Well, Bugger Me! Got Myself a Doggone Diagnosis…

Image by Luke Robinson via Flickr

It’s official: I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome/M.E. I’m in shock and it’s mostly because of actually getting a diagnosis. It’s only taken 11 months. And seven years. Yeah, that was always depression as well… And I’ve already had a run-in with someone who thinks ME is just ‘Lazy Cow Syndrome’. Can’t wait for word to get around and the bitchy finger-pointing to start… God, I love my life! 🙂

Anyway, I have to see my GP on 4th July to discuss possible drug treatments and I’ve just been referred to an Occupational Therapist for – well, who knows, whatever it is that OT’s do.

On a brighter note, I’ve been doing some research for the book and I thought I’d share: niche dating sites. If golfing is a huge part of your life, for example, it stands to reason that you’d want to date a golfer. Why, then, trawl through hundreds of general profiles when  you could just join a golfing dating site?

And believe me, there’s a niche dating site out there dedicated to fulfilling all your needs, requirements or plain old kinky desires.

Ten Incredibly Specific Niche Sites:

1. Adopt a Guy ~ every girl loves shopping, right? Guys fill out their profiles and sit on the ‘shelves’ until a gorgeous girl comes along and pops him into her ‘shopping trolley’, and only then, is he allowed to spark up a conversation. Is this girl power or just girl power gone bonkers? Great for shy guys or female control freaks.

2. Date My Pet ~ in case you’re worried about the whole bestiality issue, this site just concentrates on matching mutual pet-lovers. I think. But then, couldn’t that cause potential problems? Suppose I met The One I Just Couldn’t Live Without and my dog and his cat hated each other. Or suppose my pussy just
gobbled up his pet mouse. What then? Would True Love conquer all? Or would we all end up in step-pet’s therapy?

3. Ugly Bug Ball ~ because beauty is all in the eye of the beholder (or the severely intoxicated), this is for the more aesthetically challenged amongst us… A site dedicated to purely ugly people. How liberating! You’d never need to shave your pits, ladies, or keep your acne under control. And if he ever complained, you could snarl, ‘I’m beautiful on the inside, remember?’

4. Trek Passions ~ for anyone with an interest in science-fiction – no, an obsession; you’d have to be besotted to want to spend your days discussing lien abduction and doing that strange Vulcan sign thing with your fingers. But, as they say on the site: Love Long and Prosper.

5. Pounced ~ this is the place for anyone who enjoys dressing up as an animal, and ouncing on an equally hairy mate – or ‘furry’ as they like to be called. Yeah, I know, but it takes all sorts. And can’t you just imagine the ads: Lonesome Rabbit in Need of New Hole. Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing Seeks Lamb for Breakfast.   Hairy Brown Bear Wants to Dip his Paws in your Honey. Randy Dog Needs  Somewhere Safe to Bury His Bone…

6. Positively Singles ~ are you hampered by Herpes? Scuppered by Syphilis? Clammed-up through Chlamydia? Or gummed up with Gonorrhoea? Do you worry you’ll  never find The One because you slept with way too many of The Others? Well,  help is here! You need never again fret about passing on your sexually transmitted disease to users on this site because they already have them! How cool is that?
A match made in Heaven…

7. Cougar Date ~ yep,  this one’s all about  young men dating older women. I can kind of see the attraction – a Toy-Boy’s going to be cuter and more virile than say, a fifty-year-old, bald and beer-bellied bloke, but c’mon,  some of these guys are eighteen. What on earth would you talk about? Lady Gaga? And where would you go on a date? Homework Club?

8. Instant Quickies ~ feeling horny? Do you fancy an instant, uncomplicated  shag? Well, look no further than the McDonald’s of dating sites – Instant  Quickies, the place where you can find and hook-up with a consenting mate for the night. (Or early afternoon if you have to be home to do the school-run.) And if you see someone you like and he suddenly disappears, don’t worry, he’ll be popping up again next week on Positively Singles.

9. Uniform Dating ~ ooh! If you fantasise about being rescued from a natural or a thug-made disaster by a hunky guy in uniform – and let’s be real: what woman with a pulse doesn’t? – then this is the site for you. Pages and pages of  testosterone-fuelled Alpha males. Oh, be still my twitching knickers.

