Lonely Hearts

*LONELY HEARTS*

Not completely unattractive 20 something year old female, GSOH, intelligent and fun loving

Seeks

Good looking, kind, funny, generous, non-moody, non-bollixy girlfriendless 20 something male who wants more than drunken shag or quick “shift” with a feel of the arse in the smoking area.

And on the opposite page?

DENNY PANIC AS MEATH FARMER DISCOVERS, PIGS INFACT, CAN FLY

So here I sit on a Saturday night, alone, singing along to Amy Winehouse (wondering why X factor hasn’t discovered me yet), a young Brigit Jones in the making. I like to think the laptop makes me a bit Carrie Bradshaw, but unfortunately I haven’t had enough wine yet to even believe that myself. Especially as Carrie was the star of Sex in the city which would imply that she had sex, even if a bit less than the others. Lets see, well with how my love life as been lately I’ll have to tick the NO box for that one. That leaves us with, “in the City”. I don’t think Moneygall quite qualifies somehow. So in my unfortunately sober state I do realise that the only similarity between us, as I first thought, is the laptop.
I suppose I can’t really complain about not finding a man when this is how my Saturday night goes, but in my defence my only other options tonight were:

1) Heading out locally. That doesn’t sound so bad you might say. But you’ve never been to MY local, where you get evil stares if you DARE to wear anything dressier than your best spaghetti string top and glittery just-one-size-too-small jeans and your highest hopes of romance are with guys you went to school with six years ago out in their favourite short sleeved checked shirts and baggy beige chords who have a faint, but odd, odour of cabbage about them. And the “club” is the ballroom of the hotel with a discoball on the ceiling and maniac 2000 on repeat. And of course you can’t DARE get properly drunk or you’ll be the talk of 11 o clock mass n the morning, which you obviously won’t be attending as your head will have a date with the toilet bowl at the time. Breaking your mothers’ heart. Next thing you know the next round of stations of the cross are rescheduled to be in your house and a there’s sudden influx of AA leaflets in through your letter box.

No. OR

2) Watching the 2006 gardeners world roses special with Mam.

I think that option speaks for itself.

And the reason for all this self-imposed miserableness? (which I do realise is not a word) My earlier plans of going to a certain nearby city (names are hidden for identity purposes!) and getting all dolled up and heading for cocktails and clubbing with one of the girls went down the shitter when she decided she wasn’t going out. No big deal right? Wrong. See it wasn’t the cocktails I was disappointed about, or even the clubbing. I’m in this foul humour because the in club we were going to I was almost guaranteed to run into the love of my life, lets call him Mr. X, for a few hugs and drunken conversations that, when replayed in my head are declarations of absolute undying love. The only problem with the love of my life is that, well, he seems to be in love with his girlfriend. Who is not me. Except inside in my head. It’s been over a year now since he’s become the love of my life, friends started hinting that maybe now he had a girlfriend I should move on. But I didn’t. Now they just shout GET OVER HIM!! at me. Loudly. But what they don’t realise is that im not not moving on intentionally, there just doesn’t seem to be anything to move on to! The only guys that take my fancy all seem to have that little girlfriend problem, or the bollixy one, and the only (even if extremely scarce) offers I ever get are from the aforementioned cabbage patch kids. And so as the vicious cycle of love goes (I’d like to see Disney write an uplifting song about that one) I end up right back where I stared, dreaming about Mr X, picturing the scene next time I meet him out, where he tells me he’s broken up with his girlfriend because he was in love with me and couldn’t hide it any longer and we kiss just like they do in the movies and live happily ever after. Or on the pms days, thinking we’re not together because they’re must be something wrong with me, im too short, im too tall, my left eyebrow is plucked slightly thinner than my right one, or not thin enough..thin enough…I’M FAT! That’s what it is! My jeans may say ten but no no that’s just because the poor little combodian slave working sowing them was exhausted from working 20 hour shifts and forgot to sow on the extra zero on the end!!

And so they cycle of crazy goes. Now I’m off to watch Moulan Rogue for what must be the 27th time and imagine his head on Euan Mcgregors body, and mine on Nicoles and wait for my lonely hearts add to be answered, and that Meath farmer to have his day.

Don’t worry, I do realise I’m certifiably insane.

But I like it here in my own little world, its peaceful.

Except for all those goddamn fairies.