Freak Number 60 – Confused Dude No 2

 

Sorry sorry sorry… you can call off the search parties.  I have not been kidnapped by a freak cult and subjected to the pains of listening to them rambling on about belly button lint or possibly trying to reproduce more freaks into the world.  I have just been a bit busy and haven’t had a chance to write.  I wish I could say that I was in the arms of a stud muffin, but alas that is not quite true.  Well, that’s for another day and another blog…

Ahhh Mr CD No 2, it seems that there is a whole type of male species out there that are so confused that you have to wonder whether it has become an epidemic.  Do I need to arrange for some sort of concert to fundraise for this plight?  Help the Confused! Free their minds!  Help them figure out what they actually want!

Mr CD No 2 (I am going to call him Mr Number 2 – seems so fitting for this story!) and I met online (where else!) and it started out normal.  I did notice that he had a hobby of restoring gothic furniture; and yes some of them were made out of coffins.  I should have realised there and then that this was no normal dude.  But knowing me, I thought he may be slightly weird but handy with his tools, and what girl doesn’t like a guy who can handle his tools around her place?

Anyhoo… as we started to chat about how our weekend is going – the fun and exciting plans of being the domesticated goddess that cooks, cleans, mows lawns and cleans up after lazy cats and me who lays on the couch eating bon bons, dictating a chapter to my plebe I mean Assistant ala Barbara Cartland style.  He starts to tell me about what he got up to last night.

It started out quite normally, he met some friends for drinks, had a few laughs and then the story went on a different tangent… so different that it had a twist that even I did not see coming.  Turns out that he met up with a man and proceeded to get a hand job from him… okay…no judgement here… So I ask “Oh are you Bi?” to which he responds “Oh God no, that is disgusting!”  Um what?  Have I said the wrong word here? Yeah… like you, I ended up being the Confused one.  The convo continued like this:

B: “So let me get this straight… you are not Bi? are you Gay?”  

Mr No2: “No… I am not Gay either”

B: “Ok I am confused – you say that you got a hand job from a guy but you are not Bi or Gay and think that it is disgusting.  So did you accidently fall into this guy’s hand repeatedly while your pants fell down”

Mr No2: “Well I do like it, but it is not what you think?”

B: “Enlighten me” Meanwhile I am on Google searching for the definition of Gay and Bi, thinking am I so out of touch with the real world that they have changed the definitions and no one told me.

Mr No2: “Well I am quite well hung and I like to see other dude’s dicks – but I am not Gay!”

B: “Right.. so you like dicks but you are not Bi or Gay?  I am still confused!”

Mr No2: “Well as I said I am well hung…”  I am thinking to myself – what the fuck does that have to do with the price of fish.. am I supposed to think.. shit this dude has a huge wanger, so huge that I should be so impressed that I overlook everything else.  Perhaps this huge schlong could be the one thing that eliminates World Hunger, promotes World Peace and gives the meaning of life.  Am I missing something here?

B: “So you said…I still don’t understand”

Mr No2: “Well I like to see the looks on guy’s faces when they see my huge dick… it turns me on”

B: “Right, so it’s an ego thing rather than a sexual thing”

Mr No2: “Well I suppose you could say that”

Yep – give the Wanker of the Year Award to this guy!

NEXT!!

 

 

Advertisements

Freak Number 59… you are a what???

I am bamboozled.. confused even.. its like being back at school studying Algebra all over again.  I finally got to that age where I am out of touch with today’s world that it is like watching my mother trying  to work out how to turn the computer on.  Even that sentence has made me want to lie down with a cold compress on my forehead.  Cup of tea and a bex anyone?

There comes a time in your life when you are at an age where there is new terminology being banded around in society – when you quickly have to use Google as a means of translation to figure out what the fark they are blabbering on about.  Similar to this blog at the moment.  I’m talking about the new sexual orientation terminology.

Yes.. it seems that gone of the days when people were either Straight, Gay, Lesbian, Transgender – now there is a whole other kettle of fish to deal with.  Here is a few terminologies that I have come across recently (with thanks to Google!):

Pansexual – not to be mistaken for those who are into having sex with saucepans.  A common mistake that some may come across. No – this is where they are attracted to people not just their gender.   It is often confused with being Bisexual which is being attracted to one’s own gender and people of other genders. Um yeah I am confused with that one too.

Demisexual – here I was thinking that this relates to people who jerk off or are possibly married to Demi Moore.  Alas I was wrong – it is about an individual who does not experience sexual attraction unless they have formed a strong emotional connection with another individual. Often within a romantic relationship.  Um isn’t that a normal relationship regardless of whether you are straight, gay or into shagging trees?

