#native inane

Another thing that baffles me is the photos that people choose to represent themselves. It's astonishing how many people choose a photo which doesn't actually show their face. Funnily enough, I don't think I will consider dating a guy who has a photo of the side of his undercut and an earlobe as his display picture. This one guy from Germany who messaged me had the worst display picture I've ever seen. The angle from which the photo was taken made him look like a Sweet Potato with a face. I say 'Sweet Potato' because his face was so long, (definitely in the 'root vegetable' category), not because he looked sweet. Never seen anything like it. He looked really, really skinny, but had somehow managed to give himself three chins in this photograph. He was one of those kinda guys who you can just tell would have a really prominent Adam's apple. Another of my favourites was a guy who had about seven different photos of himself, and looked like a different person in every single one. Realistically, it probably was a different person in every single one. His main photo was so unbelievably vile; with his long, ginger hair, moustache, transparent Aviators and a glare that makes Myra Hindley's mugshot look like a saintly Kurt Cobain, I had to show my friend. She pointed out that he looked just like a guy on Death Row that she had seen in a Louis Theroux documentary. That put me right off. 

I realised that I wasn't as desperate as my mother was in this incredibly time consuming man-search, and decided to sack off match.com and instead enter the overwhelming world of 'Badoo'. I had heard about this app from a friend a couple of weeks back. He explained that you create a profile and then it brings up the profiles of the people who are nearby at any given time. You can see who is within 1000m of you. That's the closest distance you are given, to avoid stalking presumably. Think my mate was a bit frustrated with it because from what I gather, he was messaging girls within the vague but tantalising 1000m radius and asking them to meet him by the shop and then go for a shag. Don't think that was working out for him. The thing about Badoo that appealed to me was that it isn't marketed solely as a 'dating app', which immediately eradicates a huge amount of pressure and expectation. You can choose whether you're there to chat, make new friends, hang out or date...that kinda thing. So it's pretty chilled and casual. I do think though, at the end of the day, everyone is there to get their end away. 

Apparently something like one in five marriages today are a result of internet dating, so I guess the statistics prove that this sort of thing works for a huge number of people. I can't help but wonder what type of people they are though. I think it would be really interesting to create a computer generated 'mean average' person based on the database of faces on these sites. I can pretty much guarantee that he would be look like a potato with a massive Adam's apple, work in IT, listen to 'anything with a good beat' and definitely want children someday. That would be true if everyone in this online dating game were honest. The sad fact is that people try to “exoticise” (you won't find that word in the dictionary, because I just coined it) themselves. Pete, 5'8, 33, from Wolverhampton who works in data entry suddenly becomes Pedro, 6'2, 29, from Barcelona who works in Web Design (with his own company). These people can literally recreate themselves and become whoever they want to be. They can feed these poor, desperate women (or their mothers) whatever bullshit they like. Their photo (if it even is a genuine photo of themselves) will usually (with the exception of the Sweet Potato) have been taken from the most flattering angle possible before being tainted by the most deceptive Instagram filter. It'll then have been rotated 44.7 degrees to the left, to give it that 'edgy' look, suggesting that perhaps this guy is a little unconventional and radical. He will also perhaps have downloaded some sort of free and entirely unofficial Photoshop app and used it to make one of his chins disappear, resulting in what looks like a very dodgy, backstreet skin graft from his scrotum to his face. He will also take off his very sad and dated glasses (again, with the exception of the Sweet Potato) before taking these photos, and use that editing app to fix his receding hairline, producing results that make Wayne Rooney's notoriously shameful hair implants suddenly seem about as acceptable and favourable as a black president. 

The section where you fill in things about your personality is mostly multiple choice. You choose hobbies etc from an existing list. One of the questions asks what you consider to be your best feature. The options in the ridiculously extensive list include things like my 'smile', 'humour', 'hair', 'style', 'intelligence', 'eyes'....and then there is an option that says 'a sweet spot not on the list.' It's surprising how many people choose the latter. They may as well write 'I have absolutely nothing going for me, but I do have a massive knob.' Perhaps they're slightly apprehensive about what type of woman that would attract though. It'd be better (and more honest) if one of the options on the list was simply 'my genitalia.' 

