All Posts Filed in ‘i prefer my fake boyfriends

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10 guys, 8 minutes. That doesn’t sound sanitary.

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Last night I went speed dating. Because I said I would. And because I had this idea that speed dating (being all face-to-facey and small-talky), would be populated by gentlemen with more social skills than those lurking in the internet.

Bzzt! FALSE!

It was AMAZING, gang! STUNNING. Like the sun glinting off a MASSIVE TRAIN WRECK on a warm spring day. Like baby goats frolicking in a mine field, if the baby goats were ten relatively normal chicks and the mines were ALL COMPUTER PROGRAMMERS, who had clearly never left their mothers’ basements.

Okay, that’s a lie. They weren’t ALL programmers. One of them was a farmer! With a lazy eye. Who asked me, two minutes in, if he could pick me up from work tomorrow. SERIOUSLY, WHO DOES THAT! “Oh, you work at the hospital? CAN I COME VISIT YOU THERE TOMORROW?”

My response made the other six minutes of our ‘date’ kind of awkward. Way to derail our conversation about slaughtering cattle, dude!

A heavily overweight gentleman with a long ginger goatee slapped a spreadsheet down in front of me and spent his eight allotted minutes checking off whether or not I liked his favourite zombie movies. I totally aced that, so he asked me, pen poised, how I felt about watching a dude play Xbox.

Another equally unwashed fellow with dubious facial hair told me about his time seeking out Nazi hotspots in Germany.

Several of them looked confused by all the lights and people, and seemed uncomfortable at being expected to use their mouths to make words. And several of them were tiny and adorable, like little fuzzy mogwai that I kinda wanted to adopt and feed vegetables and introduce to natural light.

 I have nothing against nerds, so we’re clear. I’d hit this. HARD.

Most of them, for unknown reasons, were British. Does this reflect on the United Kingdom as a whole? I do not know!

I wonder about the other ladies in the room, because I can at least hold my own in any given conversation about dragons or spaceships. I have enough nerd points I can spend to pass my conversational time, but I have a feeling anyone in that room with normal interests would have been stuck like a bear in a tar pit. You’re into parties and indoor netball? Is that a speed metal band? Did they have a booth at Armageddon? WANNA WATCH ME PLAY XBOX?

VERDICT: Funny, in an I-maybe-need-to-slit-my-wrists kind of way. Good for a few interesting conversations and some complimentary booze. Guys should definitely look into it, because all the chicks seemed well put together and normal, and the lone dude who appeared to have active social skills will probably make some BANK this weekend.

—–

EDITED TO ADD:
“Congratulations! You are among those people that have scored the highest number of ‘yes’ votes at any speed-dating event; you have consequently been awarded ‘Elite’ membership status. Only people that attract a ‘yes’ votes from at least 70% of the people they meet achieve ‘Elite’ status.”

AHA. AHAHAHAHA. Life! Why you gotta be so hilar? I can’t even cope!

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The greasy boyfriend showdown! Wednesdays are boring!

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PS I was just kidding earlier: I don’t have any savings! It’s the day before pay day and I have a buck ninety to my name, but my cart has over $1500 of imaginary purchases in it now anyway, and I will sleep happily tonight, dreaming of the pretty things I will still never have but now COULD if I, say, gave up eating.

SUH-WOON, Y’HEAR?

Okay. Onwards. Let’s talk about GREASY BOYFRIENDS. It’s long been known amongst those who move in my circles that I’m a tiny bit partial to the unwashed man. The full-on bearded variety is my favourite, but I’ll take greasy-haired, dirty-nailed, bleeding or scarred. I especially like it if they accidentally kill people and/or cry a lot. Just how I roll.

THE CONTENDER

Lately I’ve been re-watching Jericho (as part of my post-apocalyptic scenario research kick) and it has reminded me of my love for Jake Green, aka the deliciously dirty-looking Skeet Ulrich. He of the sad eyes and grimy fingers.

Pros: Frequently injured. Generally looks cold and/or homeless. Manly crier.
Cons: Canceled by CBS. Picked the willowy blonde over the sassy brunette. Nuclear winter.

THE REIGNING CHAMP

However, I’m not convinced he can compete with John Mitchell — a grubby Irish vampire who rarely washes his hair and struggles to pronounce ‘th’. He also goes all sorts of crazy for blood. Most of the time he’s a good guy with an addiction he regularly fails to manage, and then he gets all sexy and toothy and kills a bunch of people. And he’s a SUPER MESSY EATER.

BUT LOOK AT THIS FACE:

SWOON. I WOULD LET HIM TAKE A NIBBLE, Y’ALL.

