Dating Stories: The Herpes Doctor

I had to go to the doctor. You see, I heard that most people have herpes, but I don’t, and that made me feel really left out. Like everyone could talk to each other about herpes, and the time they got herpes, and how much their herpes hurts. But I couldn’t. Then one day I got an itch, down there, and I thought, Cool!

Not really. I actually thought, How’d I get that? Had someone come in the night, ridden my bones and infected me. Wouldn’t I have noticed? Or maybe there’s some sort of bed sheet born herpes, if that’s possible, or do I have some unusual herpes infection exclusive to me? Maybe I have my own brand of herpes. Something unique. Something that makes me special.

Mum says that I’m special already. She often says it in a mental retardation sort of way, but yeah, I could be special with my herpes.

But I couldn’t just rely on this hunch, so I went to the doctor to get it checked out.

One of the first questions she asked was, “So, when was the last time you had sex?” and I didn’t want to tell her because, well, conversations like that just end with someone saying, “Oh, have you tried eHarmony?” (Which is a waste of money by the way. Better to buy a stranger a drink somewhere. You’ll at least get out of the house.)

I just said, “It’s been a while,” and then she looked at my groin, which was a novel experience. The last time someone looked down there was for a tropical wart, and the time before that was probably my Mother changing my dippers. Though I don’t remember her changing them. More so tipping them out and then putting them back on.

Anyway, the doctor said it was bicycle rash and that I just needed to rub in a cream and it would go away.

I asked her to show me how, and she did, and now we’re married.

No. No she didn’t, and I didn’t ask that. She looked to be happily married to some guy in a photo on her desk.

I left with some ointment and no herpes. No, special brand of herpes for me. Just bicycle rash. So I’m not special after all. But I guess that’s a good thing. So a happy ending.

Dating Stories: The French Lady

I was sitting at the bar and a woman came up to order a drink. She had a French accent, so I thought, She’s from out of town. She might go out with me. She wouldn’t not know any better.

So I summed up my Year 8 French and said, “Bonjour.”

She said, “Salut. Parles bien français?

I wasn’t sure what she said, but I wanted to keep the conversation going, so I said “Oui.”

She said, “C’est magnifique de parler Français. Avez-vous là vécu?”

I took a guess and said, “Non.”

She seemed happy with this.

Mum wasn’t so happy. She said, “Why’d you learn French at school? It only increases the number of people who don’t want to speak to you.”

I said, “I didn’t really learn it, and it was just a class I had. It wasn’t something I wanted. I more subjected to it.”

Mum said, “I know how that feels.” Then she kept looking at me until I left the room.

The French woman got served and said, “J’adore la bière et pommes frites.”

I think the last part was “chips”.

The French woman seemed to be waiting for me to say something.

I looked at her.

She waited.

I said, “Oui.”

She looked at me.

I said, “Non.”

She said, “Et toi parlez vous francais?”

I said, “Bonjour.”

She smiled, said “Au revoir”, took her drink and chips, and went back to her friends. Then she pointed at me, and all her friends laughed. So that’s good for them. A jolly time was had. That’s a happy ending.

Dating Stories: The Cake Lady

I was walking along and this woman stopped me and said, “Hey, how have you been?”

I said, “Good.”

She said, “Did you hear Kevin got that new job.”

I said, “I didn’t know he was looking.”

She said, “Yeah, he’s been keeping his eye out. How’s Megan?”

Now, I’m not good with names or faces, or people in general, but I was pretty sure I didn’t know a Megan, and this put more doubt into my mind as to whether I knew this woman talking to me or not.

I said, “She good,” and to test the idea, I added, “We’re really good thanks.”

The woman said, “Oh great, sorry I haven’t seen you since the wedding.”

Now, I’m not good with people, but I was pretty sure I wasn’t married – so this ruled out the me knowing Megan idea, or at least in that way, or at least, I wasn’t wearing any rings. So I took a gamble, and said, “That’s okay, I’m sure you and Kev (I called him Kev) have been really busy.”

She said, “Sure have! But we should catch up soon.”

I said, “What about this weekend?”

She said, “We’re still unpacking.”

I said, “Come around to our place,” because I assume I live with Megan. “Just lob on over sometime. We’re home all weekend.”

She said, “Oh cool, we could use a break sometime. What should I bring?”

