On a lighter note

I wish some of the dating sites I'd signed up for were even half as scrupulous at vetting new members as this.

Yeah.

He gave me some CDs yesterday to listen to. After the date, I heard nothing from him. I mean nothing. I sent a message, blah blah, thanks for a lovely afternoon, nothing. So today I just sent: I guess you'd better just let me know where to return your CDs to then. He sent me his address. Straight away. And that was that.

I've cancelled meeting that guy on Friday to go to a gallery. Who the fuck cares.

We already know how this one goes

I think I've mentioned before that I almost always like them more than they like me. You'd think that I was some hideously deformed beast-like social leper, but I'm not; I'm actually quite pretty.

Oh well. I'll be over here plastering my brave face on. Happy new year, anyway; may it bring more good than this one did.

OKay

He just sent a text. So far, so good, I think.

*gulp*

ACK

I've just seen what time it is. I need to go and tweezer my entire face in panic and shower and wail about my spotty face. Obviously I realise he's probably not going to show up. Obviously I DON'T CARE.

Exciting new mental state detected and named!

Good morning, fellow humans. Today I have what can only be described as a galloping case of the Nervous Braddocks, which is a new condition I have developed and named following a prolongued and accidentally suggestive late-night email conversation with M. Yesterday was a bit of an odd day. I had persistent hassle from Ch2 (who, I am hopeful, will now not be in touch again after I was quite sharp with him for being so fucking pushy), and then M dropped me an e-mail. It picked up where our last conversation left off - talking about Neil Gaiman and what we were both reading - and then...something happened and all I am prepared to divulge is that I now know a WHOLE lot more about his, er, wants and needs than I was quite ready to hear about. The SHAME. What is even worse is that I looked him up on Facebook this morning in a fit of terrible guilt and he's so YOUNG and so PRETTY and oh god. Please god don't let him send me any more emails. The temptation is overwhelming. OVERWHELMING. *slaps self round face*

Also rather amusingly yesterday, one of the other guys - L, who'd contacted me via the Guardian website, sent me another long and rambly email and goes, oh add me on Facebook yeah? This is my surname. And gives me his full name. I did a slight double take, and added him simply to find out that - yes, he IS the nice marketing officer from the theatre that always gave the women and children's group I used to run free tickets for the pantomime. Small world eh?

Anyway the most exciting thing, and I am even nervous about BLOGGING it because this could potentially be third time unlucky, is that last night, LATE last night, J - the lovely one - sends me a message saying, tomorrow? Yes? I say, yes. Yes yes. Of course, I'm terrified and haven't slept at all. I have damp knees, bloody and scraped from panic shaving. I'm sure I've come out in spots in the night. This is the man who makes me hold my breath when he phones. This could really go wrong. I wonder where I put that propanolol. If I left it at A's I'm going to slam my head repeatedly in a door and cry. Haha.

GAH

And still he persists. Riot act...about to be read.

On the other hand, J sends me photo messages of cups of tea and makes me laugh. *headdesk*

Pushy pushy pushy

I'm starting to have a real issue with one of the guys that's contacted me. It's Ch2, who you'll remember from my earlier post is the one who's seemingly very nice, lives near me, owns his own business and is pleasant enough but whom it's becoming rapidly clearer and clearer that I don't fancy. He keeps trying to call me and I've been very straight with him and said that I don't really like speaking on the phone particularly, because, well, I don't. I make phonecalls out of necessity. The only person I really call to chat with is my best friend. I don't know, I am quite shy, I find it rather difficult thinking of things to talk about, I don't like it when they ask awkward questions, I feel like I am being steamrollered. In person it's different because you get the benefit of being able to read their body language and face as well, but on the phone, I don't like it. Anyway I've said this to him; I've even diverted all calls now so actually the ONLY person that can call me is my best friend. Everyone else gets put straight to answerphone, including my mother. I've actually told him I did this because I don't like unexpected phonecalls. His new tactic is to beg and cajole me to call him. It's really fucking tiresome. REALLY fucking tiresome indeed.

In the middle of the night

I get a message, from J. I'm sorry. I am really sorry, I am just rubbish. Let's just meet. Please. Yes? I say, yes you idiot, I've been waiting for you to decide that for weeks now. He says, I am sorry. You are all I have been thinking about. I say, I wish you'd just bloody say so. Things would be a lot easier if you did.

I have apparently managed to find the only person on the planet who is more scared than I am at the prospect of meeting others. Before I went to see the magician A had to force drugs into my face to stop me foaming in panic. I think this might be interesting.

A festive round-up. With a few turkeys and not nearly enough stuffing.

I have, I realise, been very quiet since the gentle punch in the throat that was the magician at the weekend. It's been particularly difficult for me to be funny in the slightest over Christmas - in fact, to be honest, all I've really wanted to do is slit my wrists, but that makes it quite hard to type so I've refrained.

So, as I gallop towards the end of the year still having failed to get laid meet anyone nice, I thought I'd fill you all in on the runners and riders. There are quite a few but let's bear in mind that I've been being polite and replied to everyone on the principle that there are enough rude people out there (sadly I know all about it) and I wouldn't deliberately want to upset anyone.

Alrighty then. And we're off.

First of all, nothing from the magician. I guess it's easier to feign a throat infection than it is to feign interest.

Lovely sweet depressed J has made a reappearance, and is still lovely, sweet and depressed. Sadly, he's also completely useless, as on Christmas Eve I actually said to him what are we doing and why aren't we going for a drink and making each other laugh, and he didn't reply until today, when I got a lame excuse that his phone hadn't been working the entire time he was in Leeds visiting his mother for Christmas. I mean we all know that Leeds is the land that time forgot, but last time I checked they did have electricity. He is lovely though. And makes me laugh. Out of the small army of menfolk I appear to have attracted he's one of the few that I actually fancy. I get thumpy excited when I hear from him. Most of the others, I just block the calls.

The oldest punk in town, who I went out with last week, is still in touch and despite the complete lack of chemistry which we've both acknowledged seems to be a very nice fella and we'll probably end up going for a drink or two.

Okay and now brace yourselves for a positively bewildering array of gentlemen, some of whom are in with a chance and others who are...not.

First, from the Guardian website:

E, who is very funny, has a squishy face, makes up lots of things he thinks he knows about me (although I suspect this is for comedy effect). Lives reasonably close, has a good job, seems very pleasant although not my normal type. Has five children which I am slightly taken aback by; is nine years older than me. Has asked me out about five times now but we keep not setting a date.

O, who again is not my usual type but seems very pleasant. Two years younger than me, seems rather clean cut and tidy. Has asked me if I will go to a gallery and for a coffee with him next Friday; I've said yes on the premise that he seems quite clever and has a Wizard of Oz fixation like me. I am aware that this potentially means he's gay. It's okay.

P, who is Italian but lives quite close to me. Has asked if we can go for a drink; I explained I don't, so he's amended that to coffee. I can go with that. Is currently in Italy for Christmas and new year. Rather attractive, but slightly odd facial hair.

L, who is quite amazingly geeky and into a lot of the same music as me. Has asked if I'll go out with him, seems pleasant enough but reminds me quite a lot of my ex - not physically, just in how he rattles on about things and how he seems rather proud of his geekiness. I fear he could get annoying quite fast, but we'll see.

From the fat lady website:

N, who is from Glasgow, very attractive, very funny. Rather a long way away. Currently involved in trying to lure me there for the new year, or for the weekend at least. I am, as usual, strong in the face of persuasion, although if he was a bit closer I'd have been on him like a wet flannel by now. Haha. Despite being the furthest away has been the most normal in his tactics. We like him. Gah.

