30 July, 2010

Self Awareness

So this is the sort of profile that just sends a chill down my spine:
"hi there i have been living in melbourne for just over a year comeing from qld its so cold , but anyway I an entertainer by profession iv been working all over melbourne and would like to meet someone special out there , so if would like to meet up for coffee please send me an email and see how it goes.

"dont forget lifes to short , lets go out and have some fun . only people with photos please"

So.  Let's talk about punctuation.  And spelling.  And then let me tell you about this bloke's picture.

Part 1.  Punctuation and Spelling (I figured I'd spare you the long version, and just summarise).

According to my count, and it may be flawed because it is, after all, 10:31 pm and I've had three quarters of a bottle of wine, but there are precisely five punctuation marks.  Now, because I have impeccable grammar, I can tell you that there should, in fact, be at least ten.  That includes the missing apostrophe on "iv" which should, of course, be "I've".

Spelling.  Oh my lord.  Let me count the ways: "comeing", "its", "if would like to" (okay that's grammar, not spelling for those of you more pedantic than me) and while we're at it "lifes to short"  You know, it defies logic that these guys just don't even bother to spell check.  And this dude is expecting me to blow ten bucks sending him an email.  I don't think so my jolly friend. The phrase "anyway I an entertainer by profession" itself makes me feel a little queasy. An entertainer.  Just what do you think this guy does?  Sword swallowing? Read on my lovelies!

Part 2. The photos vs the description.

Right. So this fellow describes himself as "a bit overweight".  I am telling you now, judging from his pictures he'd have difficulty getting into a MaxiCab.  We're talking about your worst nightmare on a long haul flight.  The man that needs not one, not two, but two and a half seats. He is, frankly, enormous.  Elephantine.  But just in case you're blind, or really really desperate, he says he's "a bit overweight".

My other theory is that he believes that.  He really believes that if he just gets up a half hour early in the morning, and goes for a run, he'll work it all off in no time.  And you know what, he probably would work it off in a couple of years.  But if he's anything like me, he'll be hitting the snooze button all the way from 7am to 7.37am (which is the very last minute I can stay in bed and still get ready for work and make the train).  And by the looks of him, he's stopping off at Maccas on the way to work for a double McLard, sausage, cheese, double bacon and hashbrown burrito.

God almighty.  Why?  Why do they email me?

26 July, 2010

The one I liked (but almost killed)

Candidate No. 11 probably wasn't ideal, but I really liked him. There were a few things that stood in the way of our love - he was vegetarian, I'm a committed meat eater, he doesn't drink, I certainly do, he's gluten-free, I'm gluten-rich, and so on. But I really liked him.

We had a few dates - an appalling Spanish art film, a dinner or two, some gallery hopping, and he was charming, funny, and intelligent. A school teacher, he had some really interesting views on things. As I've said, I liked him a lot.

But then the day came when the phone rang and it was No. 11 telling me that he really just wasn't into it. Or rather, into me. Which was a bit crushing, but at the same time, you should never get upset about rejection on a dating site - after all, it's all a bit hit and miss, but I was disappointed. I was very gracious about it all, but gnashed my teeth a little afterward.

Fast forward a week. I'm driving to my brother's place in the outer suburbs for lunch. It's about 11am, and I'm on the M1 out of town, when an idiot driver pulls in front of me suddenly, forcing me to slam on the brakes (er, and the horn), and let forth some choice expletives. The guy then slows down, so I indicate and pull into the lane to my left.

Narrowly missing Candidate No. 11.  Who just happened to be on the same stretch of road, at the same time, quietly minding his own business.

Yep. I just about ran the poor guy off the road. I can only imagine he thinks I'm a bitter, vindictive spurned woman, who, on seeing him, thought she'd side swipe him into oblivion.

Of course, I'm nothing of the sort. By amazing co-incidence, he just happened to be driving on the same road, at the same time, in my blind spot.

I'm sure he thinks I'm a stalker now. If you're out there reading this No. 4, I'm sorry! It was an accident, and I'm not trying to kill you.

But I understand now, why you had to let me go.

23 July, 2010

The guy who looked like John Jarratt.

You know, I love Wolf Creek.  It's really scary.  And John Jarrett is awesome in it.  But to be honest, I wouldn't want to date him.  Not in character.  Not in that character.  So I was a little taken aback when I met with Candidate No. 476 (or so it feels), to find he looked alarmingly like John Jarrett.

He had a really interesting job.  He's an investigator for the Attorney General's office.  He busts drug cartels and domestic violence cases.  He's worked all over the country.  It was pretty interesting.  For a bit.

But as he talked about his extensive travel in outback Australia, visiting remote indiginous communities, all I could see was a big truck with a roo-bar and a couple of hapless English tourists in the back seat, laughing nervously.  

I tried awfully hard to stay on track, and there was an amusing moment where I explained my somewhat complex family history using mixed nuts to represent various family members, and eating the people who had died.  But you know, overall, it was a bit of a wash out. And perhaps that eating the dead people thing wasn't such a great idea, you know, given the company I was keeping.

There's not much more to say about that one, except, dang!  He really looked like John Jarratt. 

[John Jarratt, if you read this, you're not a bad looking bloke okay, it's just that you were so damned scary in Wolf Creek that I wouldn't want to date you.  Sorry.]

The Male Nurse

They’re never quite what you expect. When I saw this candidate's profile, he looked confident, warm, a bit of a hippy. When he arrived in person he looked like a bit of a loser. His hands were shaking with nerves, and he was wearing a brown pleather jacket with what looked like a cigarette burn in the collar.

Now I should confess that I was no oil painting myself. I’d been wildly drunk the night before, with an ugly head cold to boot. So when he arrived I was both deeply hung over and off my tree on Sudafed, which made me both overly chatty and without the ability to construct a sentence properly. Not an ideal combination, to be sure.

My date was a nurse. I still find this an incongruous combination, and I know that it’s wrong. But somehow, it just seems odd to have men as nurses. I guess I'm reverse sexist.  He’d also, in his time, been a butcher, a baker (although sadly, not a candlestick maker), a roadie, a construction worker and a bee keeper. Like a one man Village People. A Village Person, perhaps.

Anyway, while I’m always partial to a bit of gore in a tale, and was fascinated by the stories of amputated limbs and biohazard bins, flooded morgues and exploding abscesses, hearing about the explosive diarrhoea of the elderly and the rotten stench of someone who’s just shat themselves was just taking it a bit far. Especially over thai minced beef with chilli. I think I ate three bites for the whole meal.

It was nearing the end of the date when Candidate X made a fateful mistake. He said “so, do you want to do this again?” I hate that. I really hate that. I’ve always had a rule that one should never ask a question to which one may not necessarily want to hear the answer.

I’d like to think I said what I did because I was trying to spare his feelings, but the truth is that I’m a coward and didn’t want to tell the brutal truth. So I settled on “I’m not sure yet. I haven’t made up my mind.” Which took him back a little. I think he figured it was all going swimmingly due to my excessive chattiness (and I’m chatty at the best of times. Get a bit of pseudoephedrine into my system and I turn into a regular Robin Williams).

We finished up, split the bill (I insist on splitting the bill), and left. Outside I said, “well, I’ll be in touch!” It was a Seinfeldian lie. I won’t be in touch. I won’t be anything like in touch. I’ll be decidedly out of touch.

I think he knew it. We turned and walked in opposite directions.