“Think of how retarded the average guy is, and realize halve of them are stupider than that.”
IM SO EXCITED
YOU’RE NOT INVITED
WE’RE ABOUT TO LOSE CONTROL
I THINK YOU’LL LIKE IT
OH HAI! Yes there I am in Nantes reflecting upon my love life and the philosophy of Internet dating.
Okay so let’s talk about profile pictures. I sometime check out the women’s pics but of course this is problematic because on most dating sites you get to see who has viewed you. Like how on Friendster it was made clear who was spying on you and how many times a day. Remember that? So annoying! Anyway that is why my information is about 49% of the population and not the rest.
Some key notes:
PICTURES OF MEN WITH HATS
PICTURES OF MEN WHO CROP THE TOP SECTION OFF THEIR HEAD
[For the record I will date any guy with any kind of hair except for a grey pony tail. BUT I could even imagine some exceptions here.]
FACE SHOT ONLY WITH “CUTE” SMIRK OFF TO THE SIDE
Fluffy [or as some less educated people will say: FAT]
[Again for the record: Check my U.B.M. segment number 1 on Teki Latex - SEXUAL!]
FEY LOOK SHOT FROM HIGH DIAGONAL ANGLE
Will be skinny and have an asymmetric spike hair cut like a lesbian which is pretty shit as lesbians now have short back and sides or femme hair and a red belt
GOOFY GENUINELY NICE SMILEY FACE
Will have photos off his face at a festival further on
GOOFY GENUINELY NICE SMILEY FACE WITH GLASSES
Guaranteed to have pictures of himself in his IT office given away by the Venetian blinds in the background
PICTURE OF HIS FACE WITH SLIVER OF SOMEONE ELSES CROPPED OFF
I don’t know what this means but I am incredibly suspicious of these
I of course use the Photoface[TM] pics at any given opportunity. They might as well get the gist of my face with botox because I will be fucking on a botox drip in the next 5 years to keep up the lie about my age. [I switched my age back after getting a message from the Ginger Tom]
Now I REALLY REALLY THINK that online sites should have certain sentences banned from use to force people to come up with something more imaginative.
HATE NUMBER 1: I am looking for someone who is “comfortable in their own skin.” Bleurgh. Sounds horrible and slimy sexual like getting rubbed with chocolate syrup and whipped cream. And I think I prefer someone a little awkward who will realise that everyone has a bad day and wants to explode out of themselves. Thinking about it, people who describe themselves as “comfortable in their own skin” probably shit really regularly and have the same breakfast every day.
I am getting bored of this post so I will stop now or write more later. I have a sore throat and was shopping all day with The CIB. She put in a request that I sing Au Clare de la Lune on the Hobart Ukulele which I might go and do now wearing nothing but my new snakeskin high heeled sandals in the front window with the light on for the whole street to see.
Actually do you think it I should put that as my profile description to get a pretty good match for me?
I won’t be looking him in the mouth, unless I am actually looking in his mouth because SERIOUSLY how many guys can you have a midnight conversation with about “which girl from Booty Luv do you want to be?” and then have them reply “well they change who is at the wheel so it doesn’t really matter.”?
The answer ladies and gentlemen is NOT MANY.
To preface this post with a picture of fake shit is a little bit negative to say the least. But what I would like to illustrate is: to find good shit you have to wade through a lot of bad. As you will agree, some of the shits above are better than others – in infact you could end up with a bag of marbles.
The most recent date was wonderful. When his face smiled, so did his eyes. So mine did too. And we recognised it in one another and it was the thing that was missing in the first two dates.
The date tonight nearly lost his chance when I received an email saying “I’m hung over can we change the date?” and I said “That is really poor form”. It received an instant apology and a pledge that he would be there at the appointed time.
What he secretly doesn’t know is that I am feeling a little shallow of mind [and a bit like the subject of the picture above] after too many beers at an exhibition at the Timothy Taylor exhibition of Sean Scully paintings last night and noodles on Kingly Street with my buddies. One thing you might like to know about Timothy Taylor is that he isn’t a bad looking man, tight as arseholes, and glasses that are nice but just don’t quite suit his face. They are statement frames and just too big. The day I am introduced to him I will let him know.
Finally, I called Mrs Kipling this morning just to tell her I love her. She and I had such a laugh at the statment made in The Guardian relating to the fact that the lastest serial killer caught has a profile on their dating site and warning and apologies ensued.
Kindest regards from the depth of Mayfair
Lately I have been pursuing the companionship of men via online dating sites in the hope that I meet someone a bit older, with a job, their own flat etc. In the gag reflex inducing sea of “cuddles on the sofa”, “red wine”, “a mean pasta”, “DVD’s” and “getting away for the weekend” I have found a few of the right kind of weirdos who may or may not be stabbers, but have least picked up the cheque.
One poor guy who actually works with a girl I know. I confided in her, she got drunk, told a colleague of theirs and the guy apparently got a ribbing at work about it. I wasn’t pleased. And quite embarrassing to be actually blocked from contacting this guy ever again… He must have been thrilled.
Another guy was very nice, told me he was looking forward to the next meeting because he had such a great time, wanted to meet my cat, big smiles, big kiss etc etc. Then what I call the malediction of the British – a text message a little while later saying “Cards on the table I felt no romance…” Ladies and gents, why not just say that to my face instead of acting otherwise? I really curse the British for the “nice to the face, grimace in the cuff.” You don’t know you do it and I fall for it every time.
Another guy is actually a transvestite, no date but funny chats. He’s great but too young for me and I’m not old enough to be a cougar yet.
At least I don’t feel totally invisible. But at the end of today, I just melted into the sofa watching Law and Order Criminal Intent with the super hot Jewish detective never wanting to step foot outside of my house again and happier in my $9.50 K-mart grey marle old man tracky dacks and a grey Chesty Bond vest.
As the hemisphere changes and I end up standing the opposite way to the centre of gravity from 24 hours ago so does my taste in men change, it seems. It is funny how the smalled detail changes everything. For example, waiting for the sniffer dog beagle to go through everyone’s luggage I saw this guy with a short beard all the way down his neck and hair kinda short, bit neanderthal looking but worth looking at twice. BUT ONLY IN AUSTRALIA .
Yes – a small percentage of these guys here will have a bullet engraved with your name before he shoots you point blank in the head and drives off in his ute after you cheated on him with his best mate (or not) – but THE MAJORITY probably work on a farm, winery, have a fishing boat – healthy out doorsy lifestyles know how to shear sheep – all of which infers hot and sweaty rumbles in any of the afpremntioned venues. And he can brobably hold you up against the wall while he is doing it. Gays – something for you too cause some of these men are gay too. Only a percentage more than the psychos but def worth a nod and a wink in the local bush ‘hotel’ (i.e. Pub).
A man of similar appearance in the UK is either a) Australian and there to promote the wine from his family estate or b) a British nutter and the only job he could get is working for the council getting weeds out from between the paving stones or picking litter from the motorways at night (that is a real job). The British version lives with his mum, will set up spycams to watch you poo, stalk you and kill your cat. Before tying you up with those plastic tie things, losing his erection, crying and having to shoot himself leaving his brains all over your face.
I just re-read that. I don’t know what has happened to me in my life to make me think about things like that. But there is my whole psyche on a plate I guess.
On another note, it’s ANZAC day here so a minutes silence for our war heros. LEST WE FORGET.
And every man is the same
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