So I'm round my buddies Friday night. We've got a 20-pack of out of date, warm Fosters and a bottle of Mint Chocolate Baileys. These were the only things I could find in my parents booze cupboard. They both tasted like crap, but went down exponentially easier, the more we drunk. So we're getting jolly, watching the Olympics in preparation for going out on the town. The swimming is on, and from some angles I can't tell if it's the Men's or Women's. Fuck me they have broad shoulders. It was the Women's. After Pete made the same "Isn't that your mum?" joke about thirteen times (and it bombed, everytime) - I figured we were drunken ready. Maybe a bit too ready. It's time to hit town.

We hit B Bar to begin with, as it's inexpensive, fun and often not perpetually teeming with males like oh-so many other joints are. Plus the bouncers allow themselves to actually be, people, you know, break character. Not cyborgs.

The dancefloor has plenty of chodes, making chodes circles, repelling women, and a few obligatory fat chicks - sigh. We run upstairs, toward the smoking area. This proves more fruitful, quite a few fitties crammed in up here. Then we get tapped on the shoulder, it's the two girls from last week. We'll call them the glasses girls, as they wear permanent dorky oversized glasses. One blonde, one brunette, good bodies, good skin but hooped earrings and slutty skirts. The glasses are much like the 3D cinema ones, but they wear them permanently. I particularly like geeky girls, but these two aren't real geeks, they're just dumb slags falsely giving off that vibe - so whilst I'd bang either, I wouldn't exactly introduce them to my folks.

We'd met them before, and I'd jokingly asked if the brunette "So, do you have condoms?" - as she had a fucking massive manbag and I was busting her balls. She was super pissed about it the week before, but this week she found it hilarious in retrospect. Must have been more drunk, or horny, or both. Long story short, she jammed her number into my phone and we decided to leave them to it. They could perhaps be a fallback plan. I don't like to settle too early on and it was not even midnight.

We somehow... get lured into the 80's bar. The doorgirl was fucking hot and she'd told my other drunken buddy we'd get free shots. (which to him, is up there with ass-to-mouth). Plus he's part-Asian, so she had him at "free". True to form, it's some Apple Sourz variant that tasted like complete ass. We both made a grimace like we were taking a shit when it went down. Not good.

The music is some Cotton-Eyed-Joe-esque bullshit and I'm flagging. My friends drag me to the dancefloor and we goofily dance with anything between mediocre to hot. Or, who am I kidding, or ugly. I dance much like my Dad, which amuses people. They often think I'm putting it on. Anyhow, it usually at least gets conversation going, and we makeout with a pair of girls that look plain greasy. Like, she's sucked off the entire Chicago Bears team greassssy. Why so many skanks out tonight?

Back to the bar, a line of Jagerbombs. I bump into an Irish girl who looks remarkably like that Xena Warrior Princess character. I tell her this, she laughs, but I get the impression she doesn't have a clue who I mean. I drag my buddy into the mix, as he was being shy and basically thrust him onto her friend (who it turns out, is hotter than my girl). I tell a few stories, she laughs. She tells a few stories, I have no idea what she's saying because she's hardcore Irish, but I nod and fake laugh. We jump through the socialnorm hoops. Makeout, get number, blah blah. Surprisingly Pete has also hit it off with the friend too.

We notice the glasses girls have found us somehow, and are now in the same club. They swiftly come over and try to cock block, claiming we were already with them. Then when that failed, that we were "gay". We blow them off. Funny how merely another pair of girls provide SUCH leverage and can create SUCH jealousy, even when you barely know each other.

By this point 80's Bar is closing. Thank God. We go to a Salsa Bar. Irish girl seems to know tons of other Irish people here. I didn't even know my town had this community. She grabs an Irish dude, and he buys us drinks, as we're the "happy couple" Wtf? I've just met her. She's an okay girl, but we're definitely not a couple. Not in my mind. She proceeds to parade me round the club calling me her "boyfriend". What's happening? This should have been a Red Flag.

End up bringing them back to my buddies place. We've got the girls on the couches, and are making out and I'm sliding my hand up her skirt. She keeps swatting it away when it climbs higher. "It tickles" - no shit it tickles, but I'm not here to tickle you, I'm here to finger you. And I need to rid myself of this raging boner. She keeps bitching that she has work the next day. She's a nurse, and apparently last time she came into work still battered, someone died on her watch, and it was "awful". I nod, but in my drunkass mind this pales in significance to the fact that I've got a raging boner. She's not taking care of business. This is disappointing.

She runs to the toilet and calls a cab. She says it'll be 10 minutes, I think to myself, that'll do, that's all I need. I take my shirt off and practically jump on the girl. We snog more, but she's acting falsely cold about anything more than kissing, probably she doesn't want to look like a slag infront of her mate on the other couch. Or she's some sort of nervous virgin? She then proceeds to cockblock the ENTIRE room citing work, much to our annoyance. Pete's chick was way cooler, and just flowing with it. He's still not forgiven me. Despite the fact I obviously didn't realise my girl was gonna turn all uptight prude, and he ignored the fact I was the sole reason he got his girl in the first place. Oh well.

