Internet Dating, a microwave ready-meal for your penis

I've decided to write about my experience with online dating, it may paint me out to seem quite shallow, I hope not, but my experience on one forced me to make some blunt judgment’s and act in ways I wouldn’t do in real life, anyway, if you don’t want to get called a pig, don’t roll around in your own shit and make oinking noises.. To begin, let’s just be clear on something, I hate dating, I hate it a lot, I hate it more than I hate going to a doctors to have a crude swap stuck up my japs eye, thankfully this is something that has only happened once, I can happily sit in a room full of women and make them all laugh, sometimes standing up to gesticulate crude jokes and observations, however, put me in a one on one with someone I don’t know and I can either be funny and charming, or more likely, awkward and plain old weird. I'm generally emotionally oafish, fearful of rejection, and two left footed with relationships to the point that I have been known to avoid potential ones. I've been fortunate though that the ones I have had just seem to "happen". One minute I'm dancing to Wham, or some other 80's crud on a pneumonia inducing smoke filled dance floor in a godless most likely Essex located shithole, and the next minute I'm in the back of an illegal mini-cab dry fingering some poor cow while the driver looks on boggle eyed in the rear view mirror (and who says romance is dead) sometimes they wake up... I've never been the sort to go and chat girls up, I've missed several opportunities in my life, having been chatting to a girl and making her laugh for ages and not a sign of pepper spray or a hastily written restraining order, and having no clue whatsoever that whereas in men, the way to their heart is through their stomach, the "best" and closest way to a girls stomach, was through her vagina, and entry to this wonder world was helped with a good sense of humour (GSOH). I was too busy making them laugh to realise that I'd practically made an in for myself, and they were probably wetter than a Fukashima Sushi bar circa April 2011 (and probably fishier..), ho hum, live and learn eh.. After a disastrous attempt at settling down and starting a family, then regrouping (sorry, moving back home to my mums) and then fucking up several attempts at "starting over" I decided it was a good time to take a time out. When after far too long, I grew weary of effectively almost erasing my entire reproductive region away over all manner of fruits from the internet porn tree, I decided that I need something more than my fast RSI becoming right arm. I was older now, beyond the age that I had already decided was too old to go clubbing, but also beyond the age where it seemed acceptable to be jacking off over grainy downloaded German frothy piss porn, added to which, pulling girls in bars was as about as attractive to me as Cossack dancing naked in a field of empty champagne bottles. It was time to do something that I had never considered, or had seen myself doing in my life, Internet Dating. I'd had mates that had done very well on Match.com, but being a consummate tight c*nt, and seeing any form of money changing hands as an around the houses way of paying for sex, (which is completely against my morals), I googled the words "Dating" + "free", the first thing that came up was the website Plenty Of Fish. I hadn’t really heard of it, so I signed up and wrote a witty profile which after two lines turned into an absolute abhorrent but honest rant about the things in life that I hate (and the fact that I liked pubs and country walks) and started to look around the site. The tiny photos of people left much to the imagination, the women would mostly post that photo of them, that rare moment when a camera caught them looking absolutely wonderful, every woman has one, perhaps not Susan Boyle, but everyone else. They had probably just come out of Champneys spa having just had mythical sea shit from Atlantis rubbed over their crow’s feet. Also, the pictures were probably over a decade old, scans of old yellowing Kodak moments, the perm should have given it away. Also half the women on there were only probably on there because they had come home and found their other half pumping away on some nubile little thing from down the gym, or had some other form of soul shattering experience. It was basically a huge dumping ground for the emotionally compound fractured. But like any dump, if you want to find some treasure amongst the trash, you had to be prepared to get your hands dirty, and possibly get up to the elbows in hot shit. Reading the profiles 95% the women on the site wanted to travel the world, and had extensive and interesting hobbies, and large circles of friends and a keen interest in wine and current affairs, given the fact that they were in the purgatory that is Plenty of Fish, I assumed this was all bullturd, and it was more likely that the only hobby they had was buying a new jumper online for their poor surrogate child substitute cat Mr Frippins, the interest in wine amounted to sitting at home alone with a 3 for tenner deal of shit CabernetMerlotSauvignon Vinegar pissé from Tesco, listening to Dido, no Angel, and then a desperate on all fours hunt around their childless flat for some AA batteries to put inside their fast wearing out Rampant Rabbit XL Ghia before cuddling a tear sodden pillow and quivering off into a wretched semi-drunken sleep. Their so called extensive circle of interesting friends had long since moved on, started families and spend their spare time with similar such folk in intellectual dinner parties where being singleton there would be about as welcome as Gary Glitter at CBeebies Live. Using my same tact as in life, I was the prize and I would let the women come to me (Yes, I realised this could likely turn into a long lonely experience as I am only a catch in so far as Chlamydia is). I had emails from girls, werepigs mostly, friendly, weathered by rejection but still upbeat and hopeful, aim high shoot everywhere types, probably surfing profiles while their little cake claws worked entire packs of Mr Kiplin french fancies into their aptly named cake holes, but sadly, and not being shallow, I have but three rules to meeting