Religion, Sex & Politics

Etiquette determines that in polite company one avoid talk of religion, sex and politics.

How one is supposed to have an enlightened and lively conversation without one or more of these topics escapes me. Art, I guess would be one alternative. Sports if you're so inclined. Books if anyone read them.

Forget the etiquette and dig in, I say, because the verboten triumverate always get someone's blood up, which leads to disagreement, which begets a real conversation where people actually defend what they believe. Which is why you should introduce these topics early into your dating.

I had a conversation with a woman friend this weekend, the main point of which was why a four-date dater had dumped her. She claimed it was over his embarrassment at farting in front of her, but that didn't ring true to me. Delving a little deeper, the focus sharpened; they were politically polar opposites. My friend is a socialist, her date a capitalist. Sorry, but that just won't work.

My analogy was this: if you're looking towards building some kind of house together, you need to share construction of the foundation. Two different foundations that aren't linked create two houses. Yes, they might be proximate, but that's friendship or companionship, not a marriage or proxy thereof. Sharing solid - if abstract - understanding of how the universe works, what's right and wrong, and through what prism to view life is critical to creating a stable union.

Exceptions exist, of course. My friend invoked James Carville and Mary Matalin, but I pointed out that

1. this is a very high profile example of precisely one (1) couple, and

2. they are joined more by being part of the media religion than their differences separate them.

In general, I suggest that the easiest path to a happy future is to find someone who shares your meta beliefs - or be prepared to live in a hurricane at least part of the time.



Bottoms Up, True Believers.

Now Make a U-Turn.

Fortunately for everyone concerned, not all men have movie-style bedding ability.

James Bond-like moves on ladies are (mostly) restricted to actual movie/rock stars and the Überconfident alpha-male types. You know the ones, the guys who basically have women bumping against them day and night. All they really need do is say "Yes". There is also a subset of guys who are so keyed into women's body language and ways of thinking that they can inveigle their way into immediate sex. Again, they're a minority.

The majority of we dudes rely on what I call the Garmin Effect. If you've ever taken a wrong turn, your GPS will patiently explain how to get back on course. Depending on the voice you've chosen (the subject of a whole other discussion) he or she will advise a u-turn or taking of the next exit or some other second chance at getting it right. And third and fourth and fifth and sixth chance. She's indefatigable.

So it is in real life. When a woman likes a guy, she'll often give him many, many opportunities to break through the mutuality barrier. Sure, she'll bitch to her girlfriends that so-and-so's an idiot for not making a move, but that's for show. When she sees him again, she'll attempt to send him green light after green light.

Now, there will be a limit to the lady's patience. Women aren't sophisticated navigation computers, after all. Whilst your Garmin will never give up on you, the hottie who's after you will, men, so keep that in mind. Her persistence to get you will last only so long.


This process gels with the theory that women decide early-on whether they're interested in a guy. They're always ahead of the curve. Men, mostly, are much slower at figuring it out. They need more evidence upon which to base a decision. The nexus - and the opportunity - lies in the gap between. If you're a guy and you know you're slow, try to short-circuit your own plodding microchip, and be more aware of her quick-fire processor.

Opportunity, they name is clock speed.



Bottoms Up, carbon-based lovers.

Nothing Is What It Seems.

Boston's Best Single Girl gets to the nub of the matter: why do we categorize relationships?

To me, the answer is simplistic, if not simple: Because that's the way we are. Knowing in which mental room to place our relationship furniture gives us comfort. That's all. It's housekeeping.

However, something about her post unsettled me. Relationships come in all shapes and dynamics. Each one will by definition be different from all the others, because the sum of two individuals will be itself individual. But why is it that so many liaisons end up in the way she describes, with one side unbalancing things?

Maybe that is the nature of people interacting sexually and intellectually . Perhaps these things are unstable until they reach a common energy level, which can only be found with time and raw feedback. The instability will either resolve or not. I don't know.

