Tinder Stories – The Worst Date Ever – Part 1

I have tried to recreate events, locales and conversations from my memories of them. In order to maintain their anonymity in some instances, I have changed the names of individuals and places. 

So where do we begin?

Marc and I had been seeing each other for a few months now and I guess what I need to make acutely clear is that we were not exclusive. We told each other that we had dates and how those dates went, in detail may I add. We did have rules when we were together.

  • Phones down
  • Pay attention
  • Don’t waste each others time.

Mid-week and Marc asked if I wanted to dinner on Friday at a restaurant neither of us had been to.  He said he would book the table and we could make an evening of it.

Well, this is that story.

Now on Friday, I go to work. On this particular day, I worked late. In fact, I worked a 12 hour day and the realised I had dinner at 8PM and needed to go and get ready. It’s now 7.30PM and I still have not heard a peep from Marc which wasn’t unusual however we hadn’t worked out the finer details of that evening.

So at 7.30ish I text him and ask what the plan was. He said he would meet me there and I then told him I was going to be about 10 minutes late because I had worked late.

He said that it was fine and I said I would keep him the loop about my ETA and with that, I went to my best friends house and did my hair because I wanted to debrief for the day and work out a couple of things.

It was at this moment when she expressed her deep concerns for how useless Marc was being.

Hair did, gin and tonic drank, I got into my uber and headed into the city.

Sent a heads up text that I was on my way thinking that he was already there as he was working in the city that day.

What follows is not how a date should go. 

I arrived at the restaurant 10 minutes late. Marc was not there and I proceed to order myself an expresso martini because:

1. its Friday and 2. I am tired as fuck by this point.

Drink arrives, still no Marc.

Halfway through my drink, still no Marc.

Drink finished, proceeds to text Marc telling him that he is now late and orders another drink. I shall remind you, he was meant to be there before me.

Then I see out of the corner of my eye a very flustered guy walk through the door, points at me and shake out his hands.

It was Marc and he plonks himself down next to me.

And he tells me he can’t hug me.

His hand is covered in blood.

Confused I asked what the hell happened to him and he tells me he was on an ONZO bike (which is a bike renting app) and he was racing to get to me and the handles broke and he fell off.

Puzzled; I had a few questions.

  1. why was he racing to get here when he was meant to be on time?
  2. why was he late in the first place?
  3. why the fuck is he trying to wipe his blood on me?
  4. no seriously, why the hell is he trying to wipe blood on me?

Practically yelling at him to not put his blood on me it causes the waiter to come over. I ask for a bandage and tell him to go to the bathroom and clean himself in my ‘you are being told off like a child tone’. The waiter leaves, Marc leaves and my drink turns up.

In this time I call my best friend and she replies with how very confused she is and that she thinks I should leave.

Marc is now back, the waiter is also back with plasters and I am playing nurse on a Friday night in a nice restaurant.

He orders a drink and asks me what I am drinking but doesn’t seem to get the hint that I have questions that I would like answers to as he jumps around my question of how his day was.

He replies “it was good” and I ask if he had any meetings – “just the one”.

Side note: If you want a pointer on telling when people are lying, short answers about themselves means somethings askew. People love talking about themselves.

He then asks me about my day and I simply reply “really long” and we both silently take a sip of our drinks.

We get sat at our table and start looking at the menu and I ask where he was before here and Marc says “I was drinking”.

Now my interests have peaked, short answers with no details. Something is up. My friends will know, I do read into things a bit too much but it is because I am normally right (there’s at least four blog post I could write about that).

We order dinner and talk about our week and plans for the weekend. Both of us are busy. He then blurts out “I am in a bit of a cunty mood”. Now I query that because things are getting more bizarre by the second and I can’t figure out why. Clearly, something has happened to give him an ego boost. I would call Marc a very proud creature and I assumed he would tell me eventually but it wasn’t going to be over entrees.

