Online Dating.

Two of my favourite things are reading personals and mocking people. If I get the paper, I always dash to the adds at the back to see which lonely chap with a GSOH is seeking a trans woman for fun times. I persuaded (made) my old housemate start internet dating; this was only 12% because I wanted his romantic life to be prosperous and exciting for him, but 88% because I wanted to write his profile for him and scour the place for suitable laydeez.

Voyeuristic to the core, I’m really interested in how people project themselves online. I think it takes a lot of skill not to sound retarded or mental. The lucky few come out of the profile writing process by sounding well-balanced and interesting but the rest you have to choose from are the painfully generic types who “like going out or staying in, music, films, hobbies of all sorts” or the overly pushy but probably really insecure types that “don’t want to hear from overweight people, please have a university degree, I vote LibDem and so must you. Also, if you’ve had more than 3 sexual partners I will think you’re SKANKY WHORE so please don’t write to me SLUT.”

As it happens, I only have eyes for my handsome boyfriend (hi, my lobster!) and all of my friends seem to be busy getting married or squeezing out humans, so I’ve no need to scour the personals like a lonely Jennifer Anniston crying into a mug of vodka for anybody. Occasionally, personals just seem to fall into my lap by way of being advertised or routinely laughed at on blogs I read. See here.  This Julian Assange dating profile is also quite interesting (ooh! Topical! And regardless of how much I support him at the moment, HOLY HELL, he sounds like a plank.”) ALSO THIS. YOU HAVE TO READ THIS. Definitely followed by this.

So, yeah, sometimes people don’t stand out as completely stable and that’s what I love. I don’t hate on anybody whatsoever who actively seeks love on the internet because it can work. Meeting somebody on the internet leads to one of four things; a terrible dinner date that’s cut short by a fake emergency, mediocre sex, falling hopelessly and deeply in love or getting murdered. Life’s all about taking chances. Having said that, I will totally laugh in the virtual face of profiles that make me cringe, but then one lady’s trash is another’s wank material. Swings and roundabouts.

While I’m waiting for my friend to come over and make me feel less like I’m about to die of whatever it is I’ve picked up on the mean streets of South London (not HIV), let’s meet someone.

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After the mind-bogglingly boring sex scandals that saw Ronan Keating bonk a dancer, Vernon Kay texting someone telling her he had the horn and Ashley ‘I’m less interesting than a potato’ Cole posing for the world to see in what looked suspiciously like Primark pants, I’m bored.

If there’s no exposé on a BNP councillor paying a black, pre-op transsexual to defecate on his chest or pictures showing me that Ant and Dec are in fact a couple, I don’t much care. When the leading respected publications The Sun and The Daily mail reported on sporadically funnyman Jason Manford sending sexy tweets (twexts? Sweets? Seexts?) to a chubby funster called Something McSomething, I can’t say I was blown away. Average looking man chances it and requests to see average looking woman’s breasts? In my world, that’s called ‘every minute of the day in London.’ Seriously. I’ve lived here for a few months and I’ve been curb crawled several times (OK, twice). I dress more like a 1920s housewife than a street-walker and haven’t seen a red light in my area; it must be the junk in my trunk. I digress.

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A Conversation.

This is a wee little snippet from a conversation I heard with a friend, today, we’ll call her Leprechaun O’Connor (£10 if you can guess her nationality). We are quite different, this is just one example.

Leprechaun: Have you ever watched porn?
Me: Honey, is your priest a paedophile? (I jest, I jest. I said “is your Pope a Catholic?” I was totally thinking the paedophile thing, though).
Leprechaun: Uh, well, I haven’t.
Me: What?
Leprechaun: Ever.
Me: …What?
Leprechaun: I’ve never made myself come.
Me: What?
Leprechaun: I’ve never masturbated.
Me: What?
Leprechaun: I don’t like my boyfriend to use his fingers.
Me: Seriously. What?
Leprechaun: Should I know what my vagina looks like?
Me: What?
Leprechaun: I don’t think girls should masturbate.

Isn’t it funny how opposites attract, even in friendships? Har de har har.