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Well, Bugger Me! Got Myself a Doggone Diagnosis…

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Lazy Cows, Kendal
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! ūüôā

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 ‚Äėshelves‚Äô until a gorgeous girl comes along and pops him into her ‚Äėshopping trolley‚Äô, 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‚Ķ A site dedicated to purely ugly people. How liberating! You‚Äôd never need to shave your pits, ladies, or keep your acne under control. And if he ever complained, you could snarl, ‚ÄėI‚Äôm beautiful on the inside, remember?‚Äô

4. Trek Passions ~ for anyone with an interest in science-fiction ‚Äď no, an obsession; you‚Äôd 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 ‚Äď or ‚Äėfurry‚Äô as they like to be called. Yeah,¬†I¬†know, but it takes all sorts. And can‚Äôt you just imagine the ads: Lonesome Rabbit in Need of New Hole. Wolf in Sheep‚Äôs 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 ‚Äď a Toy-Boy‚Äôs 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 РInstant  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 ‚Äď and let‚Äôs be real: what woman¬†with a pulse doesn‚Äôt? ‚Äď 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‚Äôs the thing ‚Äď 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‚Äôs fun.¬†Relaxing, apparently. If this appeals to you and you‚Äôre not quite sure where you‚Äôd find a¬†like-minded playmate, log onto Daily Diapers and, er‚Ķ go, poop!

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


Life’s Just too Bleedin’ Short for…

ironing ~ I used to spend hours – nay, days! – of my life¬†toiling to make clothes crease-free, and it was simply a waste of time!¬†Kids just sit on your neatly pressed piles of laundry, or chuck it on the floor and kick it around the carpet, or the sweaty-wet dog, who’s just bounded through a dirty stream, makes it into a bed, or¬†– best-case scenario – the kids’ll jam it into unforgiving drawers or cupboard recesses along with last week’s mouldy¬†peanut butter sandwich.
And whoever laid on their death-bed Рwhite and teary Рmourning the demise of knife-edge creases running down the front of their favourite crimpoline slacks?

Got Caught
Image by DeHKsY via Flickr

… hanging your undies out on the washing line ~ it’s a fiddly, fart-arsey, far too time-consuming waste of life. And it’s no fun retrieving your favourite pair of comfy thongs from the elderly male next-door neighbour because there just wasn’t enough material to keep the little bastards pegged¬†on the line. You know the ones¬†~ five-years-old, elastic chewed and dangling, dyed¬†a murky grey from being washed, balled-up¬†in the leg of your favourite pair of black, bootleg jeans, and marked with poo stains from that day you bent down to forage for a missing contact lens and the stringy bit really did go up your arse?
No? That’ll just be me, then…

A rear view of a woman's thong underwear.

Image via Wikipedia

… glossing woodwork ~ I hate, loathe and detest¬†gloss paint with a passion reserved only for Jason; it’s just so gloopy, and you have to be¬†really careful, working the paint, avoiding drips runs and drips on the carpet, and despite having to do it¬†so carefully, you have to work super-fast, blending sections, because the paint you applied thirty seconds ago has already started to dry and just refuses to blend with the fresh stuff, leaving a lumpy, uneven ridge that looks like it’s been applied by a semi-conscious, drunk,¬†blind cat¬†¬†And, then, when it’s dried you notice a sketchy bit, but you can’t just dab a bit of paint on to fill in the gap,¬†like you can with emulsion. Oh no, ‘cos then, it’d just looks awful, so you end up re-painting the whole of the bleedin’ skirting board or door. And, then, when that coat’s dry, you notice another sketchy bit and – arrrggghhhh!¬†

Thrown paint

Image by Rockies via Flickr

… moaning¬† ~ nope, I’m wrong. There’s¬†always¬†time for bitchin’.

… making the bed in the morning ~ sorry, Irene and Hilary, but I just don’t get it. Why waste the energy when you’re only gonna go and rumple it again at night? And if your duvet’s permanently crumpled, nobody’s ever going to suspect that you succumbed at 2pm and crawled into bed for an afternoon snooze.¬†¬† ūüėČ

Messy Bed

Image by Patrick Q via Flickr

… regrets ~ however many ‘mistakes’ you make or ‘wrong turns’ you’ve taken, they’re in the past. Done and dusted. Gone. It’s just a waste of energy regretting stuff, unless you’re now in a position to put things ‘right’ – apologise or¬†give it up or make amends, learn from it and move on.
Track back all those things that went ‘wrong’ in your life and, chances are, you’ll have learned an important lesson or developed as a person as a result of that trauma.¬†Yeah, I know it all sounds a bit vomit-inducing and New-Agey, but you get my point!
Bottom line: we’re¬†only human and we all cock-up from time-to-time,¬†and let’s face it, even Spiderman could be a bit of a knob.


Image via Wikipedia

… wasting time on selfish, disrespectful people ~ we all need to develop a healthy dose of self-esteem and acknowledge our own worth, and either help teach these people some manners or kick ’em into touch. I’m not talking about friends who have an occassional needy moment – don’t we all? – or those who need¬†support because they’re going through a crisis. I’m talking about people who continually put you down or abuse your kindness by taking all the time and never giving anything back.