What I do know is that mismatched motives are the hidden time-bomb in most relationships, of any length. That's because we so infrequently acknowledge the whats and whys of what we're looking for in another, and even less frequently state them out loud. Partly this is because we're not taught that self-examination - self-observation if you like - is a valuable art, but our biology doesn't value it either. Reproduction and everything surrounding it is Mother Nature's only concern. She's a pile 'em high, sell 'em cheap kind of life retailer, interested only in getting as many new bodies out there as possible.

On the other hand, we have created the culture of relationships. They're an intellectual pursuit in that they rely on more abstract ideas than "wow, she's/he's sexy, I'm horny, let's do it". Unfortunately, we impute the latter criteria as a starting point for the former, which is a little like trying to construct a nuclear weapon by throwing rocks.

The good news is that we can immediately change the way of the future. If you say to yourself (and everyone else):

Okay. What I'm looking for right now in a person is a sexual relationship that has a smattering of conversation about books and wine...

...then that will tell the other person something of the clarity and the specificity of your thinking.

I think what most of us do is to attempt to find the one person who will complement all of our current and future needs. That's the ideal, and a good one. Whether it's practical or not is another question.

That's unsettling.

In any case, go read the Boston Girl. She has a gift.




Bottoms Up, New Englanders.

Pillow Talk

If you drew blood after sex and examined it under a microscope, I'm sure we'd find it was full of rainbows, starbursts, heavenly choirs and popping champagne. Researchers should investigate this immediately.

The breathless effects of the sex last a while; awesome. It's a Zone apart from everything. In The Zone comes the pillow talk, which is not to say that PT requires The Zone, only that it's better.

I like the pillow talk. I like it because it's about as intimate as talking can get, meaning that we're both more vulnerable and free of everyday thinking than usual. In a way, it's the opposite of arguing, where one or both sides operate from a bunker of hurt or manipulation. When you're in bed, both in the moment, there are no agendas or power-plays. It's a time for innocence. It's a time to meet.

However. Nobody will ever warn you about the dangers of pillow talk. Because of the mental nudity involved, one might spill stuff, stuff that should probably otherwise stay hidden. Little secrets, small indiscretions, gossip; all the bullshit daily human mud that we normally filter - in the interests of harmony - can slip out.

So beware. Sex is wonderful. Pillow talk is beautiful. Being positive keeps it that way. Best not to drag the outside world in to share the moment. 






Bottoms Up, Happy Horizontal Chatters.

Dating for Dummies

Wouldn't it be awesome if a Date Store existed for failing or unsatisfactory romances?

At the Date Store - beautifully appointed, BTW, in complementary shades of slate and shiraz - the smart folks at the People With Experience and Perspective Bar would diagnose your love life. Within a few minutes, the details of your relationship would be downloaded, inspected and prioritized. Long-term red flags would top the list, grading down to the fact that she flosses in public.

If, in the sad case that Date Store determines that you and your sig. oth. are in the "terminal" category, those sensitive souls will take you out back and break it to you in a special You're Done room. There, you can cry in peace and mourn what you thought might have been. Then, when you're all cleaned up, they'll give you a script to use to actually break up with the person, and recommend a replacement model better designed for your needs.

~!oOo!~

People seek and use dating advice in approximately the same way they buy and use toilet paper, with more or less the same result.

Only financial commonsense and earthquake tips are ignored with the same energy.

What I think most people are after is affirmation, some kind of backstop so they can continue in the same direction. Most folks don't actually want honesty or even-handed feedback because I know me, and I'm a reasonable person, and you don't know what I know about her anyway. So there. She's the best and I'm gonna stick with her.

I'm at least as bad as the next person at relationships. Ignoring truth and reality to keep it going is my specialty, I know how that shit works. But at least now I know I suck. In that counter-intuitive way that life has, it's the best place to be.



Bottoms Up, Justifiers.

