Hamburger Helper

 Priyanka Chopra.

Alcohol is to dating as Hamburger Helper is to ground meat - it stretches slim pickin's into something more substantial. Booze/Helper won't change the underlying person/protein, but it will fill out the gaps in your character/meat quality. Think of it this way - would  you prefer a short date of complete honesty in a white room with two chairs and a table, or a couple of hours of low-level banter in a pub?

The meat equivalent would be one small portion of raw beef as against a big gooey cheeseburger. We know which one is more unadulterated - so to speak - but are early dates better if consumed raw? Like eggs, meat and first dates, warnings against consuming them uncooked exist for good reason.

It's not a costless bargain, this one. Your self/patty will suffer from the dilution, a little at first, but more if you over-indulge. The burger that's mostly Helper won't be re-ordered, coz it's all bulk filler and no taste. Likewise, a completely plastered plating probably has you scraped into that person's scrap bin forever. The idea is to have your date want to taste you on more dates.

 However, if you can find the optimum mix, you're on the way to making the best of the date/meal. My buzz peaks at around 1.7 martinis, knowledge that's quite hard come-by. At that point I'm still mostly sober, but loose enough to lose the usual dating inhibitions. That is the aim, by the way, to overcome nerves or other social inhibitors that get in the way. These problems are born of overthinking, and the best way to circumvent thinking that I know of is a good stiff drink or two.

But be smart and order food with your drinks. I'd suggest tapas-sized steak carpaccio and frites.





Bottoms Up Buzzed Bollywood Beauties.

But Then Again, Too Few to Mention

Maria Grazia Cucinotta pic. 

Choosing the right partner.

I don't know, if there is some secret to making this happen, it's surely not in my possession. The answer is tantalizingly close, like she's so almost there...but she's not.

Or is she?

I am unmarried because I have yet to meet the right person. Well, maybe I've met her, but all the folderol surrounding dating is a barrier. Some people are ready, some people are not, and so the world turns.

Maturity matters. Some people I know married early in life, but they had it together enough to make it work. On the other hand, there are perpetually lagging souls who only present as decent prospects after a few years in oak barrels. Everyone's mileage varies.

If there is magic to be learned, maybe it is just that - that we're all different, and you knowing when you're ready for decanting is paramount.



Bottoms Up, Vignerons.

BTW, here's how to choose a wedding day limousine.

Supermarket for People

Everywhere. They're everywhere. Dating sites for this, dating sites for that, dating sites for the most obscure sub-groups of humanity...and some in which only one partner is human.



Ahem.



If the internet has become the most efficient way yet of delivering porn, one side-effect is the cereal-aisle choice of ways to find The One. Not only are we singles looking up at El Capitan when figuring out how to get the right squelchy one, the delivery system is now its own nightmare. Am I a J-Dater? Am I after a MILF? Can I narrow myself down dating only millionaire women?



Oh, darn. That last one is only for women looking for millionaires. Maybe the market niche for men looking to date millionairesses is ripe for exploitation.



When we're all in our dotage, I predict we'll look back on this time with amusement. Apart from the fact that our current state of connectedness will look as clumsy as Bill Gates trying to dance, internet dating will look spectacularly agricultural. Most of these places are great big classified sites with photos. They suit men because we can rifle through a ton of photographs to find the horniest looking women, and send them an email to spark their attention. NO effort required. Thoughtful interest in finding a real relationship NON-existent. Trolling for sex at a MAXIMUM.



Yes, I know. Relationships do start from dating websites. My point is that they're entirely unnatural. Are we really designed to meet people by way of a People Catalogue? Does the supermarket Dating Aisle sound right to you?



There are some folks creating more organic sites. My favourite is Barstalk. The idea of meeting people in real life is the BIG reason I like the idea. It feels much closer to the natural architecture of finding a mate. They use the internet as it should be, as a filter to discard those who aren't up for a drink. Not that drinking is necessarily the right connective tissue for everyone, but if you do drink and live in New York City, it's logical to see if there's someone out there who shares your bar preference or simply looks like a likely martini-partner.



Too many choices make life overwhelming. Simplicity burns away the fog of indecision. Dating can be simple too. Let it be so.









Bottoms Up, Captain Morgan.

Wombatgram #16 - Post Valentine's Trophies

Some of us will spend Valentine's with a special person.

Some of us will spend Valentine's alone.

Some of us will spend Valentine's alone to begin with, then find a special person later.

Through all, there is one common denominator.

For a more detailed look, just click.





Bottoms Up, Valentinas.

Passion Consultant

Monday night was my first encounter with a Passion Consultant. This might, at first blush, appear to be a godsend, because life's notably lacking in passion at the moment. Had I been more quick on the uptake, Miss PC could have answered a few queries rattling around my head, but I was more interested in looking down her girlfriend's top.

It's a lost opportunity, but I still have her business card.

The card says to "Call today to get started on your new career as a Passion Consultant."