You probably haven’t seen this show, and I don’t blame you — I didn’t trust the BBC to dish me up anything but my comedy either, but Being Human is SERIOUSLY AWESOME. Nerd werewolf = best ever. Buy the DVDs at once! Pirate that shit if you have to.

Pros: Gets sweaty and desperate around a pulsing neck vein. Rocks the fingerless gloves.
Cons: Will take a bath in your blood. Has no reflection, so is unable to tell how badly he needs a haircut.

THE CUTE ONE

Oh, Finn Hudson as played by Cory Monteith! With your songs and your lanky, super-enthusiastic dancing. I WANT TO EAT YOU UP. But dude is kinda clean cut!, you’re saying. What is your thought process, woman!

Basically: he’s huge. And bearlike. And always looks unkempt and vaguely like his last shower was yesterday, and he’s just come from practicing some form of contact sport, after which he did not wash his hands.

Pros: SINGS AND DANCES. Verging on Padalecki-level huge. Super adorable teeth.
Cons: Not legal in some countries.

CONCLUSION

Wait, what?

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I took The Walk. So there.

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So, on my interweb dating profile, I have Hanson listed as one of my favourite bands. This does a stellar and immediate job of exposing the pretentious twatwads, as they’re the ones whose e-forays open with ‘YOU SEEMED COOL UNTIL YOU MENTIONED HANSON HAR HAR’ — and then, delightfully, continue on with whatever drivel they were spouting about themselves, which generally boils down to ‘I like stuff, and sometimes things, but also, like, whatever’, which I hope causes at least some of them concern as regards their lifestyles, but probably doesn’t. Which depresses me greatly, but isn’t my point.

I never know quite what to do with these people. Do they really think that insulting something I like is going to endear them to me? Is it a Barney Stinson imply-she’s-ugly-to-keep-her-needy thing? I love NPH like birthdays love cake, but mocking my taste in music before you know my name doesn’t bode well for our future road trips, Potential Date. Which is also not my point.

So here it is: humanity, your preconceptions and narrow-minded views are lame.

And, in this case, don’t even make SENSE. Would it not be reasonable to assume that if someone, as a child, was talented enough to write and perform a very catchy pop song, that perhaps – just perhaps! – they would GET BETTER as they got older? That there have been 13 WHOLE YEARS between Mmmbop and now, and perhaps Hanson used that time to grow up? To further develop as musicians and as people? To GO THROUGH PUBERTY?

Look, I get the stigma with the JoBros and associated Disney commodities, who (I understand) are essentially shiny-haired puppets in tight jeans, but Hanson weren’t manufactured. They’re not cracked out or cracking up. They’ve been writing and performing solid pop songs for a VERY LONG TIME and they’re pretty gosh darn good at it! Time passes at pretty much the same rate everywhere, as is its wont, so they’re adults now, with wives and children and silly facial hair — and yet the world is still collectively certain that their voices never broke. I’d bet a non-essential organ that none of these e-guys have even HEARD a Hanson song since 1997, but they’re all perfectly comfortable in judging me for enjoying them.

And sure, you either like upbeat pop with big choruses and clap tracks and gospelicious harmonies and sweeping, extravagant bridges or you don’t — but I do. I love all of those things, and I love them done by Hanson, so if you actually want to get to know me, maybe you should consider BACKING OFF MY SHIT! I’ve seen them perform three times, in three different countries, and they’re wonderful live. And nice. And approachable and passionate and have very nice skin, and take being told they’re fucking amazing by drunk, grabby Kiwi girls with truly exceptional aplomb.

(Look, it was 2004. Tequila had been taken.)

I’m not actually intending to try and convince the internet to listen to Hanson — just questioning why NEGATIVE has to be our species’ default setting. DIFFERENT doesn’t have to be BAD! You don’t have to like what I like, or do what I do — in fact, I don’t recommend it. The writing part is, like, HARD, and I freely admit to also enjoying The Suite Life of Zach and Cody, and Cicadas, and pulling the tufts of fur between cats’ toes, and chocolate sauce on pizza — but why you gotta KNOCK IT BEFORE YOU’VE TRIED IT, Y’ALL?

I’d like to hope that if a nice internet profile told me he enjoyed Tuvan throat singing or playing the didgeridoo, I’d be willing to keep an open mind despite my lack of experience in such matters. It might turn out not to be my bag — let’s face it, it’s PROBABLY not my bag — but that doesn’t mean it’s not a valid bag. Why can’t we all just let everyone do whatever it is that makes them happy (as long as that’s not drowning kittens or pushing old ladies down stairs) without feeling the need to pass judgement or get all up in each others’ business? If I was feeling more ambitious (or crazy!) I would go so far as to attempt to make some kind of comparison between the way humanity loves to snap-judge and put down and draw lines with the current position of organised religion on certain key issues (also, the ratings of Supernatural), specifically as regards what Jesus INTENDED with the do-unto-others-ing, and what history has chosen to take from it.