My Oh My

Sometime after discovering that one's penis is an instrument of pleasure, we men find that women think so too. Most women, that is, and a lot of them wouldn't go on national tellie saying so, but it's true nonetheless.

This is a milestone in man's life, this coming to grips with the fact that the odd assortment of appendages between our legs has appeal to others. It's like finding that the lame-o rock collection you started at age nine has a purring, soft, sweet-smelling audience of top-flight geologists who can't wait to examine your granite. Purring top-flight geologists in mini-skirts and librarian-glasses.

It can blow your mind, that shit.

Which, for the most part, it does. We spend all our lives henceforth trying to replicate that moment.

It's a quest not entirely without reward, either. That teenaged naïveté never completely disappears. At the special moment, when it's clear she wants to have sex with MY penis, there's magic in the air. It's a warping of space-time, a kind of star-gate to a better universe. We don't pretend to understand the mechanics of this. Nor do we care, for it's a fleeting thing, and by that point other stuff's happening.

Stuff like ripping off my hot geologist's blouse. 

Importantly, this fragment of (good) dislocation happens with wives and long-term girlfriends as much as with that new lady in your life. In fact, it's more pronounced, because of the contrast between that sweet person you like to make coffee for in the morning and the sex-devil she becomes. At one point of the evening you're balancing your checking account, then BOOM she's got her hand down your trousers with intent in her eye.

This is not the same person.........and yet it is the same person. Ah, the wonder of women.


Bottoms Up, Hot Geologists.

Cerealization

Finding the right person can be a chore or a delight, depending upon how you look at it. Yes, first dates can be energy-sapping. Yes, meeting so many incompatibles is dispiriting. Yes, you will question your will to live. Too often you'll wonder how so many weird, self-absorbed, boring, ill and frankly unappealing people think they might have a future with your bright, optimistic, balanced, gorgeous self. But we must endure.

I compare the process to deciding upon a breakfast cereal - in a world of infinite choice, start by precluding huge swathes. For instance, anyone over the age of ten should consider avoiding any cereal with an animal or super-hero mascot. Then there are the key words 'pops', 'frosted', 'loops', and 'smacks', all of which tell you that nutrition can be found in the box, but only inasmuch as you think cups of sugar are good for you.

The big-picture dating prospects to avoid IMO are folks with an untreated depressive illness; those who have any kind of addictive partiality; anyone with unresolved parental or family difficulties; and anyone who doesn't floss.

Shoot me, but I believe in immaculate oral hygiene.

Given that first dates - or a bunch of them strung together - are exhausting, we can filter a lot of maybes beforehand by figuring if any of the big deal-breakers (above) pertain. You can get pretty good at ferreting out the info you need with well-timed pre-date questions, eg:

So, are you an alcoholic?

or

I'm on anti-depressants myself. You too?

See how I did that without alerting them?

Once it looks as if they're not Froot Loops or Cap'n Crunch, then a first date is worth a shot. Still and all, low expectations will keep you mentally upright, because even the best filters are only a start.


Bottoms Up, Shoppers.

The Date Horizon

Alyssa Miller

Two qualities I observe in my own brain:

1. It looks for patterns of behaviour (in women I date) that might or might not exist.

2. Its imagination leaps to long-term possibilities with women far beyond reality.

They're both manifestations of an inaccurate Date Horizon. The Date Horizon (did I just coin this?) is the natural expectation of what's reasonable from the other person given the current state of the liaison. For instance:

* After a first date, the Date Horizon can really only extend to the possibility of a second.

* After the first sex, the Date Horizon probably includes some number of future sessions. (NOTE: Or none.)

* Once the Fidelity Agreement's in place, the Date Horizon extends out by a few months.

* Marriage takes the Date Horizon at least to the natural horizon.


I imagine that we all get ahead of ourselves when we start out with someone new. Sadly, it's unrealistic and I believe ultimately destructive when the other person fails to live up to our dream (the hide!) or we actually start living in a way that's not reality-based.