And why not? I've worked with business consultants, been screwed by tax consultants and had my lawn cut by gardening "consultants". None of these people knew what they were doing, so consulting about passion shouldn't be any different. Defining what consultants do is an imprecise exercise at best, so I can make the job anything I want.

Basically I want my own business cards that say:

Wombat
Passion Consultant.

If I act like I'm an expert, someone's bound to want to try me out. I believe in learning on the job.





Bottoms Up, Amorous Ones!




Pic from the OhMiBod Blog [link]

A Bird in the Hand is Worth More Than Two in the Bush.

Unless you are Mr Pitt or Mr Clooney, a single man would do well to not approach two women together in a bar. The chances of a lone male detaching one from the other are slim at best, verging on impossible at worst.

If you like a challenge, just try. Proceed into a bar on your own, purchase a cocktail, and walk up to to a birdie pair. You will not separate them, no matter how good your script.

Men rarely share this kind of folk-lore. That's because we see all other men as enemies in the game of finding willing women, an insane way to behave.

There's a great deal of fun to be had trying, though. If you're in a group, or just up for the rhetorical sport, give it a go one day. Women stick together like God's adhesive if they're in even numbers. An odd-numbered group gives the man way better odds until the number of females is greater than five, when it's cash bar time.

My friend Sam (who happens to be a woman, so her real name is Samantha) was intrigued by all this at happy hour this evening.

But Wombat, she said, tilting her head suggestively to two ladies along the bar, Don't you like the blonde with the pink pig-tail?

Sam. No. I'm a brunette aficionado, and in any case it's a pair of women. I'm not stupid.

Sam and I need to talk more.

Bottoms up!




Picture is from somewhere, but I am too mesmerized by her bust to worry about linking.

Edited for all kinds of horrid abominations of HRH English.

Set-Up Date

It's not even spring here in the northern hemisphere and the sweet smell of reproduction's in the air. Okay, not reproduction but certainly introduction.

Hello Wombat!
Anthea & Tony, here.
We met you a few times at {restaurant} and {tiki bar}. As a matter of fact the last time we saw you, we had lost a bet and owed you a drink! During that encounter, we thought you might want to meet a girl friend of our's who was moving to the area.
After months of searching for a home and garnering employment, she's ready to make new friends.Would you be interested in meeting for lunch at {restaurant} as we'd like to introduce you to her.
A & T*

Right, we have here the classic set-up. Andrea and Tony are a lively couple who spent time with me on four or so occasions. I like them. They know me about as well as they can. So what kind of woman is their friend? What do they think their friend will see in me? And what do they think I will see in their friend? All unanswerable questions, resolved only by meeting.

If I follow my own advice on this, I should:

a) have no expectation,

b) be myself, which is to say, absolutely refrain from trying to impress, and

c) remember to look in the mirror.**






*Although the timing looks suspicious given yesterday's post, I assure you this email arrived last night. It's for real.

**Note. One or more of these might be contradictory and/or impossible.

Pic from here [link]

Absinthe Makes the Heart Beat Faster, Cheri

It's a romantic conceit, of course, a vision as imaginary as it is unobtainable. Living in a Parisian garret occasionally crosses my mind, devoting my hours to creating something lasting from words, and perhaps gaining a French lover or two along the way.

The aim is to find any place a couple of levels above the street, because I'm not sure about the supply of garrets. One big room would be best, with floor to ceiling windows, preferably with a view of something louche - the rear of a boudoir or the window of a rich man's pied-à-terre so I could write about the women coming and going.

My bed would be big and low. It would live in the style of a loft, half-way between the main floor and the ceiling. A short flight of stairs - a ladder, really - would give it the feeling of being the top bed of a set of bunks. The fun of watching women climbing up would be worth the small awkwardness.

The pace of the day would be strictly French. (Hopefully) morning sex upon waking. Coffee and croissant for le petit déjeuner, then writing. A little yoga around noon, followed by lunch with a friend. Wine, to loosen my Protestant mind. A little more writing.

With good planning, a lover would arrive around a cinq heures, to indulge that most sophisticated Parisian scene; the cinq à sept aka love in the afternoon. We'd share dinner, perhaps eating out, perhaps cooking for ourselves, all the while watching for goings-on across the street. Material for writing is what I'm here for, it's not a vacation. On weekends we might head out, to a wine bar or for some absinthe.

My heart grows fonder at the thought.




Miss Paris from here. [link]

Edited for greater pomposity.

When Fun Was 90 Proof

A dear friend, Valerie Peterson, has published her second book and just in time for the holidays. Her first book extolled the virtues of cookies and gave detailed directions on the care and baking of the most imaginative cookies I've ever seen.

Now she has turned her sights on holiday drinks. She has written a funny, nostalgic handbook of holiday drinks called Peterson's Holiday Helper. Each drink has specific instructions with photographs that recall a more settled time.

I recommend her book to anyone who wants to discover a new favorite drink or as a stocking-stuffer gift for the holidays. Peterson's Holiday Helper is a keeper.