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Posts Tagged ‘Strangers’

I’ve never owned a web-cam, because when I’m at home, truth be told, I enjoy looking like a bit of a hobo, and people just don’t need to be submitted to that. But since ‘ChatRoulette‘ seems to be kind of a big deal, and since I’m not one to let anything pass me by, I stole my sisters cam and had myself a go.

For any of you who don’t know what I’m talking about, it’s a bit like a massive and random world wide msn game. Every time you click the “next” button you are put face to face with a different person from somewhere in the world.

The first guy I met was from Turkey. I’ll admit my Turkish has never been brilliant (what with me being Greek and all) but he seemed to understand what I meant when I said “nasilsin” so it seems having a Turkish best friend has paid off.

I met a police-man from Philadelphia (fully kitted out) usually I love a man in uniform, but since he was bordering on overweight I somehow managed to control my primitive urges. Next came the guy from Belgium who ate a banana suggestively at me, but thanks to the “next” button I didn’t have to endure more than about 5 seconds of that.

Either German people don’t go out much, or ChatRoulette is really happening over there, because every other person I spoke to seemed to be a ‘Mann’ or a ‘Frau’.

One guy was even sitting there with a guitar taking song requests (well that’s one way to label yourself an international talent). He sang “Hey There Delilah” to me, and would you believe he wasn’t half bad. Now all he needs is a millionaire music producer to have a gander on ChatRoulette and he’ll be sorted. Likelihood of that happening? Probably about as likely as me showing my ‘tits’ to the 3 guys that asked.

No girls would talk to me. Clearly I wasn’t what they were looking for. Though, if like I suspect, they were on the search for good-looking guys, they would have probably been better off sticking with me. Actually that’s a lie, one girl did speak to me, she was listening to Bruno Mars and I started singing along. It didn’t occur to me till later that it may have seemed like I was serenading her.

Oh I met a Smurf too, and a guy in a red wig, (they were hanging out together). It worries me that this is the best London had to offer. Really it’s a good thing I logged on tonight to give England a good name.

If nothing else I learnt a lot. Like for example at at 18:40 here it is 10:30 in Oregon. Portuguese people are in fact, not all good looking like I had originally believed, people in Albania smoke a lot of weed (they offered me some but I was strictly business) and it turns out people in the Ukraine don’t have much of a sense of humour.

Also, for first time users, have your cursor poised over the ‘next’ button, because there will always be that one guy, somewhere in the world, with his cock out.

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I’m think I’m being stalked by a little man who lives in my computer. He keeps sending me emails and throwing me pops up that are just a little bit too coincidental.

“Bored of being single?” (How did he know?!)

“Backless, bodycon Asos dress, buy it now” (Funny, I was looking at that yesterday)

“Need cash fast” (Hell yes I do… but no, I’m not doing that!)

“Dull, lifeless hair? Try L’Oreal Nutrisse” (Okay, I get the hint, I need to colour my hair. In the mean time I wish people would have a little common courtesy and pretend they hadn’t noticed the two-inch roots).

“Jeans feeling a little tight…” (That’s it. My laptop’s stalking me).

Either my computer is trying to tease me, or it has cleverly regurgitated all the information I’ve input into it this last month and is now trying to tell me I’m stuck in a rut. Denial has always been a beautiful coping mechanism for me. Bottling up all my emotions for a year or so then snapping one day in KFC when the man behind the counter forgets to give me my gravy.

Since, however even my Dell is sending me subliminal messages to get my life in order, I’ve decided to do something rare: listen.

I say it’s rare not because I think I know it all (which coincidentally, I do), but because I’m stubborn by nature. And I love to blame this on the whole Greek thing. It’s always nice to be a little culturally different, because it serves well as an excuse for… well pretty much everything. When my friends point out that I eat faster than anyone else they know I just say: “I’m Greek, family dinner on Sunday consists of 30 people… I’ve learnt to eat fast, or have it eaten for me”.

Anyways, these past few weeks I’ve realised that life is a lot like being on a train. Every day you get from A to B, but not a lot happens in the process. You sit there, sometimes you sleep a little, you fix your makeup between stops, you read the paper, eat a banana. And after a while the days blend into one, and eventually even your laptop starts to pity you.

Then, yesterday, like every day, I got on the Piccadilly line. Hadn’t so much as bothered to wash my hair because, lets face it – who do I have to impress? I stood by the door, holding onto the rail, but making no real effort to stop the train from throwing me about a little. At Caledonian Road, a boy came on. Or a man? I’m never really sure at what age they stop being one and start being the other. My mum says never, though that may be her cynicism talking.

He was tanned, wore a name badge, his name was Eren, tall. He was no Mark Salling but he was attractive enough. He looked at me and I pretended not to notice. I turned away from him and quickly applied some lip-gloss, who cares about subtlety; I needed quick compensation for my messy hair. Why-oh-why had I not sprayed myself with the usual Jean Paul Gaultier that morning, and no eyeliner… what was I thinking?

The thing is, I had made the classic error and forgotten that while life can be a little repetitive, and a little bland, you never know when someone interesting is going to step into your carriage. I had gotten it all wrong, life is like a train ride: not a pointless journey, but a random collaboration of people. Sometimes you’ll go days without anything more interesting than a little shoulder knocking and then other times you come into collision with someone who reminds you what it’s all about.

He stayed on all the way to Oakwood. We got off at the same time; both took out our Blackberry’s (his a black curve, mine a while bold) to call our parents for a lift. We walked out the station, unintentionally side by side, then walked off in completely the opposite direction.

I went home and immediately coloured my hair. Black: a bold move. I hate to say it but my computer had a point. I was being ridiculous. And you know what, I will buy that bodycon dress. It was time for a change.

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