BLIND DATES MAKE YOU WISH YOU WERE JUST THAT.

DEAF would've been appreciated as WELL last night when the crowd from the tattoo shop set me up with a guy that they thought was 'really me'.

over the phone my shit-detector was already bleeping it's 'NO FUN' alarm. that's because he wasn't catching any of my standard "Sandy-type" ironic remarks and batting the ball back to me with a smarter comment. that could only have meant one thing, he wasn't as smart as me. and if that was the case he'd REALLY be no fun because that's like, two-thirds of what i LIKE in a person. the other third is composed of sexiness and hotness of course. to fill up the skin depth level.

so i decided i'd lose him before i even found him and, as the spiteful side of the Universe would have it, he called me while i was standing in Nina Roche purchasing my infamous gladiator sandals. it would take a strong man to have dealt with this sentence, i thought, so i released it: "hi Chris! you won't believe where you've just found me! hang on a sec, BYE GIRLS MWAH MWAH MWAH! you're not going to BELIEVE what i've just done! do you wanna hear? no, maybe i shouldn't say...". of course he wanted to hear so i continued, "i've just bought a pair of shoes for R5600! and they ROCK! GRANITE HARD!"

if he was my kinda guy he would've retorted with something like, "so you're a deep and spiritual kinda girl. i like you already".

but his voice didn't even change gears as he moved right along and asked where i wanted to eat on Saturday night. pause. didn't he hear what i just SAID?!

"well somewhere cool of course!" i drove the attitude home, "i'm a ROCKSTAR and i've got an image to uphold oKAY?!".

now i WISH he'd said, "copy that. i'll get my people onto that right away," but he didn't. it pissed me off and i now wanted to piss HIM off to the point where he was FORCED out of cruise-control and MADE to change down into 2nd. either that or i was going to BURY him on saturday night. right there in front of all his friends.

he called me in the morning to tell me that the restaurant we were going to was in OBSERVATORY, i sighed and said that was a bit beneath me, but it was for Tracey because it was her birthday and i said that she could choose. he said the place was called Babo's, i breathed an audible eye-roll and said i could only IMAGINE what the owner looked like with a name like that! he said he didn't know what kind of food they served, i said i'd heard enough and i was going to eat before i left just in case.

he SHOULD'VE said, "don't, if we hate it we'll have a drink and i'll take you for sushi," but he didn't. i hated him.

so, i armed myself in my Ed Hardy dress, strapped on my gladiators, hopped into my Death Star car. Darth Vader exited the building.

i bounced into the restaurant, arms outstretched in my hug-me pose with a HAPPY BIRTHDAAAY to Tracey, greeted everyone first then stuck out my hand and said, "you must be CHRIS, i am SANDY." i sat down next to him. okay, okaaay, he was 27 years old, athletic body, shaved head, jeans, t-shirt, trainers. and yes, i like that kinda look, but sorry, it's just not enough for me anymore.

now he SHOULD'VE said something like, "right let's get the peripheral things out the way first, can i have your autograph please?" but he didn't. instead he just sat there slack-jawed, staring at me in stunned silence. oh BOY he was gonna have to work VERY HARD from now on if he wanted to earn any respect from ME.

i informed the table that i'd already eaten just in case because 'you know how i GET when i'm hungry and there's nothing on the menu that i can eat and i start becoming TESTY with waiters and management'.

he SHOULD'VE said, "cute, sweet AND easy-going! my kinda GIRL!". buuut, you guessed it, he didn't.

i entertained everyone at the table, including him, showing them my shoes and telling them crazy stories. the one about my dad's crashed Ferrari was top of mind because i'd just written about it so launched with that one. which a even a recently saved SUPER-HOLY reborn CHRISTIAN would find funny, but he only managed to crack a half-smile and sputter a 'he-he'. sorry, in retrospect i think he only managed one 'he'.

i looked at the menu. i turned to him and spoke as if he and i were on the same side, "shew i'm glad i ate. how's this menu?!".