I excuse myself from the table and call my best friend again in the bathroom because I know she’s on the couch and explains to her what is going on. She agrees. Very strange and messed up. She asked me if I was joking about Marc trying to wipe his blood on my legs and I remind her that I couldn’t lie to her even if I tried.

We order another round of drinks and I ask what he had really been doing after work. He says he went for coffee with a girl in the morning after his meeting.

Now it didn’t come as shock like I said we weren’t exclusive, though he had kept this under wraps.

So I ask him how it went and he says:

“I told her I didn’t want to go back to work and she said I shouldn’t, so I didn’t, I’ve been drinking with her and her friends since then. I am actually fucked”.

What.

Literally what the fuck.

So I reply with “so you were late to dinner with me because you were on a date with a girl and you drank too much and now you’re fucked?”

And as if he didn’t pre-warn me about him being a cunt he smiles and says “yes”.

With the magic that is the world, the mains arrive and I sat there waiting to be slapped in the face whilst my brain worked things out.

I begin to calculate and break down the math in front of me, his meeting was at 9am because I had stayed the night on Thursday and left him in bed just that morning. His meeting was short and I knew he had nothing else booked for the day. And as I slice into my lamb I realise that this guy had been on a bender since 10am.

I remember sitting there thinking if I should ask him if I interrupted his evening but he clearly saw me thinking and asked how my meal was. I said he should try some and downed half my cocktail waiting for someone to tell me this was all a big joke.

He then spots the table next to us and the drinks they are having and asks if we should get them. Yes. Let us get more alcohol to the table and specifically into my body because I need to survive this evening. We finish mains, cocktails arrive and well some god was watching because we have order long island ice teas.

I have never felt so welcomed by the inner party goblin in me telling me to just down the entire thing but I bargain with her with consuming half, excusing my self from the table again and if you haven’t guessed it, calling my best friend.

She is now giving me step by step instructions on leaving the restaurant. “book an uber right now, pick up your shit and get the fuck out of there”.

And you know what I did.

Not that.

Because I am a dumb dumb.

I sat down and asked why he was in such a ‘cunty’ mood.

He shrugged and though well my evening is ruined we might as well play petty and ruin his as well.

So I leant forward onto the table, looked at him dead in the eye and said the word ‘penis’.

Now if you haven’t played this game called ‘Penis’ it’s very easy to understand. You take turns to say the word ‘penis’ louder than the last person in a public place until you are too embarrassed to continue and have to back out.

Marc, being a proud person hated losing. We had discussed this at length which is important because he also hated child games.

“What”, he said.

And louder than last time I said “PENIS” and continued to drink my long island ice tea.

If you haven’t realised this yet, I have had a stupid amount of alcohol and am definitely not myself, Patricia’s cousin is out and she has no fucks to give.

Picture this: two adults on a date, one covered in blood and blue plasters, drunk, the other holding a permanent frowned face and now almost yelling the word penis.

I should also point out that at this point Marc is now playing the game and the waiter walks over putting dessert down asking us if we would like another drink. To which I pause the game and say yes to a gin and tonic.

We order and Marc takes this moment to go to the bathroom and yes ladies and gentlemen I call my best friend and tell her once again what is going on and once again she tells (shes actually yelling down the phone) me I should leave.

Find out what fuckery happens in part two.

 

 

The never-ending​ date – Tinder Stories

Seems unfortunate that it was Snapchat that reminded me of these suppressed memories. Forewarning and a word to the wise, don’t do what I did.

It was a Saturday night, I was at my best friends house and her flatmate brought home a bunch of people who had been at an awards ceremony that evening. As we all know people get sloshed at these sorts of things and this was no different. Having a yarn to these people on the couch one person, in particular, caught my attention. We chatted and he was clearly white boy drunk on wine and unlike some men who walk this earth, I didn’t push the situation. Instead drove everyone into town on my own way home and left them to it.