D, who is quite random and appeared from nowhere and just sent me a huge long email about horror films and the Hold Steady. If I hadn't now seen photos I'd have been spooked that he was someone I already know, but he's not I don't think. Also lives quite a long way away. Makes me laugh however.

JB, who is *wince* 23 but clinging on like a barnacle. Very sweet but much too young; appears to be rather hopeful. I have both eyebrows raised quite high at this.

Scary masturbating guy - had a brief reprieve just before Christmas when he sent me a very apologetic text saying sorry for sending me videos of himself masturbating. Like an idiot I was gracious in the face of cock, which unfortunately prompted him to carry straight on with his old tactics. In the end, after he plagued me mercilessly all day on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, I cracked with his final demand for phone sex and told him to fuck off, actually using those actual words. Sadly I couldn't make it any more festive. He wasn't listening.

Finally, from Match:

Ch1, who lives literally round the corner from me and who is more or less incoherent, although he seems to be well intentioned. Well intentioned, but scarily backward. I am a bit nervous about that one and won't be meeting him. Ever.

C, who is pleasant enough but...I just don't fancy him. I don't. I can't help it :( He's also the one who seems to think I secretly just want to be looked after and you know what...I don't.

Ch2, who I was foolish enough to allow to have my mobile number and who now won't stop calling me. I've actually blocked his calls and today explained that I wasn't feeling well and no, I didn't want to chat. He still called me four times though and keeps saying "he doesn't give up on people that easily". I've explained it's more a case of me wanting to be left alone but he doesn't seem to be listening. I don't fancy him in the slightest, either, but apparently because he owns his own company and makes good money, I should do. It doesn't do it for me. I think that's what put the magician off too - I'm just not impressed with your money. Anyway so he's driving me slightly mad.

M, who is also *whisper* 23, lives locally and is apparently jonesing for some slightly older fatgirl action. It's a bit scary. He's very cute indeed. I am not going down that road. Must...not...touch...the youngsters.

There are a couple, okay a few, others but...they're not actual prospects I have to say. These are the ones who have sent more than one email or message, and who in some cases have sent so many I've considered calling the police. Hahaha.

My amazing repellant skills work once again

I was right, I did fancy him more than he fancied me. He cancelled our supposed meeting tomorrow by text. What a fucking cop out. I'd say I was disappointed, but to be honest I'm just miserable with the whole fucking thing now. I was supposed to have been getting married today, in approximately two hours. Woo hoo.

Girl, distracted, indeed.

So I finally managed to actually go out on a date. With the magician. He's lovely. I mean, absolutely lovely. I'm very nervous that I fancied him more than he fancied me but I guess...oh well I guess we'll see. I just...oh I don't know, I was so nervous this morning before I went to meet him that I think I'm kind of scrambled. Gah! He's so so nice.

I also just had the RUDEST fucking emails ever from this completely unknown guy, who more or less demanded my mobile number because as he said 'his subscription to the website was about to expire'. When I declined politely, explaining that I preferred to get to know someone a bit better after a couple of nasty experiences recently, he got really quite pushy. I re-stated the fact that my privacy is my right and that it's more a case that I like to get to know people better before compromising that, than rejection, and I got the old 'you're not that fucking special, fucking bitch' line. Let's all hope he catches something really fucking unpleasant, like lymphogranuloma venereum, and develops a second arsehole. (It's possible, trust me. I used to work in that field - not ripping new arseholes, I hasten to add, but in sexual health.) I've just reported him to the website as inappropriate and rude, and blocked him. What a twat.

The morning report

Okay, there. I have been to sleep. That's better. Right then! Well, I had a pleasant evening but it was pretty clear from the get-go that there was no attraction there at all. It's the first time I'm ever going to say that some punk guy with tattoos isn't my type, but there it is. I actually drove past him on the way to the car park and thought, oh dear. However he was very pleasant company and I actually think we'll probably end up hanging out together anyway; he's nice enough, just...no. Haha NO. He sent me a very earnest (and slightly incoherent) text message very late last night saying that he thought his drinking probably wouldn't be conducive to any kind of relationship other than friendship (I am really not much of a drinker unless it's under very specific circumstances, and I rarely, rarely drink when I'm out somewhere). He, on the other hand...drinks a lot. And I don't think that nose got broken on its own. So yeah...nice enough, but nothing to report.

Rather amazingly this morning I've had a 'wink' from someone CUTE via Match. Let's see if he makes sentences eh?

It is very late indeed

I am VERY tired. I had a nice evening but haven't had enough time to process it yet. I also just ate, in a fit of alcohol-related munchies, a Pot Noodle. This has not happened since I was about twenty. It probably gives you a good idea of why I'm single. I want my bed. And a nice warm body in it to sleep against. That sounded quite sinister; I'd like to reassure everyone that I did mean a LIVE person and not just a fresh corpse. Christ on a bike I'm wittering like...like...oh fuck it it's bedtime. Blargh.

Dispatches from the front line

I have been quiet the last couple of days; I suspect you are all a-quiver with a mixture of relief that I've stopped squawking about my woes and burning curiosity about whether I've got laid met the man of my dreams yet. Well fear not gentle reader: I'm about to bore you all to tears with a blow-by-blow update of the last couple of days. Brace yourselves.

First of all you'll all be relieved (although mingled with that I sense a couple will be a tiny bit disappointed, and you know who you are) to hear that Jacking Off And Filming It Guy has not been back in touch. I did wonder if he'd leave it a day or two for the impact of his (rather oddly shaped) cock to sink in (oo-er) and then regroup for a second attempt. Not tempted thanks.

Secondly, my Temptation On A Stick, Benjamin Braddock, has also been very quiet. I am very relieved. He was much too young and I have needs. He was in danger of being eaten like a peach and so it's probably just as well it's all gone quiet; even I am disturbed by that image, and I'm in it. Haha.

Lovely, melancholy, sweet J is still all of the above. It's driving me crackers. He's also still being weird and I've been busy this week - apparently it's CHRISTMAS or something next week and I'd blocked it so successfully I haven't done a single scrap of shopping so sadly he's had to be shelved a bit.

The Magician...ah be still my heart. He's very nice. I said, didn't I, that we'd fixed a date for Saturday. It is still fixed; we shall see. I like him a lot. I'm not being funny, so of course you can tell :) I'm also not talking about him too much. I want to see what happens, and I'm superstitious.

I mentioned, didn't I, that I'd had a couple of very nice emails from some local boys via the Guardian's Soulmates website; well, one of them in particular is very interesting and funny and gives good e-mail, as it were. So, since I'm going to this Christmas party tonight I've asked if he wants to come along for a drink. There's going to be lots of other people there and I'm not going to be getting boozed up, so it's a pretty safe bet. We also seem to have enough in common that we'd get along anyway and if nothing else it'll be nice to have someone that might fancy coming along to some of the gigs and so on that I like. HOWEVER. I have not forgotten that I do attract all the crazy people and this one is heavily into cats and their symbolism in ancient Egypt. Which is...well look, we'll see haha. Let's just go and get a beer and see. Hopefully there'll be an amusing/distressing report tomorrow for you all to chuckle over.

And staying with the Guardian...I had one email this afternoon which opened with the immortal line: "You're into Wicca, we can spot each other a mile off." Now then. In the picture on my profile, I am wearing a tshirt with a cartoon owl on it and an expression which can only be described as "confused". In my "religion" section, it says AGNOSTIC. I describe my interests as zombie films, live music, and tea. How - how - does this translate as WICCA? Anyway. I sent him a reply that basically said, um no, but I can appreciate the natural beauty of WICKER, provided it's done tastefully. For some reason he appears to like me. His last message asked whether I was going to ask him out. Reader, I said no. LOL. God I'm such a cow.

