A little while ago I spoke about the horrors of internet dating and how I’m doomed to die alone because the internet is filled with weirdos and I don’t really get out all that much so that was my last hope and so like, fuck. *take a breath, that was a long sentence*. I’ve thought a lot about dating profiles, and decoding the shit people say on them. If I was really honest, this is what mine would look like. Still keen? Drop me a line on …. HAH NO.
Name: Cat lady without any cats
Age: 26 (but act like I’m 60+)
Last logged in: after too many glasses of wine and listening to sad songs late at night
Trying online dating because fuck I am going to die alone and I’m having a minor life crisis that’s lasted three years and I don’t know who I am OH MY GOD WHY AM I DOING THIS?!
Height: 171 cm.
Body type: A little big of jiggle when dancing around my flat. Able to do a plank for 40 seconds. Psh.
Looks: LIKE A PERSON WITH A FACE
Hair: Gets all over the place. In your bed, in your couch, in your drains and mostly clogging up your vacuum cleaner
Body modification: Can’t commit to a tattoo, committed too many studs to my ears, constantly ripping out my nose ring
Eating habits: Fuck you Paleo, carbs are LIFE
Drinks: Wine, whiskey, beer – oh, wait, um. Only on weekends
Smoking habits: Reformed social smoker
Income: Not going to be a sugar mommy any time soon. Tuna and potatoes are a quality meal.
- Reading YA and not feeling guilty about it
- Watching series of the cheesy teen variety and still loving bad boys with wounded hearts
- Attempting to learn to do push-ups and mostly lying on my belly and groaning
- Talking to myself while I grocery shop, debating price differences between different brands of cans of tuna and two minute noodles
- Singing songs to myself about what I’m doing around the flat (classics such as ‘Chopping carrots, I’m chopping carrots’ and ‘Where the fuck is the knife’ will be available on iTunes soon),
- Not falling over when standing in a crowded train
- Vacuuming and mopping
- Impromptu dance parties to radio hits behind my couch,
- Trying to reach things on my really high kitchen shelves (includes rock/kitchen counter climbing)
Sense of humour: Laughing at my own jokes, all by myself
Intelligence: Not invited to Mensa, they must have lost my address. Again.
My head. My heart. My tummy.
Party behaviour: Making friends with the nearest cat