What was to my surprise was that the next morning, lying in bed I was swiping through Tinder and saw the guy I had been talking to the night before. Chuckling to myself I swiped right to him (that’s a yes I would like to match with you, for those of you who do not know how Tinder works) and we bloody match.

Now if you know anything about Tinder, matching with someone actually doesn’t mean anything. So I messaged him asking about his hangover. He was indeed, very dusty.

We get chatting and find out we are both from the South Island of NZ and that we might indeed have mutual friends and if you aren’t picking up what I am putting down we then added each other on Facebook to compare friends. Tinder messages led to Messenger and that led to getting a drink and talking in person.

Standing once again in Ponsonby I hugged the dude who was well over 6ft and asked what bar he would like to go to. Settling on a spot we arrived, ordered and proceeded to get ID’d because Seren looked not her age when wearing pink apparently.

But just so we know that I am not perfect in any light I left my fucking wallet in my car which has enclosed, my ID. So within the first 5 minutes of meeting *Clyde, I have to ditch him and run back to my car and get my wallet.

So there I am jogging down the road to get my wallet, snap chatting my best friend because my mistakes make her laugh.

I get back to the bar and we start chatting. Jogging to your car and back really settles the nerves which were quite apparent as Clyde was bouncing his leg so aggressively the table was shuddering like a small chihuahua.

We were a drink deep, talking about what we have been doing with our lives for the past 3 years and he spills the tea on his ex-girlfriend. You could see it on his face, just how much that girl hurt him. It’s very confronting but also refreshing seeing someone wear their emotions on their sleeve.

Now what caught me off guard was him asking me if we wanted to share a bottle of wine at his house. So we went to the bottle store, brought two bottles of wine (because we couldn’t settle on one) and drove to his house.

Yes, I told my friends what was going on and yes my snap maps were on. I also told Clyde that if he murders me, he couldn’t get away with it. He wasn’t expecting me to say that.

What I can tell you is what follows.

Clyde and I drove home, wine bottle clinking and then it occurred to me that I was standing in a garage that was a workout room/ laundry/entryway. Then Clyde began to whisper. We went from a normal conversation to barely be able to hear him. Then I remembered people don’t have as chill flatmates like I do.

So he grabbed some glasses and waved me through to his room and I was like “wow, Clyde with some big moves over here, ushering me through to his room, not so timid in his own home”.

But ladies and gentleman, girls and boys, he should not have done that.

  1. why does he have a $4000 computer set up (and before anyone disputes this, Dad runs a computer business, ya girl grew up around tech) but his bed is on the floor? He had a bed base but no legs. In fact, the legs were sitting in a bag in the corner of a room.
  2. why had he insisted on me going first when he should have taken this opportunity to hide the pizza boxes – AND I MEAN PLURAL AS THERE WAS MORE THAN ONE – from my very observant eyes?
  3. why he tried to kiss me whilst juggling two bottles of wine and their glasses as he clearly wasn’t from a hospitality background?

Now if you need to know anything about me, its that I generally pay attention to all of the things all the time. Which didn’t bode well for Clyde because his dim lighting was not helping the situation rather making me look harder because it was like he was trying to hide something from me? WHICH HE CLEARLY WAS. Pizza boxes cannot be disguised as anything other than pizza boxes.

So I am standing in a room full of empty pizza boxes, just been kissed by Clyde and I haven’t even taken my jacket off, let alone put my wallet down. He then puts his wine glasses down – almost smashing them and says he’s just popping to the bathroom, to which I take the opportunity to send a snap and my location to my best friends.

Once again, take the time to check how to get out, check in with your friends and remember no means no. I will forever remind you of this.

I also take this opportunity to pour the wine because I don’t know what the hell else to do with myself and the Clyde appears in the doorway super chuffed, to say the least. Now I am trying to be as open-minded as possible these days and I think “bugger it, give him a chance”.

That my darlings was a big mistake.