I said, “Bring a cake. It’ll be a surprise. I wont even tell Megan. Don’t tell her you’re coming. Just come over one afternoon.”

She said, “Great idea. I’ll bake up something and I’ll see you on Saturday.”

I said, “Great.”

Mum said she wanted to know where the cake was.

I said, “There’s no cake.”

Mum said, “I want cake.”

I said, “Mum, I don’t know these people. There’s no cake. Here, there’s no cake here. Have a look around. No cake. No cake here. I could get you cake. I could get cake and shove it down your throat until you’re full, and then pump it out of your stomach, but that would defeat the purpose of having shoved cake down your throat in the first place.”

Mum said, “I have seen Chopper. I do know what you’re talking about, and you still owe me cake.”

So I made her a cake, and she ate the whole thing. I didn’t get any. But then Kevin, Megan, the guy that looks like me (poor bloke) and some woman I don’t know, they all had surprise cake on the weekend. So that’s good. Assuming Megan and her partner were home. Otherwise it was just Kev and his friend, sharing a cake. That’s a happy ending too. That’s good for them.

Dating Stories: The Man Date

I was at a bar and a guy came up to me and said, “Hey, can I buy you a drink?”

I said, “Yes,” because, well, I was curious. I mean, sure, you only live once, but I also wanted to find out what happens when someone says Yes in that scenario.

He said, “What are you having?”

I said, “Beer.”

He said, “I like a guy who drinks beer.”

I said, “Cool,” because it sounded like we could at least be friends.

He got me a drink and said, “Ask me what I do.”

I asked, “What do you do?”

He said, “I’m a fitness trainer.”

I said, “Oh! That must keep you fit.” I felt like such an idiot. Here’s this guy, talking to me, buying me a drink, and I say such a stupid thing like that.

He was nice about it. He said, “Do you want to see me do a push up?”

I said, “Sure,” and I watched him get down on the floor. Now, the floor shone clean in parts, but only in parts where beer, vodka, midori, and scum from outside hadn’t been trodden into the ground, which meant it wasn’t very shiny at all, and his face got very close to the floor, and he held it there. Then came up.

He said, “See?” and brushed his hands as if that would clean them. It was gross.

I said, “Cool,” but I didn’t know what to do next so I looked around the room.

He followed me and said, “Who are you looking at?”

I said, “No-one.”

He said, “You’re looking at that guy, aren’t you?”

I looked to the dance floor and said, “No.”

He said, “You are. I reckon I could get him.”

I said, “Could you?”

He said, “Sure. He’s just my type,” and, well, the guy dancing was really attractive, I mean, I’m not that way inclined, but he was, and he was dancing all cool, and I thought, I can’t compete with that. What is this guy doing with me, if he thinks he could have a guy like that? I’m out of my league.

I said, “If you think you can get him. You should.”

He said, “Yeah?”

I said, “You might as well. You’re not going to get anywhere with me.” Which was true.

He put his drink down and said, “Alright,” and stormed off. I couldn’t even buy him a beer back.

I told Mum. She said, “You’re such a cocktease. You lead the guy on, get a drink out of him, and throw him away. I’m proud of you.”

That’s the nicest thing she’s ever said to me.

Anyway, the guy was dancing with this guy, and apart from the gyrating, or maybe because of it, they looked happy. So that’s good. That’s good for them. A happy ending.

Dating Stories: the Sex Ed Lady

I went on a date with a woman who was very open about sex. She said, “My last boyfriend couldn’t make me cum.”

I said, “Where?”

She said, “Anywhere.”

I said, “What?”

She said, “Orgasm.”

I said, “What’s an orgasm?”

She said, “That’s what he said,” and she laughed, which was great, but it didn’t answer my question. She then asked me to stick my tongue out and wiggle it between my teeth, like I was going to rapidly lick milk out of a saucer.

It was very confusing.

Mum said she wanted to know if I could blow her, which is a weird sentence.

But my date explained it to me. Which was nice of her.

Mum said, “You should go to a brothel.”

I said, “No, I don’t want to. It’s cheating the process.”

Mum said, “You would learn a lot.”

I said, “I’m sure I would.” I was already learning plenty from my date, but I had to say, “Look, I don’t have the expertise you require. You could tell me to stand on a ladder while oscillating an egg and poking my finger into a cabbage, and I’d do it. I just wouldn’t know any better.”

