Hillary
I knew when my date didn’t want to stay to finish the bar tab that things hadn’t gone well – but I figured that, since I had endured well over an hour of his appalling chat and pointless conversation, I might as well make the most of the free drinks and drown my sorrows.He had told me repeatedly how much of a drinking expert he was throughout the date (another of his fascinating stories) so now was his time to shine. He didn’t shine; in fact, the only thing shining was the floor, at which I stared intently to avoid any eye contact and distract myself from the awkward silences. Don’t get me wrong, he seemed like a nice guy, but I was more after Vanilla Ice and he was leaning way too close to the vanilla side for my liking. Vanilla – a term in America for those individuals who although may seem pleasant enough, make very little impact on your life and are forgotten almost instantly. What was I talking about again? Oh yes, my date …
I’m sure he’ll understand the term “vanilla,” being American himself, which instantly put him at a disadvantage, as I was looking for a Kiwi to satisfy my American appetite for New Zealand meat. And I’m not talking about the lamb variety. Critic – if I wanted to meet an American, I would have stayed in America … common sense. Arseholes.
At least I enjoyed the food. My date, on the other hand, did not: he had an allergic reaction half way through the meal. Not the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, though it may just have been his attempt to escape. Regardless, I persevered, determined to make the most of the bar tab, and I feel like it was utilised enough to make the evening worthwhile. I drank enough to send myself straight to sleep, anyway … or was that his boring conversation?
Needless to say, no phone numbers or bodily fluids of any kind were exchanged. Not quite the night of rampant sex I was after, but never mind. I’m sure he’ll be the vanilla to someone’s pod one day – just not mine, unfortunately.
Barack
When you’re in New Zealand you often hear about the “two degrees” of separation. You can usually find a quick connection back to anyone you meet. This phenomenon was more evident Friday night than any other. On Thursday, I got a last-minute call to see if I had time to fill in for someone who had bailed on their date. To a broke-as student like myself, I couldn’t have been happier – plus I’d have the chance to maybe meet a nice Kiwi girl.Sorry Critic readers, but Americans are more condensed down here than I thought. While I had good chat on the date, I didn’t come halfway across the world from the USA to chat up Americans. But hey, when we’ve already spent all our money on a plane ride and the undeniable urge to throw yourself off a bridge (with a bungee rope tied to your feet), you’ll defiantly be glad for a yarn, a shouted good meal, and some drinks together.
We went over everything we knew about where we were from in the States and told stories about some crazy grandparents, who are apparently a more racist/sexist generation than we generally like to believe. I also learned some serious lessons about economics being the force that influenced British people to drive on the left side of the road because they apparently have a subconscious need to be in correct jousting form (I’m still trying to work that one out myself).
After dinner was finished, we had some extra funds left over to hit the bar. We asked the bartender for his favourite shot and that was probably the best call we made all night. Before now, I’d never seen five types of alcohol and a banana go into a shot, but damn was it a good recipe. After roasting marshmallows on the bar and second shot, we walked back toward out flats.
We said our goodbyes and I went to grab a pie from the Night N’ Day (never-ending hunger), and ended up running into some friends and had a crazy night with duelling guitars and a lot of weed. I would have invited her along if I had known where my night was going, but sometimes shit happens when you go with the flow.