So. Note to self: One step at a time. Take each date as it comes. Understand not everyone will work out. Keep a tight rein on the imagination. Watch how nice it is when the Date Horizon really does move beyond tomorrow.



Bottoms Up, Imagineers.

Sexy is as Sexy Does

 Catherine Bell's cleavage credit.

Be advised that anything I write about online dating refers to women only. Although you would think that checking out the opposition [read: other guys hawking their fork] a smart strategy, doing so is beyond me. Comfort with one's sexuality is one thing - deliberately investigating dudes is quite another.

Can't. Tell. Internet. I. Want. To. Look. At. Men.

So I rely on you, dear reader, to tell stories of male profile quirks.

Spectacular as bulk online Lady Catalogues are, my interest is in the detail. One popular specific self-descriptor is that of "sexy", as in:

"...I'm a sexy, giving, mother of two looking to find a real man..."

I see. A cynic might translate this as:

"...I like sex (a lot) but will be restricted by these damn kids and your own dick's reliability..."

But I'm not a cynic. I'm a realist, and therefore think that sexiness lies in the eye of the beholder.  Surely I get to determine if you're sexy?...And your very presence online contraindicates.

Hmmm. Perhaps I am a cynic.




Bottoms Up, Self- Assessors.

Why is Breaking Up Hard to Do? Wrestling With the Break-Up Monster.

Breaking up is hard to do. Only sociopaths and terminal masochists fail to find some kind of emotional turmoil when they want out. Detaching from another person is one of those life downsides we can only suffer through.

Sometimes it's a relief. When the inner voice whispers that the best option is termination, the pain of the act is tempered with guilty triumph. Afterwards, that is. Once the words are out there, the air is cleaner. One regains peripheral vision. Still and all, pinches of regret and dashes of sadness will adhere. We're meant to be with people, after all, and de-gluing feels like a step back.

Part of the reason break-ups are uncomfortable is that most of us aren't good at it. Facing someone with a parting can generate a vortex of emotion for which we're ill practiced and poorly prepared. Airline pilots spend time in simulators dealing with the kinds of horrid failures and tricky scenarios that are hardly ever seen in real life. But if the worst does occur, they have the confidence to deal.

Leaving a relationship isn't like that. We never know how the other person will react. We might even not know how we'll react. It takes time to build trust and confidence with another person; tearing all that hard work down can be utterly dispiriting. And yet it must be done. To avoid personal Titanic sinkings, we have to protect ourselves from bad relationships, slow down the ship, and head to warmer waters. Sometimes drifting for a while is the right course. Better that than having Hollywood remake your life as a tragedy.

So how can we get better at break-ups? One way might be to do it more often. I'm more and more amazed at how people cling to relationships that any outside observer can see don't work. We - humans - seem to think that the other person will magically stop the damaging/annoying/frustrating whatever that leads us to dissatisfaction. We hang in there on a hope and a whisper...a strategy that never works.

Western legal justice begins with the premise that a person is innocent until proven guilty. When we're talking about criminality and jail time I guess that makes sense. But should the same premise pertain when the worst that can happen is that we are without a regular Friday night date?




Bottoms Up, Heartbreakers.

On The Couch

Danielle's photo from here.

Never having consulted a relationship therapist, I sometimes wonder how these things go.

Does the conversation start along the lines of:

So, you like this girl?

Or:

He left you?

Or even:

She wants you to do what?

Somehow, I doubt matters are this simple, and even though the array of human cruelty to other humans is infinite, stuff does tend to fall into relatively clear-cut categories.

Old-fashioned as it seems, I'm still a man who values action over words. A modicum of observation will tell you everything you need to know about anyone close or close-ish to you. Their thoughts are positively SCREAMING at you, should you have the calmness to see.

Professional interpretation, in my opinion, might lead to more cloud than clear sky.

And over-thinking gets you no-where. I suspect therapy is mostly about over-thinking.