I don't believe I told you all about the mouth-breathers from the Match website did I? Well. Two particular ones stand out. OK actually no. There's three. I'll take them one by one.

1. Desperate and local: exactly as you'd expect. Everything about him screams NEEDY, except his photograph, which screams "Special Needs". Hmm, or possibly "Comatose". Anyway. After a couple of exceptionally boring emails from him at the weekend - and I do mean boring. Not even comedy boring, just BORING - I finally made good my escape by telling him I'd got some writing to do and was too busy to have my will to live sucked by entertaining him on MSN for hours. Well, I didn't put it quite like that, but you get the idea. So he obligingly left it a couple of days and then yesterday sent another message asking rather sadly if I was as busy in the week as I was at weekends? I answered quite swiftly - yes, terribly busy. Terribly, awfully busy. I have to go out you know! Review bands! Support local music! And things. Well, this has amazed him. I am a Lady What Goes Out On Her Own. Yesterday he rather timidly suggested that I'd like to take him with me to things. I pointed out that he's welcome to come if he's paying, but I tend to get guestlisted. This didn't deter him. Today he sent an email which said - and I shall quote directly: "i would love to come with you to a local gig. i bet you would like someone to look after you if your honest, you might do lots of things alone but you'd would love someone to share things with." Yes mate. Just not YOU. I've sent him a response in which I said fuck off as tactfully as possible. Jeez.

2. Even more desperate: He sent me an email which said - and again, I quote directly: hi im *** i was wondering if your still single or have met anyone yet im maybe not be your type but given a chance i could be.so please e mail me back even if your not interested thanks *** Please note the complete lack of any punctuation or capital letters. I sent one back saying thanks, my dance card's full right now. His response? When it's not, I'll be waiting. Yes I'm sure you will be, darling. Try closing your fucking mouth on your photographs.

3. The swamp-dweller: Another star letter writer from the weekend. I should never have answered when I looked at his pictures and realised that yes, he too had his mouth hanging open on every single one. Anyway, because I suspected he'd made quite an effort to write the message, I answered, and was rewarded with several boring, boring replies. Until the punchline. He'd asked what I do for a living. I explained, and then asked the same question back. His response? Okay his response in total, verbatim, was thus: "i recycle cardbored". WHAT WITH? YOUR MOUTH?! DO YOU PULP IT?!!! I was so stunned all I could do was send a response that read, "oh". Funnily enough, nothing from him since. But perhaps he's only allowed out of the pulping pit at the weekend.

Anyway, I'm off to make myself beautiful and get ready to venture forth for a bijoux drinkette, potentially with a weird cat lover. We'll see, and buckle up and brace for tomorrow's scintillating report. Don't, um, get too excited though; my track record thus far has been pretty bad for being stood up.

Over and out.

The Sunday roundup

Right then. Here is a roundup of my last 24 hours and the adventures contained therein.

1. As you know I joined the Guardian website and initially scorned it. However apparently there are some non-snobby fatty lovers on there after all as I have received several e-mails from three different men who can all make complete sentences and by all accounts seem quite pleasant. So that's exciting isn't it? I'm still rather unconvinced by their "match" facility though, it seems very cockeyed.

2. Speaking of Match...good god. Yes, they have 4.6 million single people on there. Yes, they do. And do you know why there are fucking millions on there? Because that's where all the mouth-breathing illiterates go to find a mate and SPAWN. Christ on a bike. I was goaded into taking the 7 day free trial yesterday after a sudden flurry of interest. One of my potential suitors asked me the same question four times via e-mail until eventually I just told him to re-read the thread and try and make sense of the little symbols. Those are letters, they make up words. *headdesk* I know I sound a bit harsh but for fuck's sake.

3. No more from the guy who sent me a video of himself jacking off. I think my pointed silence has made things fairly clear. Whew.

4. Lovely, lovely J...very quiet, and then a really strange text message last night has left me a bit...well I don't know. I am going to see how things pan out this week and if I have time I am going to suggest meeting for lunch. If that doesn't happen then I guess that's that. It's a shame but I'm not getting back on that ride I'm afraid.

5. The magician has asked me to go out on Saturday. I have said yes. He makes me laugh a lot. We'll see. I mean in theory everything's against it; he's [mumble] substantially older than me, our lifestyles are completely different...oh believe me. There's plenty. But at the same time, oh I don't know. Let's see. Let's just wait, and see.

What a weird day.

I spent most of it from the last blog entry onwards doing two things: talking to the magician via IM, and ignoring the guy from last night, who I have to say is becoming exceptionally irritating. I have now told him very firmly that not only have I zero interest in seeing anything else but that I am also quite poorly and wish to be left alone. He's still insisting on sending messages every hour or so though and whilst I'm sorely tempted to just block him let's face it...it's interesting isn't it?

Anyway moving on. The magician. The magician is screamingly funny. And I secretly quite fancy him. It's the age thing but...I don't know. I don't know. I might be over his way towards the end of the week. We'll see.

J, the lovely lovely genuine one...oh I don't know. I sense there is something quite deep-seated that is wrong and I don't really know how to progress this one, or even if it WILL progress. He's so lovely but I just don't really understand what's going on. This is the second weekend he's arranged to meet me and then backed out, and I am a bit worried that he's got some serious issues that I...I don't know. This always happens. It sounds selfish but just once, once, I'd like one that's not broken. I don't know. He goes to great pains and lengths to convince me of how much he likes me, and then backs away from actually getting together.

I need to take more painkillers and lay down.

Oh sweet jesus

He has just sent me a video of him jacking off. I mean...no. Just no. I'm getting under my bed now, I'll be out in a few days.

Aieeeee!!

And just as I was leaving the room....

*bing!*

I look.

"Where's the most public place you've ever given a blowjob?"

And that, dear reader, is why I am NOT going to be meeting this one.

Haha

My mum said, "he doesn't sound very savoury."

HAHAHAA I'm off for a shower.

Oh my GOD

He's not stopping, kids. Now he thinks I should get showered, put on some foxy lingerie and go and spend the weekend with him. OH HELLO ARE YOU MENTAL PLEASE GO AWAY NOW.

I'm going in the other room to tell my mum.

Oh - wait, crazy alert

Even as I was posting that, the one from last night was sending me an IM saying how hard I make him and that he made himself come thinking about me last night and he's touching himself now. Yes, now, dear reader. As we speak. Right now there is a man not twenty miles away, and he's jacking off to a girl who can only breathe through one nostril and has her fringe stuck to her head. Oh and so much Vaseline on her nose that it is glowing. And more importantly, he thinks that I'm going to be impressed by this. (Actually, reading that description back, he does deserve credit for being able to jack off to that - mind you of course he doesn't know I look like that right now haha.)

Shall I stop him and tell him, or let him finish? Hahaha. Gawd. I'd laugh, but I only put head-and-shoulders photos up, and they're all fully clothed. Some of these boys are clearly...very eager indeed.

I think I'll do the equivalent of when you get a heavy breather on the phone - carefully pop it down on the side and go and do other stuff for a bit. Like hack at myself with blunt objects have a shower and sit about with Vicks inhalers rammed up each nostril. Phwoar!

The curse of optimism, or, do I want to fit in or not?

Earlier in the week I was talking to A about the pros and cons of being on a site specifically for bigger girls. There's lots of arguments for and against and although I'd always viewed it as a useful tool for narrowing the market, there's definitely an argument that your size is somewhat fetishised and that that brings with it all kinds of other connotations about the rest of your personality not mattering as long as you've got huge breasts (beware the Pinchers!), or that the kind of men looking for partners on there aren't really looking for partners at all.