It’s 1am. We are talking, cuddled up, I am wondering how I should start making tracks when he clearly was reading my twitching lip and said “you’re staying right?” and guys I let my wine brain talk and she said yes. Please play in your head ‘That wasn’t me it was Patrica’ from Split about 8000 times.

Now wine + wine + wine = Seren fighting to be the last one asleep so she can go home and be hungover by herself. But Clyde he had other ideas. Gave me a t-shirt to sleep in and was insistent that I couldn’t leave at this time in the morning as he wanted to take me home, his mother raised him that way and well at this point Patrica is in full control.

Fast forward to the most intense cuddles I have had from any man in my entire life. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t going to die of hypothermia in my sleep, nor is anything going to get the chance to attack me but at one point when my hair was definitely stuck for the 47th time that night. I did begin to think we started to become one being. Very dark times. So I wake up 7am and immediately would like to go home but no.

First I got the “I had an amazing time” to the somehow letting Patrica say yes to a fucking shower but FINALLY it was time to go home and we are driving and I’m like the joker in the back of the cop car, practically high from thinking about my own house when the car stopped.

Bless his fucking soul. Clyde said, “so your picking where we do breakfast this morning…”. The bubble popped, I was not at my house, I was not dreaming, I was not by myself, the date is approaching the 12-hour mark and I took a breath in and asked Patrica to take control. She blurted out a brunch spot.

Now don’t get me wrong, Clyde – lovely guy but I am now not wearing any make-up, in last nights clothes and desperately in need of time to reflect. I would call Clyde politely persistent and me a lost lamb who looks like a raw potato.

So finally, we are back in the car, yes we are driving home and then I remember, I can’t go home.

My hopes and dreams stop and gasp when I yell in the car “WE HAVE TO GO TO PONSONBY”. Like a manic motherfucker without a filter on. Clyde literally just cracks up laughing and asks me if I am okay.

Oh, but how silly Seren forgot that her car was where she left it last night at the start of the date. Its been so long I thought my car had just magically driven itself home like I did in my own head 400 times over the past 14 hours. YES, 14 HOURS.

I had almost forgotten where I had parked my car and I was like the kid who spotted Wally after everyone had been looking for him for so slightly too long. I almost punched a hole through the windscreen when I saw it.

We pulled up alongside and Clyde looked like he was going to cry, he double checked he had my number and asked me out on another date there and then. I said I would need to check my schedule and get back to him but that I was also going to be very busy that day/evening so don’t panic if I get back to you later tonight.

I hugged him, trigger reminded me of being snuggled to death and got into my own car.

Watched him drive off, turned my phone off and stared out of the front window waiting to be teleported home. Honestly, I have no idea how long I sat there for. But I finally turned the ignition, drove home in some sort of daze and practically sprinted up to my stairs.

And I can tell you now, there is nothing that can top the sound of my front door closing and the sound it made as I knew the date was finally over.

I then shred my clothes, put a robe on, put my washing on, ran a shower, recleaned my soul, boiled the kettle and made myself a cup of coffee.

It was now almost lunchtime, I rolled my blinds down, crawled into bed and vowed never to let Patricia take control ever again.

 

 

 

Tinder Stories – Why are boys dumb? – Part 2 an update

Once again I am questioning my own sanity and can’t seem to wrap it around my brain as to how I got myself in these situations. 

I said this update would be a goodie and I wasn’t lying. Why you may ask? Because these tinder blogs do catch up with me which makes for great tales. So here are those stories. 

Starting back with my first ever tinder date and all the statement jewellery he wore we find ourselves out on a Saturday night in a common club in Auckland. When out of the corner of my eye I see Tim in a full suit, pocket square and all trying to talk to every single girl who manages to make eye contact with him. 

