There is no doubt about it, there are times in every single girl’s life when she thinks, bugger this, I give up. There are only so many rejections one can take. Why, only last night I was chatting to a friend about a guy she had been seeing who inexplicably stopped contacting her. You will know from previous posts that my issue with this is not the fact that he wanted to call time on the union but that he was too feeble to say it but hey, let’s not get started on the topic of spineless cowards who can’t recognise a fake orgasm when they see one (stay tuned for more on that subject).
Indeed, there certainly comes a point when all avenues seem exhausted and the idea of becoming a lunatic spinster talking to herself outside the Pound Shop wearing nothing but a pair of fingerless gloves and duvet sarong actually becomes more appealing than the thought of having to go on even one more date.
The general feeling on the online dating scene at the moment seems to mirror my sentiments too. I know a lot of people who are tiring of the online dating game. They are bored of the profile writing, the emailing exchanging and the format, which feels jaded and repetitive. It is understandable then, that dating companies are trying their best to come up with new and exciting ways for people to meet.
Great, all good so far. I like a new idea as much as the next person.
And then I was invited to the following.
London Eye Gazing Parties.
Oh.My.God. Tell me it hasn’t come to this.
The concept is as follows –
An even number of singles get together in an attractive space. After a fun mini-lesson in the art of eye contact, the group splits into pairs and each pair spends two minutes looking at each other’s eyes, no talking, with inviting beats in the background. The pairs switch over every two minutes, for a total of forty-five minutes. Then there’s a party afterwards, with drinks flowing and luscious beats vibing … The eye gazing has an electrifying effect on the party. Simply put, two minutes of eye contact is the Cadillac of ice-breakers.
I thought I’d heard it all when it came to dating but this has got to top them all. I mean, who the fuck would?! I’m not even going to dignify this post with a witty over view of the concept because let’s have it right, there is nothing funny about getting to the point in your sorry little life that, so desperate are you to meet a partner, so needy and pitiful, that you will hand over hard earned money to stare at strangers for 45 minutes.
I’m crazy, I’m insane, I’m standing outside the Pound Shop in a pair of fingerless gloves but, my friends, even I draw the line at this.
More importantly, anyone that can seriously eye gaze for 2 minutes without cracking up needs, in my opinion, to work on their sense of humour more than their love life. I think I might be tempted to start practising my pooface/cumface. They want ice breaking, I’m sure that would do the trick.
And it doesn’t stop there. Just in case you aren’t the type of person whose idea of a good night is sitting in silence for 45 minutes counting the moles on a stranger’s left cheek then how about ‘yoga for singles’?
Now, for an old fashioned sexist girl like myself, the thought of a man doing yoga is enough to send me into a wild state of panic, that he would invest in a sweat absorbing yoga mat and squeeze his flaccid little willy into a pair of Lycra cycling shorts is distressing enough. The fact that he would even contemplate doing this with the intention of meeting a girlfriend at the same time renders me speechless.
If you thought chatting to someone after spending two minutes staring into their eyes was awkward, try two minutes staring at their sweat stained arse crack a foot from your face. On this one, I am out.
The discovery of such events doesn’t leave me inspired and enthused; it leaves me quite despairing of the lengths at which people will go to meet someone. Whatever happened to a few glasses of wine in the pub or a day at the races? (Tip – I have never been to Windsor races and not come home with a number). Come on, people, let’s get old school! Failing that you can stand outside the Pound Shop singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow with a bottle of Blue Nun in your hand, it’s always worked for me in the past.