But what would I know?





Bottoms Up, Couchistas.

When is she my girlfriend?

We lack for accurate descriptors when it comes to romantic attachments.

A vast yawning chasm exists between meeting and marriage, a vast yawning chasm chock full of emotion, imagination, miscommunication, good communication, veiled motives, expressed desires, hidden agendas, agendas right out in the open, fear, love, hate, texts, phone calls, emails, dinners, breakfasts, appointments, missed appointments, disappointments, misunderstandings, understandings, mistakes, nights, days, sleeps and exhaustion.

Hmmm. I think I just described male/female relationships.

Q: What do we call someone in whom we're interested, after the first signs of mutual interest?

A: My potential lady interest.

Q: How about between first make-out and first formal date?

A: My impending woman.

Q: And in the area between arranged date and assumed date?

A: (Unsure) My putative squeeze.

Q: Okay, between assumed date and home base?

A: (Resoundingly) Now that's when I can call her my girlfriend!

Q: Between first sex and sophomore sex?

A: God, I hope she wants to do it again.




Bottoms Up, New Lovers!




Emilie Autumn photo from here [link]

Horse Harrar

Women come in two types - the horsewoman, and the non-horsewoman.

Understandable, really, that some ladies find the equine superior to the sapien. Apart from the age-old attraction of 1,000 pounds of muscular flesh cantering between your spread thighs, there are more subtle appeals. A battle for a woman's heart fought between a man and a stallion would be closer than you expect. Don't underestimate the power of the quadruped, viz:

-> A horse, went not in use, is happy standing around eating grass. Easy maintenance.
-> A man, when not in use, is likely to find activities of which a g/f won't approve. Higher maintenance.

-> The horse can carry the woman many miles without complaint.
-> The man can carry the woman over the threshold (if he does even that.)

-> Horses like to be ridden hard and put away wet.
-> Men like to ride their g/f hard and make her wet. (This should work in the man's favour.)

-> Horses don't have opinions, nor do they answer back snappishly.
-> Men have opinions and will tell you what they are, snappishly or otherwise.

-> Horses want to be told what to do.
-> Men want to tell you what to do.

-> Horses have huge, thick, long dicks.
-> Men read books.

-> Horses don't mind having a woman on their back, then being asked to perform tricks.
-> When men have women metaphorically on their backs, we don't like it at all.

A cool examination of my list tells me that men win this race, but only by a short half-head.



Bottoms Up, Equestriennes!

Never Look a Gift Babe in the Brain

Mr Nights' comment yesterday neatly captured one segment of men's response to women.

Never look a gift babe in the brain translated means if she's willing to have sex, the conversation won't matter. So we don't worry about it.

Compartmentalization rules. Women will fall into a few obvious categories, with some variation from man to man. Women will be:

-> for sex and sex-related activities if it's clear that's what they want.

-> for company and conversation if they mesh with our intellectual/physical interests.

-> for fun and amusement if our senses of humour are compatible.

-> for marriage and procreation if our spirits are synchronous.

Overlaps occur; think of them as interconnecting doors between compartments.

In a perfect world one woman would fulfill all of our needs, or, to complete the metaphor, fill all our compartments.

I have a half-formed idea that we can have sex with all of the woman-types, but that might be because I'm tired. We probably even attempt relationships (longer than a few shags) with one-compartment women, with predictable results. These are doomed.

Realistically, a decent level of all four compatibilities should be the minimum for an attempt at something serious. Figuring out that kind of thing takes time...and really, who has the patience for that stuff thesedays?





Bottoms Up, Compartmentalists!

Dames I Adore - Amy Winehouse

It was a mistake, her name, or her parents changed it at some point, but Amy was born Amy Crackwhorehouse. As a case of natal nominative determism predicting adult behaviour, her parents were right to change. The sad part is that she lived up to her pre-natal destiny.