Anyway, back to Badoo. You can select 'People nearby', or you can manually type in a city that you want to see the results from. I did a little experiment the other day. I typed in 'Crewe' to see what kinda guys came up. Now, we all know that Sweden is known for producing beautiful people, but to see it so starkly like this, via Badoo, was quite astonishing. I have become accustomed and dangerously conditioned now, to the high standard and calibre of Swedish genes. When I scroll through the locals in Stockholm, many, if not most of them are pretty damn easy on the eye. When I scrolled through the results of Crewe....well, now. I found a guy who I used to work with on there, from the call centre. Idiot. It's surprising how many of the guys (especially the Swedish ones) have 'selfies' that they have taken in the mirror at the gym, or in the comfort of their own home, displaying their muscles. It's a grim sight. Some of them are so ripped that they barely look human. When they have a photo of them taken from behind of their back and with their arms up “flexing” their biceps ('take me to the vets, 'cause these swans are sick' style), it always reminds me of the film 'Red Dragon' if you've seen it? When the guy is constantly 'becoming' some sort of supernatural and super-strong being. It just looks ridiculous and inhuman. I just wanna comment on every single one of their pictures saying 'lol'. 

We met some homeless people this time. After chatting to them for about an hour, I decided it was time I bought a round (of cheeseburgers). They were a good laugh, those guys. Two men and a lady (I think). She told us about how she gives blowjobs for money and gets 500 kronor (£50) a go. She was monstrous, so could only presume this extortionate price was due to the fact that she had no teeth and catered for a presumably limited niche of people who have a gum fetish. She was out of her tree. Seriously crazy. She showed us actions of what she does, and said sometimes she even fucks. She didn't actually say that, because she couldn't really speak English (or Swedish, for that matter). But we worked out what she meant from the crude thrusting movement she made at my friend, and said she would “UH-UH” her if she wants. Not surprisingly, my friend (who is also a girl), politely declined. Her friend who was a man in his late fifties / early sixties said he wanted to show us something. Obviously, we felt slightly anxious at this point, but what he showed us was totally unexpected and equally awesome. He turned away from us, and when he turned back around, he had transformed his face. (See photo). I particularly like the seemingly redundant and perfectly flesh-coloured plaster on his chin. Perhaps it's a fashion statement. A poor man's Nelly, if you will.

I do love Sundays. Too many people write them off. As well as drinking all day, I try to go and visit my eighty-something year old Swedish grandmother (Mormor). She lives close to town, in a cool area. Dodgy, but cool. Mariatorget. My grandfather (Morfar) died in November, so she's alone now. She's usually got a bag in a box of (shit, but by no means undrinkable) wine so I can continue my session round at hers when I visit, which is ideal. I sometimes take a friend round with me, because it's good to have someone to laugh with. Mormor is hilarious. It makes me realise that there are probably loads of cool old people out there. Wish I had more time for the elderly, but to be honest, I don't like their smell.

Anyway, I was round there the other day with my friend and we spotted a hot man in the apartment over the road, and while we were checking him out, Mormor asked what we were looking at. We told her we had spotted a handsome young man in the apartment over the road, and she got rather excited. Next, she walked over to her desk and whipped out a pair of bloody binoculars! I couldn't quite believe it. 'She's an actual pervert', I thought. MINT! I say she 'walked' to her desk, when she walks though, she doesn't really 'walk', she sort of 'swaggers'. I wish all these people that sing and rap about swag could see her. They wouldn't believe their eyes. They would be like “FUCK! DUDE! HAVE YOU SEEN THIS SHIT? BITCH BE SWAGGIN'.” It's kinda hard to explain, but it's a really slow walk, with bent knees and a bent hunch back and her hips and long arms sway out from side to side. Like a slo-mo Neanderthal. You know those classic pictures that show evolution from monkey to man? It has a number of different stages on it, first an ape, then gradually it becomes more upright and is human on the last picture? Well her swagger is how you would imagine one of the figures about a third of the way through that human evolutionary transition diagram to walk.

