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Posts Tagged ‘Love’

First of all, let it be known, I can be pretty stupid sometimes.

I mean I can’t spell to save my life (in fact I have spell-check to thank for my degree) and just yesterday I had to ask my mum if Capers were those little fish things (turns out I meant sardines). So perhaps I am being slightly liberal by putting myself in the ‘Brains’ category, but for the sake of my argument, lets just go with it.

Now I’ve done my research. And most guys want both: Brains and Beauty. I don’t blame them, hell I agree with them. But let’s be honest sometimes the world’s just not that kind.

When forced to make a choice, general consensus was (insert manly voice here) “brains every time because we love a girl who can carry a conversation”. I can almost hear the world-wide sigh of relief while mascara wands are being put down the nation over. So being able to carry a conversation is sexy now? 1 point to me.

Of course that’s all very well in theory. And I know the female population isn’t exactly divided into two categories ‘hot’ or ‘not’. One man’s Angelina Jolie may be another’s Susan Boyle (sorry Susan). But the fact of the matter is I’ve never heard of a model or an actress incapable of finding herself a boyfriend. But a doctor, a nurse, a female comedian? Different matter altogether.

Sometimes we like to flatter ourselves and say that men can’t handle strong opinionated women. But then I remember my mum’s married, and they don’t come much more opinionated than her. So that definitely can’t be the problem.

The real issue is, that the men who claim they don’t like beautiful girls probably feel this way because they think, they’d never be able to get one anyway. As for the rest of them? These men who say they like to be ‘intellectually stimulated’. Well lets face it, when you’re talking to a group of girls on a night out. Which one do you remember? The one with the banter? Or the one with the great face and huge tits? Say it. Don’t worry, I won’t judge you. If I was standing next to someone with a face like Jesse Williams, no amount of wit and charm would distract me either.

You see in theory most guys do want a funny girl they can talk football to and argue about which Lord of the Rings film was better. In practically we haven’t evolved all that much from the caveman days. And nothing gets those clubs swinging like a sexy little slave girl who knows her way around the cave. And by cave I mean bedroom.

Of course none of us would ever admit to being this fundamentally shallow. When asked, 90% of us will pick ‘personality’ over ‘looks’ every time. Which is lovely. And would be even lovelier if it were true.

In actuality, pre-marriage, people don’t pick their partners based on their mutual liking for late night spooning sessions and staring into each others eyes. You pick them based on how much of a sexy-beast you’d look, standing next to them. But don’t worry about it. You can all continue to chat up the sexiest girl who’ll listen. And in turn we’ll all continue applying make-up and wearing push up bras and pretending we’re naturally this pretty.

I mean lets face it, when you start dating a new girl, your friends will ask to see a picture of her. Not hear a recent joke she’s told you. And whether you want it to or not, it starts to matter.

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“If a guy takes an hour to reply to your text, take three to reply to his.” “If you like a guy, flirt with someone else in front of him to make him jealous.” “If a guy is talking to other girls, tell him it doesn’t bother you, and then he’ll like you for not being clingy”.

What. The. Fuck.

And I thought game playing was just for children.

Image taken from: http://www.naomishow.com/

When did this happen? One moment I was 14 years old watching The Notebook, believing love was all about eating ice-cream and jumping into ponds (what, don’t judge me, that film can melt the heart of a Rhino). Next thing I know, I’m being told the best way to get a guy’s attention is by updating my bbm status so he’ll notice and think to message me.

Honestly now? Relying on status updates to get a little action. Is that where we’re at?

I have friends getting married. Like actually walking-down-the-aisle, big-white-dress, forever-and-ever, probably-gonna pop-out-a-baby-soon, married. And here the rest of us are, staring at our phones, wondering if a more attractive display picture will eventually lead to a conversation.

Okay so admittedly that’s not what I want. Come on, I’m 21. I’m too selfish to get married yet. My idea of a sacrifice is eating canned food for three weeks so I can afford the latest Carvela seven inch wonders. The biggest lifelong commitment I plan to make any time soon, is to my bank, when I ask them to extend my overdraft by another thousand pounds.

