Monthly Archives: November 2011

Bad Date No.2 gets better


Okay,  I am writing up the other dates I’ve been on in the past week or so, but I had to write this interim post describing what happened today.

I left this morning for the marvelous BrisVegas for a couple of days and who should i bump into at the airport but Mr Bad Date No.2, Frequent Flyer Man.  He was quite hard to miss, really, being the size he is and waving like one of those big inflatable advertising figures whilst yelling “Hey Patty!”

Any attempts to ignore him were thwarted by the helpful soul next to me who went from nudge to downright shove as she informed me that the mammoth man was trying to get my attention. I thanked her sweetly and waved at Mr Miles.

We went through all the “fancy seeing you here”s and then he asked how long I had to wait for my flight. As it happens, I get super duper excited when I fly anywhere for pleasure and tend to get to the airport early to do a bit of plane spotting. Add to this flight delays on Qantas today and I had over a 3 hour wait to look forward to.

“Have I got a treat for you” he said. Hoping that the treat wasn’t something like the chance to do the wild thing with him, I bravely followed him.

Well, he whisked me into the Qantas Club which would have been cool enough, but then we kept going through the Qantas Club through a magical discreet door, where he flashed his Platinum card and suddenly I was in Business Lounge World. It’s nice in here – lots of free wine – and not cruddy crap wine either – and little pastries and really REALLY yummy party pies, as well as super comfy seats at the great big window where I can watch all the planes.

And I really have to be nicer about Mr Miles, because he had a plane to catch right away, so he just said “Enjoy” and left me here.

So here I am, swanning it up in the Qantas Business Lounge, on to about my fifth glass of red and about to head off on a holiday. Life could suck a whole lot more right now.


Date 5 – Bitter Man


So again I haven’t updated and the reason for that is I’ve been busy dating!

All fired up from last weekend, I bravely responded to about half the guys left in my inbox.  A veritable flurry of email communication followed and dates were set up.

The first was an after-work drink date with a guy whose profile described him as ‘adventurous and a real man.’  The bellringer for those warning bells must’ve been taking a sickie I guess.

I arrived to find a rather pissed-off looking guy, somewhat rotund and tapping his fingers on the table.  Let’s call him Ernest.  I really want to give him a lame-sounding name (deepest apologies to any non-lame Ernests out there).

“Typical woman being late,” he greeted me in that faux ‘I’m joking but not really’ way people do.

It was two minutes past our agreed meeting time, but nevertheless I apologised with a nice smile on my face.  I ordered a glass of wine and as soon as the waiter left, Ernie said, “I’m not going to pay for your drink you know.”

Hmmm.  I’m thinking I might skull that wine when it gets here.  “I totally expected we’d split the bill,” I told him.

“Sure you did,” he responded.  “That’s the problem with women in this city.  All they have to do is sit back and wait for the guys to come to them and buy them drinks just by showing a bit of tit.”  I tried to surreptitiously hoik my top up a bit but wound up just exposing my belly in what I can only imagine looked like some sort of perverted come-on.  “You’re all such princesses, clicking your fingers and thinking the guys will come running.”

Being lumped in with the ‘princesses’ surprised me a little, but I suppose I have been told I bear a passing resemblance to Princess Fiona in Shrek, so maybe that’s what he meant.

“That’s not exactly true,” I told him.  “It’s really hard for women my age to meet men.  That’s why I’m internet dating.”

“Bull.  You could just walk into any bar right now and say you want sex and some guy will be willing to do it with you.”

“Yes, but that’s not what I want.  It would be degrading.”

“What, so you’re too good for those guys?  See.  All women are stuck up bitches.”

When that glass of wine came, I threw it down in record time, making me do that little throw-up-in-your-throat thing.  Maybe I should have let it be the throw-up-all-over-the-bitterman thing, but I do try to be a lady.

I threw a ten-buck note at him and told him I had to leave.  “Yeah, yeah, you think you’re too good for me, probably got five more suckers to go to tonight.”

I raced out of there before he figured out I’d ordered a $15 glass of wine.  Ah, small victories.

Camp Camping and Fresh Resolve


Okay, sorry I haven’t updated for almost a week, but honestly, I was just about ready to throw it all in.  The guys I went out with were the ones whose profiles looked most promising and each of them was a disaster.  Combing through the rest of the guys who contacted me – well let’s just say, there wasn’t much pushing me to go ahead.

Sorry, too, that I haven’t responded to any of the most recent comments.  I really appreciate them all and want to give a personal response to each of you, so I’ll make that my mission over the next couple of days.

But anyway, about the weekend.

Friday night I went out to dinner with some friends and some friends-of-friends.  One of the FOFs was a lovely guy I immediately clicked with.  Absolutely gorgeous, loads of fun and with a very similar sense of humour to me – we’ll call him Patrick (see how I did that?  Patty/Patrick?  Because we’re, like, so similar and all?).  He mentioned he was going away camping with some people the next day and that all the others were coupled up, so he’d love me to be his (plus-sized) plus-one.

