B is for Bi-polar, Beer and BInternet Dating

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March 15, 2012 by Lindsay Sharman

I’ve started to think I’m bipolar – there’s a small mound of white flakes on my head and my feet are always cold. Wohohohohoho! (Has that joke been done before? It seems fairly obvious, so probably.)

I don’t really think I’m bi-polar. A friend suggested that I might be, and I was like “FUCK YOU MAN, would you like a biscuit?”

Seriously, I don’t think I am. I just have a stupid lifestyle that sends me from jubilation to grinding self-doubt every few days. So, yeah.

Ugh, but who wants to hear about that nonsense. I don’t like talking about my life and feelings, apart from incessantly and in horrifying detail on stage, so instead I’m now going to make some kind of generalised statement of fact and then expound on it. So….

Statement number 1

The Lime in the Top of That Mexican Beer Whose Name I Forget is There Because It Tastes Like Shit*

This was told to me by someone in the brewing industry. Apparently, during the beerification process, they leave it out in the sun (or something, I’ve forgotten the details) and it goes all shitty-tasting, so they started going “heyyyy why not slip something in the top of that to obscure, I mean enhance, the flavour?”

So there you go. Avoid Mexican beer; stick to the wine-from-a-tap / WKD**.

* That grammar is all wrong. Can a beer be a ‘whose’?

** Wetherspoooons! Wetherspoooons! Who luvs yaa, who luvs yaaa! Oi oi!

Statement number 2

To Succeed in Internet Dating, it is Necessary for Previous Romantic Disappointments to have Utterly Depleted All Hope You Ever Had

Well now, I have no choice but to talk about myself here. I recently signed up to Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, and if I ever had any hormones knocking around in the first place, it’s well and truly dried them up. Here’s my profile –

Hello! After years spent living the life of an international supermodel/competitive eater, I’ve decided it’s time I got with the programme, love-wise. So I’ve wrestled my ego into submission and signed up to Plenty of Fish, because I’m looking for a cod-like figure with his own plaice who likes to get battered (that’s right! I do puns too. I know, how am I single?)

Now I’m going to follow POF’s guidelines about how to be successful on POF –

Hobbies – Well, I’ve started going to the gym, mainly to burn off an insane amount of excess adrenaline. My adrenal glands seem to think I’m an extreme sporter, whereas my mind knows I get nauseous on the second step of a ladder.

Goals and aspirations – My short-term goal is to be successful on POF – how am I doing, chaps? *winks, smiles knowingly*

Taste in music – No. You’ve judged me enough already.

So, that’s me. Come and get it!

Due to laziness and a lack of proper commitment, I copy and pasted this from Plenty of Fish onto OKCupid without changing a word, so my OKCupid profile contains totally inexplicable fish puns. Which hasn’t stopped the honeyz from a-knockin on mah door…

Responses –

One man contacted me out of the blue (as in, I didn’t message him first) to tell me he didn’t find me attractive, but he was looking for people to hang out with. Abso-dang-lutely! Just tell me when and where, budski, and I’ll smear some excrement on my face and come join you! Woooo! You know how to make a lay-dee feel good! I suspect he’s looking for someone with cripplingly low self-esteem who expects that kind of bullshit right from the beginning.

I’ve had plenty of ‘Hello you are beeutiful lets meet me let’s have a drink and see whts happen sexee.’ Look, Mr Seeker-of-Sex, would I have put the effort into crafting fish puns if I just wanted a (de)boning from someone too bloody lazy to care about their grammar and syntax? No. My fish puns = effort and soul (or sole. Does it ever stop? Yo! I don’t think so! Turn up the heat and the heat goes ‘bo!’***.) Whereas your efforts = creepy moron with bad hygiene (probably).
I would like to implore any female casual sex seekers reading this blog; demand better grammar from your anonymous encounters. Because the fact is; man with lazy approach to grammar = sex with no hope of cunnilingis.****

This blog’s too long. I’ll write about the other chaps later (including the date I went on, woooh.)

***Possibly mis-remembered Vanilla Ice lyrics

**** How rude.


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