I’ve just hit the wall with Gaydar (again). There is a strict limit to the number of fishnet clad out-sized asses, six-footers and hair gel-abusing pikeys that I can take. There’s also the depressing monopoly of unacceptable usernames involving words like minx, sex and flap. I know I’m on the fussy edge of the standard pot, but COME ON. Anyone for ‘kissflaps69’?
I should add that on the odd occasion that I don’t sick-burp at seeing someone’s profile picture and/or glaze over at their chat, they usually don’t reply. They are probably writing similar blogs slagging off the high volume of dull conversation, vile photos and all-round unsuitability of the website that implies you may have ‘what you want, when you want it’. Actually, I made-up the comma in the middle of that slogan.
Such was my frustration about five minutes ago I subconsciously hit the WordPress link and started ranting, which is something I haven’t done for just over six months. Clearly any kind of girl-sourcing activity, or related activity (read, stalking) is the driver for this blog. Clearly I’m back on the bus.
After one whole week of grooming Gaydar the nit comb is exhausted, not to mention full of debris. If I had an ounce of motivation left, I’d shake it over the bin to get rid of the scraps of flaps, specks of txt spk and empty egg shells from optimistically opened and curtly closed profile pages. Enough.
That my left hand is showing signs of RSI from overuse use of the ‘apple+w’ command is the least of my worries – my mind is seriously starting to question whether there are, in fact, any lesbians between the ages of 25 and 33, anywhere, but most importantly, in London. Jesus.