Old Patty would have preferred to exfoliate with a cheese grater than commit to a whole weekend with strangers, but New Patty had survived three Dates From Hell and said yes.  Well, maybe it was the excess litres of red wine that said yes, but New Patty didn’t make a lame excuse the next day.

Quick quiz:

Q:  What do you call a gorgeous, attentive, wickedly witty guy who genuinely likes me and would make perfect long term relationship material?

A:  Gay

Yep, hope you weren’t getting your hopes up for me; Patrick is 100% totally bona fide poof.  But the camping trip sounded like loads of fun and I’d planned to have a date-free weekend anyway, so it was off to the river we went.

I’m so glad I did because my eyes were opened up big time.  Great bunch of people – a straight couple in their thirties, and a gay guy/bi guy/straight girl threesome.  Probably not my thing (okay, so how many people’s thing is it after all?), but it did make me realise that there’s a whole world of options out there and my bad experiences so far shouldn’t put me off.  And don’t judge, even when your brain is in whoa! overload.

As happens when you have such a mixed group, a campfire and a whole lot of beer and not enough fish to go around, conversation got to “deep and meaningful” stage, which really just means we all spilled way too much personal information which would make us cringe the next morning.  I regaled my dating exploits so far, which resulted in fits of laughter, which actually made me feel pretty good.

Life is pretty awesome when you make new friends, so when I got home on Monday night, I resolved to broaden my horizons and open my mind.

When I finally recovered from the weekend’s excesses by Wednesday, I put the resolution into practice and responded to a couple more guys in my inbox and went a huntin’ – sending out kisses to guys I fancy.

I’m also going to set up some profiles on other sites and book in for some speed dating.

Hopefully I’ll have some more dates to tell you about tomorrow.

Date 4 – thinks he’s Yoda he does


So, lunchtime date yesterday.  I didn’t really think that I’d click with this guy, but as my top three choices had been such disasters, I figured maybe my radar was a bit off and I should expand my horizons a bit.

His profile showed a guy who likes to wear hats in his photos, stated to be 5’7”.  (As an aside, I’m beginning to notice a pattern here – it seems that the less vertically-able men are as much maligned as those of us who enjoy our pastas and curries a bit too much).

A bald guy about 5’5-and-a-half” turned up, which I was totally expecting.  See how quick I catch on?

“Pleased to meet you, I am,” he said with what I thought must be a dyslexic smile.

I felt absolutely no attraction whatsoever to this guy, but I still had hope of being blown away by the wit and charm that was not at all evident in his profile.

“Eaten, you have?” he asked me.  I say ‘asked me’ like I immediately knew it was a question, but it actually took me a while to work that out.

“Oh, yes, just a coffee please.”

He seemed a pleasant enough fellow and smiled a lot, which was a nice change, but conversation was a struggle, so in desperation I went our online dating experiences (I say desperation because my mate Kate says that’s a no-go subject.  I dunno, we’re supposed to pretend.

“I’m quite new to this,” I said.  “It’s very daunting.”

“So true, that is.  But pretty you are.  Popular you must be.”

It finally dawned on me that this guy wasn’t just doing a cute icebreaker thing, he actually thought he was Yoda.  He spoke like this a lot, sometimes even employing a croaky Yoda-voice.  It made conversation bloody difficult.  And he didn’t seem to be doing it as some sort of cute joke, like Michael and Holly from The Office.  I got the impression he talks like that all the time.

After our coffee, when it was gone 2 o’clock and I was justified in saying I had to get back to work (even though that was a fib as I had a day off and because I was feeling good about myself I was going bikini shopping – but that’s another story.  Traumatic.  I hear the burqa-look is in for plain plump spinsters this year), he said “See you again, I shall?”

“Not compatible, we are,” I said.*


So this was the most pleasant date so far, but there was no click, conversation was near impossible and I just flat out didn’t fancy the guy.  There’s no point in trying to make something happen when it’s clear it’s not going to.

No dates lined up this weekend – already have plans with friends.  But I do still have several fellas in my inbox that I’ll get back to and hopefully have more dates next week.

I’m also going to check out the speed dating thing someone suggested.  Anyone got any experience with that?


*okay, total lie.  That’s just what I should have said.

Trying to Twit


At the suggestion of one of the commenters, I’ve set up a Twitter account.  According to Jessica Rabbit:

My blogging friend also has a lot of success with Twitter – not sure how, but she picks up there like no tomorrow!

So I’ve set up a Twitter account: @PlainPlumpPatty and I’m doing the Twitter 101 tutorial but I still have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.  Any hints and tips?

Date 3 – Inappropriate Questions Man


Last night was almost the date-to-make-me-throw-it-all-in.  A good sleep later and I can laugh about it, and now I plan to keep laughing about it all weekend.  Which may seem a bit odd to anyone in my presence when I suddenly let out a maniacal chuckle for no apparent reason, but whatever.

We’ll call him Chucky.  Actually, there’s another word starting with ‘C’ I’d rather call him, but I rated this blog PG, so I won’t.

First of all, there is no way in hell this guy is under 60 (age listed as 45) and that’s being generous.  And he’s wearing an Ed Hardy t-shirt.  Now, I try not to have too many prejudices, but as soon as I see an Ed Hardy t-shirt, I think “wanker”.  When I see an Ed Hardy t-shirt on a 60-years+ potential date, I think “run”.