Cisgender – so this is where a person whose gender identity and biological sex assigned at birth align (e.g., man and male-assigned) – okay so you were born a man and not a pineapple?

Aromantic –  is a person who experiences little or no romantic attraction to others and/or a lack of interest in forming romantic relationships – which may describe a lot of people’s relationship status at the moment.  What a difference a ‘space’ is in a word.. one minute you are a romantic, then oops typo  you are aromantic.

Gynesexual/Gynephilic –so this is not when you are dating or married to a gynecologist or a gynecologist who has sex but this means that you are attracted to women, females, and/or femininity.  Think that one over…

Skoliosexual – no this is not people who are attracted to Skeletor from the He Men but are attracted to genderqueer and transsexual people and expressions (people who don’t identify as cisgender).  Oops my bad.

Third Gender – a term for a person who does not identify with either man or woman, but identifies with another gender. This gender category is used by societies that recognise three or more genders, both contemporary and historic, and is also a conceptual term meaning different things to different people who use it, as a way to move beyond the gender binary.  Um so is the Third Gender – Alien Gender?

So obviously I thought I would add a few more categories into the mix – just so we can be clear about the labels that we put on people:

Crocosexuals – for those people who think dark wrinkly plastic surgery enhanced sunburnt old fogies are the bees knees!  Just think George Hamilton in white speedos.. I dare you!

Bogansexual –  people who are stuck in the 80s wearing mullets, drinking JD and Coke, and drives around in a ute listening to ACDC.  Possibly could have 15 kids to 20 fathers and often at times seen down the local Welfare Office.  Can also be called Westies.

Freakasexuals -guys that are possibly attracted to Belle… often come with excess baggage,  and twisted with some sort of perversion.

Cakeasexual – people who are turned on by the sight of cake.. pretty much every day for me then!

Crazycatladysexual – ladies who want to get more than 2 cats and remain single due to the slim pickings of available men out there.

Well I hope you have learn a few new terminologies to keep up with the young’uns of today.  Now back to Googling about how to identify crazy people who use internet dating sites.

 

 

Freak Number 58 – Stay Classy, Save a Nut Job!

Wow… is all I can say at the moment… WOW!

Okay maybe a few more words or this would just be a boring blog.

There comes a time in a single woman’s dating career (and it is a job at times) when you have heard all the pick up lines or experience a variety of wooing techniques that one could possibly create a blog.  Highlighting the dangers of meeting such weirdos or possibly do the world a bit of justice by expanding on what not to do when you are single and ready to mingle.  Its called Community Service or possibly serving out a court sentence (they are so similar!).

I digress… obviously I need to impose my words of wisdom (or get my probation officer off my case) by talking about wooing techniques of the male species.

When trying to seduce a member of the opposite sex, the easiest way is to flatter them.  Obviously pick a neutral part of the body like “oh wow what a beautiful smile you have”.  Probably not wise to pick up a woman saying “shit girl, I want to stick my dick in your vajayjay and ride you like a pony” or “perhaps you need to go on a diet and lose a couple of kilos before I take you out.  I don’t want to scare my friends with you, but can you give me a blow job in the meantime until you lose it”.  Yes, that is one way of remaining single for a long time.

Other techniques is asking questions about her, getting to know her hobbies.  For example “I notice that you have written on your profile that you like to crochet jackets for abandoned seals, can you tell me more about it?”  Not – “my hobbies involve you on my dick 24/7” or “I like fast cars, fast women and lots of pussies” Yep, classy.

You could possibly be a bit humorous and witty in your responses, maybe throw in a clever innuendo joke – not too sleazy but just enough to work out whether she may be a prude or possibly have a wicked glint in her eye.  For example “You like sleeping? Me too! We should do it together sometime!”  Okay its a bit cheesy but hey… it can be taken in so many ways.  Um okay… moving along.  Examples not to use are: B: “Hello there, how’s your day been?” Y:”Wanna fuck?” or Y:“How many guys have you fucked on this site?”.  Try to at least get her name first before jumping right in there, after all, your mother hopefully did show you manners.

Obviously it is important to pay attention to the small details, especially when conversing with someone.  Try to remember details that they have written about themselves to paint a picture of what they are all about… for example, respond to them using their name when conversing with them.  Don’t keep asking for their name is everyday when it has been advised previously. “Oh Brenda, how I want to whisk you away and look at the stars”..  “Um my name is Belle for the 8th time!”   This also applies when you are doing the multiple conversations at the same time – Y:”You looked so sexy on our date on Saturday, I could have done you then and there?” B:”Um What are you talking about – what date?”