Now, unfortunately, I have been left alone because the other half of my party had gone to the bathroom. Watching from a mere 2 meters away I felt like a classic tourist who had spotted a bear who had come out of hibernation only to go missing and be found in the bowels of said bear. Tim, I can tell you was hunting. He had a girl literally tell him to fuck off before he decided to try his banter on her best friend.

But then, he saw me. I’ve never seen a man lock eyes with his prey quicker in my life. It was at this moment I began to think what the hell was everyone doing in the bathroom. 

In 0.003 seconds Tim had closed the 2 metre gap and was saying these words. 

“Its Seren right?”

“Who?”

“Its me Tim, Seren why don’t you remember me?”

Girl, I remember you but I don’t want to know you. Also why the hell is your tongue outside of your mouth?

“I didn’t know I was your first ever Tinder date!”

And then I remembered that many moons ago I saw I had a message on facebook from Tim that I read over briefly that he had read the blog post. This, however, wasn’t my biggest problem at this second in time. It was still the fact that my brain didn’t understand why the hell Tim had suddenly become the Lizard Man. 

Honestly, I thought a third eyelid was going to appear. Before I could answer, his tongue flicked from left to right to left to just hanging out of his mouth waiting for me to respond. And then it suddenly occurred to me that this dude was pinging out of his mind on drugs. Pupils the size of his ego, tongue out of control like his gold accessories and yabbering on about him which was nothing new. 

But just as I breathed in to respond Tim jumped right in and said: 

“your blog post was fucking hilarious, I honestly didn’t know I was the first person you ever went on a tinder date with! You are so funny”

I quickly replied “thank you for reading the blog, hope you enjoyed it”

And at that moment I thought about dying then and there and being done with my life. Just become one with the floor and melting away for forever. Everyone came out of the bathroom to which I almost screaming at them that our Uber was here, that we were leaving and pretty much getting into a sprint in my trashed heel all the way to the door. 

I’m going to assume at some point Tim will read this and all I have to say is go easy on the drugs next time, you need those brain cells. 

Now we must move on. Move on all the way to Brent and how he temporarily ruined pasta with his farts. 

Brent, as it turns out also, came back into my life. And I’ll say this right now, Brent I am not your girl but she is out there. 

Once again I will remind everyone that I take a good while to post about these dates and when they actually happen. 

  1. because time makes for great reflection.
  2. because I have to get over these traumatic dates. 
  3. because your girls life gets in the way of me writing these. 

So back to Brent and all the time that had past. I wrote a blog post and if you haven’t caught on yet Ill spell it out for you. Brent reads the blog too. 

Now don’t be thinking I keep the blog a surprise. No my darlings my bio on my tinder reads “trying to stop writing entries for my blog series about tinder stories, wanna help a girl out?” 

It is literally the first piece of information you can get your hands on. I have been questioned on my blog many times. I have had men say they do not want to go on a date with me because of the blog (suspicious, I know), I have had men specifically ask me after we have dated for MANY moons not to be written about on the blog (you know they know its bad when they say that). If you are one of those two people, I am a woman of my word, will not write about you on the blog. 

Okay back to my evening after I had written about Brent when I was out on a run and I went to go change the song when I saw Brent has slid into my DMs not once, not twice but three times. 

Brent had read his own blog post and this is what he had to say, prepare yourselves, at this point it had been two months since we last spoke: 

“Was that post about our date? I kinda figured I would be on there”

“Sorry you had a bad time but hope everything is all good. Again I’m sorry.”

Then 20 minutes later…

“Can I just make it up to you somehow? I feel like absolute garbage after reading that.”

Yes the pity train has arrived and you are all hopping on board and leaving the station but before you descend into the tunnel of sadness let me just highlight and analysis some things for you as you need my perspective on why I didn’t reply. 

And yes you read that right, I did not reply.

My points are as follows: 

  •  it had been two months of no contact. 
  • the blog was the only thing we had in common.
  • if he figured he would be on the blog then you know he knew it didn’t go well. 
  • the 20-minute delay is a gap in which he thought he could turn this around. 
  • asking if there was somehow he could make it up to me followed by a very cheeky and trap line of how he feels like crap. 

