Friday Fluffer - No, Of Course It's Not Prostitution

Ah, Las Vegas, Nevada. Home to moral rectitude in every form, although I think they draw the line at farm animals.

Here's a link that fits neatly into the Friday Fluffer mould - a dating website where "generous users" (men) bid for the single-date affections of  "attractive users" (women). Highly recommend reading this...



Article on Whatsyourprice.com dating website. Safe for work.

And the actual site. 


Bottoms Up, Capitalist Honeys. 

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.

Online Dating Secret Sauce

Judging by my spambox, online dating push-marketing overtook Canadian drugs and Nigerian "lottery" scams a while ago. Every day it seems a new website matching singles in progressively smaller niches is born.

At this rate, the dating demographic will be so atomized that by next Christmas every one of us will be running our own dating sites, all with the same photos, profiles and secret-sauce matching algorithms. Each one will guarantee a connection with your dreamboat, or your money back. Here are some of our success stories...

...et cetera.

I've never been convinced of either the value or the longevity of even the best online sites. They always looked to be the answer to a question that no-one was asking, namely; how can I effortlessly find a decent mate? Effortlessly in the sense that by inputting our vital details and a few photos, the cleverness of computers combined with the awesomeness of the internet should spit out the right person in less time than it takes to order up a pizza.

Can our biology and instinct be so easily circumvented? Is this the experience of discovery we want?

After we found that hardly anyone pairs off instantly, the online dating model morphed slightly to reflect the notion that browsing lots of profiles and meeting lots of people would up the odds of finding #1. Note the sites' subtle change of emphasis to...

Here's a bunch of people who say they're single: good luck. 

Unfortunately, widening the dating river didn't necessarily deepen it, and some backwaters normally cut off were suddenly re-connected to the mainstream. Heaven for the previously high and dry, not so much for everyone else - there was a reason they'd been abandoned.

From this thin gruel of self-selectors, one could choose at one's leisure the most likely candidates to date and then figure out if they were suitable.

I don't buy it. And apparently I'm not alone, because this article in New York magazine asks:

Has the Online Dating Backlash Arrived?

(Worth the time to read.)

NB: Of course there will be many successes in the online dating world, but it's way more fun arguing an almost indefensible position.

Bottoms Up, In Your Facers.

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.

Love Matador

 Paz Vega photo credit.

The PUA community is fully aware of the value of dressing to impress. Overdressing, actually, with the aim of making themselves the centre of attention. Peacocking they call it.

Grabbing and maintaining a woman's eye is the aim, and a quirky or bright outfit will help. The theory is that once you set yourself apart from the shlubs in flops and cargo pants, bedding a woman is then a matter of time.

The lads are probably right.

In Florida, where I live, a man in a long-sleeved shirt creates a stir. If he's in a business suit with necktie and polished shoes, the local television news sends an outside broadcast unit. Of course the climate mitigates against much more than shorts and a flamingo-print shirt, but still; we're a state of slobs.

So I have a vision, thanks to Katherina. The most colourful and distinctive male outfit I can think of is that of the matador. I'm SO tempted to dress myself as a torero - accessorized with hat and blood-red cape - and go about my day. In the morning I'd take my espresso, go to the bank and pump some gas. In the afternoon, naturally, a siesta. And then at then at cocktail hour I'd head to my favourite bar trailing a line of swooning females.

I'd be like a Bullfighting Pied Piper.





Bottoms Up, Picadors.

Party Time Insanity

At a recent Saturday night party...

Wombat: You said you hadn't been out much in three years.

Meredith: Yeah. Bad divorce. I only felt like being alone.

Wombat: Shit. That must have sent you nuts. Just staying at home, that is.

Meredith: Oh, for sure.

Wombat (jocularly): On a scale of one to ten, how crazy are you, Meredith?

Meredith (matter-of-factly): I'd say...around fifty-six or -seven.

Wombat (with fading smile) : * crickets *

...



Bottoms Up, Fellow Crazies.

Disinformation

Intellectualizing relationships makes for awesome dinner party schtick. Two reactions stand out:

I know! That's so true!

or

Silence.

The latter indicates that someone's feeling flushed-out or guilty.

Whichever.

We make mental lists of ideal qualities. She/he should be like this, look like that, think like the other. I'll know her when I meet her, she'll stand out like New York in Las Vegas.

In real life we meet prospects who kinda sorta fit our perfect template, and depending upon our level of desperation, we'll ignore whatever doesn't.

* shrug *

This is real life, baby, it ain't no fantasy. Eighty percent compatibility feels like it's the most we can hope for. That prolly goes for life in general.

However. There's always the however. Because the urge to be with someone (read: continue the species) overpowers everything, we are supremely adept at ignoring warning signs in prospects. He's a drug-using philanderer with a history of unemployment and using prostitutes. But he's my John now.

Settle. Go for it. Go on. But don't then expect your day in court when it doesn't work out.





Bottoms Up Deniers.

IRL v Online Dating

Photo credit.

Serendipitously, my media maven friend Annalis Clint sent me a link to a very good article about the virtues (or not) of online dating.