Try to remember that there are two sides in a conversation and while you may think that you are being interesting and have things in common when someone starts to tell you a story about themselves – let them freaking finish before adding your two cents to it.  No one likes a conversation hogger – share the limelight.  For example – B: “I…” Y:”I know I like to look at myself in the mirror when I am doing weights.  It makes me work twice as hard – don’t you think?” B:”Well..” Y:”Especially when I am lifting 100 kilos as a bench press…” Three hours later on the same subject, is more likely to send someone to sleep.

If you finally do get an opportunity to be successful in getting her to agree to a date – brush up on your hygiene standards.  Yes, do the ‘shit, shower and shave’ process – no one wants to date a homeless hobo or wear a gas mask throughout the date.  Unless you are into that sort of thing and it is mutually agreed upon – then float ya boat.

Try to ensure that the date is at a neutral place – a cafe, restaurant or a walk along the beach etc.  Places to avoid is the local BDSM dungeon, Swingers Club or brothel for the ‘buy one get one free’ social night.  Normally those club social gatherings are on Tuesday nights for people who may be unaware (my helpful community service announcement – you are welcome!)

Please stay tuned for the next installment – when ‘Classy meets Assy – What to do after the date?’

 

Freak Number 57 -I just want to declare that I have found my true love, but I am still on the dating sites douchebag

I’m confused.. not the confused in the sense of ‘I think I have balls, therefore I am now a boy’ or the ‘I think I might like girls instead of guys’, just the normal run of the mill confusion.

Let me explain what has left me in a world of kerfuffle (got to love that word – reminds me of Little Britain) – this weekend I have experienced not one, but two profiles which has left me thinking not my normal “what a complete and utter wanker” thoughts but the whole “and the reason behind this is what?”.

Profile one – I have started fresh on a new dating site which promises that I will meet plenty of eligible bachelors, just looking for fresh meat.. I mean their love of moment…. um their lives.   The title of this profile read “I have found the love of my life”.  Okay, I am hooked.  Could it be that he is enticing me into a web where I am the actual love of his life and he can see me reading his profile through the magic of the world wide web, screaming “yes you Belle, you are the love of my life”.  Far fetched.. perhaps.. but dreams are free as they say.  No, instead he has a picture of himself and his lady, declaring his undying love to her and telling the world that this site works.  Okay.. do you get commission for that declaration?  And the kicker of the whole thing.. if you have found the love of your life, why the fuck are you online?  Yes the green little button flashing – means that you are online, Doofus.

Profile two – nothing screams drama then a woman scorned who has to put on a fake profile with pictures of her ex, warning women away from this no-good demon spawn deadbeat of a father.  Hang on, let me just get my bucket of popcorn and start reading this scintillating saga full of “how he done me wrong”.   Before internet dating, this sort of drama was saved for the likes of the Jerry Springer and Maury Povich shows.  Ahhh… who is your Daddy?

Anyway, as I was munching away on my popcorn, being thoroughly entertained by the ‘Days of our Lives’ saga that was being revealed online.. something about threesomes and how he wanted to sleep with her sister, mother, grandmother and the cats’ mother (something like that), perhaps all at the same time.  Oh and how he keyed her car, and the clincher of it all, he stole her money and took off with some other woman.  Really,  after 18 months of dating and the constant asking for you and him to be involved in threesomes, you didn’t see the warning signs?  Did he have to put it out there in neon lights for you to freaking notice?  *face palms*

Bring back Jerry is all I can say… NEXT!

Freak Number 56 – Mummy’s Boy #2

One drawback of being single is the constant reminder from people who are coupled up that you really need to have a man in your life.  Yes the ones that think that you are like a social experiment and have to study you like a peri dish full of chlamydia under a microscope.  Nothing makes you feel so deserving like ‘awww you are single, you must really miss not having a man’ or the fact that it brings out the dreaded line that no woman ever likes to hear ‘oh I have a man for you, you will get on so well with Billy Bob.  You don’t mind that he drools like a dog and only has half a brain’.  That is my life at the moment, especially when I am talking to a special friend of mine who wants to set me up with a friend of his.  What is wrong with this friend of his – well lets just say… a grown man in his 40s who lives in the basement of his mother’s house.  Doesn’t that scream ‘take me now’... I want this man who gets his mum to iron his underwear and still tucks him in at night with a bedtime story. ummm yeah right … Pass!

