getting over it

The women I know tell me all I need to know about men. Not the normal sort of blabber about finding a way to their heart through their stomach... though I’m sure some of my more bitter friends would probably consider getting to a man’s heart through their stomach (in a more literal sense.)
These friends, whilst yo-yoing from bitter to in-lust have varied advice to offer. While in bitter mode they say things like “finding a good man is as easy as nailing jelly to a tree” or “in life, men are like parking spaces. All the good ones are taken, and all the available ones are retarded.”
Whilst not very p.c, I could quite clearly see the point when they said these things. In life, you see the perfect people with the perfect people, you judge the couples that seem oddly matched and you end up realising that should you be with one of those perfect people in life, you would be the dodgy side of the oddly matched pair.
Then, there are the periods when my friends are in lust. The advice during these times are generally very rose-tinted, resembling hallmark cards rather than their usual witty selves. “Always look on the bright side of life.” “Better the devil you know.” “There are always more fish in the sea.” My automatic reaction when hearing that last one is generally thinking of an image of large groups of shark sillhoettes, circling the depths of the ocean beneath my desperately kicking feet.
My colourful and loud friend Sarah was bitching about her latest relationship failure. An overly stereotypical irishman named Michael who had been (in Sarah’s words, not mine) “shtupping” another girl whilst he was “giving it” to Sarah. It was a bad situation, but the way she phrased it made me smirk. She dramatically banged her auburn ringlet covered head on the table, shouting “why me?” while I asked myself if it maybe wasn’t a good thing it had happened to Sarah rather than some girl who, unlike Sarah, would imagine that it was something she’d done, rather than the egotistical polygomist.
“I can’t believe I fell for another loser.”
“Maybe you should date someone you’re not interested in?” I suggested, dipping a chip into sauce.
She threw her head up in one swift movement and looked as if i’d suggested something plausible. I don’t know why i’d said it, and instantly wished I hadn’t.
“ooor...” I began, trying desperately to think of an alternative, “or, you could stop dating.”
Her nose made a weird snorting noise.
“No? Well, why don’t you help me with my dating project instead of getting into your own just yet.”
Shifting her head sideways, she narrowed her eyes at me. “Which is...?”
“Uh... it’s an internet thing.”
“What? Like an internet dating thing? My cousin, Lina tried that and met a lifetime quota of creepy guys. This one guy, Colin, stalked her for 3 weeks before she called the cops on him when she found him not only trying on her underwear in her bedroom, but also taking photographs of himself in it.”
“Eww.”
“Very. So, it’s not like that then is it?”
“Uh, no.”I lied trying to think of an alternative. “I was thinking of creating a web-site... under a pseudonym, where we could give dating advice to the vast masses of clueless and dateless people out there. Kind of a cross between the advice columns in the magazines and a confession about our own little stories... why dating men in uniforms isn’t as impressive as it sounds, why you should be careful what you wish for, why...”
“Why you shouldn’t fall for people with men just because of their accents?”
I grinned. “Exactly.”
“So you said we’d use another name. What would ours be?”
“I have no idea. Maybe we need to wait for a sign about that.”
And so, we waited.