YES, THAT JUST HAPPENED. Dislike of Hanson = oppression of the masses. SNAP, WORLD. YOU’RE MAKING ME CRAZY.

Kelly emailed me just before all WHY CAN’T PEOPLE ALL JUST BE NICE, AND GET OUT OF MY FACE? Which just about sums it up, globally.

*************

EDIT! Now with audio visual aids!

Change in my life – yes, a cover, but a VERY PRETTY COVER. In person this gave me chills. CHILLS, I TELL YOU.

And the video for Great Divide, from ’07 album The Walk. It’s fun! And it has a MESSAGE! Hanson are not only super duper grade A auditory awesome, have their own label and NEVER FAIL to brighten my mood, but do some truly delicious charity work as well.

They’re way cooler than you, that’s all I’m saying.

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Stefan: you never left my heart, you undead idiot

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Let me take a moment to talk about the new Vampire Diaries series, because it’s going to be SO, SO TERRIBLE, and yet I’m SO EXCITED about it that I may actually vomit on myself.

In my wildest teenage dreams, I never could have hoped that one day they’d not only make a TV series of Elena’s adventures in immortal love, but they’d make one with IAN SOMERHALDER as the bad vampire brother. VAMPIRE BROTHERS. FEUDING OVER HIGH SCHOOLERS. ON THE CW. Teenage me is having a seizure inside my soul every time I think about it. It’s going to be like SWEET VALLEY WITH HOTTER BOYS. WHO ARE UNDEAD. UNFFFFFFFF.

It’s like the CW is just lifting their programming straight out of my wet dreams (see also: Supernatural, although that maaay have a different sequence of cause and effect). If they screw this up like they screwed up the 90210 remake, I’m going to lose my shit.

Anyway. I’ve been watching True Blood all week. I was undecided after the first season, and may have been heard ranting to more than one friend about how sick I am of toothless, tortured vampires who want to kill people (but don’t), and feel really, really bad about it. See also: the whole cast of Moonlight, a show that I will never forgive for bringing Jason Dohring back into my life and then MAKING IT SUCK. This sentiment also goes for Heroes/KBell, but that’s not relevant to my current point.

(Note: Angel is not in this category. Angel was awesome. Angel was badass. Sure, he had issues, but he dealt with them by being freaking cool and decapitating stuff. I still operate under the delusion that Seeley Booth is Angel post-Shanshu, and after the fade-to-black in the finale everyone sat down and had a nice cup of tea with Wesley, who was just kidding around.)

Bill Compton is obviously supposed to be True Blood’s Angel, if Charlaine Harris/Alan Ball hadn’t missed a few key details (see above re: awesome, badass). Bill is like Angel, if Angel was really boring. And annoying. And had no particular reason to be so angsty. And didn’t fight crime. Or have a cool coat and a weapon collection. Or do anything much except fall in love with blonde girls and feel bad about stuff. Every episode Bill tries to stop everyone from doing whatever it is they want to do, and every episode everyone ignores him. As they should: he serves basically no purpose except getting Anna Paquin naked early and often. Which, sure, is valid on its own, but he could seem happier about it.

Luckily, they’ve made up for this by introducing Eric. Delicious, nutritious Eric, who rips limbs asunder for fun and couldn’t find North on a moral compass, but can still cry tears of blood when the moment calls for it. A vampire’s vampire who has both cruel and super hot down pat, but with just enough repressed emotion that you can’t help but think maybe the right girl could save him. (Also, in confidence, that the right right girl would be me.)

Eric is not a pussy. He is what vampires should be: ruthless. Sexy. Charming. Kind of gross. Not a pussy. The whole appeal of vampires is in the moral sinkhole they represent: danger, blood, power, the nature of evil or the evil in nature. Whatever. There’s supposed to be conflict and grey areas and moral quandries and buckets and buckets of blood. Even Sookie thinks Bill needs to stop being such a baby, since she doesn’t listen to him anymore either. Plus, Eric has bitch-slapped him for whining like six epsiodes in a row now, so True Blood has officially redeemed itself. It could still be improved if Bill were to, say, die in a fire, but as long as Eric is looming around looking all tasty and blonde and snacking on people (and as long as he doesn’t start feeling really, really bad about it), it has my vote.

Also: Lafayette and I should totally be besties. And Sam Merlotte needs to call me.