Monday, 26 July 2010

The Smell of Desperation

You know that smell I mean, the lingering smell of cat piss when the neighbourhood moggy sneaks into your porch and decides to piss on your welcome matt. No matter how much shake and vac you put down the smell just doesn’t shift, lingering in the air like a curdled shite. Actually it’s not the aromatic scent of cat piss that has been lingering around my house recently but the pathetic smell of desperation.
About a month ago one of my friends convinced me that I had been single longer than what was acceptable (only 14 months) and that I should do something about it immediately. Well I’m not one for online dating after hearing all about Jason who is tall, dark, 25, lives in Castlefield and is hung like a donkey actually turned out to be Bernard who’s 63 and lives is Grimsby.

Basically I just don’t think online dating is safe, well not for my victims anyway. Regardless of this I decided to sign up to Gaydar, which can hardly be described as a dating site; more like a cattle market for cocks. I also downloaded Grindr on my iPhone which is the equivalent to a Sat Nav for sex.

I’ve not been on the dating game for so long that I just have no idea how to play it cool. As soon as I’m asked what I’m looking for I can almost hear my victims UGG boots running for their lives down Canal St as I reply ‘a husband, a Labrador and a house in the country.’ By my own admission I am one of those desperate fools that jump in feet first, that’s why I’ve found myself in more disastrous relationships than the annoying bitch that is Geri Halliwell. It’s also why I’d never do speed dating, my ego couldn’t take being rejected by 30 men in 30 minutes.

My most recent pathetic outing was with the boy who was the subject of my Dating Disaster blog. Only this time I didn’t even go on a date. Last week as I was preparing to leave work when I received a phone call from an unknown number, cautiously answering the call I was greeted by Lee on the other end who was obviously a little intoxicated. Now considering I hadn’t heard from him in six weeks the call did catch me a little off guard. He asked me if I wanted to meet up for a drink on my way home from work; part of me wanted to tell him to fuck off but the other part of me was desperately hoping that the physic I went to see the week before was right and that I was going to find the man of my dreams any minute and it would be someone from my past. I decided that 6 weeks was a sufficient enough time frame for him to be considered from my past.

Against my better judgement I rushed myself into town, however , as I was sat on the tram on my way to meet my long lost dream man I received a text from him telling me he couldn’t be bothered waiting and he was off home. Now I don’t mind admitting that I actually laughed out loud at myself. Never have I been so desperate or pathetic, except for the time I climbed through my ex-boyfriend’s window. So once again I’m giving up on the dating game and deleting my Gaydar profile immediately. No more dates for me at all, absolutely not; well not unless you can set me up?

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