So I’m never going to be the clingy “I found love after one date” kinda girl. Hell I’m the “I’ve been on five dates and I’m still not sure about him” chick. I suppose that’s my own doing. Indecisiveness is a horrible quality. To date, there is no found cure.

Back to the point.

I may hold my cards close to my chest, but there’s nothing expert about the way I play. Most of the time I’m bluffing, and the rest, I’m just trying to distract you so I can take a peak at your hand.

It seems I’m not very good at games. And judging by my other single friends, neither are they. No we do not want to bare your children (baby induced stretch marks are soo last season). No we’re probably not going to marry you. And I can’t speak for the others on this last one, but I’ve never been very good at the whole, Lady and the Tramp style spaghetti eating (I’m Greek we don’t share food) it may be romantic but you’ll have to do without. Though if you’re nice I might give you my very last rolo, heck some day I might even buy you a packet of your own.

In the mean time I don’t mind a game or two. After all it bores me when things come too easily. A bit like out-eating the diabetic kid at the Mars bar eat-a-thon. Though, if this is what we’re doing now, could someone please hand me the rulebook and let it be known, that I don’t like to lose.

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A first date is like roast dinner, if you follow the recipe you can’t go wrong. So call me Martha Stewart and take note.

Firstly, coming from a girl who has a naturally sultry (fine moody) looking face, believe me, a smile goes a long way. Spinach teeth syndrome aside – brush, floss, rinse please – it’s always nice to give your date a little indication you’re not inwardly singing along to Rupert Holmes Pina Colada song.

You notice the occasional dramatic pause at the end of every few sentences? He’s not waiting for you to input your opinion; he just tried to make a funny, and is waiting for your reaction. Insert smile here, or if you really like him, go all out and fake a laugh. And if the laugh is genuine? Well then lady he’s a keeper.

Physical contact is always a hard one to master. One of the most exciting parts of a first date is the sexual electricity that comes from never having touched before. In these moments, every ‘accidental’ graze of the knee and soft brush of the arm is like foreplay. Men are like little children and you are their toy; it’s not of much interest until someone tells them they’re not allowed to play with it. So in this case, less is more.

My next tip: seamless underwear. At one point in the date, you will go to the restroom. Partly because it’s nice to check your lipstick hadn’t got smeared onto your teeth from all the earlier smiling, but mostly because you want him to watch as you walk away. Work on your walk if you have to: storming off to the ladies with a walk last seen on Jurassic Park will probably mean his plans for a hot dessert, now involve something available on the menu.

For numerous reasons I will be stating shortly, I feel heels on a first date and the toilet-trip-saunter go hand in hand. A nice pair of six inchers will lift your butt, lengthen your legs and give you something to measure him by. I feel I can say this without generating offence, as I too am vertically challenged: if a man is shorter than you in heels, dump him. That’s my professional opinion and I’m sticking to it. There are exceptions I’m sure, but life’s too short for me to list them.

If your first date involves eating, I have two words for you… small bites. You’re mouth is supposed to be a desirable and sensual haven; chewing like a hyena and talking with your mouthful are qualities you want to hide from him as long as possible.

And lets be adults about this now, whether you like it or not, through the eyes of a man, your mouth is a pleasure portal. Honestly, if you allow yours to resemble a mousetrap, I assure you, his desire to run away will overpower his need for cheese.

Now time for a little mathematics: also known as, the first kiss. Not all first dates end with a kiss, sometimes the guy wants to leave you with the illusion that he respects you, other times he’s just shy. Now I don’t care if you’ve been staring lustfully at his lips all night and feel you may implode if he doesn’t press them against yours imminently.

