- In which I attempt to find love, Harry Potter lets himself go and Cupid is eaten by zombies.
As I write this blog, I am comfortably positioned on my king sized bed...alone. There are two reasons for my lonesomeness: 1) my powers of romantic persuasion are very, very limited, therefore any chance of me luring someone to bed – let alone down the aisle – is unlikely, and 2) the fickle nature of the homosexual community - I appear to be a leper in their eyes, albeit a well dressed one.
2012 – This year I shall embark on a likely futile quest to find love, be it true or drug induced. To aid me on my expedition, I’ve enlisted the help of dating sites. These sites, such as Match.com and Oasis, are Cupid’s last, and someone lazy, attempt at finding even the most unlovable, dried up shell of a human being someone to share their days with. Aw, cute.
Dating sites are, essentially, Cupid’s internet shopping centres. Their stock however isn’t unlike most stores at the end of the January sales; the only things left either ugly, don’t fit or you’d only wear drunk. After ten minutes on Oasis, I realised that these sites are soul destroying. They are ego denting, mind numbing love traps set by those in desperate need of romantic assistance; sort of a human safari, if you will. However at the end of your hunt, you still fail to fill the ever expanding void that lingers in your heart – but seeing as I’m desperate, I joined. Pass the spear.
Dating sites are, essentially, Cupid’s internet shopping centres. Their stock however isn’t unlike most stores at the end of the January sales; the only things left either ugly, don’t fit or you’d only wear drunk. After ten minutes on Oasis, I realised that these sites are soul destroying. They are ego denting, mind numbing love traps set by those in desperate need of romantic assistance; sort of a human safari, if you will. However at the end of your hunt, you still fail to fill the ever expanding void that lingers in your heart – but seeing as I’m desperate, I joined. Pass the spear.
Upon joining, you’re required to fill in a profile detailing what you’re looking for. Whilst filling in this part you’re allowed to be very specific, to the inch if you’d please.
Cautiously I filled in this section, being weary of every preference I put down. What sort of education does my future husband have and how tall is he? What are his political views and, if given the choice, what sort of cuisine would he prefer? Does he like bees? How many freckles does he have? When he goes to sleep at night does he prefer the bedroom door to be closed or left slightly ajar? How would he ensure my survival during a zombie apocalypse? (We all know it’s going to happen, as does the government and all the movie companies. Why else would they be releasing so many zombie flicks? They’re trying to subtly drum survival skills into our heads in an attempt to ready us for the hoards of zombies that will soon plague, over run and damn our planet somewhere around June 2012.) As I said, down to the most specific detail.
I am however fearful of what fellow hunters will think when they stumble upon my profile. Although I did upload a few professional mug shots that my friend Jeff took, the vast majority of my photos will likely leave the viewer thinking, “Fuck, Harry Potter let himself go didn’t he?” They’ll then likely rouse up some astoundingly witty comment, like offering me a ride on their broomstick or wand (again, preference) to which I will then repeatedly and rapidly bash my head against the screen of my laptop until my fallow lifespan ends, thus rendering any endeavour to find love ultimately pointless.
Cautiously I filled in this section, being weary of every preference I put down. What sort of education does my future husband have and how tall is he? What are his political views and, if given the choice, what sort of cuisine would he prefer? Does he like bees? How many freckles does he have? When he goes to sleep at night does he prefer the bedroom door to be closed or left slightly ajar? How would he ensure my survival during a zombie apocalypse? (We all know it’s going to happen, as does the government and all the movie companies. Why else would they be releasing so many zombie flicks? They’re trying to subtly drum survival skills into our heads in an attempt to ready us for the hoards of zombies that will soon plague, over run and damn our planet somewhere around June 2012.) As I said, down to the most specific detail.
I am however fearful of what fellow hunters will think when they stumble upon my profile. Although I did upload a few professional mug shots that my friend Jeff took, the vast majority of my photos will likely leave the viewer thinking, “Fuck, Harry Potter let himself go didn’t he?” They’ll then likely rouse up some astoundingly witty comment, like offering me a ride on their broomstick or wand (again, preference) to which I will then repeatedly and rapidly bash my head against the screen of my laptop until my fallow lifespan ends, thus rendering any endeavour to find love ultimately pointless.
If these sites fail to capture love for me, which I’m thinking is the likely outcome, then I’m fresh out of ideas. I suppose I could always clamber to the top of a building and threaten to hurl myself of it, demanding someone declares their love for me or I’ll jump. Then again, the threat will likely be met with chants of “Dinnae jump, Harry!” and “Land on my wand!” from fellow dating site hunters who’ll have gathered below, like a judgmental herd, and likely be thinking “Not even I’m that desperate.” Or I could launch a military style assault and storm Cupid’s love shack, tie his chubby, baby faced, Cherub ass up and proceed to brutally torture the winged fucker until he eventually caves in and aims his love arrows at Lloyd Daniels for me, thus allowing me and Welsh love puppy to live happily ever after. I'm open to suggestions.
Sadly Cupid’s location is unknown; he went MIA after Jordan and Kerry Katona horrifically abused him by falling in and out of love about a thousand times in the space of two months. He likely feels party responsible for us being forced to endure the series of monotonous reality shows that depicted their shattered love lives. Personally I’d go into fucking hiding too.
Anyway: here’s a heads up, Cupid. Best get them wings flying; I’m coming for you.
2 comments:
Thank you, Jane! Especially for taking the time to read and comment. Thanks for the advice xx
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