he SHOULD'VE said, "calm down, i told you, sushi, right side of the mountain, can you sit still for half an hour?". instead he said, "why? what do you eat?".

i eye-rolled and recited my diet like i was talking to a small child, "weeell, fish, chicken, steamed, grilled, salad. c'mon you know the story". and i abruptly turned to talk to Paul, to whom i had nothing to say, so i pulled something out of my random-thought stash, which made it easy for me to listen to what he said to Tracey when she told him that she was wheat-intolerant.

he said, "well iiiii think people force themSELVES into food intolerances because they exclude certain food groups from their DIET and..."

that was it! i unholstered my gun, spun around, pointing my finger in his face and said to Tracey, "THAT'S right! what HE just said! and i think it's FANTASTIC! i've forced myself to become intolerant to sugar, fat, dairy, wheat, fried, baked, high calorie fucking EVERYthing and i'm SO much better FOR it!".

i threw myself back into Paul's face PRAYING for something like, "and clearly your self-induced food intolerances have rubbed off an your attitude as WELL." but nothing! he'd arrived totally unarmed! i couldn't believe it! i felt a bit like a playground bully for a split second, but then i thought 'naaa, this guy must man up or it's man DOWN buddy'.

as luck would have it, the service really sucked badly so Rael suggested we move down the road for sushi. we transferred ourselves and now i made sure i was sitting DIRECTLY OPPOSITE him, so i could LOOK HIM IN THE EYE and REVEL in the expression on his face as he took his last dying breaths, like a vampire with blood streaming down my face, teeth still attached to neck. amazing how a face can morph into something COMPLETELY DIFFERENT when you detect a character weakness. i would love to have done a character ASSASSINATION and God help me i was TRYING but there was no character there to assassinate! it was like trying to shoot a ghost.

"so, what sport do you do?". i gave it another stab.

"oh all sports," he said, "i used to do gym but i believe that inner-core strength is more important than impressive muscular development. you've got to work from the INSIDE, out.".

"oh REALLY," i said, vampire fangs extending over my bottom lip, "pity you can't SEE your impressive inner-core muscle then ISN'T it?".

"well i have come to the realisation that your body should not be viewed visually but rather as graceful movement through space." huh?! was this guy for real or did i forget to take my pills?!

"what sport do you ACTUALLY DO Chris?" c'mon, it's 'define yourself' time, let's hear it.

"Yoga and Pilates." [insert Psycho shower-scene shrieking noise here] "and you could repair your back injury if you worked on your posture." okaaay, THAT was enough. i think that was MORE than sufficient reason to haul out the A.K.

"oh really." i reloaded, "well i ALSO do yoga FYI. the most extreme kind. Ashtanga. try yoga THIS with your impressive invisible core BUDDY BOY: move from Mountain pose into Down-Dog, then jump straight through into sitting without going through Chatterangadandnsan and Up-Dog first!". yes, i knew my shit.

all eyes descended upon him. now, put your head between your knees with your oxygen mask secured tightly around your face and prepare yourself for impact, because THIS is what he did next: he took off his shoes and, right there in front of a packed sushi bar he ATTEMPTED the extreme move i'd just explained! yes, you can cough your epiglottis back up and spit it out into a tissue now. THAT is what he did.

and you know what iii did? i got up and drill sergeanted him, "i SAID, straight through to sitting! no Chatteranga or Up-Dog FIRST!".

Rael instructed him to sit down and i was happy. my work here was done. there was no more to see here people, go back into your homes and leave the Personality Police to clean up.

that was actually totally unnecessary of me. what this boy REALLY needed was to be locked away in a cell where the only thing to inhale was cocaine, the only liquid to drink was Jack Daniels, the only company was a muscular nymphomaniac whore who didn't speak english, and there was only space to do ONE KIND of sport and that was SEX!

a couple of years of THAT would bring him around. and give us something to talk about. only THIS time it would be from MY perspective - and that would be from the OUTSIDE working IN.