love

My dating profile

It is only for a laugh really, as I am happy enough with Susan and a lot of crisps. But this is what it says on a dating site:

About me: Hi, I am like Henry the cheerful vacuum cleaner, except that I am no use for getting stubborn dust out of carpets. I do have a smiling face though and a long flexible plastic nose. The result of a childhood accident. Not really of course, the power of suggestion. I am quite a successful IT consultant with the usual big car, solid gold house ekcetera, but there is one thing computers can never provide. Love! Unless it is one of those sex robots that you hear about, in which case they can. But those robots are expensive, and there are question marks over electrical safety. So I am looking for a real human girl, at least until sex robots become more affordable.

About my match: After some bad experiences, I have decided I am looking for someone with mostly her own hair and teeth, and a human face. Some monkey faces considered, if it is a good looking monkey.

Do you like wandering aimlessly around London looking at blackbirds and drinking pop, or sitting on the sofa laughing at comical television programmes. If so you could be one of my chosen five girlfriends. I am not a Mormon. Just greedy.

Single and lonely

And likely to stay that way. The people who write in to the commuter newspapers about people they have seen on the Tube I mean. It is always

To the beautiful young woman in a red dress, I was the overweight sweaty businessman with a bad combover staring intrusively at your tits between High Street Kensington and Wimbledon. How about meeting up some time?”

or

The fit boy called Dave or Damien, or something beginning with D, or N, I was the pissed-up slapper that snogged you on New Years Eve on the platform at Charing Cross. You gave me your number, but you must have made a mistake writing it down, because it turned out to be a pest control company in Hackney. Please get in touch!”

I often wonder if anyone ever actually replies to those ads. This one is stranger than ficktion though that I saw in the paper the other day:

You: the guy throwing up on the Northern Line at East Finchley on 9 Feb. Me: the ginger girl whose jeans got in the way. Wish I could’ve told you how the remnants of WKD Blue brought out the blue in your eyes. Drink?”

What is the thought process here? She’s wondering why she never meets any nice guys, and then a lightbulb goes on. “What about that drunken tramp who spewed over my clothes? Why didn’t I get his number!”

You do know I'm an evil hypnotist?

This looks quite intresting:

Eye Gazing Parties

Here’s the idea: An even number of singles meet in an attractive space over drinks and world beats.

After a fun mini-lesson in the art of eye contact, the group splits into pairs, and each pair spends two minutes looking into each other’s eyes, no talking, just soaking in each other’s essence through the windows to their soul.

The pairs switch up every two minutes, for a total of 20 gazes during the evening with ample mingling time between the gazing sessions.”

I have to say, you lost me at ‘world beats’, but the whole prospeckt sounds terrifying anyway. I do not want anyone soaking in my essence, or least not till we’ve spent a bit of time together. Eye contact is a very powerful thing and somehow having too much of it would put me off I think. Surely that is part of the excitemint of being with someone that you fancy, and you do not quite know if they like you, and then you find them unexpecktedly looking at you over the mayonnaise. Or having a peek at your legs when you go to the bar. Surely gawping into each other’s face like a pair of mentals would ruin that fun.

Tim Ferriss wrote about this in his Experiments in Lifestyle Design blog: Dating Without Speaking: The Weird World of Eye Gazing Parties.

I first met Michael because I was studying Cuban salsa in South America at the time.” Thank you Tim. Tim is also the national Chinese kickboxing champion, TV actor, breakdancer, Princeton engineering lecturer, holder of the Guiness World Record in tango, businessman, author, speaks six languages, and is cordially detested by everyone he knows. I should imagine.

If you go to such an event, as I did for the first time last Tuesday night, it becomes clear how uncomfortable most people are doing this. I don’t think it’s necessarily the best way to meet your match (and it can attract some strange people, especially in SF), but it’s a very telling social experiment.

For the next two days, test gazing into the eyes of others—whether people you pass on the street or conversational partners—until they break contact.”

I don’t think I will actually, because if you try that in London, people will probably kick the shit out of you. Or if it is a girl, get her brother to kick the shit out of you. The unpleasant alternative is that if they like you, they might try to follow you home.