There has been a significant presence of Judaism lingering around me this week. Very strange. It started when I was with a friend in Wayne's Coffee and spotted a man who looked just like Hitler sitting on the opposite side of the room. He was Skyping on his iPad (not exactly typical Nazi Führer behaviour), but still, we were convinced he must be a descendant of that sick son of a python. The second Nazi/Jew related incident occurred on Saturday morning when I had stayed at a friends. I woke up and looked at my iPhone where I found two new Soundcloud notifications. An extract from the audiobook of Anne Frank's diary appeared on my stream, so I pressed 'play'. My friend and I sat in her room in silence, listening to Anne Frank's diary. This is not the kinda of thing I would usually do on a Saturday morning, but it was strangely enjoyable. I am even considering downloading the entire diary. Anyway, so that was our second Jew experience of the weekend. About an hour later we headed into town and that's when we encountered our third installment  A sighting of Anne herself. We were at the train station, when something caused me to turn around, and that's when I saw her. I know that Anne Frank is dead, OK. I know that. But this woman looked exactly like an old version of Anne Frank. I swear it was her. She was tall and slim and looked like she was from another time. Her clothes were exactly the kind of thing Anne Frank would wear. And her hair! Identical. I'm telling you, it was Anne. And she looked really mysterious and a bit sinister, but I guess you would, given the circumstances. You know how some people say that Elvis isn't dead and that he works in Burger King? Well I think the same theory can be applied to Anne Frank. I doubt she's working in Burger King, but she lives. Or like Tupac. Some people think he's still alive out there somewhere. She's like Tupac. Jewpac. The fourth occurrence was once we were on the tube. Suddenly we were overcome with the unmistakably overwhelming smell of gas. By this point we were so freaked out. I was literally waiting for a Kippah to float down from the sky.

I'll finish on a serious note, with a quote from Anne Frank's diary:

'I keep my ideals, because despite everything I still believe that people are really good at heart.'

Last year I moved back to Stockholm, my hometown; familiar, yet almost wholly undiscovered. There are certain stereotypes when it comes to Sweden and The Swedes, (mostly fabricated by horny, British men), but much of what one expects, one finds. This is a land where expectation is not exceeded, but met, which is an achievement in itself. Most people’s preconceptions of Sweden are pretty ambitious, and Sweden delivers the bloody goods. It is super expensive (about six quid fifty a pint), and the people are beautiful, on the whole…(though every country has its fair share of munters). Public transport is clean and runs perfectly on time. They drink Aquavit and eat rotten herring. You get the idea. But you’re lucky if you find someone with a sense of humour, let alone a good one, or, in other words, a British one.

So, it’s a new year. New you? What is this obsession people have with attempting to execute some sort of celestial reinvention of themselves? No, luv. You’re still gonna have a “bubbly” personality (we all know this just means 'fat') this time next year. Don’t kid yourself. In Stockholm though, there aren’t really any fat people, which is nice. You’re never really repulsed by people over here. I mean, Stoke to Stockholm is quite a transition, but still. To be honest though, I do miss the munters. There is so little variation over here, and no individuality. People are so scared to stick out. One person grows a ridiculous tash, and now they all have one. It's like Stockholm is stuck in a permanent state of Movember. Nothing shines or resonates from these people. They sit in their perfectly dull homes eating meatballs from immaculately positioned plates, suffering the long-term effects of stifled laughter and suppressed opinion. This results in a kind of stagnant, uniform hollowness. There is a noticeable void in Sweden, a significant absence, but you just can’t quite put your finger on what exactly is missing. The impending doom that is the future of social Sweden holds little hope for people like me, and by that I mean people who like to laugh. They don’t know the meaning of ‘LOL’, for fuck’s sake. They probably still think it means 'lots of love'. Only people over forty can be forgiven for that.