Sinister: The visually impaired sultana

[Magpie Jay]

~~....~~

The subject line is not related to Hans Moleman (my first and only yellow 
reference), but the creepy Mass Blind date I became entangled in that i told 
you about, and Spanners feared may be a cult initiation thing.

Before i go down that road however, i must add some exciting news to the 
depression thread. I read this morning that they ( 'they' being the starchy 
powers that be) are making Tortilla chips laced with St Johns Wort! These 
are part of a new herbalised snack market sector that is apparantly kicking 
in the states. So you really will be able to take comfort in junk food soon. 
Bio-prozac rules.

Well, my mass blind date didnt go according to plan exactly, but was an 
interesting evening nonetheless.

Half thinking it was a scam a la Shooting Fish, i wandered up Cleveland st 
looking for no:100. I gaped in khaki horror at the gap between numbers 99 
and 103. A derelict building for let. Scam, SCAM, SCRAM! I thought 
disheartedly, before realising that 100 is actually an even number and was 
on the other side of the street.

The premise was that after filling in and emailing an intimate questionaire 
on life, love and blushes, my perfect match at the party of 100 strangers 
would be sat opposite me at the table. The room was full of lovely touchy 
feely folk, any one of whome would have made me a happy camper for the 
evening, and i even had considered the possibility that my date may be male, 
as no such eliminating questions were asked!

HOWEVER. The girl opposite me was an 18 year old A- level student, who sat 
next to her friend and talked to her all night, both ignoring their blind 
dates. Its not the age i minded, or the fact she was quiet. But to be queit, 
dull AND rude is inexcusable. Worse still she was the spitting image of 
Celine Dion, and everytime she flashed her side profile i ducked for cover 
in case her Quebecian missile silo of a nose poked me in the eye. How could 
Celine Dion be my perfect match??

I was relieved when she lost her ring and i was able to fake looking for it 
under the table in a bid to avoid having to see her or try in vain to make 
converstaion with her. To assist me in my search i took the candlestick 
holder under with me and sat crossed leg beneath the diners. It was 
strangely seductive being under the banquet table by candlelight, looking at 
all the shiny shoes and stockinged toes in the flicker of the flames. But 
paranoia about the plastic table cloth and the slight aroma of singeing made 
me return to my seat.

It was then i discoverd my real date for the evening was at the other end of 
the table. The poisoned witch that was Celine had switched seating labels 
with my true date so she could sit with her dead pan fried! The bloke next 
to me and i got up in disgust and moved our chairs to the other end of the 
table, abandoning the anti dates.

My real date was a real funny, spanish looking girl called Cat Miles 
Something. With a name like that she had to be a winner. Our first 
conversation was twisted. She managed to almost convince me she used to be a 
man, and her neckscarve was actually covering up her adams apple. I'm not a 
gullable person but not wanting to offend her either way, sort of went along 
with the joke. She even revealed to me that she has on ocassion used mens 
urinals, to unfortunate results. While we didnt fall in love over our kebabs 
or anything had a laugh and I gave her my email address so I'll hopefully 
catch her on the keys.

The embarassing answers fron the questionairre were then used as a parlour 
game..."find the person who did X", great for meeting even more people. But 
embarassing for the girl who had to look 99 people in the eyes after they 
all found out she once let out a series of fanny (uk) farts in a business 
meeting! She promptly went home.

So there, a sort of testiment to the effectiveness of total blind dates, and 
further reinforcement to the long standing fact that Celine Dion and all 
visually derived persons thereof are beeeeeeatch whores from hell.

toodles,

Jay

http://www.members.tripod.com/john_kerswell/artyfarty.html


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