Wednesday, October 21, 2009

If You Wanna Be My Luvaaaaa

For the modern woman, dating can be such a quagmire. What are the rules? When do I declare my undying love? When do we have sex?

When you are in, shall we say, a dry patch...there's only one way out of it, and that is to get you a little sumthin' sumthin'.

Now, if you're looking for Mr. Right, you are not allowed to give him any sugar right away. You have to wait and you have to get to know each other. It's a fact.

But you will spontaneously combust if you don't have your engine tuned up. Therefore, you have to get your lube job elsewhere.

So, basically, you need to separate "Potential Mr. Right" and "The Mechanic", if you know what I mean. They each have their skills and abilities, but they must not be considered for the same ....job.

You wouldn't go to the hair dressers to buy eggs, would you?

So the rules are different for Mr. Mechanic and for Mr. Right.

Mr. Right:
- No sex for three months
- No declarations of love before you have sex
- No talk of marriage, co-habitation, key exchange in the first year

Mr. Mechanic
- Have sex, lot's of sex
- Do not inquire as to his health or well-being
- Do not ask any questions that are designed to get to know him better
-Chose him purely on his physical attributes. But, in a particularly lonnnngggg dry spell,prepare to invest in paper bags that are roughly head-sized

And finally, for variety, purchase a vibrator, whip up a tiny suit for it on your sewing machine and introduce him to all of your friends as your new luvvaaaaa....

Friday, October 16, 2009

It's Not You, It's Me

You’ve met a man and he’s simply dreamy. You’ve been seeing each other for a little while now and things are going really well. So far, he seems to tick quite a few of your boxes. Let’s face it, though, you’re not 21 anymore.

You’ve had to whittle most of those “must haves” on the list down to a few basic hygiene requirements and a criminal record check.

You’re past the “Will he call?” stage. Oh, he called all right. You are having hot sex all of the time. You are a veritable sex machine. You spend every single waking moment together. When you’re not together, having hot sex, you’re talking together on the phone. For hours.Usually about how hot the sex is.

You think he may be “THE ONE”.

You know you shouldn’t, but in a slow moment at work, you doodle your first name and his last name together on a piece of paper. Upon threat of death you would never admit it, but you have pictured that walk down the isle. You see that off-white-off the-shoulder dress as clearly as you see your own increasingly lined reflection in the mirror.

So when you see him tonight and the first words out of his mouth are, “We have to talk”, you try not to get too excited. You immediately picture him asking if he can leave his toothbrush in your bathroom, a pair of his knickers in your underwear drawer and maybe, just maybe, he wants to exchange house keys.

But you know in your heart of hearts that “we need to talk” is never a good thing. Ever. It’s always, always, always the door that opens into Dumpsville. You’ve been here before, you know what it looks like. You’re intimately familiar with the terrain. The roads in Dumpsville are all paved with broken hearts.

Mostly yours.

And sure enough, he tells you his tale of woe, ending with the classic “It’s not you, it’s me”.

The different variations of “It’s not you, it’s me” include such gems as:

“I’m just at a point in my life where I need more space”
Translate: You suffocate me

“I’m not at a point in my life where I can make a commitment”
Translate: Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free

“I’m not good enough for you, you deserve better”
Translate: I was only ever here for the sex. It was never going to be anything else for me. Now that you’re getting so serious, I’m outta here

“I just don’t know what I want right now”
Translate: I’m bored and I’m off to find a new conquest

So, unless you plan to get thee to a nunnery, dig out that vibrator, get in a supply of wine and chocolate, and start calling all of those girlfriends that you ignored because you were so caught up in your new, whirlwind relationship. Have a good cry, rail against the injustice of it all and sing,“I Will Survive” at the top of your lungs repeatedly.

Because you will.


You will eventually pack your bags and move out of Dumpsville. You’ll get a new home in Independence Land.
Your address will be something like,

Ms. I. Value Myself
123 I Am A Strong Beautiful Woman Street
I Respect Myself,
Independence Land

And should Mr. “It’s Not You, It’s Me” ever darken your door again, he would find himself most unwelcome.

Because you are no longer going to settle for anyone other than Mr. “I Love You Just The Way You Are”.