Dating Stories: The Ukrainian Lady

I got a message form a Ukrainian woman living in Shanghai. She wrote, “Hi, how are you?”

I thought, Well, this is bullshit. No woman would message me.

So I wrote back, “Hey, I’m pretty good. Would you rather be an eagle or a shark?”

The eagle or a shark question is one I’ve asked before. I sounds quirky. The result has been 59% of women prefer sharks, and none of them want to date me.

Yerri wrote back, that’s her name, she said, “That’s an unusual question. How’s the weather where you are.”

I wrote, “The weather is great. Would you rather be a penguin or a duck?”

Mum said, “You know this woman might be an actual person.”

I said, “Yeah, and his name’s Yuri.”

This Yerri person wrote back, “That weather sounds good. I’ve been planning a holiday by the beach. All I need to do is to buy a ticket.”

Sure she, he, they, or the computer program does, but I want to keep my dating miles down, and I’m also not convinced this person is in Shanghai or Ukraine. They’re probably in prison.

I wrote back, “You want to visit Australia do you?”

She said, “Yes. February would be ideal.”

This is how they work. They don’t ask for help. That would be suspicious. They make you want to send money. They give you the idea. That’s inception. Very clever.

I wrote, “February sounds great. You should definitely look me up when you get here.”

But then she didn’t reply. Not the next day. Not the day after that. Silence. We’d been typing every day for four days, and now she wasn’t replying.

So I wrote again. “Oh, hey, I haven’t heard from you, which is weird, I mean you really write back fast, and I was wondering if you’re okay, just checking, nothing wrong, still planning February? I have a place you can stay.”

The next day she replied, “Oh, hey, I found some cheap flights to Macau and booked. Thanks for your offer. All the best. Yerri.”

I Googled Yerri. It’s not a real name. Why would she sign-off as Yerri if it’s not a real name. It’s not like Ukrainians have parents that name their kids Tiannie, or Tylisha, or some self-indulgent imaginative first world spelling problem bullshit name like that.

Maybe she wasn’t a fraud. Maybe Yerri was looking for a friend. Maybe she found one in Macau. Good on her. That’s a happy ending, isn’t it?

Dating Stories: The Carrot Lady

I was in the supermarket trying to decide between two types of pumpkins, and a woman came up to me and said, “I can see you don’t work here, but do you know where the carrots are?”

I said, “Sure, there at the back of the row down there,” pointing in the direction required.

She said, “Great, thanks.”

I said, “Hold on. You have something there,” and I pointed at her teeth, where something green was caught. It was thick, like she had been using her mouth to mow the lawn.

She said, “Oh, thank you,” and picked it out. “It must have been there all day. Do you know how many people I’ve spoken to! Oh my, I just went on a date and he didn’t say anything. I can’t believe it. Nobody said anything. I haven’t eaten all day. It’s so good of you to mention.”

Meanwhile I was in front of these pumpkins and I didn’t know whether I should get the butternut pumpkin or the normal kind. I liked the sound of butternut, ‘cause… butter, but I couldn’t remember if I’ve had it before and if I liked it, and the other one was on special and they looked good, so I was stuck, and this woman kept yapping next to me with her thank-you’s and how-nice-you-are’s, and it was very distracting.

Mum said the women must of liked me. She said, “Women don’t have conversations with people they don’t like.”

I said, “You’re talking to me.”

It was another three day before she said, “See what I mean?”

This women seeking the carrots kept thanking me and I tying to choose between pumpkins, so I said, “Hey, can you stop talking. The carrots are over there.”

She wasn’t happy with that. She grunted, “Arumph!”, and turned around so quickly that she didn’t notice the person behind her, and she walked straight into him.

Broccoli went everywhere, and as they fell to the floor it was like lovers rolling in hay. Except there were buds of broccoli everywhere.

I watched this and decided not to buy any pumpkins, and instead I ran and hid in the frozen food section. While I was trying to decide between 18 different packets of chips, I saw the carrot lady leaving with the broccoli guy. They were picking bits of green out of each other’s hair and clothing. So that’s a happy ending. Good for them.

Dating Stories: The Celine Dion Lady

I was on a date with a woman named Celine. She said, “Do you want to hear something funny?”

I said, “Sure,” because I’m always looking for funny things to talk about.

She said, “Well, my last name is Dion.” I continued to stare at her, and she, “So I’m Celine Dion.”

