I Don’t Put Out
The female dating game is pretty straight forward. All we have to do is 1) make ourselves as attractive as possible, 2) be approachable and 3) filter out the men that are only interested in sex.
Obviously number one is very unproblematic – I’m not being flippant, it’s just that if you’ve been following my blog, you’ll have the basic understanding that single men and women are sluts. All a woman needs to do to look attractive to a man-slut (single, straight man) is show a bit of skin and fluff up her hair a bit – I’m assuming I don’t need to mention the body control tights etc…? Yeah good, thought so.
Number two – also easy. I love meeting new people, it is my personality to be social and friendly, but I really ought to learn not to be so nice to the ugly ones – they are very hard to get rid of. Ugly men are the ones that play the ‘numbers game’ and if you engage in friendly conversation with them, they think they’ve finally made a catch. The ‘numbers game man’ can’t get the subtle hint to fuck off. If he did so, he would have to continue with the numbers game – which is an unbearable thought. So instead of graciously continuing on his plight, he’ll get really clingy and annoying.
Number three is the one I purposely and strategically endeavour to accomplish. “Ooooh, this sounds like a little gemstone of a tip”, I hear you squeal with scandalous delight. My strategy is pretty uncomplicated really. I call it ‘survive for five’ which simply entails waiting for five dates before putting out. Although, ‘simply’ is probably the wrong word to use to be honest. Unfortunately for me and the crevice of wonders, every guy I have liked enough to date beyond a coffee has dumped me soon after the third date.
Coincidence? I think not.
My hairdresser thinks this rule is ludicrous – “you gotta make sure he has the goods”, he reckons. His advice is to cop a feel on the third date so I don’t get any unpleasant surprises and become sourly disappointed for investing all that time for a flop – pun intended.
These days men don’t even buy you a drink in exchange for entering the muffin made for love. They seem to have forgotten that there are certain rules you’re supposed to go by. Firstly, the waiter tells the man-slut how much the bill is, the woman is supposed to offer to pay for half (he’d be insulted if she offered to pay the full bill) and the man-slut is supposed to turn down the offer if he wants to see her again. If he doesn’t want to see her again, he should let her pay half.
These sex crazed maniacs will allow me to pay for everything they can get and then they will actually see if the crevice of wonders is open for exploration. When they don’t appear to be ‘hitting that next level’, they dump me…the fuckers.
Never-the-less, I don’t care so much – These man-sluts are doing me a favour. Dating is like going for job interviews, you have to be honest with them so they can look within themselves and decide if they’ll be good for you and if you’ll be good for them. When I am getting to know a man-slut in more depth, I will assess if I can make a positive impact on him and his life – I will stick around if I can. If I think I will just be a miserable cow because I don’t like something about him, such as pissing in my wardrobe after a court session or telling me how sexy I look when I do the dishes. I will let them go so they can find someone better suited to them.
Whether it’s a dream job or a dream man I am going for, losing to someone better suited to the role is a good thing. I know there is something better waiting for me just around the corner. Hell, if I get dumped just three more times – I’ll meet a man that’s three times better. Wouldn’t that be gold.
Filed under Uncategorized | Comment (0)I Want it All
I was talking to an exceptionally funny, good looking, talented and all-round awesome person – Cory, when a thought came to me…
JUST JOKING!!
My friend Cory makes me laugh, we share the exact same sense of humour. To people on the outside of our friendship, it appears we are interested in each other. These people may have a good point. When two people are really good friends, comfortable in each others’ company and make each other laugh, then perhaps they should enter into a relationship together.
Many years ago, in the days when we were in our mid 20’s and cutting shapes all around Wellington, Cory and I shared a mutual friend. This mutual friend was interested in having a relationship with him. Unfortunately (for her), she was very suspicious of my close friendship with Cory – I guess I can understand why she might have been a bit threatened and why she was confused as to which one of us Cory wanted a relationship with.
On one occasion, we were all sitting around my dining room table, she looked really annoyed with Cory’s ease and comfort around me and suddenly blurted out: “which one of us do you want?!?” Cory’s body language was very open and honest as he sincerely replied with: “Either. Whichever one of you I can sleep with first.” Typical me thought this was hilarious but the mutual friend stormed out…oops.
I wonder what my life would be like now if I had of tested out the validity of Cory’s statement. What would have become of me if I had of pipped the mutual friend at the post and swooped in on Cory for my own selfish benefit? Putting aside the fact I would have been a shit friend for doing that, of course.
Going by Cory’s life now, he wanted a partner that will enable his life to remain unchanged throughout the phases of his relationship. For example – man get married: no change for man. Man have kid: no change for man. Man buy house: no change for man. Not only do their lives not change, but when men get married, their lives get better.
