Everyone has a party vomit story involving a guy. Or at least I hope they do because I will feel slightly hideous

Occupation: Spotty teen

Age: I think he was 18 (bearing in mind I would have been 17 at the time.)
from: Fashionlimpet

I like this story, mainly because it sounds so rediculous that it couldn’t possibly have happened, but it did.

I was an excited teenager on the prowl. Picture the scene: life drawing class, I make a friend. He invites me to house party. He lives in the standard place for all of my friends as a teenager, no where near me and in the middle of the countryside in some epic house with a dog.

As I am 17, I am totally desperate to get some sort of action out of this house party, I’ve dressed up (something a cross between a kinder egg toy and a total slut seems to be the vibe. Again, 17.) and I have set my eyes on a man. (I’ll just make it clear that this is not the guy, but a somewhat accurate picture, but honestly the guy I got with had more promise than this.. honest.)

But for now I would rather affectionatly think of him like this, ok

He is my usual type as a 17 year old girl, grungey, unwashed baggy trousers with that awful cheestring at the bottom from where they have worn through, long curly hair (but too young to have achieved river god aesthetic quite yet.. think unwashed fronds of something that has come back out of a cat, tucked behind the ears.) and I think he was a general bit of nerd. I make my intentions clear, but he has some girl (the best friend in luv.) lingering on his shoulder. By the time she clears off its late and everyone has gone to bed.

We slink off to find a bedroom. I am annoyed to find that all of them are full of people. I choose one that has a small little gayboy asleep in the bed figuring that he wont mind (!?) and we cushy down onto the..er.. floor.

Its getting HAWT. There is amateur teenage fondling, smoochin, and drunken..rubbing (nearly gagged writing that.)  we are both pretty wasted but him most noticeably so than me ( :(!! ) and he says ‘im going to go get a jonny’ and slinks off. im lying there in my total slutbag mist, and he is gone quite a while.

I go and look around for him. He is nowhere.. until I check the toilet. He is lying there, covered in his only vomit. CHUNKY vomit. chunky, cheesy, beery, CHUNKY chucky uppy. Its literally everywhere but the toilet and worse of all it is stuck in big clumps in his hair. Now you are probably thinking I bend down immediatly and help this boy but instead events follow: I freak out. WHAT IF HE COMES BACK AND TRIES TO HAVE SEX WITH ME? COVERED IN CHUNKS OF VOMIT? Im in the middle of absolutely nowhere. I have no idea what to do. Do I hide with the gayboy? Do I leave? Can’t call my mum.

I decide ultimately on rolling myself up in some spare duvet that is under the bed, rolling straight into it like Cleopatra in that rug in that film. The one with Liz. He DOES stumble back in. Calls my name, looks around, I can hear this guy covered in vom (you can hear vom stains, if you listen hair enough) bumbling round the house saying he has found a jonny.

In the morning, i awake to sounds of ‘fashionlimpet? wheres fashionlimpet! oh my god’ and I roll out from under the bed, like a little happy sausage roll.

He later added me on msn messenger (totally the rage.) and asks me out. Being a weird 17 year old, I tell him I cant make coffee because I am afraid of coins and can’t deal with the outside world. Should have probably just said ‘you had sick in your hair’.

Can’t think of a name for him, he was that meh. Nice but meh.

Occupation: Student/Dosser/Dunno

Age: Twenties
from: Fashionlimpet

It was Autumn 2009, and I had just moved into my fancy new pad. I was looking for someone to show it off to, and I had entertained the friendships and fanciful glances from a guy in a shop for a while. I went on a coffee date with him. It as pretty ‘meh’ but I invited him around to my house in the daytime for a spot of tea and dinner.

Also around this time, I had been experimenting with my cooking via a very useful website. I’d found a bit of a controversial recipe, and tried it out on my guinea man pig.

This recipe was banana soup, a supposed caribbean thing.. Now, the soup wasn’t bad, it was quite nice, just quite odd tasting. Anyway I gave some to this boy. He turned out to be rather boring and a bit immature, so I decided to get rid of him with a ‘I’m going to the Gym for a class’ excuse. Which is pretty lol, as I haven’t ever been to a gym.

He said he was just going to go to the loo. He was in their longer than normal, enough for one to think ‘oh hey. He is probably shitting in my toilet.’ Personally I leave it till at least date 20 until I willingly number two in my dates toilet. just NO.

He emerges a bit flustered and goes to get his bike. I follow but then think I might just check my hair. I tell him I’ll be back in a minute.

OH MY GOD

THE TOILET BOWL WAS ABSOLUTELY COVERED IN TORRENTIAL DIAORRHEA.

COVERED

AND THE SMELL

WAS LIKE A 4 MONTH OLD USED NAPPY FILLED WITH ROTTING CORPSES AND BANANAS

I NEARLY DIED.