girls, never go out with a girl who is heavier, taller, or has a larger neck measurement than you. And as shallow as it is, It serves me well. (Bah, I hear you hiss, no, sorry, I am heavy and tall enough for a girl that if she breaks those criteria she is likely to be morbidly obese, something that I find utterly repugnant, and something which would make the titanic more likely to rise than my poor feted fuck-flute) (You've hissed at fuck flute as well haven’t you?) Depending on the nature of the email, I would generally just not reply, the odd normal woman, who from the pictures appeared to have their own teeth and motor function (given that were standing unaided in the picture, or slumped against a bar in Spain) would message me and we would get into a bit of dialogue, my honest and recently taken expressionless, bordering on gormless photos, had led me to think that there was some genuine interest from the woman. What soon became apparent though was my seeming disinterest and rustiness in relationships generally and the fact that I find dating as harrowing as waterboarding. I had received an email from a women who after one message started slagging her ex off, the father of her numerous kids, I don’t mind a bit of baggage but when it comes on an airport reclaim belt, I bail. She was obviously on there to exact some sort of revenge, trust me, I'm not revenge sex, others would start talking about their inherent distrust and nice ones would usually meet someone in real life days before meeting up, lucky them, their hell was over. Eventually I struck up dialogue with a girl who seemed quite nice and we ended up exchanging phone numbers and email addresses, hers, her life ones, mine, my made up exclusively for dating website one, and my piece of shit pay as you go mobile, both of which I was ready to ditch in 30 seconds flat if the girl turned out to be Glenn Close or that woman from Misery, or indeed a chick with a dick. As it happened we had a nice date together down in Brighton and would meet up again, and eventually started going out for a few months until the frayed edges started to show and after a drunken night it became apparent that this poor lass had quite hefty psychological issues, with mine too (made apparent by this blog and my general attitude to relationships) I called it a swift day. I soon managed to meet someone off the site using a podcast I do with a mate, pure humour and hopefully some errant charm, she turned out to be possibly the one of the most confusing people I have ever met, It was a massive headfuck and days after telling me she loved me, she ended it (violins..) Anyway, I blame booze, and I was sullen like a child with its favourtite toy snatched away (her snatch) I had finally been dumped, and it wasn’t so bad after all and in fact, much better than the usual mutual fizzle out, or me hitting reverse gear and spinning out of control in the process and having to end a relationship like a dithering flaffing Hugh Grant with Parkinson’s. I decided that this experience wasn’t even worth wound licking over so got straight back onto the wretched mange riddled lame horse that is Plentyoffish. I struck up conversation with a girl who only had one picture up, a picture which made her look a bit like Anna Friel from Brookside (exciting), but nothing else, it was just her face and a black background. Again, we started talking on the phone and arranged to meet up (she sounded owt like Anna Friel), I was nervous, but in my head I was waiting for Anna Friel and was going to recreate that girl on girl kiss from Brookside but with my wang. I took a vantage point up high where we was meeting and I waited, nervous, smoking.. Eventually She came through the entrance and fuck me she kept coming through, like one of those freight trains that never ends, my drink was rattling like the glass in Jurassic Park with every thunderous step. I watched open jawed while "Jabba the Hut on ice" slinked up to the bar with all the grace of a tazered manatee. She had caught my eye already, like a cataract, so jumping out of a window was not an option. I sat with her frantically chain smoking my cigarettes in the hope of causing impotence should she try and jump me. She was a nice person inside (if you had a deep sonar scanner), but had seemingly made a keen hobby of ravaging herself with booze fags and pastries. Even my attempt to freak her out only served to make her laugh, would you sit with a man who just told you that he would film himself each morning gagging on a toothbrush eventually knitting the gags together on video editing software to recreate Paul McCartneys Frog Song?? Towards the end of the night through power drinking, I got involuntary Hubble beer goggles and the thought of going home and emptying my sprog-satchel out over her cavernous husk crossed my mind, but thankfully only in the same way as the thought of setting fire to my eyes does. One more attempt on the site, and I met someone else, we got chatting, and by strange "its a small world" bugfuckery she just so happened to work with one of my mates, who gave me a heads up and warned me that she was precious and hard work. I didn’t go on a second date. I'm not even sure I had the option. I decided that with all of the shit on there, and the fact that the site was more akin to a mental home than a dating website, just left the account running occasionally checking it. I wasn’t bothered if I met anyone else on there, or anywhere in fact, It had been a crazy few years and I was quite happy to skulk back to watching grubby avi's and rubbing away like I was trying to make a Genie appear out of my bairn-baguette. Thankfully the story ends well and through perseverance I ended up meeting the girl who I am with today (but probably not if she reads this shit) and she, like me, had similar experiences on the site. So if you are on there, or some other shit like it, stick with it, you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find a prince, or in this case, a lot of toads to catch warts. PS, if you have joined Match.com because of that "Girl on the platform ad" I kind of home you get some sort of raging STD that leaves your private bits bloated like some sort of pus Kiev. I hate that prick, and anyone who plays Ukuleles.