I have never been a fan. If for no other reason, paid onling dating sites are a rip-off:


Marcus Frind, CEO of PlentyofFish.com, crunched the stats on his blog and found that 1 in 1,369 dates leads to marriage on Match.com. That’s $83,000 in subscription revenue for every marriage. If someone told you those odds at the beginning, would you still want to sign up? Considering the ratio of marriages to revenue, we think most people would expect a higher delivery rate.


Mr Frind is hardly a disinterested observer, but doubtless the numbers are representative.

In any case, I heartily recommend you read the article. Online dating does not work.



Late edit: In news just unearthed, it seems the online dating experience deserves a lawsuit. My, my.

LA Woman Sues Match.com




Bottoms Up, Real Lifers.

Blackout

My buddy Mr Nights left town and moved to Vegas.

Astonishing.

People actually live in Vegas? You mean not everyone there walks up and down the Strip drinking from open containers dreaming of three buck prime rib and endless winning hands of twenty-one?

People have jobs and work in SinTown?

Apart from losing a drinking mate, I've lost a portion of my memory. One unfortunate quality of drinking - okay, excessive drinking - is that one can lose time. Cleaning out my car over the weekend, I found a business card; a card I think belongs to a woman I chatted up with Nights one night, slightly under the influence.

It's bothersome this blackout thing, because I so rarely overindulge, and when it does happen, it seems I meet the most enthusiastic women. They're sufficiently enthusiastic to give me their business card with a cellphone number hand-written on the blank side too.

I remember the beginning of the night. Working from before dawn, I'd joined Mr Nights for HH drinks at five, making the rookie mistake of not partaking, snackwise. We pushed on to a steakhouse bar, looking for professional ladies similarly on the prowl. (That would be bankers, lawyers, accountants, not the other kind of professional you perv.)

Naturally that didn't quite work, but the next bar did, coinciding with my alcoholic amnesia.

Drat.

The problem now is that I have this card, with a phone number (an enthusiastic phone number) and no way to dial it. Not only did I chat up a decent-looking woman (this according to Mr Nights) but I met his ex-wife...and have no memory of it.

Double Drat.

I feel like a drink.


Bottoms Up, What Happens in Vegas Everyone Knows Abouters!

Photo of woman from here [link]

Life Curves - Wombatgram #11

Some windows of opportunity are wide open, some are heart-breakingly short.



Click on the Wombatgram to view with more detail.

Bottoms Up, Lifers.

Vice and Virtue

The Roman Catholic Church recognizes that the seven deadly sins correspond inversely to seven virtues. Inversely isn't quite the right word, but it's close.




Bottoms Up, Sinners!

What Do Men Say?

Unusually, I'm about to recommend another websiteslashblog.[link] I have no clue who the people are, but I see there's talent among the production and editorial staff and (guessing) money backing them too.

The premise is one I like and try to put into practice here @ KnB, namely the idea that women want to hear what men think about, and about them. My efforts are miserable, but the following interview is worthwhile.

It helps that Miss Schell, the interviewer, does a bang-up job of not verbally obstructing the guys.

It's worth a look, safe for work, and nicely amiable.





Bottoms Up, Inquisitors!

RubixGirl from here. [link]

Friday Fluffer - Homeless Bums

With governments everywhere ruining economies, problems eventually come to our own back yard.

Even attractive young women are finding themselves without a roof over their heads. They resort to selling their clothes for money and living on the beach in their bikinis. Homelessness stalks even the hottie.

So if you see such a homeless bum on the street, take her back to your place. Give her a hot meal and a clean bed. It's the right thing to do.





Bottoms Up!


Photo from my favourite, the OC News [link]

Ferrets

Individualism's great, but what you call individualism I reserve the right to call strangeness. Strangeness can be fun and interesting too, but I probably don't want to date you if you're strange tipping to weird. That's the way I roll.

Pets are one area in which I have little tolerance for the non-mainstream. A certain one-upmanship taints pet ownership, especially amongst those whose non-human companions extend beyond cats and dogs.

Take ferrets, for example. A mate of mine from years ago dated (for a short time) a very attractive chick who came equipped with a ferret. Mostly the rat wrapped itself around the back of her neck, with its hideous face poking out from under her hair above her left shoulder. She went everywhere with that beast, talking to it like it understood. It reminded me of a ventriloquist and her dummy, constantly blathering back and forth.

Snakes and other reptiles skip the strange category and move straight to weird. Dating a woman with a diamond python or two in her living room is beyond me. Ditto lizards, spiders, grasshoppers and Madagascar hissing cockroaches. [link]

Even mainstream pets tell us a lot about the owner. Single women with miniature dogs have them as baby replacements; men with miniature dogs are homosexual; anyone with a pit-bull is a retard. Which leaves only cat-owners as sane people. So that's who I'll date.

Have pussy? Call me.


Bottoms up!