Whilst you are all on the train off to pity town I am still on the platform knowing all too well that its one big ole trap.

So shout out to Brent if you are reading this, you clearly are doing fine without me, keep hustling that carb diet whilst you can. 

Yes, there are more stories coming but I just want to say how much it warms my cold soul when you share this around and how you and your friends get all excited when I post. I get incredibly shell-shocked when people I don’t even know through friends of friends tell me how they know me as the girl who writes the blog. So cheers, you make me feel very lucky! 

Tinder Stories – Why boys are dumb? – Part 1 an update.


I asked a hot second ago on my Instagram if I should do an update on all the previous tinder stories and the poll read 100% so here we are.

But don’t panic because this series isn’t over and I have a few more stories up my sleeve and well, I am still single. There will be a day I wrap up this series but today is not that day. 

So let us all take a trip down memory lane and revisit the previous stories. 

Back in part one, I had a trip to Max’s house. You can catch up on all the details here.

But it was a few months after that night when I got too drunk and redownloaded Kic because I was seeing what was on my Apple account – would recommend you go for a scroll as it is rather funny. Especially when you have had too many gins. 

And lo and behold I had notification from Max. I snorted so hard because I forgot all about him. 

This is what I was missing out on over the period of weeks. Max was true to his character; incredibly dumb and persistent. 

My favourite part of this screenshot is:

  1. the time I took it. 
  2. the consistency of when he messages me. 
  3. and the desperation that can be felt in his last message. 

Since this amazing moment Max has appeared on my Tinder not once, not twice but a grand total of 4 times. He also tried to add me on Instagram but I blocked him the second time. 

Hot tip: really don’t be like Max and don’t ever say “come here”. 

Moving on we go to the hilarious time I got catfished. This story actually took a twist thanks to social media. Shout out to Louise who follows the blog and broke things down for me and slid into my DMs. 

Matt or Greg – we may never know. He was actually using photos of an actor called Derek Theler. As Lou explained he is an American actor on the show Baby Dady. He is not from New Zealand or the UK. But if we ever want to figure out, I have an unwanted/unasked for dick pic to compare notes too, thinking about it though, that’s more than likely fake too.

The mystery continues and I am still disappointed in my ability to recognise a tall white generic male. 

Next week I have part 2 of the updates. Ladies and gentleman, you are not ready for what is coming. 

Seriously. 

Hint: they know…

 

 

 

 

 

To Men: Pt 1 – women plan the death of men over brunch.

Today I bring you a little bit of a different blog post. One that has been in the pipe line for many moons and now I feel appropriate to share with you. Now as I understand you all like it when I tell stories, whether it is about old flat mates, the amount of kids who are engaged, married and or pregnant or the many lessons I have learnt so far. But today we are going to get down and dirty. I mean I don’t want to alarm any one but I may or may not be writing this with no pants on. In the light of recent events it is now that you must be informed more than ever.

But remember kids you can’t get angry at individuals who don’t know, so you should educate them if they are willing. 

This will all make sense in a few paragraphs.

Shall we begin with a story.

About 6 months ago I was at work where I was having a conversation with the general manger. We were making small talk and I was asking him what he likes to do on his days off. He explained he loved to kite surf, jet ski, and fish but his partner doesn’t share as much of the same passions. What follows is our conversation

S: what does she do when you are out on the water for hours at a time?

GM: oh she does womanly things.

S: what would that be?

GM: she goes to brunch and does shopping.

*now at this point I have decided that this man, needs a few lessons in womanly things”

S: I didn’t realise woman were allowed to brunch and shop.

GM: well, you know thats what woman like to do.

S: Mmm. Yes. We sure do, but last time I checked men go to brunch as well. In fact I went for brunch with Jordan just this morning.