At first I thought, Oh! I hate Celine Dion’s music, but since I wanted to see my date again I thought I’d be nice and so I said, “That’s great. Isn’t she wonderful.”

Celine Dion said, “No, I don’t like her music.”

I said, “Oh, not even that Titanic stuff?”

She said, “No.”

I said, “Why don’t you change your name then?”

She said, “It’s my grand-mother’s name.”

I said, “Your grand-mother’s Celine Dion!”

She said, “No, not the real one.”

I said, “Oh, but that’s still pretty cool,” but I didn’t believe that, because I don’t like Celine Dion’s music, the real one – I hadn’t ascertained if this one made music yet, but I couldn’t backtrack on the idea of liking Celine Dion, because Celine Dion would think I’m weak willed, and I wanted to see Celine Dion again, and people don’t like people who are weak willed. Especially if you’re Celine Dion.

Mum said, “Did you tell Celine Dion about me?”

I said, “No.”

She said, “You, you, you, you, you should have taken her to karaoke.”

I said, “No,” but the truth was we were at karaoke. I didn’t know the bar had karaoke, and I was there with Celine Dion, and it was karaoke night, and the karaoke manager came up to us and said, “Hey, you look like a happy couple. Do you two want to sing a song together?”

I said, “No.”

Celine Dion, “No.”

The Karaoke Lady said, “Go on.”

I said, “Oh, how about Man, I feel Like a Woman?”

Celine Dion said, “No.”

I said, “Okay.”

She said, “I do love that song.”

I said, “Do you?”

She said, “Yeah, but you know that’s not a Celine Dion song, right?”

At that moment I realised she was right, but I didn’t want to appear weak-willed, because people don’t like people who are weak-willed, so I said, “Yes it is.”

She said, “No it’s not.”

I said, “Yes it is.”

Celine Dion said to the Karaoke Lady, “Excuse me, is Man, I feel like a Woman a Celine Dion song?”

The Karaoke Lady would have known, but she didn’t want to get involved in our conversation so she said, “I’ll go check.”

But Celine Dion said, “No, I’ll find out,” and she got up and went to the karaoke computer and typed on the board. Then on the screen came the words “Man, I Feel Like a Woman by Shania Twain” and the music started and Celine Dion started singing it, at me, really badly and angrily, and some guy in the front row was singing with her, and she started singing with him, and at that moment I realised that not only is Celine Dion a terrible singer, with a shocking taste in music, but she also wasn’t going to date me again.

But she looked happy, so that’s good. That’s good for her.

Bendigo Comedy podcast 18

Shaun Rosaia and Cody Jones with Luke Morris.

Tinder rules, dating practice, and all new Gold Dust comedy on June 15 at the sexy new time of 8pm.

itunes: https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/bendigo-comedy-podcast/id1192004010?mt=2

stitcher: http://www.stitcher.com/podcast/bucket-of-work/bendigo-comedy-podcast

soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/user-268383102/shaun-rosaia-and-cody-jones-with-luke-morris

Dating Stories: The Dick Pics Lady

I was sitting at the bar and a woman slammed her phone down in front of me and said, “Why do men send these pictures!?”

I looked at her screen and said, “Ah, is that the underside of a turtle’s neck?”

She said, “No! You know what that is.”

I said, “Ah, is it an unhealthy snake?”

She said, “No, it’s a picture of a dick!”

I said, “Oh! What kind is it? Is it a turtle’s dick?”

She said, “No, it’s a man’s dick.”

I said, “Gross!”

She said, “It’s disgusting.”

I said, “It sure is.”

She said, “I don’t want to see that.”

I said, “Nobody does.”

She said, “What are you going to do about it?”

I said, “I don’t know. I’ll send out a text to everyone. No more dick pics.”

Mum said, “That wouldn’t work. People don’t listen to you. It’s like that time you cried out for help and no-one came to save you from drowning. When was that again?”

I said, “When I was five.”

She said, “Oh yeah, where was that again?”

I said, “At the local pool.”

She said, “Oh yeah, that was a nice day from memory.”

I said, “Yeah, it was quite sunny. I couldn’t see the ledge.”

Mum said, “We can laugh about it now can’t we. Ha ha ha ha.”

The woman didn’t believe my plan either. She said, “You’re not going to do anything,” and then she took back her phone and started swiping her finger across the screen, which made me feel really awkward.

Then the bouncer came over and said, “Is everything okay here?”

The woman held up her phone and said, “Do you know who this is?”