10. Daily Diapers ~ okay. So here’s the thing – some people like wearing nappies. Yep. And rubber pants. And even babygros. They even like to soil themselves. And be bathed, dressed and fed liquified mush by their partners. It’s fun. Relaxing, apparently. If this appeals to you and you’re not quite sure where you’d find a like-minded playmate, log onto Daily Diapers and, er… go, poop!

Doesn’t it make you just wanna go and sign up?

Ho ho bloody ho!

Image by ashley rose, via Flickr

I received three new e-mails today. People are obviously starting to panic about spending the festive season alone, and are frantically clicking through Plenty of Fish photos in the desperate hope of finding Ms December. After all, anyone’s preferable to being alone at Christmas, right?

Wrong!

There was 19-year-old Robin (na-na-na-nineteen!) who says, ‘I’m ugly, and it feels great to be able to say it aloud! I like strange music and strange films, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s subtle innuendo and attacking snowmen in the dark… Oh, and I haven’t had a girlfriend since I was five…’

I politely declined. Apart from the fact he’s a freak, I’d quite like to date someone significantly older than my eldest son, someone who might remember Donny Osmond. The first time around.

Then there was Rodney aged 63 (sixty-friggin’-three!) who wants to be in my stockings this Christmas. Firstly, there’s no room for two of us and secondly, the sight of my muffin-topped thighs would most likely give the poor old bloke a heart attack. Probably best if he asks Santa for a cigar and a nice woolly jumper, instead.

(And yes, I know I wanted older, but not that old. I specifically asked for someone with memories of Donny Osmond, not the Crimean bloody War.)

The final e-mail came from a bloke called Bev. I’m sorry, but Bev is such a girl’s name. Anyway the message read, ‘You’re hot!’

Now, how are you supposed to reply to that? ‘Gee, thanks *simper, simper*‘? Or, ‘We could make beautiful babies – if only you weren’t so fugly’? Or simply, ‘Piss off, knobhead!’

But being the polite, mature woman I am, I settled for, ‘Thank-you for your message.’ And believe me, no reply is as cutting as this one; it says, ‘I have been brought up with manners, so I am forced to reply because it is polite, but quite honestly, love, I wouldn’t touch you with someone else’s wobbly bits.’

I know. I’ve been on the receiving end of that particular retort, and it stings.

But did Bev get the message? Oh no, of course not. Bev is obviously blessed with a rhino-arse, a hide so thick and protective, that nothing unpleasant can ever penetrate.

‘Is that all you have to say? Lol! If you asked me over, I could spend the night shagging your brains out.’

This is the point where I snapped. Big time. I was breathing fire and screaming obscenities at the computer screen as my fingers flew across the keyboard and hit the ‘send’ button:

Grow up! I’m not a teenager performing fellatio behind the bike-shed. I’m a mature woman looking for a meaningful relationship with a grown-up. You are obviously not that person! How dare you approach me in that offensive manner? If you are merely seeking sordid sex, try a brothel. Or your dog. Do not contact me again!’

Grrr! Bah humbug! Ho ho bleedin’ ho!

Quite frankly, my dear, I can’t be arsed…

Image via Wikipedia

Reading Ellen’s Guide yesterday reminded me of the good ol’ Favourites’ List. It’s not a complicated system – just a page, containing all your favourite potential datees.  It’s like social bookmarking for saddos.

My list is empty. I probably don’t need to explain why… But I have been added to five favourites’ pages.  Oh lucky, lucky me.

The first is Babyface – the original todger-flasher (short, squat and wrinkly), who likes ‘collecting clowns on the beach’ and ‘melting with others’.

Then we have Fisherman – extremely distinguished i.e. older than my granddad and author of my last ‘Do you want to see my one-eyed trouser-snake?’ e-mail.

And Bald-Brian who quips, ‘Sharks are like dogs. They only bite when you touch their private parts. Hee hee hee’.

The Octopus who’s looking for his ‘solemate’. Sounds a bit fishy to me…

Finally, the Seahorse who wants a ‘nice female to hang out’.

I give up. Really.

But, what’s more confusing than the fact that I can only ever attract strange men, is why keep a list like this in the first place? Because these guys don’t ever make contact with you. It’s bizarre, really. Like buying your favourite Death by Chocolate dessert and never taking it out of the freezer, or worse still, pulling it out once a week and drooling over it! Eek!

And as for the other two Herberts. Well, if you’d sent someone photos of your dangly bits (or indeed, the offer of such) and had been completely blanked, would you consider that person a Favourite? I can’t work it out, honestly.