Though he is my boss so I literally have the upper hand because he can’t give me a warning for his. So I wondered into the bar area of my work where the lone female bar tender stood.

S: do you think that going to brunch and going shopping is a womanly thing Al-Nis?

A: ha. no. Why is that Miss Seren?

S: oh you know who thinks it is.

A: yeah I would believe that.

S: it must be a small world he is living in, without eggs Benedict or a catch up over coffee

A: he really is full of thrilling conversation.

Now what you should know is that I work for a company dominated by men. OLD NEWS. Most woman do. Why? Because we are still playing catch up. Still hustling for the same wage. The same rights. Damn we still can’t do anything to our bodies without the male permission. I mean, yes their are some men who are up to scratch. But there is still the majority who think that just because I smiled at you, that I am now your property.

If you are a male and reading this. Good. On. You. Well Done. Though if you are reading this and thinking how wrong I am or that brunch and shopping is a womanly thing. I am here to break the bad news to you. Its scary and I hope that you can handle it. No honestly, you may want to put your dick in your hand and hold on for dear life.

At brunch woman are up to things. I mean they are unto a whole lot of things and one of them include you. Now do you have your dick in your hand?

Have you ever wondered why there are mostly female wait staff or retail assistances?

No?

Well you are going to be shocked by this.

At brunch woman are planning. They are planning your death. Your demise. Your downfall. Your ruin. They are plotting and gathering strength. Together. Over their flat whites and fruit salads.

Shocking. I know. Take a deep breath. Hold your dick a little tighter. Its scary. But we are coming for you.

Yes you may think brunch is womanly but it is really our battle ground. We talk about how pretty your head would be under a red or black heel.

What you need to think about is that it is 2017. Change is happening. Woman are happening. Are before you even start thinking about how cute and pretty we must look. We are all nasty girls. Waiting. Patiently. To take you down.

Yours sincerely,

Seren aka another nasty gal.

I didn’t have time to kill myself

On the morning of Tuesday the 31st of June. I wanted to kill myself.

I would’ve killed myself. It was earlyish. Like 7.03am. Not that I was paying attention. I checked my phone.

Rolled over in my empty double bed and cried. Like the ugly cry that takes your face and turns it into a demon.

Then I was calm. I sniffled and for the first time in months my head was clear. As if someone had wiped the inside of my mind clean.

This clarity was beautiful. I understood why I had been given all these problems. I was being tested and as crazy as I sounds I laughed as I walked to my cupboard.

I unlocked it and pulled out my medicine box. Yes I have one. Currently out of plasters. But that is another problem. Back to this.

No one was up. The house was silent and cold. Like my soul.

*seriously I have a stupid sense of humour*

I sat on my bed and my bed did that stupid thing where it doesn’t sit level to the ground. Felt bad because my fat ass had probably just woken up my flat mate. I rummage through all my stuff.

Things for inflammatory, UTI’s, headaches, stomach ulcers , some deep heat. I poured all the pills out onto my bed and looked at my options. Which wasn’t a lot. I did math for the first time that week and it was not going to be enough. It wouldn’t kill me. I would just be sick with a sore tummy. I mean I aint no pharmacist or doctor but I do have a degree which means I have some logic and these pills were not going to do it.

I am not the type of suicidal person who can cut my wrist open. I don’t like pain. Ironic right. And I sure as hell cannot tie a knot to wrap around my neck. Brownies and Guides did nothing really expect teach me that their cookies are amazing.

So I got up. Replied to emails. Sent out one SOS texts.

I would’ve killed myself but

1. I didn’t have the ‘right’ pills

2. I didn’t have time.

Dressed, I left my house. Got a coffee and did #takeovertuesday for the University of Auckland NICAI instagram page. I just go on with the morning. I took a selfie that clearly shows massive bags under my eyes with a stupid smile on my face. FAKE AS FUCK BRO.

