As a follow on from my last blog I thought I’d discuss Internet Dating again. Okay - I know I slated it last time. And with good reason!! It’s imperfect at the best of times, and downright crap at the worst. But for once I’m having fun with it  - mainly because I’ve had a change of approach.

No, despite what I suggested last time, I didn’t change my profile to:

Sexy, blonde: loves cooking, cleaning, and is a very easy lay.

Whilst it would have secured me enough dates to keep me busy into the next millennia, it’s not really what I’m about. Of course I love cooking and cleaning – I mean, what woman doesn’t? But I prefer it when a man shows an interest in me beyond what I can do with a pair of rubber gloves and a sink plunger…

This time, I rewrote my profile to reflect me, the real me, and I refrained from saying I was ‘bubbly, cute, and an all round nice person who enjoys nights out with somebody special.’ If you read a random sample of profiles on any site, you can guarantee that these characteristics will crop up with boring regularity.

Well that’s not me!

So I made damn sure that my profile said differently. Perhaps I came across as slightly opinionated, but hey, I can be that in real life. I also quoted a line of poetry I like, just to emphasise that I’m no dumb blonde. Actually, I’m a brunette, but you get the idea. Well whatever. It seems to have done the trick. I’m currently talking to three very interesting guys who enjoy books, sports, art house films, and are keen to meet me.

Am I having fun?

Damn right I am!

I fully intend to serial-date lots of men until I find one who’s worth seeing on a more permanent footing. If that takes a long time, then so be it. I’m in no rush to meet Mr Right. I’m quite happy playing with lots of Mr Right Nows.

Ps. Posting a nude picture of myself wielding a huge dildo did no harm either…

Why is internet dating such a trial?

It should be easy. After all, how difficult can it be to scroll through dozens of online profiles and decide which ones sound the least dysfunctional?

Maybe I was naïve when I first started playing the game. I (stupidly) thought that people (men) were being honest when they filled out their little profiles and described themselves as, ‘honest’, ‘genuine’ and ‘single’.

Ha! Okay, so maybe some of them are all that and more. But a whole heap of them are ‘dishonest’, ‘scheming’, and ‘very attached’. Or is it that I’m just way too cynical these days?

But I do have the odd (and odd is sometimes more than apt) date that actually could be described as a success. If a guy isn’t too scary to look at, can hold a conversation, and makes me laugh, then I class the evening as a success. More often than not, however, we don’t get that far. I must send out the wrong vibes or something because I seem to be having zero success at finding a mate.

Just in case you’re wondering, no I’m not hideous, nor stupid. I’m just me. I think I’m great (thankfully), so why do all the internet profile men not agree with me? Maybe as one male friend suggested, it’s because I’m intimidating and too opinionated. Well that’s RUBBISH!

So I think its time for Plan B.

New profile blurb:

Attractive, busty blonde: loves cooking, cleaning, and is a very easy lay.

It would probably take me weeks to reply to all the messages I would receive in response…

My intention was to write something intelligent about…yes, you guessed it – writing!

But then I started musing about my love-life instead. It only took a few minutes. Love-life? Ha!

After all, who needs to cough up for expensive pyschoanalysis, when you can re-write the tale of your doomed relationship with the charmer who promised you, “5* all the way, baby!”, but only ever bought you a take-out from MacDonalds…

Looking on the bright side (and lets face it, somebody has to), I suppose my dalliances with dating and relationships have at least proven inspirational in a twisted kind of way. I find it very cathartic to spew my bitter recriminations into a fictional (ahem) story. As a result of several trainwrecks, sorry, relationships, several stories were born from the ensuing nuclear fall-out.

It’s rather satisfying to write about a heroine who eventually gets her man (the right one), after leaving the villain of the piece high and dry. (Yes, what fun it is writing Fred/Harry/Biff as a manipulative, conniving, cheating scumbag – and knowing that there is a very real chance they might read the finished story at some point).

Does the truth hurt, huh? Good!

Most of all I like to write happy endings. It makes me smile to send my characters off into the proverbial sunset loved up, shagged out, and ready to settle down for some happy-ever-after-sex.

So why does real life persistently fail to live up to the ideals of fiction?

Answers on a postcard please…