There’s another bonus feature on my site, called Meet me! That’s just the same. You trawl through users’ photos, and if you see someone you like, you click the ‘Yes! I’d like to meet you!’ button. Again, what’s the freakin’ point? Because these guys do nothing about it! Plenty of Fish should really install a button, saying ‘Yes! I’d like to meet you, but I can’t be arsed to make a move because I’m too busy wanking over the photos in my Favourites’ List!’

Ye Gods, is it any wonder I’m a cynic?

Just one cock-up too many…

Image by wstera2 via Flickr

Can someone help me out here, please? Preferably before I scream and scream and explode in angry frustrated blobs that splatter the walls and make a mess of the carpet….

Remember me telling you about the deluge of indecent Purple Pecker Pictures I kept receiving in my inbox? Well, to stop the willy onslaught, I added my own appendage to my profile page:

Oh, and please DON’T send me photos of  your dangly bits. There’s a time and place for everything, and ‘Hello, here’s my todger’ isn’t one of them!

To me, that’s fair enough, and straight to the point, if you’ll pardon the pun. So why then, do I have an e-mail lurking in my message box, entitled: Hello, would you like to see my one-eyed trouser-snake?

Tell me where I’m going wrong, people. I mean, was that too subtle a message? Too sophisticated? Too obfuscating-ly oblique?

And it’s not that I’m a prude. If I was dating someone and we’d already done the jiggly jiggly, and he sent me a picture of his doodle along with a witty comment like ‘Meet me for dinner. I’m bringing desert!’, then I’d be as skippy as a teenager at a Justin Bieber gig.

But coming face-to-head with a strange, disembodied penis during your morning cuppa? It’s enough to scramble your eggs…

And, for the love of Mars bars and other things holy, don’t tell the  gorilla. He’s extremely protective. If he finds out other men have been flashing their wares in my face, there’s no telling what he’d do. In fact, he’d probably go completely bananas 😉

Ether I’m a prude or you’re just crude…

Image via Wikipedia

Last night I made a fatal mistake. Well, not literally fatal because nobody died. Yet. But still…

This bloke Charliedog has sent me seven messages and four winks in the last two weeks. No photo, so I ignored him. Last night another two winks flew into my inbox, and my conscience started  pontificating in my ear. Good word that, pontificate. Anyway, I felt guilty. Really guilty and bad-mannered and rude. So I sent him a message.

Sometimes I can be so stoopid.

As my finger left the Send button, up popped an Instant Messenger screen:

Hello! At last!
What joy!
How do I contact you?
What’s your number?
Mobile number, please.
What are you doing?
How do you spend your days?
Number, please.
I can’t get to know you through typing.
You’re one sexy lady.
Number, please…

I hadn’t typed a word. Not. One. Word.

Somehow, Charliedog managed to reach into the ether and grab my telephone number. I swear I didn’t supply it  but then, it all happened so fast…And I was stuck on the bloody phone for two hours. Two long hours of my life, gone. Never to be relived.  Thank God…

He droned on about every woman he’d ever had, the finer points of broadband downloading speed and how many times he’d been in conflict with the police – never his fault, of course. Was I impressed? I think not.

Now I’m well-known for being a flirt and making naughty comments; I can usually be replied upon to lower the tone in any conversation, but even I objected to this:

What’s your bra size?
Pardon?
What’s your bra size? How big are your tits?
42GG. How big’s yer dick?
Eight inches of solid, throbbing beefstick. It’s all yours, babe. Think what you could do with it!
Oh, I am. And I’ve got just the knife to do the job…

Now, is this an acceptable way to talk to a woman? A woman you haven’t yet met?  Was I supposed to be impressed? Salivating with lust and desire?  Flirting is fun, it’s silly, it makes you giggle, but blatant crudity is just cheap and nasty. And this is one of the main problems with online dating; men hiding behind their computer screens because they don’t know how to converse with a female in real life, and some think it’s a Quick-Stop-Sex-Shop.

Charliedog’s dying words as I was hanging up?  I bet you’re glad to have found someone intelligent, eh?
Oh, yes. What joy…

PS The photo isn’t me. And I lied about the bra size. I’m more of a training-bra kinda girl…  😉

 

While you were sleeping…

Image via Wikipedia

I opened my inbox this morning to find six messages from the  same guy. Six messages. One bloke. All while I was sleeping.

