Screenshot_20170915-180512It was autumn in the magical land of West London. A time for glowing evening skies, babies dressed as pumpkins and fucktard bloggers throwing fallen leaves in the air, so they can be photographed looking like fucktards by their equally fucktard friends. Despite the high percentage of SSSMs (sad sack single men) taking to dating apps in a bid to find a Christmas girlfriend and feed them mummy’s Yorkshire puds, Frizzy Blonde was no closer to finding a prince.

Following on from part 1, here’s the second installment of her adventures:

At the risk of sounding like a bitter old harridan, the London dating scene is not all it’s cracked up to be for us ladies. While apps are a great place for men (largely due to the vast number of attractive girls willing to punch down) they’re not so impressive for women. It’s like trudging through a sewer looking for a diamond, safe in the knowledge you’re more likely to end up knee-deep in shit with a gastro-intestinal infection.

As I sift through fat men with the personality of a dead goldfish who describe their ‘type’ as  ‘slim and sexy’, I’ve been compiling a list of my misadventures. If you met The One when you were 17, married before the invention of Tinder or have wisely chosen the route of celibacy, here’s a list of the idiots you’re missing out on.

Mr doesn’t know when to give up

I’m no fan of ghosting, but there are exceptions when it’s fine. Namely, before you’ve met. Sometimes I start a conversation with a guy and it fizzles out pretty quickly. I hit the like button, he starts talking and I realise he can’t spell any words, calls me babe or voted out of the EU. (All valid reasons for never meeting someone and/or setting fire to your phone.) I feel the need to spell it out here: WOMEN DON’T FANCY MEN BASED ON LOOKS ALONE. If you’re as charismatic as a potato or we have zero common ground, I don’t want to waste a precious Saturday evening having drinks with you when I could be eating cheese sauce from the pan and practising my Oscar acceptance speech. (I haven’t decided what I’m going to win yet, but I feel it shouldn’t make too much difference to the overall speech content.) The trouble is, once you’ve made vague contact with a man online- there’s no escaping. You’ve said hello, exchanged pleasantries about jobs and the weather and they continue to ask you out forever. “Where did you go? Why did you like my profile then go away? Can we go out? I want to see you? When are you free to go out?”

I met one guy in a bar back in February and made the mistake of giving him my number. I declined his advances by telling him I wasn’t ready to get into anything (the universal code for ‘I’m just not that into you’). The following conversation went like this:

Him: Are you sure?

Me: Yes. I’m afraid so.

Him: Oh right. Hope you don’t think this is inappropriate but do you think I could get your friend’s number instead? I liked you both but I thought she might have a boyfriend so I went for you.

Me: It is inappropriate, she does have a boyfriend and no, you can’t have her number.

Him (a month later): Are you ready to go out yet?

Him (two months later) Are you still a man-hating feminist? (Dude, I’m not a man hating feminist- I just don’t like YOU. It’s not universal.)

Him (three months later) How are you?

Him (four months later) Are you ready to go out yet?

In the words of Elsa from Frozen, let it go.

The Super Keen dude

When Cinderella had her shotgun wedding to Prince Charming, it was true love in less than five minutes- the happy ever after equivalent of a Maccy D’s. Given the speed of fairy tale endings, it’s no surprise that some men (little tinkers) have latched on to the idea that ‘super keen’ is the way forward if you want to get a girl to fall in love bonk on a first date. In true Disney-prince style, a recent admirer left the following message for me on a dating site:

“Just saw your profile and wow you are a gorgeous babe with beautiful body, eyes and lips. Damn I am speechless. I really like you and I really want to be with you.” Ignoring the grammar situation, I was speechless too. You don’t need to pretend every girl you want to shag is the funniest, hottest chick you’ve ever met. WE ALREADY GET THAT YOU WANT TO HAVE SEXY TIME. So put the trowel away and replace it with some decent conversation and a sense of humour.  (This goes for post-first date too. No need to tell us you’re crazy about us before we’ve exchanged last names- it only leads to disappointment.)

The music snob

I like smart guys. In a world of aubergine emojis, there’s something sexy about a man who can put his apostrophes in the right place, debate politics and explain what the hell NATO does. A couple of weeks ago I was pleased to start chatting to a man who could write in coherent sentences and didn’t ask about my sexual preferences through the medium of cartoon animals. (Truly, it was a revelation in the world of online dating apps.) Soon the chat turned to musical preferences and his (visceral) hatred of Ed Sheeran. Personally I’m a big fan of the ginger-bearded one, but I get that he’s not everyone’s cup of tea. For me it’s the sort of differing opinion you can probably get past- like preferred ice cream flavours or whether or not you have sugar in your tea.

I was wrong. Not only did this guy hate Sheeran, he hated anyone who dared listen to his music. (I mentioned that I also liked Taylor Swift and this sparked another two-paragraph rant about my poor taste and lack of cultural understanding. Pretty rich from a man who spends his summers at music festivals wading through other people’s bodily fluids.)

After admitting he couldn’t play a note of music himself, he went on to slate televised talent shows. To be honest, I’m not a big fan of them myself- I used to enjoy the early rounds of X Factor, then I realised I was just laughing at the mentally incapacitated and that wasn’t very kind. But I couldn’t resist trolling him.

“I absolutely can’t stand things like Pop Idol or Britain’s Got Talent where manufactured stuff is pumped out on a formula. Absolutely horrendous,” he said, in a fit of pretentious middle class rage.

“But Britain’s Got Talent has a dancing dog. A DANCING DOG,” I protested. “You just don’t see that kind of talent from The Rolling Stones.”

He aborted the conversation shortly afterwards in a stream of swears. In the words of some 90’s pop icons, C’est la Vie, I Want It That Way.

The ‘age is just a number’ guy  

It’s my firm belief that whoever made up the phrase ‘age is just a number’ was a dirty old dog trying to get into some girl’s knickers. Just to be clear, there’s nothing wrong with dating someone a bit older- I regularly go out with guys in their early forties. But when I start getting messages from men in their sixties and seventies, my sleaze alarm goes off louder than their pacemakers. This week alone I’ve had three messages from men older than my dad and frankly, it makes me want to burn down the internet. I know I’m getting on a bit for a single girl, but I want a hot date not a geriatric’s day out. If it’s more likely I’ll be wiping your bum in three years than complimenting it, I’m afraid it’s a no from me.

SIDE NOTE: Even if a man is my age, I still run for the hills when he tells me ‘age isn’t an issue’ or he’s ‘friends with everyone’. If you’re pushing 40 and chatting to 21-year-old bloggers and school girls on social media, you need to have a serious word with yourself. Age is NOT just a number- it’s her dad beating the living shit out of you when he realises his daughter is talking to a bloke the same age as him.