When women get married, their lives become much busier and more stressful. She has to organise everything, pay for at least half of everything, if not more (have you seen how much food and beer men consume?). When women have children, they’re the ones that raise, feed and stop the kids from killing themselves – all whilst working in parallel. When women buy a home, they have to organise all the decorating, do all the housework and keep on top of all the household supplies and bills.
If the relationship breaks down, the man moves out of the house begrudgingly (i.e. fucken’ woman taking everything I’ve earned). The woman has to go on the DPB to raise the children. She becomes poor because men give the minimum they legally have to to the IRD, who then in turn give the women 80 bucks (no matter how much the men give IRD). If the women are ‘lucky’ enough to work for an employer that operates 24/7, they can pick up evening and weekend work (god forbid if the woman asks the man to work part-time so she can also work during sociable hours). In any case, the woman gets no sleep and burns out. When this happens, the man steps in and saves the day, further improving his life (he gets a big inflated ego for being able to cope better as a solo Dad).
I realise, it’s not fair to put the blame entirely on the man…ah fuck it. This is my blog, and Cory….well this is a bitch-fest just for you sweet pea xox.
I would love to work and live in equal measures. I would like to spend my 24 hour day like this: Sleep = 8hrs (while having fair turns at waking for the kids in the middle of the night). Work = 8 hours. Family and house time = 8 hours. During the family and house time, I envision my fantastical partner to be operating on the same timetable so we can tend to the family and needs of the household in each others’ company. Oh, and we’d both have equal turns at going to the pub/pursuing our individual hobbies during the week.
This is my fairy tale. Fuck sleeping away my life until a man comes along and ‘wakes me up’ with a slobbery, beer drenched kiss and promising the world.
Would my life be different if I ended up with Cory? No, I would’ve given Cory the flick too!
Filed under Uncategorized | Comment (0)I’m a Ruthless Bitch
If you’re familiar with Alice in Wonderland, you’ll know the Queen of Hearts is a tyrant – she rules over Wonderland with selfish and cruel dominance. If she doesn’t get her way, she shrieks “oooowffff with his head!!!” If one of her living footrests are too slow to produce their warm bellies for her cold pleasure, “oooowfff with his head!!” she’ll bellow.
Much like the Queen of Hearts, I too believe a beheading is the answer to all my problems. In my Wonderland, when men let me down, I yell “give him the flick!!!” All the poor bastards’ need to do is criticise my driving, open a door for me or if he takes over an hour to text me back, “give him the flick!!!” I’ll yell. God forbid if he slaps my ass while I’m walking past – he’s out the door so fast he wonders if the memory of me might be a dream. He’ll text me a couple of days later to see if I might of existed. I do not reply – no doubt reinforcing his paranoia that I was always a figment of his imagination.
One man, who I call ‘the Brazilian’, escaped a beheading for a good two months. He was my flatmate so I had to maintain a level of civility. When he moved in, we got along really well. We would cook yummy dinners for each other and have interesting and meaningful conversations, which ultimately deepened our friendship.
One night he came home with a couple of bottles of wine and declared he was going outside to drink and think by the fire. After a while I went out to join him. He was quite drunk and morose and started talking deeply about his feelings. Suddenly he stood, swaying a little with a glass of wine in one hand and a small bottle of fire accelerator in the other. He dramatically doused the fire and along with the resulting roar, he swung around to face me. I wanted him to sit down as I feared he might fall into the fire. “No! I must declare something to you!” He spectacularly announced. I told him to move away from the fire and be careful. He swung around and took a couple of wobbly steps away from the fire and swung back dramatically. He then lifted his arm high above his head, and just like a triumphant matador winning a bull fight, he threw the bottle of fire accelerator onto the ground. Then with both arms out wide, still clutching his wine glass, which was now empty, he readied himself for a grand announcement.
He kind of looked like Michael Jackson in the video clip Dirty Diana. He had torn at his shirt so the top buttons had ripped off and his bare chest was exposed. His long curly, black hair was blowing wildly in the Wellington wind and his arms were outstretched with clenched fists – how the wine glass stayed intact – I do not know. He had a mixed look of wrought angst and determination on his face. Then, with unbridled passion and fervor he declared his love for me – “I love you!!” he shouted. And then fell backwards down the bank behind him. Thankfully, after about two minutes of crashing around in the bush below, he emerged and conceded he was fine. I put him to bed and wearily went about putting out the fire and cleaning up broken glass and spilt liquids.
So of course, the Brazilian required a beheading.
There is nothing wrong with being single. I would much rather be alone than be with the wrong person. I think it’s important to build the life you are happy with and when someone special comes along you should not have to give it all up. Obviously some equal contribution is needed when finding a middle ground, but in order to continually live wholly and happily – it’s important to know what you want to keep, give up and what you are willing and able to contribute.
Filed under Uncategorized | Comment (0)