You give him 20% – no more. That is the furthest you can lean forward without it seeming like you’re going to kiss him. You close the distance, and if he wants to kiss you, he’ll do the rest. But be careful, if he does start closing in on you, don’t jump straight for his mouth, as there’s a chance he’s just going for the cheek. I speak from experience. Poor boy seemed to think I just got lost on the way to his lips.

Infallible flirting tips aside; there is one aspect I cannot help you with. I can give you the wood to start a fire; I can give you the gasoline to douse it with, but if you don’t have a match to start the spark, don’t expect your world to catch alight. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but sometimes you need a little more than physical attraction; unfortunately great arms and a sexy smile can only get you so far.

Now when it comes to all this ‘true love’ malarkey, I’m the first to admit I’m a bit of a cynic. However, I’m ready to throw a bone to the romantics of the world and acknowledge that when you meet someone worthwhile, it feels like November 5th every day.

After all, every girl knows deep down when a guy’s worth shaving her legs for.

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Do Not Resuscitate.

You never know when something is the right decision, until you do it, and then you learn that it’s not.

Sometimes I wish I could hire someone to make all my decision for me, and then when it all goes wrong, at least I’ll have someone other than myself to blame. Other times I think a partial lobotomy would be perfect; if it was possible to erase all memory of my romantic past, then I wouldn’t have to tolerate the ‘what ifs’ and the ‘should I haves’.

The problem with refusing to let yourself be a victim to all those foolish hormones, which apparently imitate love, is that sometimes it happens without you noticing. Every now and then a guy will come along who will, for no apparent reason, get under your skin. And as my good friend sod would have it, you probably won’t realise till its over.

Ladies I warn you, a point will come, sometimes six days down the line, sometimes six months – when you wonder if you made a mistake. You wonder if you gave up too easily. You’ll start to ramble about the good old days when people used to fight for love. And you consider resuscitation.

This is the point when you need to find your most honest friend. The one who would happily tell you that your new £60 dress makes you look like a butch lesbian, not because she’s mean but because she cares. I’m lucky enough to have two such specimens. One is a tiny little thing, which compensates in volume what she lacks in height, and the other is so pale sometimes we’d invite her to sleepovers to save money on nightlights. Both are enviably beautiful, and equally harsh.

In 90% of cases, once a relationship is over, you need to slap a huge DNR on it, and move on. The problem is, a few months down the line, four or five bad dates later, you forget why it ended, and all you seem to recall is laughing together because you wrote all over him in a sharpie pen while he was asleep or him leaving cute notes all around your room to make you smile.

This, my friends, is when you need an intervention.

Most of the time, it’s not so much the specific person that you miss, more the feeling of being with someone. Also, I’ll admit not having to worry that you’ll die alone in a house full of shoes and empty vodka bottles, is also nice.

Take it from someone who refuses to buy a novel without reading the last page first: not knowing can be scary. But you know what’s even scarier? Running back into the arms of someone who probably doesn’t like you all that much. I’m wrong am I? Then why did he let you go in the first place?

I’ll admit, heartbreak can make us all a little delusional. So I suggest, we write it off as indigestion, take a nap, and forgo the drama. Sitting in bed for four hours, mascara about 6 inches lower than where it was originally applied and surrounded by soggy tissues is unlikely to get you very far.

You can type out ten different potential texts, save them all in your drafts and ponder which one he might reply to, or you could gain a little self-respect and stop being so pathetic. I feel having been in this very situation: plus one pink fluffy bathrobe, minus one dose of reality, I can be forgiven for the harshness. Criticism never seems rude when the target audience also encompasses you.

Perhaps what we need is a little pop-quiz to send out to all possible candidates who wish to be instated as lovers. Not so we can whittle down our options to the ones who brush and floss thrice a day, but so we can be clear as to how high our hopes are allowed to go.

1. Do you plan to marry me: yes, no, maybe. 2. Are you just here because you heard I’m amazing in bed: yes, no, maybe. 3. Are you likely to ever try it on with my any of friends: yes, no, maybe.

A little blunt I’ll admit, but I feel in the long run, this plan’s a definite winner.

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