Which reminded me of another Mummy’s boy that I met while on those pesky internet dating sites.  This one was a classic one of a boy who probably wanted to be like Peter Pan – never wants to grow up and why should he when his mother does everything for him.  And I mean everything (well besides that.. that would just be too weird), even to the point of raising his kids while he lives at the back of their house in the pool house.  Yes, Father of the Year award goes to….this tosser…

I was even more amused when he stated that he doesn’t pay rent and in fact, the “benefit” of raising his kids ends up in his back pocket.  ‘Hey Ma and Pa are loaded – they don’t need the cash.. Wow.. But check out my new Harley..’  Wow… he should teach a course on parenting… he is a Winner.

NEXT!

 

Freak Number 55 – Mr Tight Arse

Now before you get all hot and bothered about the title of this blog post; let me reassure you that Freak Number 55 did not have buns of steel; a butt that you could bounce a coin off or badonkadonka booty.  In fact, the buns were like flat pancakes, yes that deflated balloon ass that we all grimace over –  I know I have disappointed you yet again.  No the Tight Arse reference is more in tune with the fact that his wallet has cobwebs and moths living in it.  Yep, needed to get a safe cracker and a crowbar to get that one opened.

I should have realised when the date location was arranged, that it was going to be a fun night. It was to one of those chain restaurants – not particularly exciting but hey, it is about the company not the place.  Just to put your mind at ease, it was not Macca D’s (I would have left then and there).

We sit down, do all the small talk pleasantries – oh you found the place ok?  did you have far to travel?  Yep, yawn talk!  And this is where it starts to get interesting – just as the menus are handed to us, he pulls out an Entertainment Book.  Yes the Entertainment Book – the one with all those vouchers for ‘buy one get one free meals’ or ‘get 25% of your main if your order is over $500’.  Nothing screams romance like a ‘free coke with your meal’.

He turns to me and says “I have a voucher for the buy one get one free main meal, so if you like to order what you like (up to $15), I will get my meal for free – saves money dontcha think?”  Such class, such pizzazz!  Not only is he a cheap ass, but the fact that he wanted me to purchase a meal so he gets a free one, just screams that I have finally a winner.  Sorry to disappoint you ladies, I know that you just missed out on scoring this dreamboat. Yeah right!

If only that was the end of the story – oh grasshopper, when will you learn?  After I placed my order (I think it was a pasta dish for those who are interested), he starts rabbiting on about the bargains that he finds out on the street.  You know the old washing machine, broken ab blaster machines etc.  Visions of the program ‘Steptoe and Son’ keep appearing in my head – did he live in a rubbish dump?  By this time, I was scoping the place looking for a fast exit, when my meal arrived.  It was massive – so big that it could have fed a small village in Nigeria.  There was no way that I would have been able to eat it all, regardless of the size of my ass!

I managed to make a small dent in the dish, thinking that perhaps I could get the waitress to send the remainder over to fed that small village.  I am charitable after all.  No, that plan was thwarted, when Cheapskate asked me whether I was going to finish that, pointing at my meal.  I said “oh are you still hungry?”, thinking that the massive dinosaur steak meal that he just ate must have filled one of his saggy ass cheeks and he needed more to inflate the other side.  “Oh no, I will take it home for dinner tomorrow night!”  Check please – get me the fuck out of here.

So not only did I pay for my own meal (which I would have paid anyway), he gets two free dinners.  Well played, Cheap Ass!

NEXT!

 

Freak Number 54 – Have we met before?

There comes a time in anyone’s life when the past comes back to haunt you – not just haunt, but scare the living daylights out of you.  Seems appropriate given that Halloween is just around the corner, that the freaks will reappear like zombies looking for fresh kill, fresh brains or whatever they look for (can tell that I am not a big horror fan, give me fluffy kitty cats and rainbows please!).  Mzzzzzz BBBBBBeeeee we hav com 2 tek ya sannnittttttyyyy awwwwaayyyy.

Given the type of job that I do, I sometimes have to sit through hours of job interviews, listening to their tales of woe while working out whether I have enough restraint to poke myself in the eye with a pencil to get out of there.  People – it is a job interview, not ‘This is your life’, I don’t really care that you won the 1975 Spelling Bee in Grade 2.  Oh back to the story, yes where was I? Oh interviews (blah!), I live in dread that one day I am going to come across one of the freaks and I have to interview them.  Thank goodness it has not happen yet.. touch wood, touch Mary, touch freaking whatever lucky charm I need to.

