Relationship status: Considering getting in the van.

Whenever I’m trolling Twitter or Facebook every time I see that someone has gotten into a relationship I break out in a cold sweat. If I witness doting quips exchanged between lovers or cute photos of couples I start having palpitations and quickly check my ass for an the expiration date.

I’m “used to get kicked off the internet when the house phone rang” years old and as such I now live in a semi-constant state of fear that my time for finding love has ran out. I’d say for a solid four or five hours a day I’m fine being single, but I am seriously  toying with the idea of freezing myself until the right person comes along, then allow myself to be thawed out.

I’ve seen corpses less dead than my sex life. This isn’t for lack of offers; whip a topless photo on Grindr and a surge sexually-dehydrated lads come flocking toward it, but they are all thirsty mutants. They gravitate toward me. So it’s not lack offers, but rather my little-to-no interest in volunteering parties, lack of confidence and the fact I am incredibly awkward in bed. Like, so awkward. I’m also so embarrassed, particularly sober, to hook up with someone. For example I don’t know what the person likes or what’s acceptable to say? I just stutter out some utter nonsense and hope for the best. ‘Do you like Star Wars?’ Please say yes so I can make some geeky comments.  What may be thought of as cute by one guy may send alarm bells ringing for another. So how do you know?

Everyone always blahs out the same bog-standard dating/sex advice whenever I ask for some. Well you know what? Being myself isn’t working. This is some of sort of long running you’re all in on, isn’t it? Sick bastards.

A major part of the reason I’m still single is (obviously) me. Not just because I pine over guys I’ll never get anything from but also because everyone just does my head in. I’m really short tempered and I’ve noticed it doesn’t take much to completely put me off someone. If I’m constantly fed shite patter after that I immediately lose interest. Nor can I be bothered when you’re 20 seconds into a chat and the guy tries to activate cheekiness with the ‘in bed lonely’ pish. Alright, Drake. Keep it PG. “where u from? That’s a trek.” Ok, Dora the Explorer. Nobody’s starting an expedition toward my boxers.

Just give me something to work with, to build on. Unless you make any sort of noise while eating, then I’ll seriously considered killing you. Most conversations are dryer than the Sahara; if I wanted to pull teeth I’d become a dentist, so make some effort. It’s like we are unable to communicate and express ourselves unless it’s via dick pics, nudes and emojis. I am the common denominator in all my failed relationships, but only because everything annoys me – which is ironic considering my abundance of flaws.

The fact I’m a tad unhinged, sorry ‘eccentric’, probably doesn’t help my case. That said, I’m proud to say I’ve never been anyone’s psycho-ex boyfriend (mainly because I’m never with anyone longer enough.) Guys always turn out just to be beautifully wrapped boxes of bullshit.
Sometimes it takes months for me to unwrap the layers of disappointment, other times it takes mere moments. Seeking: no strings, summer fuck buddy. Good hygiene, manners and humour a must. Also the ability to deal with an erratic quacking step-ford psycho.

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