And from his username I really should’ve known what was coming…

Desperado: You look nice. Hope you will look at my photos, they were taken Xmas in Scotland. I do have some hair now. Hope you will get back to me and be honest with me? I don’t have a car. Will tell you about that if we ever meet up. But don’t think you’ll give me that chance. I don’t think you like me. Why, I am not sure…

 Well, do you like my profile? Do you want to meet? I will meet if you wish.

You don’t smoke. Is that why you don’t like me? Well, be like that. I would give up for the right person. It’s not hard but it’s up to you  to take my word for it.

You don’t believe me do you? My word’s my bond. I don’t say it if I don’t mean it, but you won’t give me the chance, will you?

No answer. So I take it that’s a NO then. A BIG NO. Fine

I knew it. I knew you didn’t like me. Why don’t you women give me a chance?  Your all the same. What’s wrong with me? Why do I bother when you won’t answer me anyway. Well, fine!

Typical. Sandra Bullock got the wickedly cute Bill Pullman while she was sleeping. Me? I got Desperate Dan.

If you want me to fall for you, give me something worth tripping over…

Image via Wikipedia

Ye Gods, sack me now! I forgot a category in yesterday’s post. Let me introduce you to: 

Dick 007: Now, guys who fall into this category have – well, an unusual way of wooing women… I stumbled across the first one by accident, and boy! was I unprepared. Instead of uploading a picture of his face like the rest of us poor saddos, he chose instead, a photo of himself mid-coitus. A real zoomed-in, no-hair-follicle-left-to-the-imagination shot of himself doing the bizz with some fat chick  splendidly proportioned woman. At least I think it was a woman. It could actually have been a bulldog… 

In her position (pun intended) I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t even want that particular print hanging around my house, but I’m absolutely certain I wouldn’t want it broadcast on the big ol’ World Wide Web. I mean, what was Dick 007 thinking? And what message was he sending out to us potential datees? I’d shag Les Dawson? 

Others in this category are more selective, preferring the er…more individual approach. Yep, that’s right – open up your inbox or Instant Messenger screen and up pops a purple pecker in all its morning-glory…

I mean, come on! We all know men are sexually aroused by pictures of naked women, but girls find full frontal male nudity about as appealing as a leg-wax. A close-up of Skippy and the twins? It’s not exactly a sunset over the sea now, is it?

Guys, there’s a time and a place for everything, and ‘Hello, here’s my todger’ really isn’t one of them.

The face that launched a thousand clicks…

Image via Wikipedia

Dating online is like selling double glazing; you have roughly twenty seconds to make a pitch before the door gets slammed in your face.

Unfortunately it’s your profile picture that pretty much determines if you’re in, or out. And I say unfortunately for those of us who will never be knicker-twitchingly gorgeous even when our mugs have been backlit by candlelight, and shot with a soft-focus lens. I know. I tried it.

Don’t despair, however; ugly people do still get laid.

But, for this post, I’m more interested in the hidden clues and messages men leave in their choice of profile picture…