However, I do recall back in my hazy drunken, crazy backpacking days, that I was haunted by a past freak.   Now sometimes I am a shocker for people’s names and faces – can never remember them but have that feeling that I have met them before somewhere.  I know I am terrible!  Its probably the years of meeting freaks that my brain just tries to block them out or something like that. Oh shit back to the story, I was working in a pub in London and I was serving a group of guys.  One of them was really familiar but I could not figure out how I knew him – was he a past customer from another pub? Did I met him at a party? Did I remember to put on my underwear this morning?  So after a couple of hours of me looking at him weirdly and asking my mates as to how I know this dude (hey I admit, there was some days where the memory was just blurry!), I could not work it out and it was driving me insane.

I had to bite the bullet and go up to him and ask him whether I knew him from somewhere.  To which he replied “um yes, I met you at such and such a place and I took you home one night”  Ahhhh the memory came flashing back – a drunken one night stand (I know shock, horror, a girl who has had a one night stand before – call the police, have this girl committed, she should be ashamed!  Where is that pitchfork, call the townspeople and lets run this girl out of town!).  Oh shit, how do I get out of this one?

The memories came flashing back, it was at his parent’s place and we had to be quiet as to not to wake them up.  Seems like mission impossible when you are absolutely blind drunk and the bed springs are squeaking. But that was not where the freakiness came into play, it was the next morning.  Yes that time where you need to figure out whether you need an arm or can you gnaw it off in hopes that you can get away without them noticing.  Nope, instead you suffer from the ‘Walk of Shame’.. ahhh got to love that walk – where you pray to whoever is listening that you don’t bump into anyone and not end up under any floorboards.  Alas I was not that lucky that day, no.. as I was creeping downstairs to get out of this place, Granny was downstairs waiting for me.  Oh fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck!  “Oh hello dear, did you sleep well last night?  Come and have a cup of tea with me”  Um wtf?  Seriously, have you seen the state I was in?  Is this woman senile?  Is this Norman Bates’ place?  What is a girl to do when Granny wants a cuppa, you have a cuppa!

So I am sitting there chatting to Granny, hoping that the world would just open up and swallow me, when the father comes in.  This was just getting better and better. Slowly but surely the whole family is in the room and all I am thinking is how the fuck can I get out of this weird predicament.  Then it started, the ‘lamp in the face’ interrogation moment – the dodging of questions that I swear that I was going to end up in a situation with a shotgun and a Priest with me walking into some sort of hillbilly marriage thing.  Thank goodness, I had to go to work that morning.  After 30 minutes of hell, I was running out of that place to the nearest train station.  Thank goodness, my brain decided to block that memory as much as it it could.

Moral of the story, if you think you recognise someone but can’t figure out where – leave it alone!

NEXT!

Freak Number 53 – Hidden Code Freak

I know I know, its been a while.  Been crazy couple of weeks with starting a new role at work, getting my head around new changes in my life and basically I just never can find the time to sit still for five minutes.  Ahhh I know, first world problems.

So I have talking to some of my friends about how different men are from women, besides the appendages.  It’s amazing how even a simple conversation can really mean something completely different between the sexes.  Which made me remember a conversation that I had a couple of years ago that just cemented how we are all on different wavelengths.  If only we could have real life subtitles instead of just seeing them on the artsy fartsy foreign movies (yes, as if I see them – snorefest!).

I was standing in line in a coffee shop one day and the queue was forever.  Now for those who know me, I don’t function well without coffee.  Its my one vice in life besides dating freaks.  In fact, normally I don’t even talk to anyone until I have had that sweet sip of heaven in a cup (well unless you want a grunt).  However, on this day, I must have inhaled the nectar from the gods as I actually felt a bit sociable.  Yes so sociable, that I decided that if I had to wait for 10 minutes in a queue for ‘heaven in vat’, I may as well amuse myself in the line of fellow addicts.    So I turned to a guy who was standing behind me and said “This coffee is definitely worth the wait, I need that early morning buzz to get me through the day”.  To which the delightful man replied with “I’m married thanks, I am not interested”.  OKKKKAAAAYYY what part of that sentence does it say that I want to jump on your bones and have my wicked way with you?  I was so gob smacked that I just turned around and thought “what a complete and utter tool!”.

