Archives for December 2014

How To Date The Last Man

lastmanThat’s the goal, right? You’ve waded through this sea of dysfunctional tadpoles to find the best fit. You’ve tolerated all sorts of masculine silliness. You’ve experienced varieties of physical and emotional approaches. From those, you’ve identified your preferences. Heck, knowing you, you’ve probably made a list. If your list reads, “I just want someone to respect me, and hold my hand,” you’ve come a long way, baby.

So, where is your prince? Chances are very good you’ve already met him. In fact, he could be in the same room with you as you read this. You’ve spent years fighting off Nature’s suggestion, haven’t you?

“He’s the one.”

“No. He’s a friend. I could never date him.”

“Yes, you could, and you should.”

“No. It would complicate everything. It wouldn’t work out, and I’d lose a treasured friendship.”

“… unless it simplifies everything and becomes so much more.”

“I don’t think we’re compatible.”

“You know you are. You’re chicken.”

“He slept with one of my friends.”

“Didn’t you set them up?”

“Yes, but if he was into me, he wouldn’t have done that.”

“How could he think you were into him, when you set him up with someone else?”

“I don’t know. He’s doesn’t want me like that.”

“Yes, he does. He wants you like no other, and if you both would stop wasting time building hurdles between you, maybe you’d find what was right in front of you all this time.”

Don’t argue with Nature. That’s a horrible long-term strategy. Go with her, and enjoy her fruits.

The first place you should have looked for your lifetime love was next to you, but, you didn’t. You ran through the forest, following the maze of paths carved by women before you. Sure, you netted a few broncos along the way, but where are they now? Better question: Where are YOU know?

Drop everything right this moment! (OK, don’t be so literal. Give me a paragraph, first.) If he’s in the room, walk over to him, take his face in your hands, look into his eyes, tell him you love him, and kiss him. I don’t give a shit if you’re at work, in church, or at Target. Do it. Don’t be cautious. Don’t regard anything or anyone around you—just him. Put this book down, and get in his face. If he’s not here, go to him. If he’s in another state, call him. Stop making excuses.

Now, put this fucking book down, and embrace the love you’ve earned.

How To Date Writers

writersIt cracks me up when the woman I’m dating says, “You’re not allowed to write about this.” That, to me and my fellow scribes, is a dare we cannot resist. Of course, I’m going to write about this. Oh, I’ll exaggerate, embellish, and change the names, but write is what I do.

I suppose if you’re dating a reporter or children’s book author, you wouldn’t need to be concerned. If you’re targeting a romance author, you’re going to plague him with questions like, “You did what with whom?” He’ll remind you it’s just fiction. You’ll pry further. At some point he’ll say the writing was inspired by a friend’s relationship. (Creative fuckers, aren’t we?)

Often, women will wonder why an author would type such short text messages. They expect prose in every response. For us, writing is work, my dear. The goal of our work (entertainment or education) is different than the goal of a text message (make a single point). If we were to approach texting as we do our writing, it would takes days to respond, by the time our editor was done redlining. So, please don’t date a writer because you expect lady boner material every time your phone dings.

I’m not trying to dissuade you from dating writers. I’ve ridden my king bed solo long enough. Writers need loving too—perhaps even more than most. If you find one who suits your taste, and you have the capacity to separate the art from the artist, writers can stimulate you in unique ways. Our minds go places, and we enjoy appreciative company. Heck, be good to a writer and you could wind up on a dedication page.

Should you read his books? That depends. The last thing Mr. Scribbles wants to do is defend his work. Unless you’re his editor or publisher (in which case he must be insane), he doesn’t want unsolicited suggestions. If you can appreciate his work, whether or not you enjoy it, and express your appreciation instead of critique, then by all means read him.

Perhaps this is something new for you. You haven’t dated a writer. You could use something different. Well, I live in Carlsbad. Look me up. (Kidding … kind of.) There places most likely to find writers are bookstores and coffee shops. Writers who hang out in bookstores are typically aggrandizing pricks, unless they happen to be doing a signing or reading. I suggest you take your laptop to Starbucks, and hunt for your man there.

The prime target is the man suffering from writer’s block. Look for the one staring off into space, who occasionally looks down, types a sentence, reads it, backspaces over it, and stares back into the beyond. He needs inspiration, and that’s you. Walk over and say, “Hi, whatcha doin’?” He’ll confess to clogged cranium, and welcome the break. Be his muse. Help him escape himself.

Once you start dating, avoid the common pitfalls. Writing is his job. Let him do that, uninterrupted, unless that interruption involves you being naked, of course. Be prepared to defend your man to friends and family who don’t appreciate him the way you do. Tell them that everyone has different tastes, and theirs basically sucks. Oh, how he’ll adore you for defending his passion! Be his biggest fan, and he may tickle your senses, eternally.

How To Date Festive Men

festiveGot your eyes on a fellow proudly wearing an ugly sweater? If he has on a Santa cap, and is defiling a wine glass with an obnoxious ornament, he’s got you gooey? Please tell me he doesn’t have mistletoe hanging in the kitchen doorway. He does? Lovely.