The bouncer said, “It looks like Bryan. He’s over there. Perhaps you and I should have a word with him.” I don’t know what he was looking at.

She said, “Let’s do that,” and away they went.

So she found her man. That’s good. That’s good for her.

Dating Stories: The Capsicum Spray Lady

I don’t think I’m creepy-looking. Well, I try not to come across as creepy, but the other day I was following this women down a dark alley. Nothing wrong with that. She just kept turning down paths and I was going in the same direction.

So we were walking late at night down this alley, and I thought I might be freaking her out, so I sped-up to overtake her, but as the stomp of my shoes echoed off the narrow walls, she started to walk faster. It felt like a walking race, and I’m a bit fit so I covered the ground between us quickly, but before I got alongside her she turned around and said something. I couldn’t hear her so I leant forward, and then she sprayed me in the face with capsicum spray.

Right in the face.

I don’t know what they do to those capsicums. Capsicum is great in a stir fry, and you can hollow one out, fill it with couscous, grill it and make a great snack, or part of a meal, but somehow, someone’s chopped it up, put it in a spray, and it really burns the eyes.

I mean, wow! I was in pain, choking and grasping at the walls as my sight was blinded, and she told me she was calling the police, which I thought was really reassuring because I’d just been capsicum sprayed and I was in a lot of pain and I wanted some help.

Mum said, “The police don’t help in those situations. That’s not how it works.”

Which is true, because while I was being handcuffed and having my face moulded into the bonnet of a Holden Commodore, I heard a police officer talking to the woman.

He was saying how she did the right thing and people like me have to be taught a lesson.

She said, “Thanks,” and told him that she wouldn’t think twice about spraying me again, which I didn’t want because I don’t like spicy food.

But, yeah, he gave her his personal phone number. So they were getting along. That’s good. That’s good for them.

Dating Stories: The Street Corner Lady

I met a date on a street corner. When I got there a gust of wind blew a dead leaf into her hair. It looked like a fascinator acquired from the gutter.

I was going to tell her but then an old lady walked passed with a dog, and it jumped up and scratched my date on the leg. It put a tear in her stocking, or pantyhose, or legging, I’m not sure what the right word is. Tights? I’m not au fait with women’s wears. I only found out what a tampon was last week. They look like a soft toy mouse with a tail, and a red nose.

Anyway, my date was bleeding, from the scratch, and I bent to shoo the dog away but in doing that I neglected my chivalrous duties of standing between my date and the curb, so when a car came passed it splashed her with ditch water.

I was dry, but she was soaked, and I was going to say something but then a bird pooed onto her face, just below her eye, so it looked like she was weeping a white tear with a little grey shit in the middle, and all I could think to say was, “That’s good luck.”

Mum said, “This woman sounds like the most unlucky person in the world. Not only has she had all of this happen, but she’s about to go on a date with you.”

The date never happened. First I went to wipe the poo away, but at that moment, maybe from the wind, her hay fever kicked in and she sneezed forward, and I poked her in the eye. Poking your date in the eye, or anyone really, once you poke someone in the eye you don’t really endear yourself to them.

But she was actually okay about it. She said, “Don’t worry. It’s not your fault,” and she was smiling. I thought that was great spirit. Plus I’ve always thought that when people smile, that’s them at their most beautiful.

Mum doesn’t think so. She thinks my smile ruins photos, and Christmas, but I was looking at my date with tree debris in her hair, a bleeding leg, torn clothing, dripping scum, smudged bird shit on her face under a blood shot eye, and she was smiling and I thought she looked really beautiful, and I really liked her.

Then an alien spaceship came overhead and sucked her away.

So now she’s on an adventure. So that’s good for her.

Dating Stories: The Scary Movie Lady

I took a date to see a movie. I wanted to see Roman Holiday, where Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck go on an adventure through Rome on the back of a Vespa, and for some reason it reminds me of Paris.

My date wanted to see Invasion Death Match, where Earth is overrun with zombies, werewolves and vampires, and the few humans that remain try to survive while aliens invade, but I don’t like scary movies.

I mean, vampires, sure they’re blood suckers, but they can’t come into a house unless they’re invited, so people should stay indoors and order pizza. You don’t let the pizza delivery person into your house. Why would a vampire be any different? Vampires aren’t better than pizza delivery people.

Werewolves, I’m not afraid of them. In monster mythology they represent teenagers growing up, so all that hair they’re covered in is pubic hair. I’m not afraid of someone covered in pubic hair.