I don’t think even the enigma machine would have gotten the same meaning as what he interpreted from that sentence.  Even if you did the basic ‘take every second word’ code would just say “coffee definitely the I that morning to me the” or even the first letter from each word would be “tcidwtw,intembtgmttd”.  Someone please tell me how that sentence can really mean anything different!  Or perhaps the mere fact that a female is conversing with him, that the only thing that we really want is to have our wicked way with you.

A simple hello now means “I want to give you a blow job”.  “Can you pass me the salt?” obviously means “I want to have my first born with you”.  How on earth are you going to interpret the barista asking you whether you want sugar or not – does that mean “I am going to give you a hand job and you can spoof on my boobs!?”

Men… arrrggghhhh!  NEXT!

 

Freak Number 52 – The Bloodhound

Ahh the Bloodhound.. a dog that is well known for the use of his nose and tracking down things that may be either dead or lost or possibly running away from the police.  Looks quite docile, with those big eyes and floppy ears – how could you not fall in a little bit of love with them.  Unless the Bloodhound is really a 6’ft dude who has a tendency to like sniffing  your underwear.  Yes you read right.

I came across the Bloodhound online and after a few chats, he asked me for a pair of my knickers.  I thought “oh shit, I have a ladies knicker wearing dude, perhaps he is embarrassed about going into a ladies department store and buying his own”.  That must be it.   I could feel the smart arse comment rising up from the depths of my perverted mind and had responded with “Surely with the use of technology, you could order ladies knickers online without feeling embarrassed about someone finding out that you like the feel of silk and lace against your man junk.”   “No, I like the used ones, I like to wear them on my head, sniffing while I am….” You get the gist.  He even stated that I could send them to him in the post if I wish, even giving me instructions about putting them into a sealed plastic bag to preserve the ‘freshness’.  Is that with a side order of yeast infection or skid marks?  (ewww, I think I just threw up a wee bit).

All I was thinking was the poor postie having to deliver these ‘treats’ to his address or the thought of ladies lining up with their knickers in the Post Office.  What about the sniffer dogs coming across those when they are sniffing out for drugs or what not?  Do they have specialised sniffer dogs just for the illegal use of used knickers?  I know that one of my cats could apply for that job.

Now I know you have probably seen the movies where there is some reference to the knickers sniffing tendencies, or possibly you have done it yourself.  Personally I don’t see the joy in it, the smell of ammonia is a little off putting. Unless I am mistaken, when an author writes about how the nectar from your love blossom smells like roses, its not reality.  I am sure that there is plenty of women out there that is thinking what is wrong with my lady garden as it does not smell like the sweet nectar of God’s honey. (Unless you are Miss Belle – then obviously it does!).

So you are probably wondering, did she or didn’t she?  Okay I did, but before you all think that I am a dirty mole – you should know that I do have evil tendencies.  I could not resist sending him a pair of granny knickers that I found in a charity shop, complete with that musty smell of moth balls that I just happened to rub over.  Sniff that one Rover!

I know I am evil.. I just could not resist.

NEXT!

 

Freak Number 51 – The one that just won’t get the hint

I some times wonder about people some days.  I wonder if they were dropped on their head when the doctor grabbed them out of their mother’s womb.  Or is it the numerous amounts of drugs/alcohol/smoke fumes that have burnt most of their brain cells that they just cannot get it.  No matter how much you spell it out for them in plain terms, hey even fucking sky write it – they just don’t get that it is over, final, uber, fini, terminado, fertig, gorffenedig (thanks Google Translate).  What more do you need to do?  Move Countries? Change your name via Deed Poll?  Have a sex change?

Remember the Bi Polar Dude – it seems that the meds that he is taken has just scrambled his brain more and he cannot stop contacting me.  Even to the point of changing his profile name and sending me more requests.  Dude – for fuck sake – if I keep deleting and blocking you, it does not mean that I will change my mind on the 100th attempt.

It must be the week for it as I have had another one come out of the woodwork this weekend who decided that after 6 months of not talking to me (well after he just told me that he was getting together with someone else – that means to me that he is no longer interested and I moved on), he decides to contact me as if nothing has happened.  Rebound anyone?  Am I a freaking trampoline?  I just don’t get it – if I wasn’t good enough for you before, why all of a sudden am I good enough to contact again?

Who falls for this shit?  And better still, who the hell do these people think that they are by treating someone like shit, that I will welcome them back with wide arms?  Great now I have that song in my head!

I am starting to sound like a bitter twisted old spinster.  Grrr this is what has happened when you are dating in the dregs of humanity.

NEXT!