Posts Tagged ‘clubbing’

In 2009 I Will Stop Dating Psychos

January 8, 2009

Now that I’ve sufficiently tantrumed it up about Palestine, I can relate to you the enchanting experiences that have been my on and off holidays. Our busy season at work is right now, even for the mindless shit I have to do, so unfortunately I couldn’t get all the days off but I did manage to party hard and will continue to do so on weekends as is the usual Luli fashion.


Let me begin by telling the tale of my date on Xmas eve-eve. I went out for drinks after work one night with my sister in law, who I would describe as the hot librarian type. As with all hot librarians, after a few drinks she cuts loose and gets wild, so its always an exciting night when she gets involved although you would never pick her as the crazy type. We were in for a big one, trawling from pub to bar in the city, ending up at Transport in Fed Square. Luck of the gods, it was Tradies night! I have never seen so many hot, built men in one area before, and without the usual packs of females stalking them like lionesses hunting for prey in African savannas. Probably a ratio of one girl to twenty guys, so I was loving my odds.

The guy I met seemed awesome, a bit older than me at 28, soon to be turning 29. He only really stood out because he gave good convo, I was all set to lash on him and his friends when he said something too smartassed, but my girls were like ‘Nah stay!’ and he apologised so I let him off the hook. Anyway, whatever, he got my number and we decided to go out for a movie a few days later.


On the date we went to see that Bond movie, Quantum of Solace, of which the title is probably the best feature. I was so bored, sorry to the Bond fans, but I’m gonna put it out there and say it has absolutely no appeal to anyone with a need for a decent plot in a movie. The action was constant and so fast that I couldn’t keep up with it, plus the Bond guy isn’t even hot.

So bad movie choice by him. Not only that, but he kept talking bout his exes for like a hundred years, telling me they had psych issues (one had anorexia, the other had cancer and depression) and asking me multiple times if I had any. It was like he wanted me to. The way his convo was going was revolving around him being this major hero to every female character in his life, and to be honest it was all weirding me out a bit. I felt like he thought I was a weak psych issue girl who he wanted to depend on him, so he could be in control. I was getting predator vibes, especially when he kept trying to hug me and kiss me in the cinema. I would just wriggle out of his grasp and was careful not to look at him incase he surprise kissed me. Is cinema PDA inappropriate to anybody else? 15mins into the movie I knew I wanted to ditch him, but I didn’t want to be harsh. I would at least stick around for after movie coffees.


After movie coffees were worse. He asked to see my id (WTF WHO DOES THAT) and I was like “Don’t you trust me?” and he’s like “Nah, I do,” but still persisted in seeing it. Later I realised how dumb that was, coz now he knows my address. When he gave it back I go “Did you memorise the numbers?” talking about the birth date, and he got all flustered and was like “What?” And when he realised I meant my DOB he was visibly relieved and I thought nothing of it till later, but yeah. So I’m a fuckhead. Plus he knows where I work too. And during the convo he kept lying and switching his stories around to suit what he thought I’d want to hear, which I picked up on a little the first night, but became way more obvious during coffee. He cracked the shits when I took the bill, and when I asked why he goes “Because you’re the girl.” Sigh.

A few days later I told him I didn’t wanna continue it, citing age as the major factor. In all honesty, the age didn’t bother me, but it bothered him so I figured if I said it he would understand and it wouldn’t be too painful. The thing is I’m feeling a little stalked by him. He called me like two days later at 4.30am but I missed the call because I was obviously asleep on a Tuesday night at that time, and he’s mes’d me but I didn’t reply. Now today he’s trying to add me on facebook and I ignored him, but with much anguish. I just want him to fuck off. I have a new sim ready to change my number if he persists.


New Years Eve was pretty good, just got very drunk, and seeing as I was still recovering from my bad date I was wary of talking to boys and decided to never pick up at a pub/club/bar ever again for my resolution. It can only end in psychos and awkwardness. So far, so good, but resolutions are made to be broken and I’m going out this weekend for the hot librarians birthday so I’m guessing its gonna be tested. I talk like I’ve been on it for ages, and its only like 8 days into the year! Damn my flirty drunken ways.

How were your NYE’s? What did you get up to? Resolutions?


I Spiked My Own Punch

September 14, 2008

I am suffering from possibly part 1 of a two day hang over. I just can’t see this baby packing up anytime soon, and it’s all my fault. I don’t really have the guilts, thank fuck, because I spent most of the night drinking punch in a chair, wishing we weren’t talking about the chords that make up the song ‘Glycerine’. I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up with my impromptu fruit punch party.

See the plan was, go shopping with my sis, buy her some nice outfits and at least one for myself, then go home and make some really alcoholic fruit punch, coz I’d gotten a random punch craving throughout the week. Then I’d subtly play some r&b in the background, subconsciously reminding her that she likes to dance. By around midnight, she would be up for clubbing and we could go party in our new outfits, and possibly flirt with attractive club boys.

This is what I learnt at my punch party:

My sisters boyfriend will almost certainly crash, and with his addition to the circle the punch gets 200% more alcoholic, where the recipe goes from half a bottle of vodka and a bit of champagne with pineapple juice, orange juice, red powerade and strawberry slices to a full bottle of vodka, and two full bottles of champagne into the aforementioned mix.

If a boyfriend crashes, all the boys are automatically invited, the footy goes on tv (not like I don’t like footy, but it stifles interaction) and the guitar comes out, and any plans I might have had for a coercion of clubbing is thrown to the winds.

Even though I never went anywhere, didn’t fall over, was extra careful with my new François inspired dress, I will still at some point do something (What? What was it?) to make a hole in my stockings. This is the universal Luli rule of stockings, if you wear them, you will hole them. It’s like I kicked myself in the upper thigh with the heel of my stiletto! I guess those pilates are working.

When the insanely deceptively alcoholic punch runs out because the boys are in love with it, as it reminds them of their boys only trip to Bali, switching to wine (which you never drink, that ALWAYS gets you wasted, and has so far never failed to make you violently ill of the mouth) is not the best idea. Especially when you’re compensating for your boredom by drinking faster.

You may not be in a club or bar, but that won’t stop someone from bringing a random drunk guy who will follow you around all night, hit on you, and tell you he’s changed since the last time you saw him (with grazes all over his face from passing out on a chair and falling out of it onto the concrete). He’s not a “mess” anymore. When you tell him you don’t care and that you are a mess yourself so it’s not that bad, he will regale you of the time he *almost* but sorta technically didn’t have sex in the middle of a dance floor. Charming. DISENGAGE!

My friend who cheated on his girl didn’t do it the night I suspected, it was actually a long time ago, and somehow that still doesn’t make it any better.

When you start to get harsh and painful stomach cramps from the fruit punch and have to lay on the bathroom floor for a little bit to catch your breath, its probably time to stop, not to strategically vomit, brush yourself off and get back on the horse with a fresh glass of fruity death (and THEN go onto wine later).

– If you manage to stumble up to the second floor, but it curiously feels like its tilting from one side to the other, you may as well forget bedtime for now and head straight to the bathroom. Trust me, I’m saving you some time.

See what I mean? I have no-one to blame but myself.