She since has text me about twelve times, to my one. She also added me on FB somehow? As I was sure I didn't reveal my surname. Anyhow, turns out, when stone cold sober she looks not so much like Xena, but remarkably like a young Ron Perlman. Fuck you alcohol! I think I dodged a bullet, as it appears not only is she bit of a sea-creature, but she seemingly desires a full-blown heavy relationship. I still need to squirm out of it and put an end to her hope, but I hate being a dick, letting people down, regardless of how they look. She had a nice personality. I'm too nice.

The girls fuckoff in a taxi, so I quickly shrug it off and throw a pizza in the oven. I arise an hour and a half later to the earsplitting smoke alarm. Yeah, that pizza was utterly fucked and dried onto the side of Pete's oven, solid. Hahahaha, I mean.. sorry buddy. Wuv you, bye! I left it to him and got a cab back to my place, as I knew I had a date in a couple of hours.

Good report. Would read again.

I can relate to a few things here:

- Irish girls are hard work. Even worse when you're sober. Even worse when they're drunk - and they drink like fish.
- Red flags. Take note, learn fast and ditch faster.
- When you blow out one set of girls for another, but then the second set disappoint. It's always a tough one and something I've often made the wrong decision on. My lesson seems to be don't necessarily go for the second set because they're new, go with the one you get the best vibe off or has the best boobies/legs/arse/face.
- Why do so many hot girls smoke? Fuck society.

- Regarding once a clingy girl gets her hooks in, you have two options (other than simply telling her, but that's what real men do):

1. You ignore - painful for her, dickheadish and weak. All the qualities that are likely to get her planning your wedding.
2. You suffocate her with contact, become the needy one. Could easily backfire if she really likes you.

But really, I think what we can all learn from your exploits is to set a good loud alarm when cooking drunk. The worst ending to a night is to have your no-sex consolation food taken away from you because of your own idiocy.

Ha - thanks buddy. And noted about the pizza. If you're interested, here's how that date went.

The Date

About a week prior, in a horny scramble, I'd done a carpet bomb copy/paste using Plenty-of-Fish Online. I could have just monged this girl off, but she looked legitimately hot from the JPG's, and, as I said before, I hate letting people down. Well, after I got back to my place, I drunkenly decided I totally had enough time for a nap beforehand. So I jerkoff, then sleep for 3 hours. Wakeup, fuck sake, I'm late!

So, picture this. I stink of booze. I'm beyond hungover. I'm wearing the same clothes as the night before. But it's cool. Splash some water with my face, chewing gum, deodorant - it's go time!

I've told her we'll just go walk my dog, down by the river. I had initially said woods, but it seemed creepy if I turned out to be a serial killer, so promptly swapped it to the more foot traffic location, the riverside. Plus a dog is pretty much the ultimate go-to cutesy prop.

We agree beforehand, don't get glammed up. Most girls still ignore this, but thankfully, Michelle turns up in a hoody which puts me at ease. It somehow reminds me of when the girlfriend asks you NOT to get her a present for her birthday. It's a rhetorical trap of a question, deep down, they want one.

She looks a bit like a grown-up Olson twin. Blonde hair, blue eyes, fantastic tits. She's got a Master's Degree, about 5"2' with a hint of emo, and she's Canadian. Did I mention she had fabulous tits? She's ticking boxes.

She explains she's homesick, and a bit edgy today. I'm not exactly on prime form either. All I can think of is going to sleep again. Anyhow, the dog jumps in the river, bounds back out and shakes off, soaking her. She wasn't amused. Not at all. Lighten up, for fuck sake! It's a dog, it's what they do. Why so miserable?

She asks how I got on last night. I'm utterly vague about it all, seeing as it was fucking messy. She tries to start some conversation herself, about foreign affairs, global warming and .. the environment. I'm totally uninterested and much of it, admittedly, goes over my head, but I let it flow.

She gets stung by nettles on her calves and ankles, and whines about it. Fuck she has nice legs. And I'm not even a leg-guy.

Then, my dog trolls me hard. She takes a shit in the middle of the path. And it's a wet one. Do note, I'd kindly had my sister take the dog for a pre-walk earlier that day to pre-emptively stop this from happening, but the dog clearly had other ideas. Bitch. So I find a bag and messily manage to scoop it up. Michelle has continued walking... and is a bit embarrassed. I laugh, but am a bit grossed out.

Being that I'm a proper cunt - I usually just leave shit where it stands, because, well, it's shit. Yeah, I know, I probably shouldn't ever have babies.

Anyhow, now comes the awkward bit. What the FUCK do I do with it. There's no bins around and I already know she's all high and mighty about saving the planet, so I somehow suspect she'll be pissed if I just ditch it. So I carry it for about 20 meters. It's a MASSIVE turnoff. It kills conversation and it STENCHES. I throw it down and say I'll come back to it (yeah, right). I make a few jokes about dysentery, because my Mum once shit herself a little bit on a waterslide and that story ALWAYS gets laughs with the boys. It bombed. Not even a smile.

This girl simply had a sense of humour too mature or just too feminine for my company, we didn't click. Can't win them all. We made twenty minutes of more mundane forgettable small-talk, including Olympic results until I got near my car. Then I gave her a mutually platonic hug and we separated. Lesson learned? Don't turnup to day-time dates, drunk. And I think I need to date Beavis or Butthead, but in female form.

Regardless though, a fun weekend!