Well, so, I thought let's keep the avenues open, and I signed up for the Guardian Soulmates website too. I was dead honest, I put that I'm 'full figured' (which is the politest - and largest - body type description option so it's pretty clear); I put a nice, pretty picture up, and I started browsing. 265 men in my area that are a good match, it says! So off I trot. Oh yes. It does a two-way match thing. They're a good match for ME; but for them, on literally 75-80% of them I am "no match". How's that then Guardian? Well, because they say "body type (crucial) - slim/athletic", and "attractiveness (crucial) - very attractive/drop dead gorgeous" (mine reads, "attractive", because, well, I am - but I'm also not a complete lunatic!). So much for it not being about your looks eh. I'm going to bite my tongue but you know what? *looks round shiftily* If we're going to be that shallow...they might want to rethink their own descriptions, or at least try and take some pictures with their mouths shut, etc. It's about time folks realised that a small waistline does not a good person make. It is interesting though how very average looking men, and you know I am fine with very average looking men haha, it's neither here nor there for me, but it's interesting the confidence levels that seem to be there, or perhaps men are more aspirational than women. My Benjamin Braddock said that he had heard that "men learn to fall in love with who they fancy, whereas women learn to fancy who they fall in love with", and you know what, he might only be 21 but that's a very interesting point about what's important in the rules of attraction. Of course, nobody's typical. I'll just hastily point that out too.

Anyway that was my little rant for this morning. I am not very well, slept badly, and generally found that a bit mean first thing. It does make me kind of want to dig out all those stupid commentary type articles you occasionally get, all encouraging - "90% of men prefer curves!" and all that shite - and just...set fire to them. Or something.

It's such a sensitive issue, weight and size. I probably shouldn't try to write about it before I've taken any decongestants/painkillers and had that first bucket of tea.

By the way, I caved and re-subscribed (for a couple of days) to that other fat-girl dating site, as I was amassing an inbox-full of messages, and so I managed to read Mr Apologetic's latest message. He misses me, apparently. (He's had two brief messages politely declining his advances because he lives miles away, he clearly has some issues - believe me, I've read his profile - and our interests are polarised.) He's still old enough to be my dad and looks worryingly like him too. And he misses me. Oh for pete's sake. I just want to meet one that's not crazy, likes some of the same stuff as me, and is nice to me without turning into a smotherer.

Speaking of smotherers...oh man. I actually was logged in late last night, obviously after the pub run, and was hit upon by a very goodlooking specimen (we're back on the fat-girl website, btw, at this point). Anyway, he's good-looking (read: very good-looking) but...I sense a sucking void swirling. *narrows eyes* we'll see. He's keen anyway. I got up and switched the computer on this morning to write my daily missive and he's been on me like a...like a....wet flannel. Get off, I'm tired and my head is entirely full of goo. I'm not sexy, I'm in my pyjamas and I've got "temperature hair", you know when you wake up all shiny faced with your hair stuck to your forehead because you're running a temperature high enough to fry an egg on your face? Yeah that's me today. Cor.

Hope and wonder and magic

So...well, the first good news is that I am horribly sick, having caught whatever it was that the Heart-Trampler had when I went round on Wednesday. It started coming on last night and this morning I've woken up hardly able to breathe. As you can imagine I'm really pleased about that. Anyway. You may remember at the start of this whole shenanigans I made a post about a few special cases, one of which, as you will recall, was the Magician. He resurfaced today and I do believe, ladies and gentlemen, that he's about to start the hunt. We'll see. I am not sure how that's going to go because - see, it's the same thing as before; I find him very funny and witty and charming but...I think he's too old. He certainly doesn't look it, I'll give him full credit for that (and yes, I've seen recent pictures, he was featured in a magazine article recently so they're pretty accurate), but I just think priorities tend to be different. As my Benjamin Braddock said to me, however, people tend to make judgements about things like that without checking with him first, which I took on the chin, actually; he's right.

Oh I don't know. I am just bored with it all now. I'd like someone to give me a hug and look after me a little bit. That's all.

Amazingly bad-tempered post alert

It's been a funny old 24 hours. Last night I went to see my ex. It was upsetting, not because there were any arguments or anything like that; on the contrary, it was lovely. It was like going home. Well, technically it was going home, except I am not allowed to think like that. The bulb had even blown in the bathroom, making it feel just like it did when I left. He looked good. He smelled like he always does. It almost fucking killed me. I picked up my ginormous crate of CDs (he DJs, he'd hung on to them a little while because I didn't have room for them, it's all very amicable, except it gouged my heart out), I managed not to give in when he absentmindedly kissed me goodbye, I picked up my skirts and legged it. It's horrible. I know he's absolutely no good for me, I know we were right to end. I just...well. There's nothing else to say. It's done, and we can't go back down that road, there's been some kind of landslide.

Moving on to other matters, I've just deleted someone from IM and email and blocked them on that stupid fucking website. I am so done with these stupid, arrogant, BORING little men. Oh hello why don't you just grow a brain and speak to me like the adult that I am, you fuckwit?! Here. Witness his sparkling conversational skills for yourself, fucking idiot.

Me (16:51:56): so how's work going?
Me (16:52:05): are they still being shit? and, how are you feeling now?
Twat (16:52:28): they've easied off now, no one can be mad with me for long, too lovable
Me (16:52:47): that's lucky
Twat (16:53:00): hehee
Me (16:53:06): also, you don't fuck with someone who's about to leave anyway
Me (16:53:13): they tend not to have any regrets haha.
Twat (16:53:23): very very true potty mouth!
Me (16:53:49): haha what? oh I said fuck. lord. sorry.
Twat (16:54:10): bad girl smacky bum bum
Me (16:54:20): *eyebrow*
Me (16:54:29): I tend to fight back.
Twat (16:54:50): bring it on sister!
Me (16:55:06): man
Me (16:55:29): I've yet to speak a man who is prepared to let ME hit HIM, but seemingly all of you seem to think it's okay to wallop my arse
Me (16:55:55): contentious issue
Twat (16:55:56): im game!
Me (16:56:03): hahaha. I never said I wanted to.
Me (16:56:21): it's a bit boring frankly, isn't it?
Twat (16:56:23): moan moan moan typical women!
Me (16:56:28): lordy
Me (16:56:34): okay *** catch you later.
Twat (16:56:43): oooo!

Yeah...he actually thought we were going to meet up. Righty-ho. I think NOT. I wouldn't have been so bothered if he didn't think it was okay to tell me off like a child, and if he wasn't usually Mr Offensive himself. God how BORING BORING BORING and man, what a bad mood I'm in today!! I apologise thoroughly for the swearing and general bad temper. Seeing He Who Completely Trampled Me A Good One last night hasn't helped, as I'm sure you can imagine.

Anyway that's another one off the list! I shan't be bothering to speak to him again. That'll be precious minutes saved.

Time out

I had a couple of days off. This is for good reason; whilst I may be quite amusing while I'm of sound mind, when I'm feeling low it's just not fun for anyone to read at all. And I've had a brief spell of horrible melancholy the past couple of days, so it was for your own good.

It's going to sound very contradictory, because actually - despite my wave of depression - Mr Genuine, who I'm going to just start calling J because it's easier to type, has really...well. As the Hold Steady say, I have to concentrate hard not to fall in love when we kiss. It's...not quite like that. But being an insufferable romantic I have to really not start liking this one too much. Not yet. Never mind that last night he called me six times. Never mind that he says things that make my insides go funny. Never mind all that. We're not going down that route. We're not. Last night he called me from the HS gig in Nottingham so I could hear my favourite song. It'll make no sense to you. Don't worry; it makes perfect sense to me.

