start “normal” online dating conversation. “So, how long have you been in Australia?” “Have you always lived in Melbourne?” They start talking and I start cringing, this is the Brad Pitts and, what’s worse is in a few minutes I’m going to be having pretty much the same conversation with my date.

The waiter comes over and takes their order, and when he looks at me, I tell him I’m actually meeting someone so I’ll wait. And wait I do. 12:35…waiting. 12:40….waiting. 12:45…waiting. It’s now 12:50pm and my date is nowhere to be seen. I can.not.believe.this.is.happening. Not only have I been stood up by someone I didn’t want to date in the first place, it’s happened right in front of the guy who’d rejected me two days before, there are no words.

I wait till 1pm, just to make sure I’ve definitely been stood up, ok yep, I have, great! I should probably leave, ya think Ness! Ol mate and his date both look at me as I stand up, adjust my Victoria Beckham sunnies and mince off towards my car with my head held high. You go girlfriend, ain’t nothing gonna break my stride….urgh.

I send Evan an email later that day saying that unless there is another cafe Bridport Street with the same name, I was there and there for a considerable amount of time too I might add, ya prick! He never wrote back and the next day I log on to find his blocked me. Oh, good. Well, just so you know Evan I was going to block you too, so thanks for saving me the trouble!

We all know my heart was never in internet dating, but if that experience is not a good enough reason to never, ever, ever again trawl the internet looking for love, I don’t know what is.

So, what’s next? Yep, I’m still here! Well, as is my prerogative with my own blog, I’ve decided to change focus, yes, just like that. I guess it’s actually expanding rather than changing, moving beyond the world of boys and dating disasters. Because, I am aware there is a very obvious irony of saying there is more to life than boys and then writing about them and nothing else. I’ll still write about dating, but let’s all be honest, I suck at it, and for now, I can’t afford any more wrinkles from cringing. What I can assure you of is I’ll still be embarrassing myself, I’ll still be making uneducated, sweeping generalizations and, in the spirit of over promising and under delivering, I’ll still make you laugh…maybe.

Likes; Not Internet Dating

Dislikes; Internet Dating

So my loyal readers, we have almost reached the end of my online dating adventure, almost.  Before I share my third and final online dating disaster with you, I thought we could take a moment to reflect on my adventure - and what an adventure it was!  Here’s a rough and ready round up of online dating, through the eyes of Ness Huxo.

Things I liked about Internet Dating:

Nothing

Closing my account

Things I didn’t like about Internet Dating:

The people.

Every time I left the house I was literally living in fear of someone recognizing me from the dating site. “Hey! Aren’t you on RSVP?” “No, piss off!”

^ That wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility, I did make the RSVP Top 100 after all, go me.  Every time I logged on I saw my airbrushed photos splashed ashamedly across the bottom of the homepage, argh!

The term “fakey potatey” is burned in my memory and now every time I think about it, my eye does this weird twitch thing.

The language barrier.  I was chatting to this guy from the UK and although it’s all in English, we were definitely speaking different languages:

Getting abused because I wouldn’t give out my phone number, home address and credit card details.  How unfair, ME getting abused  for going on a dating website for the sole purpose of writing a blog about it… what’s wrong with people?  Seriously though, a guy would email me once and then couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t give him my details.  Then there were the guys who thought they could skip the dating altogether and just get bizzaayyyy….

“Oh, Saturday? I’m just going to stay home and chill out.  My housemate is actually away so yeah, just a quiet weekend for me.  But yeah, we should do something on Saturday; something easy and chilled.  I live in Docklands, is that close to you?

Plleeeaassseeee, are you serious?!

Everyone’s profile sounded exactly the same.  I understand that’s unavoidable to a point, but I find it very hard to believe 95% of guys are “laid back and easy going.” And if I read one more sentence that starts with “My friends would describe me as…” and ends with “… and yes I did pay them, lol” I’m going to go postal, seriously, I will.

Ok, THIS sent me absolutely spare; the guys who continued to message me, after I clearly said I wasn’t interested:

Anyway, I think you get the point.