Zombies, they’re like really drunk people, bumbling about and eating things they’ll regret later. I can relate to that. Imagine waking up and thinking, Aw, I shouldn’t have eaten that. I can relate.

Even aliens. All those movies are about how people are fearful of foreigners.

I hate all that. They’re drunk, pubic hair covered, pizza delivery drivers who want to come to our country, and people scream, run and try and shoot them. It’s mean.

Mum said, “They’re just movies. Get over yourself. Can’t we even enjoy a movie these days.”

I said, “Not if Adam Sandler is in it.”

That’s a cheap shot. Sorry.

I told my date that we should see our separate movies, and then tell each other about them over a drink.

She said, “Sure,” but after my film finished I couldn’t find her. I waited, just in case she got lost, and then I asked an usher if he’d seen her.

He said, “No,” he hadn’t seen a single women, with her hair in a bun, carrying a black handbag with a gold link chain.

So I guess she mustn’t have left alone. That’s good. Maybe she clung onto someone, or someone clung onto her. That’s the real point of going with a date to see a scary movie.

Oh! Well, good for her.

Dating Stories: The Sick Kids Lady

I was on a date with a woman who kept checking her phone. Checking to see if her babysitter had sent any messages.

She apologised, saying, “Sorry, but you know how it is.”

I said, “Sure,” but that could not be further from the truth. I’ve never had a foetus gestate under my gut and then push its way through my urethra, only for the man of my dreams to fuck off, leaving me to raise the cherub on my own. I consider that an unlikely set of events.

We kept talking, about nothing. I find it weird how small talk takes up a large amount of people’s time. She asked questions like “Where do you live, what do you do, do you have any hobbies,” that kind of stuff.

I told her I live in Bendigo, that I’m self-employed, and I’m a writer. She checked her phone and it started ringing.

“Hello,” she said. “Oh god, okay I’ll be there.”

She told me that her child was vomiting and she had to go home.

I was okay with that.

Mum said my date probably invented the illness so she could get out of the date.

I said, “Who would invent an illness for their child to avoid spending time with someone?”

Mum said, “If it was to avoid spending time with you, plenty of people would make their child sick.”

I thought that was rough.

Then Mum said, “Anyway, she probably didn’t even have a kid.”

What kind of parent would create a fake illness for a child to avoid a date? Worse, what kind of parent invents a child, and gives them a fake illness to avoid a date? What if she believed in voodoo and had given a doll a fake illness, but in real life somewhere a child was sick so she could get away from me? The makes me feel really guilty.

Mostly though, I wondered what kind of friend calls someone to give that kind of information?

I guess the answer is a good friend. It must be nice to have a friend a like that. Good for her.

Dating Stories: The Voices Lady

I met a date at a café. We were having brunch. I don’t know why. Maybe she wanted to meet me in daylight and get the date out of the way early. I don’t know.

Anyway, the waiter came up and said, “What can I get you to eat?”

And I said, “Oh, I like the look of the big breakfast, but it’s close to lunch and the voice in my head doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”

My date looked at me and said, “What?”

I said, “The voice in my head. You know, the little consciousness voice. We all have it.”

She said, “I don’t.”

I said, “Sure you do,” and I said to the waiter, “You have it.”

He said, “No I don’t.”

I said, “Sure, it’s the little voice that tells you how to tie your shoelaces or how to cook eggs. How do you cook eggs without it?”

My date said, “I use a book.”

The waiter said, “Yeah, we use books.”

I said, “That’s ridiculous. You use a book every time you want to cook eggs? Why don’t you just listen to the voice in your head?”

Mum told me I shouldn’t talk about hearing voices while on a date.

I said, “You need the voice. It’s you telling you what you’re doing. I mean, sure, sometimes the voice makes a bad decision. Like you think, maybe I should go over there, and then the voice says, “Sure, why not, let’s do that,” but then it turns out it was a bad idea, and you wish you didn’t do it. You can’t blame yourself. It’s the voice’s fault. It made a bad decision. It’s supposed to help you out, and it does usually help, like reminding you how to cook eggs.”

My date didn’t agree with that. She didn’t think listening to a voice in my head was a good thing.

I said, “Sure, I could wear a tin foil hat and yell about fluoride in the water, that might keep the voice out, but that would also make me crazy. I don’t want to look crazy.”

My date didn’t think that was funny. She did enjoy the eggs though, and now she’s dating the chef. So that’s good for her.