• The Peacock: He’s in the shower, lounging seductively on a bed or posing in front of a mirror. Wherever, but he’s in the buff and showing off a bunch of colourful tattoos, bulging biceps and enough chest hair to double up as a doormat. Trouble is, he’s forgotten to hide his builders’ bottom and well-defined beer-belly. Oh, and just for the record, guys – I don’t care how impressive your package is, squashing it into Union Jack pants is not a good look.  He’s trying to say, ‘I’m fit. How can you resist me?’ His photo is saying, ‘I’m a self-deluded dick.‘ If you date this guy, just give up wearing make-up ‘cos you’re now third in line for the bathroom mirror, after your new man and his mammoth-sized ego.
• The Family Man: He’ll be hugging a brood of small children and the family dog/cat/hamster. He’s trying to say, ‘Hey ladies! I’m a family man, a guy you can trust with anything small and furry!’ His photo is saying, ‘My ex took the kids. I’m lonely and desperate to be part of a family again. Look how easily I could slip into yours…’
• The WYSIWYG: He’s wearing a wooly hat or his oldest jeans with a sweatshirt. He’s been captured in the moment of washing his car or walking the dog, and he’s smiling. What you see is what you get. No pretensions. No vanity. No major hang-ups. His picture does what it says on the tin.
• The Bird Catcher: His arms are wrapped around another woman. She’s usually blonde and gorgeous, the bitch. He’s trying to say, ‘Look, I’m not desperate. I can pull fit birds anytime I like, it’s just that I’m a bit busy at the moment…’ His photo is saying, ‘ I am desperate. I spend my evenings on eharmony.co.uk. The blonde? Oh, she’s my sister…’
• The Invisible Man: Yep, you guessed it; this guy has no photo, just a glaring blank where his face should be…Now I can understand a teacher choosing this option; who could cope with 4C taking the piss on a wet Friday afternoon. But for the rest of ’em, well, they’ve gotta be married. Simples!
• The Size-Is-Everything Man: This bloke is sitting on, standing beside or lolling against a big shiny silver car, a monster motorbike no sane person would clamber upon, a fuck-off great big speedboat or a fearsome wild animal. Yep, Mr Cooldude is rubbing a tiger’s belly like you or I might tickle Fluffy the adorable kitty-cat. He’s trying to suggest strength, bravery and a wild throbbing engine, but guys, it comes across as Terrified Male With Size Of Willy Complex.
• Mr Fun Guy: He’s been snapped at a party, in the pub or down the local nightclub. Location isn’t important as long as there’s alcohol – the more pints he can squeeze into shot, the better. He’s trying to say, ‘Hey babe! Look at me! I’m a good bloke, always up for a laff!’ His photo actually says, ‘Alcoholic.’  Avoid at all costs unless you’re happy clearing up vomit, and don’t mind changing the sheets at 4am because Funguy’s pissed the bed. Again.

Every name tells a story. Unfortunately…

  

Searching for The One...

 

Okay, I’ve chosen a site, written a sparkling profile and uploaded a not-too-awful looking photo. Now it’s time to hit the search button and go find My One True Love.  

*An interestink hour passes*  

Hmmm…well, there are hundreds of (supposedly) single men on here. And most of them have only one head. Always a bonus, I find. Let’s see…there’s TimmyTantrum. I’ll be giving him a miss, I think. And there’s Jolly Jimmy, although I fail to see how anyone could be particularly jolly with that much dental decay…  Oh, and Mr Wowe who’s obviously a modest chap, and yep, there’s his little brother IAmFunDate4U – this should, of course, be pronounced in an Arnold Schwarzenegger voice for maximum comic relief. 

Dear God! I’ve just found a Bottom Dweller! What a thing to advertise! And here’s Rootbeaver and his wingman Muffsnuffler 😀 

Just goes to show, romance is still alive and snuffling in Cornwall! 

 

Looking for Mr Right? I’ve found Mr-Not-Right-In-The-Head…

Good news! It’s not just me! All my friends have strange men lurking in their closets, too. Metaphorically speaking, of course… Somewhere around the fourth bottle of ASDA plonk last night, the horror stories started to emerge. It was like something out of a Twilight movie.

Between us we have dated:  

• Mr-I-Miss-My-Mommy
• Mr-I-Need-A-Hug
• Mr-I’m-Only-Interested-In-Flat-Chested-Stick-Insects-With-No-Pubic-Hair-No!-Of-Course-I’m-not-gay!
• Mr-Eek!-A-Spider-I’m-Weally-Weally-Fwightened
• Mr-I-Love-You-With-All-My-Heart-Where-Shall-We-Go-On-Our-Second-Date?
• Mr-I-Can’t-Keep-It-Up-Without-Steel-Pins-And-Superglue.

Oh yes, we’ve all been out with  him. Several times.

I mean, honestly. I know we’re in our forties.  Nobody’s expecting Mr-All-Night-Piston-Penis, but please! Is it too much to ask for Mr-Slightly-More-Tarzan-Than-Jane?

Now, had it just been me, I could’ve understood it; I’m not maturing like a fine wine, for example. No, I’m aging more like that avocado, forgotten in the back of your fridge – squishy, wrinkled and bruised. But my mates are gorgeous, vivacious, intelligent women. They have personality, boobs and everything!

It can’t be them.

No, there’s definitely something weird  going on with middle-aged men; they’re lost and lonely, weedy and needy. For the love of Mars Bars and other things holy, where have all the bastards real men gone?

Image sourced:http://www.flickr.com/photos/wasfiakab/3819296354/sizes/s/in/gallery-54369912@N05-72157624936803975/