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.

To Protect and Provide

 Melinda Clarke

Whether it's a tipping point, a turning point or simply a point of inflection, there's something in the wind out there. Not that it's an overnight shift nor even noticeable year-to-year, but I smell a sea-change.

Specifically, men want to protect and provide for their women.

And women seem to neither want nor need either service.

If true, this means more change to relationships, marriage, child-rearing and old-age. Whither men if we're needed only as suppliers of DNA? 





Bottoms Up, Changeagents.

Digital Love Analogue

 Stephanie Gateshet.

We're clearly moving from centuries of an analogue world to lives defined digitally. The changes are easy to see - we no longer measure, we count;  infinite shading is now thin slicing; perhaps is either on/off.

If this isn't the revolution of all revolutions, I don't know what is.

But, like, whatever. My interest lies in whether we're changing the nature of love. Is love analogue or digital? Do we look at love like a Caravaggio or a PDF file? Is the answer as obvious as it seems?

Digital love sounds awful. A bunch of ones and zeros on a wafer of silicon won't get anyone's heart racing, let alone inspire them to write a song or pen poetry. However, those ones and zeros are canny things; they understand that they're neither warm nor sexy, so they present us with a more lovable facade. The photo above, for instance. Or blogs. Or iTunes. Somewhere along the line, the digital gods found themselves a first-rate PR firm, and followed its advice.

The problem is that all their solutions are good at describing love but hopeless at actually being it. The look that melts your heart, the feeling of her touch, the invisible communication of minds in synch - I guess a robot will eventually simulate these things, but it will still be reproduction of love, not the core.

So I think we're safe for now. Love will be analogue for a long time, probably until your DNA has sex with an iPad, at which point we're all screwed. Or apped. But at that point it won't matter: we'll all be too busy shopping at Amazon for a lover to notice.




Bottoms Up, Microprocessors.

Busting a Move

Maureen O'Hara pic credit.

Patpong 1 and 2 are the best known streets for titty- and fuck-bars in Bangkok. They're hot, steamy and stinky streets, which is remarkably appropriate for a sex-based precinct. Bonking is on sale here: girls are the medium and the only barrier to negotiate is the price.

Hanging around in a club, one often finds oneself on the receiving end of a paper dart or a ping-pong ball. Innocently sipping a Mekong whiskey and ice, you notice a slightly soggy projectile hitting you on the head. Nothing odd about this, apart from the launching device - a vagina. Don't be fooled. Experienced bar-girls have aim worthy of the best sniper, and delight in wowing patrons - both men and women - with their version of  target practice. Hey, don't blame me. It's a cultural thing.

One night, in a fairly decent club, the usual all-girl pelvic olympics was interrupted by a sex show. A guy and girl arrived on the elevated stage, the lighting dimmed, and their "lovemaking" began. A few details linger:

+ she was stunningly beautiful

+ I felt bad that he had some difficulty attaining wood

+ I felt better when she fellated him to solidity

+ the performance had the aura of them actually being a couple

+ I felt the music was inappropriate. Was it Shostakovitch?

+ the entire menagerie (bar, naked women, gawping tourists, shagging on stage) didn't feel odd, given the location

And, most relevant to this post:

+ I was in awe of the way they moved so gracefully from one position to another.

The entire (overly long) thing was like someone choreographed every penis/vagina sexual position into one outing. The "Joy of Sex" in 3-D.

Miss Miz reminded me of this night with her musings on side-by-side penetration. I like her thought of "transitioning" from one position to another, to suit the mood and stimulations of one or other sexual partner. Wouldn't it be just awesome to sit down with your beloved and actually pre-plan how you're gonna have sex? I haven't done this, and can't think why not. As a kicker, doing so over email or IM or even Twitter, say, takes social intercourse to a whole new level.

I imagine that most people (like me) just figure stuff out as they go along. We start somewhere along the Fucking Continuum (TM) and move back and forth...somehow. I guess someone takes charge, or there's gentle persuasion, or mutual agreement or out come the handcuffs. All of which sounds like fun. But the ideal of planning a sexual tryst, from position to position, like planning a ten-course meal, appeals muchly.




Bottoms Up, (After Some Reverse Cowgirl.)

Lessons From My Cat Part 2

Male metaphors tend towards the active: hunting, chasing, holding, making her mine. Let's be kind and say that there's a certain carnivore and prey smell to our way of thinking. The implication is that women in the wild are innocent unwilling participants.

Which is dumb. Male metaphors can be crap.

As I noted previously, the humble house cat gives us fundamental clues about female human behaviour. Think of her as woman stripped of overthinking and emotion - she's the essence of feminine...in a soft, seasonal fur coat. Not that I am suggesting women are large upright cats without tails. It's that I see more than coincidence in the commonality of feline and feminine. Plus I love both cats and women.

But back to the chase metaphor. Yes, on one level men hunt for women, but it's like describing the Champs-Élysées as a Parisian street. A street takes you somewhere. A French avenue is for strolling. One takes one's time, checking out the boutiques, being surprised by what one finds along the way. Waiting for just the right moment to steal a kiss. Waiting for her to tell you by her actions when she wants a kiss.