Suddenly she was very interested in me. She started to suggest other things I could poke my finger into instead of a cabbage, and things we could do on each rung of a ladder.

I said, “Look, the ladder thing was a joke. About all I want to do to a women is use them as a human hot water bottle, at least to start with. I’m not comfortable with all this. It sounds like you need a gymnast who’s also a handyman, or one of each.”

She said, “You’re right.”

I said, “I’m neither of those.”

She said, “Yes. Thanks for your honesty.” which is never a good thing.

I hear she’s now dating Jamie Durie. So that’s good. That’s a happy ending.

Dating Stories: Uncle Hearing

I remember when I was a child Mum left me with Uncle Frank for a weekend.

I thought he was a weird guy but I didn’t say that to him because that would be rude.

He said a lot of stuff to me though. He said, “Can you hear that? They’re speaking! They’re speaking about me!”

I couldn’t hear anything. He thought the neighbours were making a fuss about his hair, but there was a brick wall, another brick wall, and a fence between us and them, and they weren’t home.

When Mum returned from her holiday Uncle Frank said, “The neighbours are talking about me, but your child can’t hear a darn thing.”

So Mum took me to the doctor. She said, “My son’s hearing’s on the blink, along with the rest of him.”

I didn’t have anything wrong with me, except I did have a minor hearing issue, so I had plugs inserted in my ears and was given a sort of shower cap visor to wear for three months to stop water getting in my ears. Meanwhile Uncle Frank went about with his day with superhuman hearing, getting praise for being able to spot people talking about his hair from a mile away.

He didn’t even have much hair. He kept cutting it off with toe nail clippers and eating it, saying it was protein escaping the body. Which is sort of true.

I said, “Wear a hat, and stop eating your hair.”

He was like, “Stop talking about me and get better hearing.”

I got taken to the doctor again by Mum. A second round of plugs and another plastic cap on my head for three months to make a waterfall over my ears.

Uncle Frank got found out last year when said he heard my Aunt Gable talking about him and his hair, while she was in Japan and he was in Beaumaris.

Now his married to his psychologist. Which is a weird practice, but they’re happy. So that’s good. I don’t have to wear that water helmet anymore. So that’s good. Mum still borrows it. She says it reminds her of visiting Victoria Falls. I don’t know who that is, but I guess it’s a good thing. So happy ending all around.

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, and she said, “Do you want to hear something funny?”

I said, “Sure.”

She said, “Well, my last name is Dion” …. “So I’m Celine Dion.”

I thought, Oh! I hate Celine Dion’s music. I mean I didn’t know if this Celine Dion played music, but I don’t like the famous Celine Dion, but since I wanted to see this Celine Dion again I said, “That’s great.”

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

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

She said, “No.”

I said, “Oh, 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 famous one.”

I said, “Oh, that’s still pretty cool,” but it’s not. I don’t like Celine Dion’s music, but I couldn’t go back on the idea of liking Celine Dion, because Celine Dion would think I’m weak willed, and people who are weak willed don’t get second dates.

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 we were at karaoke. It wasn’t a karaoke bar but they were setting up for karaoke, and I was there with Celine Dion, and the karaoke manager came up and said, “Hey, you two look like a happy couple. Do you want to sing a song together?”

I said, “No.”

Celine Dion, “No.”

The Karaoke Lady said, “Go on.”

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

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

Then I realised she was right, but I didn’t want to appear weak-willed, because people who are weak-willed don’t get second dates, so I said, “Yes it is.”

She said, “No it’s not.”

I said, “Yes it is.”

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

The Karaoke Lady did not want to be part of our conversation. She said, “I’ll go check.”

Celine Dion said, “No, I’ll go,” and she got up and went to the karaoke machine and typed on the keyboard. Then on the screen came the words “Man, I Feel Like a Woman by Shania Twain” and then Celine Dion started singing Man I Feel Like a Woman, by Shania Twain, at me, really badly and angrily.

Then some guy in the front started singing, and they started singing together, and at that moment I realised not only is Celine Dion a terrible singer, with a horrible taste in music, but she also wasn’t going to go on a second date with me.

But the two looked happy. So that’s good. That’s good for them. A happy ending.

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.