Anyway. I've not responded to my Benjamin yet, partly because of the fug of misery, but partly because I'm a little hormonal at the moment and the prospect of someone handsome chatting me up on a rather physical basis was a little bit too much for me to concentrate on reponsibly haha. And I CAN'T. No no no. Hahaha. Also, the cling-on has backed off. I read him the riot act on Sunday, or Monday - I can't remember which but he'd basically made a statement along the lines of my not being allowed to meet or speak to anyone 'until we meet' in case I 'go off with somebody else'. Oh, really mister. Jesus wept. Anyone who knows me well can perfectly imagine the polite, diplomatic response that one got. I might be romantic but I'm not one to mince my words when I sense a sucking void beckoning.

And speaking of the sucking void - Mr Apologetic has sent me a message. If you'll cast your minds back, this is the one who is well over twenty years older than me and was giving me his phone number and begging for contact within about half an hour. You'll also remember I gave him a polite refusal and moved along smartly; well, he's sent me another message, but I can't read it as I've let my membership lapse. Should I cough up for your entertainment? Hmm? I am betting it's going to be a miserable query as to why I've not been in touch yet. I can feel a lie down in a darkened room coming on. Oish!

Anyway, on-topic hilarity; if you can't see it, just click and it'll display larger. I can't remember where I found this online so I apologise in advance to whoever drew it, but it's very funny and...sadly relevant haha. God, I'm going straight to hell.

Imagination makes everything perfect

I have been thinking long and hard about this. If I could make the perfect partner, what would I want for myself? Well, of course, I'd like all the usual things: kind, funny, honest. Confident and reliable. Able to remember how I like my tea, my middle name, and when my birthday is.

And then there's the other stuff.

1. Willing to read to me in bed.
2. Happy doing things together, like cooking and playing games
3. Holds my face when we kiss. The last one did that the very first time and I think that is why I fell in love with him.
4. Interested in other people. I think it's important he's not just kind to me, because that sort of implies...well by default he has to be because I'm the girlfriend. I mean someone who's interested in other people as well. Perhaps even children and animals.
5. Interested in non-material stuff. God that'd be nice.
6. Will hold my hand in public. I get lost a lot.
7. Happy to dance in the kitchen. Or wherever really. Just...happy.
8. Comfortable to sleep against.
9. Able to see the beauty in the details.

Huh. Perhaps he actually doesn't exist. Well I can make him up in my head I suppose, and when nobody's looking I'll pretend.

Sunday afternoon thoughts

You know, it strikes me that I come across as fairly invincible when I'm writing. I have to let you all in on a dirty secret, and it's not that I'm secretly into [insert perversion here]. I'm actually a hopeless - or is that hopeful? - romantic. And I wonder whether that's something that I'm never going to really find. I do know that I'm a lot more fragile than I let on, to you lot or to any of the freaks guys I try to date.

I wonder if that's why I am finding this such a traumatic experience. It's a bit like trying to sew your own arm back on; you've only got one hand, and it keeps bleeding, and you keep losing the thread and you're not sure how to hold your arm on so it's not crooked when you've finished, but it's still better than just leaving it so you've only got one. Actually writing down what happens, and making it funny - and I admit quite openly that it was only really hearing A laugh so hard while I hid from the cobbler that made me really think seriously about doing it - well, despite starting it for someone else, I sense it might actually keep me reasonably sane. Being able to look at these fucking...crazy people objectively, or as experiences to laugh at, is a whole lot easier than remembering the evenings where I've sat there kind of stunned at how mean someone's just been, or when I've been stood up - again. And man, what is it with the fucking standing up? I'd never dream of just leaving someone waiting. That's...it's mean. It's really mean. And rude.
I suppose I'm just rambling. It's a quiet afternoon. I had a bit of a revelation last night that sort of...well, I don't know. I was thinking, you know, about how J - the potentially Genuine One - talks to me, how he phrases things in the messages he sends. It is oddly touching, and I watched a film that reminded me very much of it last night, and I don't know. Everything made sense for about five seconds, in that I almost realised exactly what I want. And then it vanished again, but that was the clearest I've felt for a while, and I can't even really explain it.

Anyway. That was a peculiarly open entry for you all.

Trotting along swiftly, you'll all be amused and horrified to know that my very own Benjamin Braddock has sent me yet another long, rambly, unsettlingly sweet but horribly...suggestive email, in which he has *gulp* requested photos. I have gently suggested he looks for someone a bit more his own age and surely if we're just being friendly he doesn't need any full length pictures to wank over for whatever...purpose he wants them for. He has also asked me...what kind of men I 'usually go for'. I don't want to burst his bubble but tall, gorgeous, young ones...usually aren't my type haha. I like kind of well-padded scruffy looking ones with kind clever faces and just enough room for me to tuck under an arm. Preferably slightly older than me. With good taste in music and books. I do actually have an imaginary 'ideal things' checklist which perhaps I will share with you all later, just so we can take bets on whether I'll ever meet anyone that fulfils it.

Other daily updates:
Nothing from Lovely S. I think that's all for him, folks. I don't understand how they can be begging one second and ignoring you the next, but I had an interesting conversation with The Magician about it (right before he started going on about his love of big arses). There are lots of pros and cons to using an internet site to meet people but I think one of the biggest cons is that you forget that these are actual PEOPLE. They're not dishes on a menu that you can kind of go, oh I'll have this one and this one and...oh wait no actually I fancy just dessert tonight. I'll have a giant sundae with sauce. I think it becomes easy for people to forget that. Perhaps they are lucky enough never to feel unsure of themselves, or scared, or rejected. It must be lovely. I tell you what, I never realised just how thick a skin you need for all this fuckery. I really didn't.

Fail!

Well, despite the lateness of my bloggery, I am sorry to have to inform you all that there are no cripplingly awful first-date anecdotes, or even the alternative (the flustered beard-rash hot-date story) because...it didn't happen. Apparently even the winter sickness that's doing the rounds has got it in for me. However, we are definitely going out later in the week when he's better. I don't know. I like the way this one talks to me.

Now, on the OTHER hand...I've also got a nasty case of the Cling-Ons. Oh yeah. I already said to A that because I seriously think this one might lead to some problems, I'm not going to blog too much about it - just in case something goes horribly wrong. But let me just say that after two or three (okay, fairly long, but still TWO OR THREE) IM conversations and a few texts...this one thinks I'm his girlfriend. And I do mean that quite, quite seriously. He is talking about us 'being together', and earlier on was asking whether I would 'be okay to deal with the closeness of his family'. I am a little scared that he might mean 'close' in a kind of icky way and 'family'...you know, a bit like the MANSONS. Evasive action needed, stat! I'll just be picking up my skirt and RUNNING LIKE THE WIND.

Man. Why can I not just meet a nice, normal, LOCAL one, who's not puking his guts up, crazy, married, hideously underage, slightly perverted, a cross-dresser or a cobbler?

Oh and speaking of which - your daily update!

1. Nothing from Lovely S (I sense he has gone elsewhere for his, er, needs)
2. Another horribly long and involved email from Hot-But-Underage Guy. I seriously need to not...look at his photo and then look at the email asking me strangely innocent sexual questions. It does funny things to me. Oh btw before anyone freaks out I need to just re-state the fact that he's not ACTUALLY underage, he's 21, but for me that's too young. I think. NO! It is. God amighty haha. I think I'll go to bed now.

Don't say...a word

He says, You amaze me. See you tomorrow?

I say, Yes.



Now we wait and see. And I now have to get up at approximately 5am to shave, pluck and generally panic miserably over the effect my self-inflicted isolation has had on my overall appearance.








Fingers crossed he has all four limbs, his own teeth, and no weapons.
Oh, and that he shows up.

Cobblers, Mrs Robinson, a sighting on the horizon

It's Day Four. Nothing from Lovely S. I am sitting here listening to How It Ends by DeVotchKa and I sense that this one will not be ending with any kind of crazy sex involving watersports.