The 1976 book The Selfish Gene by Richard Dawk...

Image via Wikipedia

… internet bleedin’ dating ~ ye Gods! I’d rather watch gloss dry than spend another minute of my pitiful life trawling the net trying to find a¬†bloke with testicles in amongst all those weedy, needy, pathetic big girls’ blouses masquerading as men!

Nothin' like a dame...

Image by Lee Carson via Flickr

…listening to Rebecca Black ~ ‘It’s Frid-ay, Frid-ay! Gotta get down on Frid-ay! Everybody’s looking forward to the week-end, week-end…’ Actually, why should I just suffer?

And so endeth today’s rant.
Now over to you: what else is life just too¬†bleedin’ short for doing?

10 things guys should never say on a first date…

healthy penis

Image by sninky-chan via Flickr

  • My penis is called Mr Winkey ~ Do I need to elaborate? No, I thought not.
  • Do you like it doggy style?¬† Maybe, but you’ve just lost the chance¬†of ever finding out.¬†Introducing anything sexual on a first date is like signing your own death warrant. A girl wants to be wooed, not rude.
  • I live with my mum ~ and I’ve never had to take responsibility for any of my actions, or do my own washing. You won’t ever¬†make a steak and kidney pie to match my mum’s, but I’ll expect you to spend your life trying. And¬†laundering my Y-fronts.
  • Hi, my name’s Stuart and I’ve written a book ~ if a bloke ever says this to you on a¬†date, take my advice and run! Don’t look back, just run. Run¬†like your arse is on fire.
  • Can I kiss you? What a wussy-wufty thing to say! But it tells me everything I need to know:¬†this guy is an insecure schoolboy incapable of taking the lead. He needs to man up and grow a pair.¬†¬†Instead of asking permission, he should just bloody well do it!
  • You look much younger in your photo ~ crikey, and that’s before he’s seen you naked. Imagine how cherished he’ll make you feel when he’s got your flabby thighs wrapped around his neck.
  • God! Did you not ask anyone how big your bum looked when you put those jeans on? See above.
  • I’m on antidepressants, and/or¬†I cry a lot ~ just put the poor bastard out of his misery right there and then,¬†and stab him with a steak knife. Seriously, if he coughs up this much intimate info on a first date, he’s¬†way too happy¬†in his own wretchedness, and clearly not yet ready to let go. If you haven’t got the stomach for murder, walk away. Now. Before you’re begging him for Prozac.
  • Are those for real?¬†Nobody’s¬†ever made this comment to me¬†as it’s pretty damned obvious I’ve never had a boob job; who in their right mind would pay¬† for a couple of fried eggs (penny-sweet-sized) boobies? But rather more endowed friends have assured me this is a common question. Ye Gods!
  • I’m still a virgin ~¬†only acceptable¬†if your date is aged sixteen.¬†If he’s reached forty and claims never to have¬†done the dirty, then don’t be fooled; he’s either lying or he¬†has no pecker. And God help us all if he really is a middle-aged innocent. I mean, who wants to re-live that particular cherry-popping moment – ‘No, love, technically you’re still a virgin. It doesn’t count if you come in your pants.’

Ho ho bloody ho!

183.365 merry christmas,

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?


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!

Dating Bambi…

Boston Terrier Dating Online

Image by Don Hankins via Flickr

Okay, am going back to early autumn for this particular dating delight.¬†Meet Tom – we’d been chatting online one night, and he offered, at 2am, to shower and hop in his car for the hour’s drive to my home, to have sex. What a gentleman, eh? ūüėČ

I refused his kind offer, but agreed to meet him for dinner the next night. You’re probably wondering why. Well, Tom was different to anyone else I’d ‘met’ online; he seemed confident and assertive, manly even.

And he didn’t send me pictures of his willy.

Oh damn you, online-dating-fake-persona!¬†Within a few minutes of us meeting, I just knew Tom¬†lacked testicles. ¬†Call me a cow, but I cannot stand that ever-adoring, puppy-dog, you’re-so-lovely-and-I’m-so-grateful-I’ll-do-anything-to-please-you face on a man. It makes me want to slap him, and yell, ‘Grow a pair, you wuss!’

His idea of conversation was to agree with every Tiny thing I said. I began contradicting myself and making the most ridiculous of statements just to get a reaction. No chance! Tom just simpered and bobbed his head like one of those nodding dogs you see in the back of a car.

In fact, the only interesting comment he made all evening was this:

‘God, I walked past¬†this old wreck of a car in the car park. It was falling to pieces. And it didn’t have a proper back lens cap, just a piece of Christmas pudding wrapper taped over the brake light.’

‘Was it a faded green Fiesta?’

‘Yes! Did you see it, too?’

‘Kind of,’ I replied. ‘ It’s my car.’

But the best bit of our date, the pinnacle of our jovial time together, the absolute epitome of our shared experience was walking through town and stumbling across a Gay Pride gathering. The streets were awash with loud lesbians and happy homosexuals, high on celebratory, unfettered sexuality. And beer.

