The Spurious World of Internet Dating

Alright. I fell in love with the wrong man. Well no, I had a mighty crush on the wrong man. Well no, he was the right man but the wrong time. Well no, it was the right man at the right time but the wrong ages. So, to move onwards and upwards, re-mount the horse so to speak, I decided to try RSVP dating. Hey, it worked for Clare's flatmate although being a silf-like blonde with big boobs probably didn't do her any harm.

So it works like this. You get onto the site and build a very comprehensive profile pretty much describing yourself in vivid, and in my case, accurate detail (although I neglected mentioning arthritic knees and a neurotic personality). Then you plonk up a few photos. Then you buy a few 'Stamps' so that when someone sends you a 'Kiss' you can actually reply beyond their measured responses or you can email and begin a chat.

Now I'm no stranger to Chat. I use it to talk to you...to family...to said crush...I don't even have a phone so Skype IS my phone but there's nothing worse than getting a 'Kiss' from an index typist, you know, the ones going 'Where's the 't' on this keyboard'. I have time to make coffee, get changed and take a pee before he's replied to two lines of conversation.

So, first encounter is via chat. Nice policeman, very tall, quite handsome but has kids with him 60% of the time, talks then declares that he's actually not interested in romance just collecting conversations to fill his boring weeknights when the ex-wifey (with whom he has a wonderful relationship) has the kidlets, and all women met and chatted with, are referred to as his 'ladies'. Ba-dong! Outta there.

Then there's the 47 year old that likes oral (yes he pretty much broached that in the first half hour), 'lol's a lot and keeps sending me email notifications via RSVP at 1:30 in the afternoon when I've already told him I work behind a secure proxy server and can't get onto network, dating sites or blogs. He refuses to tell me more than his name or sexual preferences, playful and funny but will not email or Skype (oh don't worry I have 'alternative' accounts for the great unseen). Another one for the bin.

There's the lovely freelance journo who I actually did meet on a pouring wet day, although he was half an hour late when I msg'd said crush, who bless his cotton socks stayed up until I came home to make sure I was alright and to hear the predictable 'woe is me' whine - or perhaps to gloat because he thought I'd been stood up. Anyway, said journo/photographer sends so many mixed messages from 'you're lovely and terribly pretty, let's keep in touch,' through to 'I chased a woman up the north coast and it didn't work out.' My thoughts? Why is he on a dating site if he's already got a target. Rebound man who I'm still talking to but sparks? Probably not. Could end up being a decent pal tho so hope springs eternal.

Tonight however was a doozie. A rather nice military man sent me a 'Kiss'. I emailed back in the hope of chat. Clearly broken English, had a short exchange (remember he's the one that initiated contact) parted with "I have to go to the bed" and that was it. Perhaps it was my name that put him off, or the fact that I typed 50 words to his 1, since we barely had a conversation beyond, 'How long have you been on here'.  As far as I know, he's still online and shopping in the virtual meat market.

Ah well, I have six stamps which entitles me to emails to the end of January. So if Mr Right doesn't pop his head up, and Mr Goodbar doesn't kill me.... or he's able to type with more than two fingers and isn't holding a huge fish above his head as a trophy... I'm buying a dildo and listening to the sexy voice of the guy on the 'Quit Smoking' CD that I bought last year.  Now there's an image to rock your world!

Oh you really didn't think I'd go there did you?

Life As We Know It

First, apologies for being a lousy visitor and thanks to those who still bother to slip by here. I think about you often but travel there rarely. Then you know where to find me. I'm an email, Facebook and Twitter whore so no excuses.

My daughter is in South America and spending her first Christmas away, travelling next week to London to meet her boyfriend then Scotland for New Year then...Spain and who knows, her travel plans are 'fluid' to say the least but thanks to Skype I can almost keep up.  She'll be home in February and the urge to squeeze the life out of her is palpable. My boy turned 25 this year. Yep, the curly haired angelic blonde now a big boofhead with the funniest personality and the most awesome of bear hugs.

Apartment living has taken its toll and the prospect of playing acoustic drums in his living room no longer a reality. So..sell the kit and buy an electronic set which requires the use of headphones rather than the smash of wood on skin and a physically robust mother to help unload the Landscaper's gear and make the ute worthy of an instrument carrier. God bless him, gadget man is in heaven. Poverty on both sides meant no huge celebration but we did have a lovely day of cocktails, summer storms, drums and Christmas cheesy flicks. Did I tell you I love my son? Apart from the fact that he drops in and uses the last of my toilet paper, dumps 25 plants that I don't need and leaves the lid off the cordial bottle so that the ants crawl in and die a syrupy death. He is a fine young man.

Dog's well with two titanium knees.  Daughter's adventuring and badly missed Work is paying the bills. Almost. Still harbouring the dream of travelling I80 late next year  with a to boy three dogs and two cats and hopefully picking up a madman who lives in one of those states beginning with 'I' and I can't find my Christmas tree so Chez Bainbridge is a little dour but some sparkles to remind me that Christmas is only two weeks away. So...my life in a nutshell.

Sunday with Adam and the 'other' Mrs Bainbridge was lovely. French Apero and cocktails punctuated by the rubbery thud of Ads smashing the bejesus out of electronic drums and finished nicely with Baileys on ice, Citroen Tart (Lemon not a French blonde in a car) and Cheesy Christmas movies...it's the simple things that thrill. Summer has deserted us and it's 24 degrees and very, very wet.  But Christmas is coming and someone's goose is getting fat. Wising you all the very best of the season. Next post will probably be our Christmas in which we have to dress as superheroes and endure the alcoholic temptations of mad Lithuanians.  Any ideas for a quick costume that costs zip and can be run up in a day?