Which is the way my cat works. Most of the time she's engrossed in her own world. There's stuff to look at, food to eat, naps to take. Washing. Grooming. Exploring. But once a day, she makes it perfectly clear that we need to be affectionate. She'll jump on my desk and sit on the keyboard. Or she'll climb onto my lap. That's the point at which I have to - I must - stop everything and focus completely on her. A petting session or a few minutes of brushing is enough...physical contact to reconnect with each other before we get on with everything else.

Observing and reacting. Not hunting.



Bottoms Up, Tail-less Ones.

Law and Order

"In the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate yet equally important groups: the police who investigate crime and the district attorneys who prosecute the offenders. These are their stories."

In the first-time dating arena, the participants are apt to forget two critical yet often overlooked flaws: that we mask the truth about ourselves, and turn a blind eye to the incompatibilities of others. These will emerge later.




Bottoms Up, Optimists.

The Anvil

Gina Bellman photo credit.

I wouldn't have believed it had I not witnessed it with my own peepers. Some things are too jarring and discordant for contemplation, but here it was in front of me: proof that women are just like men.

Let me back up. In a bizarre twist of life, I find myself involved in an activity new to me, namely car-pooling. A new guy arrived in the pool last week - I hope he showers before donning his trunks just a lame 'pool' joke there but I have to do something to keep my sanity - joining my friend and I for a joyous two x forty minute ride. Every day.

To look at him is to be impressed. He's six-three or four (around .00057 Eiffel Towers for you internationalists) and big...by which I mean he's probably 300 ellbees. He is blessed with good looks - even I can see that - somewhere between a corpulent Colin Farrell and a gone-to-seed Clooney. But his looks aren't my point (even if they're his.)

An hour-and-a-half a day sitting in a car with a bloke pretty quickly leads to a character assessment. Is he serious or flippant, calm or emotional, a doer or a dreamer? Conversation leads to conclusions. I'll tell you what this dude is; he's an anvil. He's heavy, metallic and really not much good for anything. After a week, there's a lot of silence on our drive.

So it was with interest that I observed him out on Saturday night. He likes ladies, and even went so far as to offer that he is picked-up more than he picks, which I am shocked to reveal is true. In the course of a couple of hours I saw two women approach him and flash their interest. He is like an irresistible target for rogue women cruise missiles. They all want to blow him....up.

Once again I'm faced with having to question my thinking that women are more refined than men. Nope. They want tall guys with looks. That's it.





Bottoms Up, Ironsmiths.

Does she like me? Will my ego be bruised?

I need to specify more clearly what I'm trying to tease out with this green light business. Saving men from making embarrassing moves motivates me, because the Good Lord knows I have made many doomed approaches to women. Every rejection saps a little bit of energy, if only temporarily. So in the interests of helping my fellow man, I seek only to improve his odds of at least a civil response from a woman.

Green Light Theory (let's give this sucker a big Capitalized proper name to make it sound super important) is based in a simple idea. Here it is. Are you ready? Right. Here we go. Ahem.

Women get to say yes or no.

Cool isn't it? With that in mind...

...valid tools exist that a man can use to figure out whether any particular woman is more likely to say yes than no, thereby putting the odds in his favour.

That's all I'm talking about. By any means possible, it's way better taking a little time (and some understanding of human nature) to paint a mental picture of how she's situated with respect to you. Observe and listen to her. What's she telling you?

*

Green lights Part One, Green lights Part Two, Green Lights Part Four, Green Lights Part Five.

She's talking but I don't understand.

Experts, by which I mean random articles from the internet, agree that it's best not to listen to a word women say. Did that come out right? Probably not. Let me start again.

Experts agree that what a woman says is less important for determining her interest in you than her body language. That's better.

It's obvious to anyone who has given this more than a passing thought. Yet it continues to baffle many men, including me. The truly in-your-face green lights are those when she touches you. The 'touch and laugh' is a sure sign, as is the 'touch and whisper in your ear.' If a guy doesn't pick up on her deliberate entry into your deepest personal space, there's no hope for him.

There are many more subtle ways that women work their bodies which can be misinterpreted. Dilated pupils can be interest or a cocaine habit. Hair flipping might just be because she's overdue for a cut. Legs crossing and uncrossing could be a symptom of thrush. There are multiple explanations for many behavioural tics, and I know from horrible personal experience how easily one can be mistaken for another.

I think the biggest difficulty we have decoding lady body language is tuning out the words. We train from birth to listen to what people say rather than what they're expressing, a fine distinction I know, but an important one. Because none of us controls our body language to the same degree we do our spoken language, it will reflect more accurately our state of mind. Therefore, for a window to her heart and mind, watch, don't listen.

So that's the logic behind observing body language, now, how to create enough mental space for us to see it. The only way I have found is to start a woman talking on a favourite topic. This might take a little while, especially if you're new to each other. A smart thing to do anyway, when she's off and running along, talking ten to the dozen, you can zone her voice out a little - just a little - and take in what her body is saying.

Warning! Remember to snap out of it quick, because if she notices you mentally drifting from the convo, the red lights will come out as quickly as you can say Manhattan rush hour.

*

Women's Green Lights Part One, Green Lights Part Three, Green Lights Part Four, Green Lights Part Five.