Alrighty then; so where were we, what developments have there been, what's going on? I know you're all DESPERATE to know...haha. Okay well there's been a couple of interesting happenings. First of all, a couple of evenings ago I was idly skipping through profiles and came across one VERY pretty one - okay, only 21 (*wince*, I know I know!) so he is totally not in my bracket, but he seemed very smart and open. And, he was talking in his profile about an author he is a big fan of, and I knew of an exhibition taking place locally to him - you know, the Kerouac scrolls, they're on tour? - so I just dropped him a message saying hey - did you know this was happening? Hope you're having fun, catch you later. Not even a HINT of lechery, because honestly he's much, much too young. And so cute. *cough* Anyway. Bugger me if he didn't JOIN the website so he could message back, and sent me the longest e-mail you've ever seen. I suspect he has a thing for older ladies. When I write him replies, I have one eyebrow raised so high it's almost in my hairline, and I feel like I should be wearing one of those see-through dressing gowns with marabou feathers, matching high-heeled mules and smoking a cigarette in a holder. It's....it feels creepy haha. I mean there's nothing, no suggestiveness or ANYTHING, our exchanges are all very, I don't KNOW it's odd. Haha it's odd and I think I want a bath. (And a good seeing to so I stop thinking about young boys and peeing on people.)

ANYWAY.

Leaving that one completely for a moment - oh and as an aside, I think he has the potential to be a Mr Genuine for some lucky young lady; he's very handsome and a smart one - I think I may have spotted my OWN Mr Genuine. Now, nobody get excited. As We Are Scientists said so aptly, Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt. About a week ago, I got what they call a special message from this rather random guy, not a lot in his profile, but the special message action basically sends a note to the object of your desire saying something like, I quite fancy you, hello, or somesuch. So. I get one of those, and my tactic is always to send a very short, Hello! Thanks for your message, hope you're well. Please don't be a weirdo How's your day going? kind of thing back. Which I did. On Tuesday, I came home from....somewhere, I can't remember. Buying hats and things. Anyway I came home to find two emails from him and they were just...well I was kind of knocked over a bit, because on paper? He sounds very compatible. As I was saying to A this morning, he offered the sort of information I would have asked for if I'd got around to it - which was very reassuring. Anyway, heartened, I sent him one back. And heard nothing til yesterday, at which point...bang.

He seems really nice. I'm not as funny when there's nothing to point at. Anyway, he suggested meeting up tomorrow; that was yesterday of course and although there's been contact today, and plenty of it, it's not been mentioned again. So we'll see if he pipes up and says. But...yes. He's...yes. Interesting. I'll keep you all informed on that one. I almost hope he's a one-eyed hunchback with metal teeth just so I've got something to make you all laugh with :)

Apart from that...hmm. Well, Mr Workaholic has vanished from the radar, presumably off fighting crime somewhere, bless him. I need to tell you all about the cobbler though. Haha I spent Tuesday - oh THAT'S where I was, I was being chased by the cobbler! I spent Tuesday dodging a randy cobbler round the shopping mall after I took my car key in to get the battery fixed. If it wasn't for the fact that I'd just spent a very scary ten minutes on the supermarket car park futilely clicking the car key at the infra red spot and wailing at the immobiliser, I might have made a quicker escape, but there wasn't much choice. Anyway, right after he finished manhandling my keys and staring into what little cleavage I have, A called me, so I ran away outside to speak to her - and he FOLLOWED me, ostensibly to smoke a cigarette. He was persistent, too - even when I was howling with amusement into the phone as I told A what was going on. Oh well, as she said, shoes forever. But I don't know if I could stand the rest of the bargain haha. He wasn't my type. It wasn't even anything to do with the boilersuit and the fact that it made him look a little bit like a member of Slipknot out for his lunch.

Anyway, that's all to report in my sucking void of desperation happy little world. For now at least. No doubt, if I have another fit of the Anne Bancrofts later there'll be an anguished, slightly hormonal post of woe. Haha.

New lows detected

I kid you not. I've just read this guy's profile...the question? 'Your most admired person:' and his response....

Any lady that will sleep with me.

*screams*

Categories and subtypes. Warning! Contains swearing and grumpiness.

Having spent some quality time reading as many profiles as I can, I've come to the conclusion that there are a few quite clearly defined categories of men on the website. And, looking at them...it's not good haha. Let's examine the wares:

1. Type 1: Married, and looking to fool around
A particularly unpleasant type, usually they actively announce that they're already married and just looking for sex. Or, even worse, they announce they're married but then spin the 'I'm miserable' story. Please note that this does not mean they're in the 'we're separated but haven't managed to sort out living arrangements/we're staying in the same house for the kids' file - those have to be examined on individual merit, although bitter experience (my own, I hasten to add, I'd never presume to apply it to anyone else) has not left me feeling favourable about that group either. Anyway, the already-marrieds are a particularly unpleasant group. They have NO intention of leaving their wives - in fact, they're quite happy really with everything except wanting something voluptuous to sink their teeth into. Racing ahead with the breast questions (although they are not to be confused with the Harvey Pinchers, coming up shortly), they are purely interested in the sexual pleasures of a nice, big, curvy girl. I mean I can't say I blame them, but it's a pretty grim situation I think. I recently updated my profile to say that I'm not looking to be a secondary partner, or purely a sexual partner. Perhaps that's why it's gone quiet haha. I have to say though - and believe me, I'm not judging, but...I can't understand why you'd be happy just to be the fuck on the side. I mean...oh I don't know. I'm bitter.

2. Type 2: The Harvey Pincher (named for their love of bitty, see previous posts)
The Harvey Pincher is usually reasonably attractive, 30-or-40-something, apparently fairly successful, lives alone, IS OBSESSED WITH THE TIT. Jesus. Perhaps that's why they're living alone. It's because they've never managed to form a relationship with a woman apart from with what's under her shirt. It's pretty scary; these are the men that the t-shirts with 'I have a lovely pair of eyes, too' and other such slogans are aimed at. Sadly the love of the breast also seems to come with being poorly attached as a child, and the idea of a man who needs to latch on isn't an appealing one. First and foremost, I didn't get my nipples pierced thinking, hey I know, this'll be great for breastfeeding. Secondly, when I have a child I'd like them to have come OUT of my vagina rather th- oh wait, no. Let's just...let's just MOVE ON RIGHT NOW. NOW NOW NOW.

3. Type 3: The Cling-on (I know, I know, my geek is showing.)
The Cling-On is less obsessed with the breast, although aspects of the Harvey Pincher subtype do occur here too; they just want someone to cuddle. No...smother. And control and keep for ever and ever and ever. When I want to be suffocated to within an inch of my life, I'll call A and ask her to pop round and hold the pillow til I stop kicking. (Actually, we've indulged a couple of times, usually after a few drinks and whilst wearing leather underwear. Haha...not really. Honestly. God, I'm going to be in so much trouble.) No but...seriously. The Cling-On is the sort I avoid, mainly because as I said...if I wanted to date my dad, I'd probably be arrested ask him to hook me up with one of his mates. The thought fills me with HORROR. At first glance benign, this altogether scary creature becomes much more menacing when they suddenly realise they're not in complete control of your every move. To be avoided, at all costs. They either fuck you up, or fuck you over. Fact.