I came out and didnt know what to say. WHY DIDNT HE FLUSH? WHY DO MY DATES ALAYS CONTAIN SO MUCH DIAORRHEA?

We rode off on our bikes, me to my imaginary gym class, and him to home, to wallow in poop that I induced.

I didn’t see him again.

(Should you wish to make your own shits inducing soup, you can follow the exact recipe I used here - http://www.food.com/recipe/creamy-banana-lemongrass-and-coconut-soup-141000 )

From: Jewtits

“I want to poo you”

Was quite simply a text I received late one Saturday night from the disturbing “Jack the Spack“, a year after I stopped seeing him. Because he was a weird cunt.

So I did what any normal girl would do… showed my bewildered but drunk friends, had a giggle, and replied:

“I want to poo you too”

He said: “lets book a room”

I said: “lets, four seasons??”

And we continued a brief conversation as if this event was genuinely going to take place. Needless to say, it didn’t.

To this day the idea of anyone attempting a poo and having my jewy face pop out instead, tickles me something special.

So … the emails were all going well, lots of chat about graphics (he sounded like a guy who is hard working and passionate about his job which is a rareity in my dating world seeing as most of them don’t even have jobs) general other good chat too. was this all too good to be true ?? YES. Yes it was.

We finally arranged a date and I was even more impressed when he suggested that we go to a private exhibition view in soho. This was last Thursday. This was when it happened… I set foot outside the station and received a text saying he was hear and wearing white converse and black top etc etc blah blah so far so good. Suddenly I heard a ‘OH HI’ and turned around to see his face which had a kind of dewy sweat thing going on across the T-Zone area. Yes those obscured photos I mentioned earlier. VERY OBSCURED!!! I should have known, and as a ‘graphic designer’  (I say this in inverted commas for reasons I shall explain later) he obviously knows how to use photoshop so instant fail on the first 5 seconds. I wanted to leave there and then but being the polite sort of person I am I decided to find out if he really was a nice and normal as he had seemed on email.

As well as the name ‘Sweaty Graphics Freak’ I should also mention that if I were to choose a second name for him it would be the ‘Question Master’ / ‘The Riddler’ (either or) because for the next 2 hours I felt like I was on a job interview. The questions began …

so ..

“tell me what gets you inspired”

“how does this poster make you feel?”

“I do graphic design because I feel like it makes people happy, kind of like a god”

“so whats your style”

“sounds like you need to get a style”

“so whats your best idea”

“so whats your favourite program to design in?”

and the best one of all…

“whats your favourite font?”

CRY.

It was awful and I tried to humour him but I think my blank face watching him sip his pint the slowest I have any man EVER drink a pint, probably gave it away towards the end. He then sugested we should go as it was getting late. YES Halleluja he gets it, he is also getting the bus home the opposite direction to me. there is a god. but no, hang on why is he walking with me, yep he wants to walk with me to the station. On a normal occasion I may find this endearing but nooooooo not him. GO AWAY!! finally I have freedom on the tube and I get a Maccy D’s on the way home. sad times. Another date fail but at least I will never have to see or hear from him again.

Oh no wait …. next day he adds me to facebook!!!!! what!! why do men do this? it was clearly a bad date just leave me alone. I accept but only to show my fellow bloggers so they can share the pain. I have now disadded him. Lets hope this is the end.

P.S He is not even qualified to ask me such questions as he has never had a proper graphic design job and didn’t even study it at uni. Take that sweaty graphics freak.

CRACK VAMPIRE from Peckham

Occupation: Actor/Dosser (I think)

Age: Unknown
from: Fashionlimpet

Because I am amidst poverty right now, I often take random jobs that are flying about, and one that has popped up for me lately is ‘Hostessing’. Now don’t go thinking I’m going to get all Diary of a Call Girl on yo asses, because actually ‘hostessing’ it seems is just being paid to:

1) Have as much alc as you want

2) Hand out free shots

3) chat/flirt/dance with everyone

4) be a total lovable funtime slag.

Last nights venue, I’ve been there a couple of times, not reaaaaaallly loved it but it’s alright. Anyway. I start my shift and its fairly easy going, I’m dressed as a (hot)clown, even though the brief was disco, I only really have one outfit and thats the clown one, and let’s face it, as long as you look like a total hobag people don’t care.

I notice this guy drooling all over my bod-day all night long. towards the end of the night he is borderline annoying, following me and trying to ask me inane questions. He even waits for me outside of the staff room door at one point. By this point I am drunk enough to block out his face/voice. He has one of those voices that is a real turnoff. Just imagine having sex with Joe Pasquale with a dogtoy stuck in his throat. Have a good think about what that might sound like.

