Same Chick, Different DaY
On the homepage, of the particular online dating website I’m putting my rapidly declining Australian dollars into, is a small gallery of faces. Faces, like me, who are desperate to prove that they are the best. Faces that say “hey guys, I’m easy going and funny and just happened to have been snapped at my most beautiful, most relaxed moment – HOLLA!” It’s like a ‘best of’ for loneliness. I don’t know how you get on the homepage gallery, but then again I don’t know how to get the “Official” blue tick on twitter or how to part my hair properly. (I haven’t included that in my profile – am I actively lying?) But there is one lady who has figured it out. And I see her every time I log on.
She’s been there for two weeks. Every day I go to the website (don’t judge me! Writing can be boring), centre-stage is the same thousand mile stare looking back at me suggesting I’ve done something wrong with my face, by the fact that I am not on there.
Now I’m sure the word ‘jealousy’ is popping into people’s minds. Sure: she’s 24 and hasn’t had the onslaught of disappointment and intermittent insomnia that will eventually befall her with time. Actually, she looks like one of those people that says, “I don’t really get hangovers.” She has an avalanche of hair and she is bubbly. That’s how I would describe her picture: down-to-earth and bubbly. But it’s not her age or beauty that bothers me. It’s rules, goddammit!
There has to be some kind of system! Some kind of rotation!
Something I have included on my profile is that I’m more competitive than I’d like to admit. A simple example of this is that I had an ex-boyfriend one day spontaneously take me to a golf range. I was so excited. What a great idea! I used to hit golf balls with Dad as a kid in the park, so this would be a lovely stroll down memory lane. Well I took 3 swings down memory lane and realised I was actually on struggle street. Then I was the Mayor of This is Bullshit town. Then I quit politics all together and sat in the car. Granted, that was a long time ago, but I think the sentiment of that sporting tantrum still lingers within. So when I see ALL the faces on this wall change every couple of days, except for Pantene Penny I lose my cool, triple bogey style.
Side note: WHO NEEDS TO DO ONLINE DATING AT AGE 24? You’re still in your “I can drink my standards away” phase. I have no such luxury. When I leave a bar I am as sober as I was when I went in. There’s no “maybe I can see past the double dragon shirt. There’s no “he’s probably sweaty because he’s been dancing…with his mates…mime bumming them…while he’s wearing a nurse’s dress.” And certainly no, “I’ll worry about the fact that he’s doing a public dick hamburger in the morning.” I have to deal with everything then and there, so online dating places are for people like me.
You become almost accustomed to the people you like the most not looking at your profile back. You become hardened to it. It’s actually really good practice for walking the streets of London. You smile. They stare through you. Life imitating…life. But when someone gets a hold of a virtual step-ladder and they’re not letting the grogans have a borrow? Well that I just cannot abide. I don’t care how many chestnut farms it looks like your family owns.
So I want one of two things to change:
a) that Martha Stewart goes back to her own page and bakes some humble pie there
b) she reads this blog and helps a sister out.
Stand by for results.
YOU CAN TOTALLY SEE ME LIVE AT THE EDINBURGH FRINGE FESTIVAL 2013. I MAY HAVE HAD A DATE BY THEN. BUT, LET’S FACE IT PROBABLY NOT.
FELICITY WARD. IRREGARDLESS
10PM – DAIRY ROOM (UP NEAR THE PURPLE COW, OFF BRISTO SQUARE)