How did my confident, assertive, manly date react? He darted from his roadside position to the inside pavement position, so that I was shielding him from ‘danger’, his eyes, wide, like Bambi caught in oncoming headlights. He thrust one arm¬†across my shoulders, and wrapped the other around my waist. The¬†bloke was terrified! If he’d¬†possessed balls, they would’ve shrivelled to the size of acorns.

And¬†the moral of this story, children?¬†Never, ever believe an online dating profile. Even if he comes across as a testosterone-fuelled ‘real man’, underneath there’s¬†just a scared, pathetic, homophobic¬†Big-Girl’s-Blouse!


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

A clown made of sand for Sand World 2006

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?

Ten reasons why internet dating sucks…


Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now

Image via Wikipedia

Goodness, where to start? I’ll try to be objective, not rant (too much) and avoid using potentially slanderous phrases such as ‘All men on dating sites are¬†wankers’. I said I’d try, but I’m promising nothing..

Okay, this one’s for you, Max: 10 reasons why internet¬†dating sucks…

  • It’s not private ~ Although your initial registration details remain confidential, the rest of your information – name, age, photo, hometown, hobbies and profile story –¬†is all¬†accessible to millions¬†via the big ol’ World Wide Web. Yeah, I know there’s a clue in the title¬† Internet dating, but ¬†still,¬†you’d expect a¬†degree of privacy. It’s a bit like being¬†in¬†the pub with your best mates. You knock back a double vodka and¬†huddle in to whisper ‘I’ve got chlamydia’¬†only to¬†find the music’s stopped, nobody’s chatting¬†and you’ve just blasted your innermost thoughts to a bunch of perfect strangers.
    Not too embarrassing, then…
  • ¬†It’s limiting¬†~ You’re restricting yourself to ‘meeting’ only those who spend time online. If this is your only form of dating, you’ll never get to meet all those other perfectly eligible men who wouldn’t be seen dead wearing someone else’s clothes on an online dating site. Honestly. Some people just don’t know how to live…
  • First impressions count ~ Suppose a user isn’t comfortable with the written word? Or doesn’t know how to put his personality across? Maybe someone’s dyslexic? Or has uploaded an unflattering photo. Perhaps he doesn’t actually resemble Shrek in daylight. You may dismiss someone perfectly thick nice because his punctuation isn’t up to scratch or his picture’s blurry.
  • Users tend to confuse dating with mating ~ Now, dating may well lead to mating – in fact we rather hope it will – and mating can, of course, occur without the dating, but the words DATING SITE should give users a hint – most of us are there to date, NOT shag ourselves senseless with a variety of strange men. And approaching a woman with ‘Yo! You’re hot! I’d like to¬†rodger your brains out’ is NOT the way to ask for either!
  • It still carries a social stigma ~ Telling people you’re dating online is like announcing you’ve got leprosy. You’ll get all the usual comments – ‘God! You must be really desperate!‘ or ‘Only losers and psychos use those sites!‘ and my personal favourite, ‘Can’t you find a man the normal way, then?
  • You don’t know who you’re getting ~ It’s much easier to fabricate¬†a persona and keep the pretence going online because you’re dealing only with the written word. All those telltale signs of dishonesty like avoidance of eye-contact are impossible to interpret over a computer screen so you have no way of knowing whether the other person¬†is truthful or not.
  • It’s too rational ~ Falling in love isn’t logical. It’s not based on height or earning capacity, it happens through chemistry. Love is all about feelings¬†and emotions. Dating site profiles deal with¬†personal information. You’re choosing¬†and rejecting potential mates by making rational decisions, whereas¬†in real life, we choose partners by our emotional responses.

cat and dog


  • It’s a false reality ~ Online social interaction is quite different to face-to-face contact. Normal rules don’t seem to apply. If I make a comment to a stranger in a shop, chances are we’ll strike up a friendly conversation. Online I’ll probably be ignored. Worse still, my message could be ‘Unread and Deleted’. I might only be saying ‘Hey, great sense of humour!’ or something similarly banal and non-threatening, but that user has taken one look at my picture, barfed and deleted me! Not only is it downright rude, but it’s become the normal, expected way to behave.
  • It’s 2D ~ in a real life situation we use our Spidey¬†senses to determine how we feel about someone. Our brain subconsciously¬†assesses¬†the other¬†person’s appearance, body language, facial expressions, tone of voice, eye contact, mannerisms, personal smell etc. We can’t do this online. Instead we have to filter a limited amount of information through only one sense – our eyes. No wonder I keep ending up with dorks!
  • It’s full of todgers ~ Honest to God I’ve never seen so many peckers¬†in my whole life! Fat ones, skinny ones, short ones, thick ones,¬†bent ones, hairy ones, bald ones! It’s never right! If I met a guy in my local, he sure as hell wouldn’t whip out his todger¬†before he’d even said ‘Hello’!¬†Online it seems to be the new male form of flirting. God help us!

             Over to you Рhave I missed anything?

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