So Where Is This Going?

They say that moving home is one of the most stressful things you can do in your life. I've moved flat every summer for four years and the chaos this causes never ceases to amaze me. I managed to secure myself a bed at a flat where a few of my male friends reside, and also managed to talk them into letting me keep my stuff there until Friday which is when I get the keys to my new pad. I have just got off the phone with the other two girls who I'm moving in with at the end of the week, and apart from the fact they currently don't have anywhere to stay, the one who drives has just managed to lock both her car keys and her phone inside her Fiesta. The words 'fuck my life' have never rang so true with her. And it definitely, definitely isn't funny.

So excellent news! POF boy is still texting me despite the fact I gave the impression I should possibly consider a spell in The Priory. I think I'm of the impression that boys spend ages thinking, re-thinking and analysing the personality traits of women when infact they aren't really as bothered as us girls would be. We actually had a small, diluted version of the 'where is this going' chat and established we both liked talking to each other but because we've never actually met it would be good to keep the pace slow. Quite rightly, I imagine he is obviously concerned that I could turn out to be a 56 year old shemale looking for love whereas my main fear is having my picture appear on the back of milk cartons after he's chopped me up and fed me to the fishes. Some may call these thoughts irrational when the word they're actually looking for is plausible.

I've been thinking about the stigma associated with internet dating. People ask me all the time what's going on in my love life and when I reveal I'm texting someone who I met online, do not know in person and that - shock horror - things are going well, they look at me like I've just said I thought Osama Bin Laden was well fit. 'Be careful', 'That's sad', 'Can you not meet someone local'...all comments I've endured time and time again. Why is internet dating still thought of in unsavoury terms?

I'll admit you'd only have to look at the more uncouth messages in my inbox on POF for evidence as to why joining online dating communities could be considered a bad idea. But when I'm on a night out and I've got guys touching my bum, looking at my boobs and making comments or whistling, how is that any better? I'd actually like to apply some of the options available to me online to my next night out. For example I'd like boys to give me their vital statistics in text format, with a blurb about themselves so I don't waste time talking to someone who Typ3s LiiK3 ThiiS BbZ. I would also enjoy having the ability to delete boys on a night out, so they just disappear into the atmosphere. Furthermore, having the ability to 'Add Them To My Favourites' or 'keep them on file for future use' if you will, would also be more than handy.

So before you slag off internet dating, take a look at the more positive aspects of looking for love online. Mind you, someone has yet to give me a photo of their willy on a night out - although I have witnessed lads 'helicoptering' their prized possesion. I rest my case.

Honesty Is The Best Policy (Unless It Makes You Look Bad...Then It's Rubbish)

Sooo....Wednesday night I decided to go out and 'get pure mad wae it' with my best friend Claire. We had a massive argument the other week but we're pals again, and this night out was really the equivalant of make-up sex.

I generally view myself as quite a classy girl - I don't spit, I speak properly and I haven't slept with half of Stirling. However, I do have my moments and incidentally chose to have one of these afore mentioned moments on Wednesday evening. To be fair I wasn't the one who bought the rose wine but I was the one who thought it would be an excellent idea to try and down it within a half hour period. Please note I said 'try' - obviously I didn't succeed as I haven't yet mastered the skill of inhaling alcohol. I was also the one who said it would be a totally rad idea to take our bottles of wine with us and try and finish them in the taxi.

This was all well and good until I saw the taxi driver. He was young. He was hot. And he spoke the whole journey about how he likes university girls as they are so much more mature than your average lady. In body I'm nodding along in agreement at this...and in my head all I can hear is 'hahahahahahahahaha'. I'm a terrible human being. Anyway, I'm sure I soon changed his opinion when I asked if he could drop us off round the corner so we could finish our booze. Clearly I've got 'marriage material' written all over me. The rest of the night is a bit of a blur, although I do recall the young, hot taxi driver picking us up to go home and having to pull over as me and Claire were simultaneously sick onto the pavement. I think I'm going to have to review the fact I see myself as classy.

Anyway, I am actually trying to make a point. The next day I told my POF (Plenty Of Fish) boy about my antics. To be honest, I texted him about it without thinking and it was only in the next hour when I didn't receive a reply that I started to worry about my unabashed honesty. Guys say that they want a girl to be straight with them - infact I think everybody appreciates honesty. But do they want me to be honest about the fact I was so drunk I can't remember anything apart from spewing up a mixture of vodka, wine and Aftershock...I'm not so sure. Now, he did text me back - he even made a few jokes about me being 'mangled' and asked how my hangover was. However, paranoia has kicked in and I have a horrible feeling that before my revelations I was easily passing myself off as Scotland's answer to Kate Middleton, whereas now he is probably comparing me to a character from The Scheme. Hopefully not Bullet.

