"We're getting married"

Would you fudging stop it now please. For some reason everyone is really happy. STOP IT. STOP IT NOW.
Within the last month 2 friends have got married, 3 engaged and 1 has had a baby. It's selfish is what it is. No appreciation for the patheticness of other people's lives. Nowadays it's not even something you overhear down the pub, where there is immediate access to to alcohol. Instead you have the hell of Facebook. You glance at your phone and BAM! Here's a reminder that you wasted your life chasing a career because in the end you're all alone in a flat you don't even own. I'm sure some of my friends are reading this right now thinking 'miserable bitch', well you started it you bling-fingered care bears on Prozac. . . Seriously guys congratulations, really happy for you!
If there is one thing worse than the continuous 'feels so strange to say husband' updates it's the baby updates. This terrible disease has even infected Optimus now that she's a mum. Apparently when you have a parasite ripped out of your womb that then becomes your responsibility, you become overly nice. Now little Bumblebee (see what I did there!) is cute but he's changed her. This week she offered to travel all the way to my place to drop off my advent calendar. Gone are the days of insults and ransom demands, sending pictures of small ripped off doors. She's really nice. It's very disconcerting. Then of course was the status update:
Optimus is feeling proud...... bumblebee ate some carrot today.
What the fudge! I eat vegetables and no one praises me. No one updates a status about my consumption of broccoli. Every Christmas I'm forced to eat a brussel sprout, where's my Facebook medal? My mother has Facebook so why is she not proud of my ability to choke down some cabbage whilst wishing it was chocolate. Some mothers even go beyond the food praise and start sharing their child's ability to use the potty. Congratulations you've looked at some shit today! I work with animals my shit reader is way above yours. You want to start a photo competition? I will take you down bitch.
Again they are praising a child's ability to defecate- something I have been doing for many years, I can even wipe my own arse. Stop praising children for mastering basic hygiene. It makes them lazy and by the time they get to me to teach them they expect the same treatment. Let me be clear: I will NOT praise your child for shitting, I've seen monkeys do the same.

"What are you looking for in a man?"

“Intelligence....that’s why I’m still single”.

I get asked this question on average about 7 times a month. Every now and again the truly amusing, sarcastic people will hit back with a response for me: ‘breathing, she can’t afford to be picky’. Whilst I should probably be highly offended it actually makes me like them a little bit more, good work dad, good work.

I have in fact given up on this question after discovering that either a) our ideals are impossible to achieve b) it ends in the genie effect. That effect of be careful what you wish for, it seems whenever someone makes a wish with a genie they realise how ridiculous that wish actually is. It always backfires, bastard genie’s.

This is what happened with my ‘I want someone slightly older’. I decided to start a relationship with a 30 year old. Now if this was happening now then it wouldn’t really be an ‘older’ guy it would just be a ‘slightly older than me guy’. Either way at 24 I was pleased with myself for having a goal and sticking to it. Then I discovered that when you start dating someone in their 30’s there’s a fucking good reason that they are 30 and single. To make this very clear I do include myself in this statement. Anyone who starts dating me in the future needs to have the skin of a rhino. I’m a mental case, I should know, I spend all my time with me! I can’t stand me! We’re talking about a girl who stung her ass on stinging nettles, spends time actually considering who would make a better lover Batman or James Bond and the reincarnation of genital crabs. So when I consider me in my ..... very mid 20’s I should really have been prepared for a guy in his early 30s. He was a man child. An actual man child. He looked like a man, he drank like a man but it turned out he was a child. As I looked around his other single friends I started to realise something; the 30 year old single man is a man still pretending to be 20 whilst sipping a glass of wine on occasion to look sophisticated. I was hoping for some sort of intelligent conversation, I got an estimation of how much wine you can drink before it ‘just won’t hold up anymore’. After he asked whether ‘thou’ was a real word whilst I was ready Charles Dickens I decided I wanted an intelligent man for my next conquest. I couldn’t find one.  Well that’s not completely true. I went on a couple of dates with a guy who was intelligent but had a bit too much arrogance to go with it. We went for a walk along the beach, across the wet sand where there are lots of little streams flowing back down to the sea. I hoped over each one like a 2 year old child which I’m sure brought a little smile to his face. I jumped over a particularly wide stream and suddenly found myself sinking. One jump and I was up to my knees in quicksand. It was like a cartoon, I resembled Dawn French when she jumped in that puddle. Slightly like a panicked moose who was too heavy to walk across the ice like all the other animals. I did what any sane person would do at this stage. Laughed like a mad man. There he stood staring at the girl he had been convinced to go on a date with up to her knees in muddy sand laughing like a loon, before running into the sea because ‘how else am I supposed to get the crap off my boots’. Upon walking back up to the pontoon he pointed to a sign with a stern, disappointed face that only mothers should own.

‘WARNING: Quick sand, walk with caution at low tide’.

I’ll never forget the look of disgust on his face as I grabbed his arm to rescue myself, like picking a sticky lollipop from a carpet. So older and intelligent didn’t work so what do I do next. I think boobs are the answer. I’m going to date a man with boobs. If I’m going to have failed relationships then at least they should have an element of discovery. I have always wondered what the obsession is with them. I can look down and play with mine all I like but I don’t get anything from it, so I can only assume that they have to be on someone else to get some sort of joy. So I’ll date a man with breasts so I can give them a little jiggle and see what the fascination is. A bit of a motorboat and maybe I’ll have the answer to the question women have long wondered at.