Holidays and hookers

The office is dead this morning.

It seems that everyone except me was clever enough to save some holiday so they could leave at the start of the week.

I did not do such a thing. I am here all day today and all of tomorrow, too.

Thing is, once tomorrow is over, I will be away from a computer until the New Year, so this little blog will have a bit of a breather.

I'll pray that some deliciously exciting things happen over the festive period so I have plenty of juicy info to talk about when I get back.

There's a very slim glimmer that something interesting could happen this evening as I am out for fun and frolics with Snow and Doormouse.

We're popping into Soho for drinks and natters and, as with every time I set foot into a bar or club full of the mens who like mens, in the very back of my mind, I'm expecting to meet someone gorgeous.

I doubt Danny Dyer or Philip Olivier will be there, but I'm hoping there'll be someone rugged there for me.

I do know that you only ever meet blokes when you least expect it and expecting to meet someone automatically means no one good will be out, but it would be very handy to start up a new romance at this time of year.

He would have just enough time to pop to the shops to lavish me with gifts and at the start of next month I'm arranging a surprise 30th party for my sister and if I have to turn up for another family function without a plus one, I might kill myself.

It'd be great to take someone hunky along, if only to stick two fingers up to my ugly step-sisters (and their even uglier husbands).

I guess if I don't meet The One this evening, I could always hire a man to accompany me to the party.

There are plenty of escorts in the back of Boyz magazine.

Meet me for lunch?

I get the impression that I'm going to wait months for Lady Eliza to get round to writing my profile. She's currently lauding it up in the honeymoon period of a new relationship with her hunky Italian Stallion, and therefore has no time to remember her single and fabulous friends. (Admittedly, she has more important things on her mind, such as trying to get him a job so he's not shipped off back to Milan.) So, I have taken matters - and my eternal singledom - into my own hands.

On the recommendation of a friend, I stumbled across this site. Rather than getting a friend to write your profile for you, you do it yourself, but this company match you with other singletons who work in the same area as you. Then when you meet up for a lunch date, you have the freedom of the one-hour time limit. Thus, if your date is a complete bore, you have the perfect excuse to leave: "Thank you for the wonderful egg and cress sandwich, Timothy, but I really must dash - I have back-to-back conference calls this afternoon and absolutely mustn't be late."

I am currently waiting for my profile to be approved and then I am ready to start searching. However, I think what I might do is have a look and see who's about and then wait for some hunky chap to get in touch with me. Seems less sad that way*.

Of course, herein lies the problem and the cause of my single status: waiting for someone else to make the first move all the time!


* I think all these new slants on online dating - friends writing your profile/meeting for lunch dates - are simply using marketing techniques to disguise the truth that you are in fact joining a dating agency. Still, if there's the chance of a meeting with The One, then why not forego the shame? I lived through speed dating, so I can technically achieve anything!

Selling your friends

I'm not going to mention the dreaded R word today, but the upcoming situation has made me take stock of all aspects of my life, not just my job - or lack of it.

Thinking back to a few weeks ago, I was all excited about the Speed Dating event and the unlikely hope that it might bring a bit of Man Candy into my otherwise super exciting* life. That resulted in NO DATES WHATSOEVER and with the only other hunk on the horizon being Mr Sexy Delicious - who is clearly uptight about his 'seshuality' - I am still single and still actively looking.

But the point is, I'm not actually looking at all.

To remedy this, I have spoken with my friend Lady Eliza - the girl who wears pearls and brooches - and she might have solved my problem. She knows of a dating website where instead of writing a profile about yourself telling everyone that you have a 'GSH' and that you're looking for 'possible 121' - not that I've ever used one myself, you understand - you put a profile on there about a single and fabulous friend to try and get them a date.

It sounds genius to me. Rather than having to try to sum myself up in 100 words and ending up coming across like a prize twat, she gets to do it for me. And thinking about it, it's always much easier to compliment your friends than it is to point out your own good qualities, so this could be something quite brilliant.

I practically bit her finger off when she mentioned it, so now I am just waiting for her to put on a glittering critique, telling all the lovely Mo's out there what a great catch I am.

And she'd better make it good. Lady Eliza, if you're reading this, remember all the help** I gave you when you were doing your finals?

Make it good, baby - I need to get me a man!



* super exiting life = mediocre existence
** help = rewriting all of her essays

Nervous Much?

Hmm, I am very much on edge this morning. As usual, I've managed to sign myself up for something that I didn't want to do and now the hour of reckoning is approaching, I want to throw myself out of the window.

Doormouse has been trying to get me to go to a Gay Speed Dating event for months and foolishly, I finally gave in. Why? I really don't know.

He says that it'll be 'funny' and 'hilarious' and 'it'll give us something to talk about for ages'. I think it'll be 'horrific' and 'uncomfortable' and 'it'll make me want to peel my own skin off'.

He also reckons that aside from 'having a laugh', there's the possibility that we might actually meet some decent guys. I can only shudder at the kind of men who are going to attend a gay speed dating event at Turnmills on a Tuesday evening.

In my head, I'm hoping that Will Young and Jeremy Sheffield will be there and they'll fight over me and I'll end up taking them both home.

Of course, the reality is it'll be a room full of sad, lonely old mincers with acne and breath issues.

I hope I make it out alive!