Amy is a beautiful women on the inside, and that's what I love. She can sing, she's capable of affection and knows how to commit in a relationship...particularly if we're talking a relationship with a drug dealer. Discretion is important to me and obviously to Amy as well, given that she can conjur pretty much any kind of illegal dope whenever she needs. And she needs more often than most.

How is it that famous folk can get high in public and never face Roger Law? They have to do something really bad- and do it often Lindsay Lohan - before the Plod even notice. If it were me, I'd be in Q doing ten long before I could say 'medical marijuana'. Yet another reason to dig Miss Winehouse - she's gonna keep me from the iron bar motel.

Amy is a curious mix of old-fashioned and modern girl. She stuck by her husband, Mr Blake Fielder-Civil, while he served some of that aforementioned jail time for trying to pervert the course of justice and grievous bodily harm with intent. Small shit in the scheme of things. But it's boring making visits to English prisons twice a week, so she eventually dumped him in favour of long nights boozing and brawling. That's the New British Woman part of Amy - she doesn't mind a good brawl, and often swings at the people closest to her (who aren't drug dealers.) That would be the paparazzi. Or whomever is in the line ahead of her at the off-licence.

Nothing wrong with a stout woman demonstrating it.

My only quibble with Amy is her personal grooming. She's fond of the Liz Taylor version of Cleopatra's eye make-up, but I have a suspicion she's not terribly regular with her bath. She variously looks like a scabrous dog or a crackwhore on parole officer visit day. Sometimes I wonder if she's lost the soap under a pile of cider bottles or a pile of crack pipes.

All of which invokes my rule of some love remaining at arm's length. Wise men understand that if a woman doesn't appear to wash at least semi-regularly, you don't want any part of you in any part of her. There are some things even soap can't wash away.





Bottoms Up, Crackwhores!



Photo of darling Amy from here [link]

Who are you really?

Learning how to sell is largely about listening. A gratifying part of being a better salesman is succeeding in silencing your own voice so you can hear what other people are communicating - what they're really saying.

Here's what I discovered while listening to people talk: we constantly tell everyone who we are. I reckon that within the first twenty sentences, the person you're with will tell you what's on their mind, what they think about that thing, and they will reveal a large measure of who they are.

What I used to do was to prepare my answer or reply way before the other person finished speaking. Before the first few words of each sentence were out of the other person's mouth, I was ready to fire my thoughts back. Conversations like this aren't communication, they're two concurrent monologues.

I remember from a long-ago marketing class that communication has two parts. First is the communication, then there is feedback. Knowing this and holding it in mind changes the dynamics of conversations, especially conversations with a new, possibly datable, person.

That's what I concentrate on now, listening to the woman, and giving great feedback. The unanticipated consequence of this is that very early on, without even thinking about it, I can tell if she's for me or not. It's easier to move on (rather than make a move) if you can see who she really is, rather than who she says she is.



Bottoms Up, Listeners!



Edited for pic, simplicity and clarity.

Pic from here [link]

She's Into Superstition.

Me, I'm a Taurean.

That makes me:

Patient and reliable
Warmhearted and loving
Persistent and determined
Placid and security loving

On the dark side that makes me:

Jealous and possessive
Resentful and inflexible
Self-indulgent and greedy


Some kind of package, eh?

Astrology is a truly clever invention, because it preys upon our need to know. I want to know how the world views me; I want to know how I fit; it's fascinating to predict the future; it's comforting to know I'm better off with a Virgo than an Aquarian.

The fact that astrologists, palm-readers, psychics, seers, taroists and sundry other future-gazers can still make a living shows how desperately we are - we need to know anything about ourselves we don't already know. Fear of the unknown, especially the future, is a vestige of our less knowledgeable past.

But not knowing the future is a problem only if you think it is. Imagine if you had a printout of the course of your life from now until the hour of your death; would that make the days between now and then less stressful?