He tells me he lives in Peckham and asks me back to his. If he hadn’t lived so far away, I probably would have, but because its more than 10 mins away and I am really lazy, I gave him the casual ‘nah’. For some reason, I decide that because my failing career needs a money boost, I should try giving this mongaloid a lap dance, because I haven’t done one before and I obviously have to give it a go to see if my goods can er, ‘satisfy’. 

So here is the picture. Me, drunken clown slut, glitter all over face, giving some crack vampire a drunken lappy. He keeps saying things in the dogtoy pasquale cockney voice. ‘FACKIN’ ELL BABES! IM GONNA BUST A NUT!’ was one particular delight. For some reason, I give this man my number, I have never been good at the whole here is the fake number thing, as I have always been rumbled. I give it. 

He texts me the next day.

I ignore it. The next day (today) he calls me, and I have forgotten to save his number as the standard ‘Do Not Answer’. I pick up excitedly thinking its someone offering me a job, oh the irony. The conversation is as follows. ‘Oh babes! Im just lying in bed.. what are you doing baby? When can I see you? Baby?’ 

This has happened to me before. Not a clown lapdance fail, but the ‘BABY’ thing. Why is it men do this - call you baby if you don’t know them? It make me want to barf. The last person who referred to me as baby ended up being a crazy stalker, so I tell him all the things which usually make men run a mile but still he is adament that we are going to see each other. I will also note - a man with a job is SEXY. He didn’t have a job (the reason I call hm vampire is because he said he did some extra work as a vampire…way to win me over..er..no) and was trying to talk to me about being all sexy and in his bed at 2pm on a monday. This is how I imagine he looked.

which I would like to clarify is not this, which is preferred.

He also started asking me about how much money I make and got pissy when I told him to stop being so rude.

‘When can I see you?’

‘Im busy this week.’

‘How busy?’

‘I have a year long waiting list.’

‘What’s the matter, baby?’

I hang up.

Shakespeare
Occupation: actor
Age: 25

from: Jewtits

We met in a pub in Angel at about 1am… the first thing he asked as he sat in the booth that me and the girls occupied was “whats your porn star name?”… which wasn’t exactly impressive but I liked his enthusiasm, and despite his peculiar Shakespearian looks; long brown hair, moustache, waistcoat(!?) he had an adorable face and I liked his voice. Later, we had a bit of a dance/ stumble.. And his brother dragged him off to go home. He quickly managed to put my number into his phone and (WARNING NO.1:) kissed me… or rather, slobbered onto my mouth. Hard to distinguish but I blamed the drink and enjoyed the rest of my night, where I actually gave my number to another fellow, I was on fire!

We texted a bit during the next few days, by mid week we were onto phone calls and long chats. I found out his name and so commenced a minature google stalk to find he was in a prime time soap for a while - and worse, I used to fancy him in it! which was weird.. And I didn’t tell him for risk of sounding… well, stalkery. So we arranged the first date: Sunday afternoon drinks and a walk along the river. I did somehow have two other dates that weekend, the museum on Friday with the chap I met on the same night as Shakespeare, and a quiet night in with the “Aryan dream” on Saturday night. But I was looking forward to Sunday…

And it was lovely; wine, walking, food, then I did invite him back to mine for a cuppa (no innuendo, I just love tea!!). We sat chatting and I thought he was a bit sexy, yes, I fancied Shakespeare! He was very thoughtful, silly and talkative and sweet.. All going nicely, and then came the inevitable kiss.

He raped my face

I thought he was joking

Really.

I almost laughed…

I probably would have if his tongue wasn’t blocking my voice box.

DON’T THEY TEACH ACTORS HOW TO KISS???

Christ almighty.

It was late so I showed him the door. Though I did see him again, in the hope I could train his sink plunger lips to hold restraint. Also, he offered me fondue. mmmm fresh bread, melted cheese and wine = ultimate disgustingly good food… I digress… it seems I came across as a “cold fish” and we mutually decided it wasn’t going to work. fondue was great though.

name: fashionlimpet
age: 22

typical man type: anyone as long as they have a dick. but occasionally will go with something with tits and a fanny. basically anything that will have sex with me.

typical realistic man type: Arrogant. Misogenist, cheaty, not really ever higher than a 6. Hobag bisexuals who want to get with me to fufill their boyfriends fantasies. Crazy lesbians.

Because the only way I can cope with the fact that my dates are mostly HORRIFIC, is to ‘lol’ at myself, tell everyone so everyone else ‘lols’ too, and WALLOW IN MY SPINSTER DOOM! So here is the beginning of my spinster soup.

I’ll start with something recent. The beginning of a new year. You think, ahh! New Year! NEW BOYS! NEW ME! EVERYTHING WILL BE AWESOME! This is unfortunatly never the case as I think I’ve continued with the same pattern every year since I was 16.

Let me give you the lowdown on Le Baguette. Fashion, ladieswear (Not gay, miracle.), Ex lingering? None! Hot? Very. Basically an all round french fancie.