So I don't know guys, do you want honesty about everything or is selective truth telling (aslong as it's not hurting anyone) the best plan? Alternatively I could maybe just not go out and get in a drunken state. In all honesty though, while I am looking for a boyfriend I'm also looking for someone who, in times like these, is there patting my back and holding my hair back. Or at the very least being sick beside me. I'm old fashioned like that.

Perseverance Makes The Heart Grow Fonder.

My high-flying call centre career has prevented me from producing a sequel to my oh-so-popular first blog, but never fear I have found five spare minutes in my non-life with which to share another tragic anecdote.

So I decided to keep going with www.plentyoffish.com in the naive hope that Prince Charming might fall into my lap...or my inbox. And my faith appears to have paid off as I'm currently texting a lovely young gentleman who is also a member of the website. When I say lovely, I mean that he can hold an intelligent conversation and hasn't yet asked my bra-size - an aspect of my personality that seems to be very important to many of the other men I've encountered online recently. My flatmate Ashlee put the frighteners on me the other night with a lecture about the dangers of internet dating, but I don't intend to rush into anything...especially not before I get the police checks back.

A past flame has also been texting me a little bit recently, although he assures me his intentions are all above board. This particular species of the male human race has previously professed to not having female friends as he didn't like to be 'in the friendzone' with girls. I find the concept of 'the friendzone' quite interesting. Apparently it applies to guys who are friends with girls, but only because they either want something more to happen or hope that one day something might just happen. It's a bit like getting in an undetermined queue, where there is only a small possibility they will make it to the front. Girls are of course blithely unaware of this social policy according to my man-friend but again I think that is a very rash claim. Girls are, above all, very good at getting what they want. And if attaining what they want requires popping a few lads in 'the friendzone' then so be it. And more fool the boys.

On a different note, I went out for dinner tonight with an old friend of mine called Kerrie and it was the best laugh I've had in ages. Her romantic life is no more straightforward than mine, and it's lead me to come to the conclusion that attaining love is meant to be a struggle as it's the most rewarding thing you'll ever be lucky enough to attain. Everyones got dues to pay but seriously Cupid, if you're listening...pull your finger out eh?!

Gone Fishing.

I spent a lot of time thinking about the content of my first ever blog post, and decided the best option would be to just jump right in to the general fiasco that is my life. I've got a feeling these posts are going to make it much easier for my therapist later in life.

So, it's no secret to my friends - and most major tissues manufacturers - that my love life resembles something you might see on Jeremy Kyle. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not spending £300 a week on weed, whilst pregnant with a child that has 13 potential fathers - I just mean it's parallel to the complete disasters I see on that stage. Now I'm not going into details (I'll save them for my autobiography) but the bottom line is that I'm due a break.

Now obviously when you've encountered nothing but poor excuses for men in the real world, a really excellent idea is to try internet dating (!). It initially started off as a bit of a joke with my flatmate Teacakes, who suggested I shun the traditional 'match.com' cliche for the slightly more local, and free option of www.plentyoffish.com . So I uploaded some nice photos of me 'being attractive', made myself sound almost sane in my profile and then sat back and waited for the man of my dreams to...fire up Mozilla Firefox and send me an email. Just like in the movies.

Oh. Dear. God. is all I can say...I genuinally don't know what planet some guys are on. I've come to the conclusion that only insane people linger on the internet based on the messages I started to receive. Don't get me wrong, some of my potential suitors were normal guys who I simply did not fancy. And some were complete and utter rockets. I don't know which was worse...receiving the photo of one member's meat and two veg (who obviously had ways of making things bigger), being asked if I'd like "a sugar daddy or a lover" or having one guy profess that he was in love with me and then go on to beg me to marry him and let him lose his virginity to me.

The worst ones however are the guys who seem normal until you read their dating profile. Allow me to give you an example; I received a message the other day from another young man lonely in love. His picture did not scream "serial killer/pervert" at me and his message was non-cheesy and non-sleazy. Tick, tick, tick. And then I read his profile;

"hobbies r bashin tramps , racing ferrets that were injured during the war , happy slappin huns , pumpin throats and much much more ladies am a catch u know !! i am unique simply cause a have a 1 incher and no girth ! my goals in life r to make it to 2 inches and maybe a wee bit of girth plz plz god help ! music a love the sound of skin slappin together 2 a totaly mind blowin tune ! talkin of blowing (u know the drill) haha ouuush msg me am up for the banter x"

Dieing alone with a thousand cats isn't starting to sound too bad...