I got on the bus, walked to university where I proceeded to just get on with it. The point of this blog post isn’t the fact that I was going to kill myself, though it seems really scary. The point is I just switched brains. I went and did my day with only one soul knowing that I wanted to kill myself.

I gave a girl directions to Queen Street as it poured with rain, I wrote 1200 words, attened 2 rehearsals, posted 6 photos, drank 3 coffees, packed 4 bags and cried a bit more. I also wrote this post but you won’t be seeing it till much later because I don’t like when people coddle me. No thank you. Please.

So reading this know that I am alive. Busy. But alive.

Real Helpful

Today is a dark dark dark day.

Today Wednesday, I received a mark for my postgraduate studies.

My choreography paper.

I did not do well.

I know people say marks do not matter. That they are just a number. They count for nothing in the real world.

I disagree as I cry onto my laptop.

And I am going to be honest with you. I always am but I mean I keep some thing private.

This was  part of a secret list and now it isn’t.

Hell these tears are thick and I am just getting more upset the more I write about this.

Feel free to play some sort of sad music is the back ground. Level with me people.

So whats the big deal Seren?

Well Seren you got your lowest grade ever.

A solid B-

Now most of you in the tertiary realm understand that sometimes that you can recover from this. But this shit storm is just getting better and better.

This was for a choreography paper. I have never received a grade lower than A-. You know why. Because I fucking like it. I love it. And I do bloody good in it.

APPARENTLY NOT.

There are two three things you need to know.

  1. I am still crying, slipping into the angry stage.
  2. This could of been avoided.
  3. I no longer qualify for any further postgraduate studies or scholarships.

Points 2 & 3 are important.

It could of been avoided because we had a feedback session. In that feedback session I was not informed that my work. WHICH WAS FINISHED. Was not for filing the criteria.

Reading my feedback now. I get where I went wrong but this could of been avoided. As in I could of passed really FUCKING well. Yes I deserved the mark. I can admit that but I could of been guided to a better place. It really does not take much.

Teacher: Seren have you thought about having a conversation instead of just talking AT him?

Seren: Now thats an idea, but why?

T: Because you have to for the assessment.

S: Okay, I will do that.

T: Awesome.

S:  Sweet.

Yes I am now mad.

Because this did not happen.  I was told that I should explore the choreography of the table. Not the construction of the script.

So this thing people call a GPA is rather important though. You can get money for free for a high GPA. As in, money you can do the things you want with.

Not for me any more. I have always been very realistic. It makes me a very real person. I understand that it is possible to get an A+ but not for every assignment. Not for me.

Why? Life, shit happens and though you try your damn hardest things happen.

However you give your all at the time and to the best of your abilities you aim for the A+ because you can. You have the smarts.

But listen here. I just got a B- and even if I did get an A+ for the rest of the year I still would not qualify for masters. And no masters means no doctorate.

And that means I will never ever ever be Dr. Seren Powell-Jones.

Now I am crying again.

Fuck.

Let me wipe my tears with my assessment because that is all I can do.

You know I got an 3/4 page of feedback. And I have read it 9 times. I have written all over it and made my own notes. I even wrote that I am a failure.

As far as I know I got the lowest mark in my class.

THIS IS MEANT TO BE WHAT I WANT TO DO WITH MY LIFE GUYS.

And I got a B-.

I have come to understand this.

3/4 of a page of feedback is as good as a band aid for a dead person. Real helpful.

Dead people don’t need them.

The only reason you have given me this page is to justify the grade you gave me.

BUT YOU COULD OF SAID THIS BEFORE THE FUCKING ASSESSMENT.

Breathe.

Cry.

Breathe some more.

No more PHD Seren.

Just finish the year. Go off. Do some shit.

Write some stuff. Make sense of this.

Find clarity.

Be angry over your GPA for forever.

Yes.

Great.

Lovely.

*curls into a ball and cries some more*

So I am just going to leave this on the internet and go write my methodologies chapter and well yeah.