So I meet him a year or so ago through some old housemates. He is charming and beautiful. I don’t make a move, because I am a pussy. Flash forward to New Years, 2011. I am in my favourite pub, dressed like a goddess (slightly delusional, but why shouldnt I.) and I am having an amazng time - then I bump into him. I look around at my fellow furious man ranters, taken, schmoozing with hot actors, or pulling cute gayboys, and I think well I’m drunk enough to overcome my shyness, and I will go for it! He will never know that I was a bit sick first (guinness) and that I forced a boy to by me gum in the costcutter next door so I didn’t taste like sick.

He takes me on a date. The date is incredible, and we get on better than I ever realised. Flash forward a couple of weeks. Meet Fig.

Fig decided the day of my first *I must cook an impressive meal to proove I am potential housewife candidate* was the day to drink at least 150ml of vegetable oil that was sitting in a jug. Fig is, to put it bluntly, loveable, but very retarded.

The dinner goes well, and I am quickly reassured of my amazingness by Le Baguette. We get a bit drunk with my housemates. It’s all going too amazing, cue the Failationship demon..

I take him upstairs to watch a film aka get jiggy. Im sitting down on my bed and I think ‘Oh hey… thats an odd smell..’ and to my horror, Fig has TORRENTIAL DIAORRHEAED ALL OVER MY 500 THREAD COUNT EYGPTIAN COTTON SHEETS. I don’t freak out about the fact that this has happened, and that it has seeped through to my three figure duvet, for as I am a hoarder, I have minimum three of everything I own, which I think is probably quite weird for someone who is 22. I change the bedding, and the new duvet is pulled out. I ask him if he is freaked out and he says ever so charmingly: ‘Oh Bebe, I would only be freaking out if ze poop was yours’ so I think it is ok, he understands, how amazing must he be? Then from downstairs I hear a wail. Fig has also decided to do the same on my housemates bed. The entire house starts reeking of vegetable oil rancid runny cat turds, and people keep coming in the house for bloody pre-drinks. I yell at people to leave because I can’t deal with the WAVE OF CAT SHIT.

We met up for a coffee a few days after, where he got angry at my trousers being from Primark (twat) and then left me feeling awkward.

I haven’t heard from him since.

name: Jewtits
age: 24
typical man type: tall, creative, beard.
time served single: 2.5 years

soo, as I sit here in bed, post dirty pizza and dorito food coma, I’m thinking about a certain someone i affectionately name “Hitler”..

there have been many hap hazard dates, interests, sexytimes, and down right horrendous bastards i have encountered pre, during and post Hitler, and I will be reminiscing through my back catalogue of disasters - sorry, dates! - because every cloud has a silver lining and these laces of silver may bring amusement to many a single lady. CUE BEYONCE.

name: Upslateravenue
age: 24
typical desired man type: tall, creative, skinny, beard.
typical realistic man type: midget, camp, arrogant.
time served single: long time

So the Sweaty Graphics Freak …

Occupation: ‘graphic designer’
Age: 28

So this has been a long time coming and now definatly feels like the right time to channel our daily / hourly man rants into something that will hopefully bring many a message of hope to those fellow single ladies out there.

I would like to open with a particularly traumatic incident which took place last Thursday. When I say traumatic I mean that it was BAD and HORRIBLE and forced me into purchasing a late night Maccy D’s post date to numb the pain. This whole situation started about a month prior and when I started talking to the subject whom I will name Sweaty graphics freak. When I say talk, what I in fact mean is email, as he messaged me on the last day of my subscription to a dating site. Yes I had a serious wave of boredom at home round the post christmas new year mark and thought that maybe this time there might be SOMEONE NORMAL on there. Why I would think this I don’t know, as if l were to take an honest look back at 99% of my experiences I should know that NO. normal people do not exist online. I am trying hard to ignore the fact that yes I was on an internet dating site too and what implications this might have on me as a person but anyway ….

back to Sweaty graphics freak. So  he emailed me a very charming message, I did the standard profile inspection, pictures, info, likes dislikes, blah blah and was satisfied that yes he may be normal. He is a graphic designer like me. Check. He went to uni in Nottingham like me. Check. He lives near me. Check. His pictures are a bit obscured but I am willing to bypass that due to the amazing matches on everything else. Lesson 1. people who put obscured photos of themselves on a dating website are ugly. fact. Lesson 2. Just because someone has the same profession as you this does not mean that you will instantly be soul mates oh and finally Lesson 3. the fact that you have the same surname as each other isn’t a sign from the higher powers that you are meant to be together. fact.

This was only the beginning. part two and maybe even 3 will follow shortly as it is a Sunday night and I am suitably tired and full and losing brain power by the second. Hopefully this will add to the suspense of the whole thing anyhoo night night….