Photo of Woman with Ferret from here [link]

Change Gears

Repulsion and attraction rest upon the smallest particles. Loving a woman can be about the way she tilts their head. Loathing a woman can be about the way she closes a door. It's ridiculous when placed on a plinth like that, but all my observations and experience tell me it's true.

A lot of the stuff that we might label 'small' is right on the edge of consciousness, too, in my opinion. I don't know exactly what it is I like about her...I just know. Detachment and self-examination are needed to figure out what our brain is filtering out, and what it's including. The answer is there, but we need to point the flashlight at the edges of how we think, towards the less obvious nooks and crannies of our personality.

This is the reason I dislike the standard online dating architecture. The profiles are all about big-picture things, painted with a large brush. Unfortunately, the paint is water-based, and washes away with the first exposure to rain. Yes, I like sailing and martinis, just like you, but where's the hook in that? I have just described about a billion people. Small is special and big is...well, it's just big.

The real point I want to make about this is that because my attraction for you is about the small stuff, you are entirely unlikely to know ahead of time what those small stuffs are. That's why it is such a waste of time to spend time thinking about your shortcomings - as, remember, you see them, not anyone else - to the detriment of being the best you can.

I have discovered this, thousands of years late, but it's worth repeating: change what you want to and accept the rest. Oh, and don't worry about what other people find attractive or repulsive. You have no control over that.

Martini, anyone?

Bottoms Up.




Woman contemplating from this man [link]

Assumptions

One fuck does not a relationship make. It's a rookie mistake, making the leap from penis/vagina hijinks to something more.

Not that jumping that particular gap isn't promoted by a kind of hypnotism that unfortunately sways us all every day. Billboards. Blogs. Checkout magazine racks. All the reputable authorities. Hell, it's right there in front of me! If I make my lover cum in a new way, she'll be mine forever!

{This did not actually appear on a Cosmo cover, but I think they should at least think about hiring me.}

The feeding ground of assumption is lush and well irrigated. Yes we got naked. Yes we had borderline illegal sex. Yes I think you're great. No we're not in relationship.





Pic from some dopey MySpace place to which I refuse to link.

Edited because no-one knows Cosmopolitan from their elbow, but Cosmo is the repository of everything hip sexwise. Maybe.

Memories of Lovers Past

Some people have the happy knack of remaining friends with past loves. I think this mostly applies to men, but that's only for lack of pertinent women-data in my life.

It is possible that women react more negatively emotionally to break-ups because they attach more, earlier. (See the Ten Date Rule/oxytocin phenomenon.) Heat surrounding relationship termination works against friendly post-breakup contact.

On the other hand it might be because men don't give what they consider minor breakups emotional fuel. Until we (men) are significantly meshed, changing relationship status from 'lover' to 'friend' is as consequential as changing gears. Either that or we mask whatever we are feeling.

Generalizations and guesses, all. My own circumstance is a combination of:

~ bad breakup technique (the fadeout, the walkout)

~ breakup sloth (delayed, forgotten, deliberately avoided breakups)

~ relationship misjudgment (I didn't realize I was in one)

~ good breakups (with bad after-relationship service)







Pic from here [link]

Edited for incorrect use of 'mitigate'. Many, many demerit points.

Ten Date Rule Part One. [link]
Ten Date Rule Part Two [link]
Ten Date Rule Overview (later) [link]

Friday Fluffer - The Mangagement Ring

A step forward in human affairs, this. We're late to the party, but another wall to male equality fell with the coming of age of the mangagement ring. [link][link][link]

The mangagement ring is exactly what you think; it's a ring worn by men showing their status as pre-married. The days of the man alone spending six months of his salary on an engagment ring are over. Now the woman should reciprocate, and the bigger the bling the better thanks ladies.



Pic from here [link]

Edited because I couldn't spell 'mangagement.' Duh.

Everywhere

It's a given that whatever you're looking for is right there in front of you. You just can't see it.

That sucks. What use is a universe that supplies the answers to our questions but not the understanding to know?

But wait: If the universe supplies the answers and did so all along, what's the weakest link here? That would be the way we look at things, wouldn't it?


I want to make special mention of a couple of links, to my right, as I speak.

One is Relationshipdisaster, which isn't as bad as you'd imagine.

The other is Lesbian Love, which is the bestest site ever if you are keen on dating another lady, and you're a lady. You know what I mean.





Pic from here [link]

Easy, Like Sunday Morning.

Finding new ways to weed out possible Mrs Wombats has become a sort of hobby of mine. Dating websites all do this more-or-less the same way, with written profiles and canned questions. I dislike dating websites.

To my mind shoe-horning the individual into these boxes cannot meaningfully tell us that much about them. Most people find writing about themselves difficult. That part of their profile then becomes an exercise in satisfying the minimum word-count, with commensurate usefulness. Asking me whether I'm black or white or hispanic is meaningless, in my opinion. My star-sign? Yeah, whatever.

So I have tried to create a series of questions that ask about stuff that I think will tell me something about the other person, in relation to me. Make sense? Maybe not. Here's an example, which you might care to answer.

What does your ideal Sunday morning look like? And if it's different, what do you actually do?






Pic from here [link]