Oh why, oh why, oh why did I not obey that little inner voice of mine?  Why did I do the polite thing and sit down?  Running – even the uncoordinated jiggly-wobbly run that I do – would have been the far more dignified course of action.

We went through some vague pleasantries, though everything about this guy was repulsing me to the point my body was having actual physical responses to him.  But we ordered a drink, so I really had to soldier on and I owed it to him to give him a chance until we at least finished a glass of wine.

“So when was your last relationship?” he asked.  I didn’t particularly want to share too much with some guy I’d known for less than a minute, so I muttered something about it ending about 18 months ago.

“So, just short term things for sex since then?  Do you have lots of one night stands?”

“Excuse me?” I asked, more than a little startled.

“So do you have a healthy sex drive?”

“What?” I felt rooted to my chair.  And I really didn’t want to be thinking about the word ‘root’ right now while looking at this repulsive gnome.

“I have a very high sex drive and it’s important that my partner is the same.  What position do you like best?”

“Are you seriously asking me this when we’ve known each other five minutes?”

“Quite often bigger girls like doggy style best because it actually makes their bottoms look smaller.  Do you like doggy style?”

At this I let rip at the guy, which went something like: “You f_____ing foul little toad.   You grotesque, repulsive little troll.  F____ off back to whatever hole you crawled from you perverted, mini-dicked turd and don’t ever contact me again.  And by the way, Ed Hardy on a geriatric looks ridiculous.”  This had virtually every other table turning to stare at us.  The place was crowded and when I tried to stand up my chair hit the chair of the person behind me and I nearly fell flat on my face in my efforts to get out.  I struggled for what seemed like five minutes trying to extricate myself from the table and fled.

I think I heard the word “cocktease” shouted out behind me, but I didn’t look back.

Date 2 – come fly with me


Okay, so after Sunday’s disastrous attempt at a date, I decided I needed to jump back on that proverbial horse, so I sent back a bunch of “I’m interested” responses and, as a result, set up three dates for this week.  The first of these was after work yesterday.  He’d chosen the venue, a fairly upmarket wine bar with a water view.

We’ll call him Barton.  His profile listed him as 47 and ‘slightly overweight’ and he listed flying as his favourite hobby.  I have a couple of friends who fly and I love going up with them in their little Cessnas, so that was pretty promising.

He was already there when I arrived and he was BIG.  There was nothing at all ‘slightly’ about his overweightness.  He wore a business shirt that had rather unfortunate stains under the arms and a tomato-red face that looked like he’d been running, but I really suspect he hadn’t.  He was also on the phone and held up one finger at me while he boomed at some hapless soul on the other end, “If this is how you treat your Platinums, I might have to fly with someone else.”


So it transpires that when he put down a hobby of ‘flying’, he meant flying on commercial airlines.  It also transpires that the reason he didn’t put down any other hobbies is because he doesn’t have any other hobbies.

“Yes, I’m a frequent flyer.  Platinum with Qantas and Virgin and I have Admiral Club and Centurian, and Diamond on other airlines.  They greet me by name on eight different airlines you know.  I fly every week.  One of their most important customers.”

“Oh,” I said, envisaging the poor passengers watching this guy come down the aisle, afraid he’s going to sit next to them and spend the flight oozing into their chair and talking at them in that booming voice.

“This weekend I’m flying from here to Canberra then I’m flying to Hobart via Sydney, then back to Canberra via Melbourne then back here.  I get 150 status credits and it only costs me around 30,000 points.  I get to go in all the business lounges – much better than the regular lounges.”

Upon questioning as to why he was doing all that flying – for not other reason than to get more miles and status credits.  He never visits the destinations he goes to – just the airports.  He chose the wine bar because he could get three frequent flyer points for every dollar spent there.

“What status have you got?” he asked me.

“Oh, um, I think I got to silver once,” I said.

“Silver?  I thought your profile said you like travelling?”

“I do.  This year I’ve been to Malaysia and London and…”

“You can’t travel without status!  I could show you how to get up to at least Gold you know.  Here….”

What followed was an extremely long-winded, detailed and jaw-droppingly boring plan of applying for credit cards that offered lots of bonus miles and using this card for those purchases and that card for other purchases and only shopping in certain stores and taking convoluted routes every time I fly and looking out for sales and flying for no reason except to get status credits…

Now, I think it’s great when someone is passionate about their hobby, but he didn’t talk about anything else, didn’t ask me anything about myself and only paused to ensure I was suitably and hopefully legs-openedly impressed with his incredible importance.

Also – and this is something I could deal with and work on if the rest of the package was worth it, but it so wasn’t – the unfortunate patches under his arms started spreading and migrating all over his back and down his side into places I didn’t want to imagine.

As soon as I was able to get a word in, I thanked him for his time, left him twenty bucks (check out my good deed – that meant he could pay on his credit card that got him two miles to the dollar or whatever) and made a hasty exit.

Nowhere near as bad as Date 1, but not exactly a success!  Next!