Well, I hope you are introverted, because there’s not enough room under the spotlight for both of you. He’ll be pulling you around to all his houseguests, introducing you to people who will look at you and wonder how he did it. Best if you find a comfy chair and glass of Sambuca, as you wait for him to run out of social gas.

Your social calendar is about to overflow. You’ll be his plus one so often that, like a pet, you may actually begin resembling him. Best get yourself a decent calendar app, so you’re not double-booked.

Being his party appendage comes with the expectation that you shine at party games. Now, he needs you to excel, but not exceed his abilities—the limelight thing again. So, when you have free minutes sans Mr. Party, scour the web for tips for everything from Beer Pong to Pictionary. Heck, I bet you could find YouTube tutorials. When your adult mind tells you this is a totally fucking stupid game, perish the thought, smile, and continue the charade.

Atta girl!

If you haven’t yet met your Master of Ceremonies, I’ll give you a few pointers. Get yourself invited to a few house parties. How? Jesus, must I think of everything? Why don’t you start a balloon decorating business? No? Um, how about hanging out at Michael’s, and making friends there? Play to people’s sympathy. Tell them your husband left you for one of his students, your son was arrested, and your dog died. Works like a charm.

Here are tips for your house party attendance:

  • Bring a nice bottle of red. You’ll be drinking most of it.
  • Volunteer for everything except unclogging the guest toilet.
  • If you can sing and play the piano … don’t.
  • Introduce yourself to strangers as somebody famous’ cousin. People will be impressed (for no good reason), and want to hang with you.
  • Don’t avoid couples. I know it hurts, but you must make a few threesomes. Nothing sexual (unless it seems appropriate)—just conversation. Couples have single friends. Many are festive. Ah, you’re catching on.
  • Look for a men walking around with Prozac smiles. Often, you can find one next to the deviled egg platter. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the mustard.

When you find Mr. Fun, ask if he’d be your Charades partner. He’ll leap at the opportunity. Come up with things he could help you with like, your house needs painting, you’re unsure whether to buy or lease a car, and you can’t reach something high. He’ll introduce you to great friends who will help. Accept their business cards graciously, throw them away, and enjoy your party favor in his pants.

How To Date Childlike Men

manbabiesYou may have read that title, and suspected that I meant childish, not childlike. Au contraire, mon frere. Whereas this tome has been quite childish at times, I’m referring to men who want to be treated like children. Yes, they exist, as do motherly women who accommodate their desires.

Take, for example, the trending act called “babyheading.” This creative maneuver is where a topless woman sits on the sofa (drip towel optional). The man curls up on her lap, takes boob in mouth, and suckles as the woman gently cups his skull (burping optional, as well).

Bliss, I tell ya.

Now, when I first heard about this, I admit that I laughed so hard I nearly peed my diaper. Although babyheading would not be my first choice for foreplay (can’t see the TV), I can appreciate the appeal. So, if you enjoy mothering, allow me to guide you to Peter Panties.

It is unlikely you’ll find this man in a shopping cart seat at Target, or walking around the nightclub with puffy pants and a beer nipple. Men like him are stealth. You need to watch for childlike mannerisms. If you witness any of the following, he could be your manbaby:

  • Wipes his nose on his sleeve.
  • Drinks from a straw, especially a striped one.
  • Wears his favorite NFL team jersey.
  • Blows bubblegum bubbles.
  • Eats chicken fingers and fries, and has it slopped all around his mouth.
  • Constantly high-fives his bros.
  • Plays video games on his smart phone while making gun noises with his mouth.

Once you’ve identified Little Bobby, you need to approach him in such a way that he’ll quickly see your capacity for mothering. A creative way would be to wait outside the little boys’ room. When he emerges, grab him by the wrists and say, “Did you wash your handsy wandsies?”

Another way would involve creative use of a beverage napkin. You could say, “Here, let me get that,” as you dab wing sauce from the corner of his lips. Or, you could dip the napkin in club soda and remove the powdered sugar doughnut remnants from his Levis.

Soon, you’ll be leaving the establishment hand-in-hand. Yes, you’ll be leading/dragging him, and he’ll probably be distracted by shiny things. Pat him on the head or fanny to keep him engaged. Once you get him home, and strip him down to his Superman Underoos (careful, he’s ticklish), get ready for a fun night of kinkery. For your sake, I hope it doesn’t involve Desitin or peeing in the shower. If you discipline him, he may cry with that lip-to-lip spit rope, and require you to grab a tissue, skoosh his nose, and tell him to blow. Good boy.

In the morning, lay out his clothes, and resist the temptation to call your bestie with the details of the Romper Room romp you just enjoyed.

How To Date Shy Men

shyguyI realize most women find confidence attractive. I’ve seen men who have no chance of bedding certain women overcome daunting obstacles—height, weight, hair plugs, Hawaiian shirts—with attitude. I find most of these men to be detestable braggarts. Perhaps, you do as well. Maybe that’s why you prefer quietly secure men.

I applaud you with a golf clap.