4. Type 4: Mr Desperate (aka Mr Lonely)
Gives you his phone number, address and inside leg measurement in the first e-mail. Has already sent you pictures of his entire family, work colleagues and a complete sexual history by the second. Within twenty minutes is talking about 'the future' and what a great connection we've made, and how glad they are they've finally met someone they feel so close to. This is after about an hour. This is also when you should pick up your fucking skirts and RUN, mama. It's not good. Don't go for dinner with them. It'll turn into the dating equivalent of Howard Moon's encounter with Old Gregg, although hopefully with less Bailey's and seaweed. (If you didn't get that reference and have a little time to spare, I implore you to click here and be enlightened, if a little disturbed.) Quite apart from the emotional horror of having someone literally sucking your will to live, there's also the unpleasant sensation of having to check whether you're offending them if you go alone to the bathroom...oh god, I'm talking about Lovely S again aren't I. He's not a Mr Desperate btw. *cough* Just a pervert. Oh hi, I've become obsessed with a man who wants me to pee in his mouth. God do I need a good seeing to....uh, let's move on. Quickly. Oh as a final aside, Mr Desperate and Lonely is quite cunning and can suck you in if you're vulnerable, at which point they turn into a fully evolved Cling-On and usually the only way to successfully leave the relationship is to arrange to have them shot. Certainly from bitter experience that's the easiest way. That, or just move. Country.

5. Type 5: Mr You'll-Fuck-Me-You're-Fat
Also known as Mr Cocky, this poisonous example is of the opinion that since nobody else will shag you*, you're an easy lay. Of course, he is often much mistaken as to be honest over-confidence usually means one of two things - he's so poor in bed that previous girlfriends have had to really, REALLY fake it so he doesn't go home and hang himself, and it's gone to his head, or he's never had a challenge. Both are pretty repellant. See also Dr Cockface, who - for the record - has a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp, but who is convinced he's the greatest thinge ever to happen to chubby girls all over the UK. Um no mate. We all e-mail each other about you and laugh at your stupid spaniel haircut. Yes, you. Fucking spaniel head.

*Worth noting at this point is this article, via Sexoteric. I'd also like to point out that the sentiment that nobody will shag you if you're fat is, obviously, a big fat fucking lie, haha. Or I'd have had a very boring life indeed. It's entirely the opposite, but we'll get to that soon enough. Note, though, that people who think so much of themselves that they consider what they're offering to be a privilege are usually pretty shit people all round. Yeah, YOU, Dr Cockface. Haha.

6. Type 6: Mr Genuine
I don't have anything funny to say. He's a very rare one, though. I'll let you know when I spot him. *whips out binoculars*

This morning

I am in a particularly vicious mood and having just seen Dr Cockface's smug grin oozing off the screen at me online I am sorely tempted to post his picture just so we can all point and laugh. But I shall restrain myself for now and concentrate on writing something gently amusing instead. *laugh* Oh I'm in such a bad mood haha. Talk about getting out of bed on the wrong side!

Silence is golden...oh wait no. That's the showers.

Day Two with no contact at all from Lovely S. I don't think he was kidding about the peeing.

*sigh*

Great.

Big love? Or mama's boys?

This has been a question that's slowly been surfacing for me, the longer I spend on the website. It's rapidly becoming apparent that, although the website is advertised as being a place for larger women to meet partners, or alternatively for potential partners to meet larger women, there's a lot of men using it who aren't so much interested in the fuller figured lady, but are more just about, well, the breasts. The huge, plentiful, ripe, delicious breasts. You should see the profiles. One of the questions - for everyone - is "What are you looking for?" Mine says something like, wit, intelligence, must love music, kind. I can honestly remember about TWO men's profiles that do not involve breasts. What are you looking for? "Tits!" Honestly. There's a LOT of men on there that have literally nothing filled out but that section, and that is the answer. It is quite a useful filter though because I can now spot them a mile off - if they ask what size my breasts are within the first ten or so sentences, I just block 'em. For the record, my breasts are great, but you can't park a small car in their shadow, nor are they ever going to be mistaken for two bald men hiding under my jumper. They're in proportion, and anyone who knows me will agree that in any case, my backside is the star attraction and more than makes up for the lack of "cleavage big enough to ski down", as I believe the very charming "Booblover" puts it. Anyway that's that rant sort of over for now - until the next mammary-obsessed mama's boy pops up for our entertainment. I just feel, you know what? I don't HAVE any children. I don't need a full-grown man demanding the tit every five seconds. It's all a bit...bitty, isn't it? Hahaha!!

Catchup, instalment 2: Special cases.

I debated this morning the value of talking about all the crazy, brief exchanges I've had with people and whether they were really of much interest, but on the whole I think they're a: quite amusing and b: help to set everything into context, so I'm going to fill in a few more in this post.

How the site works for me is this: every morning, most mornings, I pop online and see if I've had any mail, and who's around. I don't tend to loiter, but usually what happens is that, as one of the few women under 45 and in my particular area, I am rushed with special messages and mail. Then the fun begins.

Here are some of the stand-outs, presented both as a lesson to us all and also for your reading pleasure.

Workaholic Guy - this one still kind of escapes me a little bit. The same age as me and (from his photos) DEVASTATINGLY cute, he pursued me after observing my musical tastes (and, obviously, the cripplingly gorgeous photos) on my profile. Since it's a bit of a niche there was already lots of common ground and after about thirty emails or so - all sent in the space of about two hours, so you can tell he was keen - he asked me out to dinner the following Monday evening (this was on the Friday). I said sure, since I was going to be in the city anyway after an appointment, and we left it that he'd decide where we were going and would give me a call to say where to meet. So, no phone call. Nothing. Unimpressed, I went home via Sainsbury's and made some soup. On opening my email however I was greeted by a sheepish message saying, um hi. Um. I wrote your phone number down wrong and ended up calling some bemused guy who didn't want to go to dinner with me. Um. Um um. I'm really sorry, I really want to take you out, how about this Friday? And that, dear reader, was the last I heard of him. He technically stood me up twice in one week. I mean...how odd. Perhaps he has terminal Fear of Girls. Perhaps he's secretly...oh my GOD I'VE GOT IT! He's a SUPERHERO! Both of our failed dates surely coincided with some kind of violent crime in the inner city. I'm sure that's what happened. Okay, I actually feel a little bit better about it all now. And he did say he worked in law enforcement. Haha! It's all becoming clear. In between the perverts and the spandex weare-oh wait. Hang on, I sense a theme. God help me.

Mr Apologetic - now he's a whole other matter. 20+ years older than me and resembling my father (oh yeah, I'm interested NOW), his entire profile consisted of his making excuses for his size (which is not inconsiderable but you know what? Who CARES?!). He sent me ONE email, which I replied to in a careful, actually yes you are a little bit out of my desired age bracket and you live MILES AWAY, reply to, and...he promptly sends one back in which he ignored my polite refusal and launched into a long, convoluted story about how his computer was in storage, how he was having to talk to me at the library and how he only gets two hours a day and tomorrow is Wednesday and the library is shut so here is my PHONE NUMBER please call me and and and...

Uh...ohKAY then. As you can probably guess by this point I was ready to go into hiding. I managed to pull it together enough to send another VERY polite email saying that actually, thank you very much for your kind offer but I won't be contacting you as I have had some experience with some keraaaaaaaaaaazy people on this website (no, no not YOU...okay, yes you.) and I don't give my phone number to anyone. EVER. Ok bye. Fortunately, I haven't heard from him again. Possibly because I blocked him. I...don't understand this clutching NEEDINESS but please, please stop it folks. It scares me. RIGID.