I said it before and I’ll say it again, Internet Dating is hard.  Apart from being time consuming, it’s also really difficult to maintain interest over emails and after exchanging a few messages with a guy, I usually lost interest and couldn’t be bothered to follow it up.  I don’t think there’s actually anything wrong with internet dating; it’s just not for me.  Hmmm, did I really give internet dating a good crack?  No.  Would I do it again?  Absolutely not.  Did my attitude affect the outcome?  Most likely.  Is anyone actually interested in knowing the answers to these questions?  Probably not.

But before we wave bon voyage to my online dating ex-po-say, I do have one more story to share with you and it’s arguably the best of the bad bunch, ugh, but in like a bad way.  So stay tuned, or not, I’ll never know. Rrraaiiiinnnggggg!!

“Nah, he’s not my type.”  I’ve said it time and time again when friends have tried to set me up with a guy.  No, he’s far too serious, he’s not tall enough, and he does this weird thing with his mouth when he talks.  As I point out all the reasons why it won’t work, I can see my friends getting frustrated…what?  It’s not my fault he wears those awful sneakers with the big tongue and he quotes that death Borat film. It’s not MY fault he’s not MY type, is it?  No, of course it’s not.

One failed set up attempt I remember clearly was a few years back by - god bless his soul - my sister’s boyfriend, Ben.  I was sitting next to Ainsley as she chatted to Ben on the phone and the conversation went like this:

Ainsley:  Ben says, what about James?

Me:  Who’s that?

Ainsley:  You know, James… with the Ute.

Me:  Nup, next.

Ainsley:  Ben says, how about Sam?

Me:  With the glasses!? Ew no.

Ainsley:  What about Simon..?

Me:   Not for me.

Ainsley:  Why?

Me:  Because he’s too short and he has weird hair.

Ainsley:  He’s really nice

Me:  No, absolutely not.

Ainsley:  Nah Ben, she doesn’t like any of them

Ben to Ainsley:  “*groan* God, what’s her problem? Vanessa’s no bloody oil painting!”

It’s true, I’m not.  Who I am to be so picky?  No one really.  And what IS my type then?  Well I don’t bloody know; maybe I just haven’t found it yet.  Looking back at the guys I’ve liked over the years, I can definitely see similarities but they’ve never worked out, so obviously whatever I think my type is, it’s not working.   In an effort to push the envelope and expand my horizons, I pick my next RSVP date, a guy who I can say with confidence definitely NOT my type.

I’ve already quoted this guy in a previous post, you may remember him for such lines as:

(Heading) : Future ex girlfriends apply here ….

 (Description): Am I just trying to get into your pants? No. Actually, I’m trying to get you _out_ of them.

And the best one…

I’m a bad boy who’s been reformed and refined (in life, not prison).  I am not loaded, nor I don’t have tons of time.  Buy you 3 free dinners and all of your drinks?  C’mon.  I’ll dub you Queen (Dairy Queen) of the castle (White Castle), but that’s about it.

Groan.  Why?!  The arrogance of this profile fills me with rage so of course I decide to meet up with him. Here’s what happened…

Day:  Thursday

Time:  6:50pm

Blood Alcohol Level:  Ohhh about .075 

My Attitude:  Shithouse.

So, pinch yaself, I don’t wanna go!  I’m pissed off at myself for arranging the date, I’m a bit pissed thanks to the 3 vodkas I’ve just had and it’s pissing down rain outside - all and all just another typical date night for Ness Huxo.   I think about cancelling…Could I?  Should I? Would I? No I can’t, I’m going.  Unintentionally, I actually ended up cancelling on this guy twice already after I cancelled to get drunk with my sister and then cancelled again after I got carried away at a strip club till the wee hours of Sunday morning (could I say the word cancelled anymore times?)

Right, I’ve got 10 minutes, off to the bar I go!

I get there right on 7pm and I don’t see him anywhere.  I walk around the bar a few times and he’s nowhere in sight, great.  I sit and wait for 5 minutes and still nothing.  Pffttt I should just leave, how rude!   As always I’m busting for the toot and by the time I shimmy back down to the bar, its 715 and I’m heading for the door – get ya next time round good buddy!  Deciding I’ve been stood up I’m feeling both relieved and annoyed, oh and slightly bloated from the Mars Bar I ate just before I left the house.

 As I’m walking out, he walks in and we pretty much bump into each other at the entrance.