See, I think that remaining calm in the face of chaos and the randomness of the universe is the great adventure. If you accept the unknown, you don't resent what happens, and if you can stay flexible and philosophic, you don't mind what happens.

That's why I would think carefully about a girlfriend with a heavy astrology or tarot habit - it strikes me as slightly nutty. But that's because I'm a Taurus, and we can be judgmental.



Bottoms Up, Stargazers.




Mrs Ann's sandwich board from here [link]

Kissing Cousins

A friend has a world-class nose. Yes, it's cute from the outside, but she must have a freakishly large number of receptors up there, because she smells the world better than a bloodhound. Not only that, but she can apply word labels to the smells, which means she can verbally communicate smell to dopes like me. It's a rare talent.

I tell you, she should be working designing perfumes or judging wine. I'm in rhino-love.

Presumably this is good: she says I smell like popcorn. My immediate mental image (smellage?) is of movie theatre lobbies, which stink of grotty carpet and that stuff they call popcorn. I hope I remind her of home-popped corn. In either case, it's way better than being told I remind her of sauerkraut or space junk. (Not that I know how space junk smells. I just don't want to have the dreaded 'space junk' rep.)

This being Kiss Week @ K&B, I have been investigating just why we kiss.

Scientific American has a detailed and fascinating article. Astound friends with facts like 80% of us tilt our heads to the right.

Here's another short piece that talks about the importance of smell in kissing. During a pash session, women (unconsciously) sniff the man out for immune system compatibility.

Apparently my immune system is made from corn. Does that mean I'm compatible with women from Iowa? I wonder.

Male Universe - or Universes

The question Doc Annie asked is:

When men DO put women at the center of their universe, why does it not appear that way to women?

I think - and am soliciting ideas from other guys here - that the answer lies in the way I, and other men, compartmentalize our lives in our heads.

We have the work compartment, the recreation compartment, the obligation to family compartment, our buddy compartment and so on. Wives, girlfriends and lovers fall into the sex and romance compartment, which has a possible common door with the family compartment.

Difficulties arise because as men, we can only be in one compartment at once.

If we are in the 'watching sports on television' compartment, that's where we are. Moving from there to the 'being attentive to my girlfriend' compartment requires us to get up off the couch, turn off the teev, put the dishes in the dishwasher, grab our jacket, walk out of the compartment, lock the door, walk along the hallway, locate the 'being attentive to girlfriend' door, find the key, let ourselves in, go to the kitchen, smell the air, look in the fridge, wonder how the game is progressing....and then see about being attentive to our girlfriend.

It's all about the unchangeable fact that I, we, can only think about one thing at a time. It's a limitation, right there in the handbook "Men: Your Operating Guidebook".

Here's a way for women to think about it. Men's minds are like a multi-story apartment building, with many levels, and many apartments. Each apartment is an abstract 'compartment' in our mind. Crucial to understanding this (sorry to belabour the point) is that we are only occupying one apartment at a time.

Now for the critical idea: because we are landlords overseeing a whole bunch of apartments, there is no unification of them. We cannot amalgamate all of these separate parts of our mental multi-story into one. All the walls are load bearing, so knocking one down creates problems for us processing stuff. It's like a clash of disparate universes; Lord knows how matter from one will react with another. Nuclear meltdown is entirely possible. For an example, see the previous post.

So when we say "You're the centre of my universe" what we mean is that you are at the centre of the "girlfriend/sex/romance" universe, not the one universe that is a woman's mind.

Women (again, I think) have minds like one of those atrium-style hotels with a big, big internal space into which all the rooms or apartments face. Y'all can have one centre of it all, with all the constituent parts (apartments) working together to create and view the shiny disco ball out there in the atrium. Onc centre, one focus.

Men have a building with corridors, hallways and back passages, linking many apartments, with no way of (easily) combining them into a whole.

That's the difference. And that's why when men say a woman is the centre of their universe, it doesn't mean the same thing. We're talking about two different and separate universes.

Even Einstein would be confused.