Dr Cockface - god amighty. This guy I have no compunction about slagging thoroughly, since he's the single most offensive bastard I've had the misfortune to run across since joining. Back in the mists of time when I first signed up in March, he did a Spider-Man (see earlier) across me - arranged a date and then stood me up and was exceptionally rude when I contacted him afterwards to casually enquire what'd happened. Well, when he re-established contact I thought, oh right then. Perhaps that apology's coming then. Er, no. He actually sent me an email asking me to add him to messenger so that we could have a conversation by IM, and then - get this - after ten minutes of (quite boring) conversation asks "which one are you then?" I just about screamed haha. I said, well, did you not just...read my profile and then ask me to add you? His response? You're not the only fucking woman on the planet, get over yourself. LOL. My response to that? No, and you're not the only fuckwit I'll be ignoring from hereon in. He's gone on the blocked list, haha. (He also went to the moderators for being a rude bastard, and anyone who fancies someone to throw abuse at can have his email address as far as I'm concerned.) Final word on Dr Cockface is that his face would actually be improved by having a great big penis right in the middle of it. At least then there'd be something to look at.

The Magician - actually screamingly funny, but I discovered he'd lied quite considerably about his age and was closer to twenty years older, rather than the initially implied ten or so. Shame really because he sounded very nice. He was very posh and exceptionally risque, a bit like a straight version of Stephen Fry but sadly about the same age, which is no good for me. *shifty eyes* I'll just share this with you and then we'll go back to examining the horrors so far; I'm actually hoping, one day, to meet someone to have a family with and I really want to do that with someone who's experiencing it WITH me. That probably sounds a bit cockeyed, but I'm allowed to want what I want. Anyway the other thing about the Magician? Well, we'd been having a good old chuckle when he drops out casually that he only really likes women who have ENORMOUS legs. I mean not just a little chubby, a little bit of something to chew on (a bit like a particularly satisfying lamb shank, say, in a stocking) - no no. In his words, something around the size of a five-year-old child. And then he launched into the start of what sounded like a potentially over-detailed description of Why He Finds Big Legs Sexy, at which point I terminated the conversation and ran for the hills. It's not good talking to someone who's obviously typing one-handed and panting. Not unless you're both doing it. Haha.

The story so far, also known as Instalment One in the frantic catch-up

Well, I guess I'm a little late in starting this blog. I rejoined the online dating site which is going to be my...haha...passport to good lovin on November 3rd. I had previously joined it in March this year and was a member for approximately two minutes flat before I was sucked into a crazy, crazy relationship with a man who...well we had some issues. It was wonderful, then it was awful, then it was painful. And then, it was over. So as I said, on November 3rd, I rejoined. I cautiously put up the profile that got me into this mess in the first place, and then, having lit the touch paper, I ran away swiftly and waited for the bang.

The first bang (oh, the puns are going to be plentiful, let me TELL you) arrived in the form of D. D was tall, goodlooking, funny. Sweet and shy. Oh. And had lost his wife barely 18 months earlier. At the age of 27. To a failed operation. Oh yes. Issues. Tragic, awful ones. Ignoring the frantic arm-waving and panicked noises of my friends (and the shouts of "Wife-killer!" from A and N), I said why yes, let's go on a date, when he asked me out. And so off we went and do you know what, it was actually very nice. He was indeed very sweet and goodlooking and he smelled delicious. He kissed me outside the comic store. It was nice. It was lovely. The only problem was he never spoke. I mean...barely a word. In fact he spoke so little that I fell asleep on his sofa...on the first date. There was no scintillating conversation, oh no. There was sleep. He ended up putting me to bed, and in the morning I got up, had a shower and tiptoed away. The week that followed was considerably subdued; I wonder if he'd hoped to silently will me into sleeping with him? Perhaps, I suppose. I hasten to add that he'd have had a lot more success if he'd just thrown me over one shoulder and gone forth to the bedroom. Or asked. Or...anything, really haha. Anyway, finally, on the following Friday he managed to ask me to the cinema over that coming weekend. No time, no specific day, mind you. Just, let's go. I said, sure, and then promptly waited all day Saturday until at 9pm he blurted out via text that he was off to the cinema to watch the film we were supposed to go and see together ON HIS OWN. Yes, dear reader. That's right. He stood me up to go out BY HIMSELF. Don't mind me, I'll be over here HACKING at myself.

Anyway, we've not seen him since. Rather unsurprisingly.

So while that one was burning brightly and fizzling out quickly, in the background there was another contender quietly staking a claim. We'll call him S, also Lovely S will do. He was quiet and gentlemanly and careful and courteous with the courting. There were lots of emails, all polite and funny and sweet and not asking any offensive questions about my breast size (which is a whole other ENTRY'S worth, we'll get to that one soon enough). After about twenty emails, he asked if he could add me to messenger so we could IM. After an evening of frantic and hilarious IMing, he very coyly gave me his phone number and asked me for mine. For the last couple of weeks there has been a steady flurry of kind, sweet, and occasionally VERY dirty text messages, and a couple of really quite lovely heart thumpy phone calls...RIGHT up until today. Nothing. Not a peep. I suspect this may have something to do with my stunned response to him informing me that he wanted me to "make him drink my piss". *blink* So um...well, I'll keep you all informed on that one. Rather disconcertingly I still really quite fancy him so um. Let's keep an open mind. And try not to drink too many fluids around him. Just in case.

I've forgotten one particularly tragi-comic episode from very early on - and that is the first person to send me a message. We'll call him...T. T started out quite promising. He was a little young for me but hey - one of my exes isn't quite 24 yet so let's not think on that too hard. Anyway, like I said, I'm just aiming to have a little fun, get back on that hoss. As it, er, were. Except...T...isn't really much of a hoss. I suspect that T was being allowed to go on the internet by his carers. I actually think that T may have been a lot more special than he let on, and I was quite worried by all accounts. Anyway quite apart from that - and I was very gentle and said no, I did not want to "be his girlfriend" - I shall share with you what tipped things off for me. It was his disclosure that I "sounded a bit trendy" (this because I wear Dr Martens); he himself likes "a jumper and some tracksuit bottoms and some nice shoes". I do vaguely remember shoving my entire fist into my mouth in abject horror. This? This was going to be the young stud who got me back on that hoss? Uh, no. Poor boy, I felt awful. And I didn't allow any further contact, I hasten to add.

Now, there's a whole lot more to come on the catching up, but right now I'm exhausted from dodging randy cobblers (oh...the hilarity. No really) and shopping for birthday presents for my mother, so they'll have to be captured in all their glory tomorrow.

In which your heroine introduces herself.

Well, here I am. This blog wouldn't be happening at all without the gentle support - okay, hysterical prodding - of my best friend A, who begged me to start publishing my dating hell progress online, supposedly to give hope to all the OTHER losers out there but I suspect really just to provide ongoing entertainment for her and her similarly mocking (and, I hasten to add, utterly charming and sweet) fiance. So, where to begin?

Well, I guess an introduction would be a good start. So in the time-honoured tradition of hundreds of thousands of historical romances, I give to you your heroine (ie, me). I just turned thirty this year. I'm short, and...well...fat. (This will be coming back to haunt us, so stick with it.) I'm pretty, and funny, and bright, and I have fabulous friends. I'm witty and charming and I give shockingly good bl- can make my own bread, fix my own car, and bellydance. I collect books and music, I have an astonishingly geeky knowledge of comics, video games and science fiction, I love films and watching live music, I like small children and animals and I generally get on well with everyone's mother. However, as yet, I have not been trampled by the rush of men begging to make me their wife. This is about to change.

Following a string of failed, miserable long and short term relationships over pretty much the entirety of my adult life, I entered into therapy in the summer of 2007. Thank god. That's been a blessing, I'd probably have been on a killing spree by now without my shrink. But following what has to have been the most devastating breakup of all, I've really been thinking about what I want, what's okay, and what's next.

Well, obviously, what's immediately next is...I need to get laid. So, all hands to the deck me hearties, I'm joining an online dating site. I won't be saying which one, but the important thing to remember is this: it's primarily focused on women over a UK size 16, and - as the site itself says - the men who adore them.

Oh really? BRING THEM ON.

And once more into the breach I go.