Me:  Oh hi, Chris?

Chris:  Yeah, hi.

He’s taller than I thought and has the worst handshake ever, like a wet fish.  He suggests we get a coffee at the café across the road instead of a drink.

Me:  Yeah cool. *thinking: I’m probably drunk enough anyway*

We sit at the café and begin the customary small talk about jobs, moving to Melbourne, our families - all that shit.

Then silence, ugh.

I look down at my soy latte wishing desperately it would turn into a Long Island Iced Tea, and I don’t even like them!  Chris hasn’t really done anything wrong at this point (we are only 10 minutes in mind you) we just have nothing in common and I only agreed to the date because his profile was just so arrogant I had to do it.  Luckily, he continues the conversation:

Chris:  So, what’s the next exciting thing you’ve got planned?

Me:  What do you mean?

Chris: You know, what are you going to do next that’s exciting?  I really want to go kite wake boarding (I can’t remember what he actually said, it was something like that) and scuba diving. Oh and white water rafting, do you go white water rafting often?

I look up from my (still) non alcoholic drink, tilt my head to the side and look him dead in the eye.  What?  ARE you serious?  Mate, if you haven’t noticed I’ve got a thick, straight fringe that takes about three hours to do, long painted nails, I’m wearing impractically high shoes, too much mascara and I squealed like a banshee when we had to walk 5 steps in the spitting rain. Do I honestly look like the type of girl that goes white water rafting, ever?!  What a stupid question.

Me:  Ah no, not really.

Chris:  Oh really?  Well there’s also a rock climbing wall at Port Melbourne…

 He continues talking about his All Aussie Adventures and I really struggle to contribute anything, mainly because I’m not 12  or in Noosa on a family holiday and I could actually think of nothing worse than being covered in chalk and scrambling up a wall like a Mexican skipping the border, no thanks.

Chris:  Anyway, enough about that.  So question; you’re not ugly, why are you on RSVP?

Gee, thanks. I’m actually a pretty bad liar so to avoid answering the question, I answer WITH a question, ziinggg!

Me:  Oh well, I could ask you the same thing?

Oblivious to my question dodging, Chris explains even though he has in fact met loads of girls on RSVP, they are always insecure, don’t look their photo and/or just want to have sex with him.  Ok well the first two I might believe, but sex?  With you?  I want names and numbers of these girls; names and numbers.

Chris:  Besides, I really understand women; it’s all about the Vagina Orbit.

Me:  I’m sorry, did you just say Vagina?

Chris:  Yes, Vagina. The Vagina Orbit.

Me:  Just checking, please continue.

Chris explains this term, Vagina Orbit (which he coined) refers to the way women ‘use’ the men in their life for different things.  There’s a man for DVDs and ‘cuddles’ (I HATE that word), there’s a man you go out on the town with, there’s a man that you take shopping etc etc.  So, basically all these men just orbit, around the Vagina of course.  Hence the name, Vagina Orbit.  I can honestly say I’ve never heard a person say the word Vagina so many times in one conversation.

Look there’s lots of things I could have said at this point, but I’ll be honest, Internet dating has worn me down, it’s crushed my gentle spirit and I no longer have the drive and determination to set these guys straight, what do I care?  It’s a sad day when I can’t be bothered to tell someone why I don’t think they should say the word Vagina repeatedly on a first date or ever really.  But I’m cold, my coffee’s cold and half an hour in, I’m over this date.

I sit for another 20 minutes while he talks about how he’s an expert at reading body language, he’s a great judge of character and he’s never wrong about people.  Alright, I really have to go.  Why?  Oh, I just do.

I say bye and walk home, now sober, thinking about the lesson I’ll take away from this experience.   Maybe I do need to be more adventurous??  Given he’s out there climbing rocks, kiting wave boards and shouting the word Vagina like it’s going out of fashion, perhaps I need to mince around in life a bit more?   You know, become a human doing (stuff) instead of just a human being (boring) ??

On my way home I stop at Lord of the Fries and order hot chips with some crazy chilli sauce I’ve never had before.  Ya see, that’s pretty adventurous!  Go me!  I skip the rest of the way home; my chilli chips in one hand and my new found sense of adventure in the other.