Now, what you need to realize before entering such an arrangement is that this man will need to be led. If you sit back and wait for him to make moves, you’ll be lulled into slumberland. Here’s a list of things you had better be comfortable doing:

  • Approaching the man who interests you.
  • Suggesting the date, time, and place of your next date.
  • Placing his thumb on your clit while in girl-on-top position. (Note: This is an advanced technique, enjoyed by many, mastered by few.)
  • Giving him what he wants without asking him.
  • Defending him to your friends who will suggest he may be in a walking coma.

These wallflowers are easy to find if you seek them. They tend to blend in with shelves, lampposts, and shrubbery. Scan the perimeter of whatever venue you happen to be working for men with hands in pockets, and expect lack of eye-contact.

Once targeted, approach him as you would a timid fawn. A fistful of beer nuts might help. A fistful of Astroglide might be a bit too forward.

Side Note: What’s with the latest trend of women spitting on or licking their fingers, then wiping it on themselves prior to entry? Isn’t there a better way? Most men don’t like seeing or hearing women spitting. Perhaps it would be better to excuse yourself to the powder room to grease up the gears. Heck, you could have a Jiffy Lube drum and pump in there for all we care. Just stop spitting. Yuck!

Sorry.

You’ve gotten your wallflower cornered. How do you close the deal? Always leave him a path of egress. If, at any point, he runs away screaming, just shrug him off and move on. Some guys are just too much work. If he stays, makes intermittent eye contact, giggles, and says cute things like, “Aw, shucks,” you’ve won him over. Show him you’re willing to drive this train. Take him by the hand, interlock fingers, ignore the sweaty palm, and lead him to the bar. Don’t ask what he prefers, just order two chilled shots of Don Julio. Lick (it’s OK to do this now) the back of your hand and his hand, sprinkle salt, lick again (exception number two), throw down the shot, bite your lime, and throw it. If you’re caught, say it slipped.

Two or three of these and shy guy will loosen up like waxed shoe laces. Before you know it, he’ll be hooting, howling, and riding you like he’s drilling for oil. Tomorrow, he’ll apologize, and need therapy. Give him a punch in the arm and say, “You’re forgiven. Job well done.”

How To Date Romantic Men

romanticmenRomance is subjective. Do you agree? I don’t care, actually, because I’m writing this, so deal with my perversion of the subject at hand, or put down this book, wipe, and get back to work.

Guess that wasn’t so romantic of me. Apologies.

Now, every woman I meet dreams of being swept off her feet a la Pretty Woman. (She was a prostitute, you know?) Romance, while sliding a bit, is not dead, so don’t give up the dream, my lovely. There could be a bouquet of flowers making it’s aromatic way to you as we speak. Or, you could receive the ever-popular, “Just thinking of u” text message.

Side Note: If that bastard is so lazy that he needs to save two fucking letters by typing “u,” I’m going to suggest you save three and a space by replying, “QQQQ”—four q.

See, it’s the subjectivity of romance that get’s men in trouble. Some women prefer horse-drawn chariots, some want a good swat in the dumper. I’m sorry, but it’s YOUR responsibility to let men know how to strum your heartstrings. You also need to specify when and where such strummage is appropriate. For example, you want me to talk dirty, but maybe in the car instead of in the deli line.

Don’t want to get ahead of myself. First, you need to know where to find these fellows. Dating sites and apps give you a glimpse into his psyche. Check your Tinder. If you find pictures of him and his mother or grandmother, it’s a great sign. If you find pictures of him and some woman with her face scribbled out, that’s a bad sign. Other places you can find Mr. Chivalrous include plays, operas, and theaters. If he’s wearing a sweater over a shirt, chances are he’ll hold your hand and walk street-side.

Once you’ve targeted your prince, how do you get him to lay down his coat at your feet? Simple. Glance, bat your eyes, giggle, and look away. Who could resist? If you happen to have one of those old-fashioned folding fans, you could flitter it about your face, as if cooling off from the neargasm caused by the mere sight of him.

He’ll come galloping over, and probably bow while reaching for your hand. (My cat does this. Big fucking deal. Sorry.) Introduce yourself by prefixing “Lady” to your name. If you have a hyphen in your last name, drop that shit—not a good time to tell him you’re married. If he’s truly dashing, he’ll flirt, compliment your hair or skin tone, and offer to buy you a tasty libation. Good boy.

Since he’s a good boy, your night will probably end with a peck on the cheek instead of semen-glazed boobies. No problem. Be patient. That will come. (Tee, hee.) He should request a text message to ensure you arrived home safely. The next contact should happen between twelve and twenty-four hours subsequent. It should included accolades and appreciation for your recent accompaniment. It should include an offer with specific agenda for the next date. When he arrives in his chariot to pick you up for that date, he had better not arrive empty-handed. A fine ($20 minimum) bottle of buttery chardonnay is acceptable, as are orchids.

Enjoy all this mushery while it lasts. Soon you will tire, and utter the phrase, “Please shut up and just fuck me.”

How To Date Young Men

youngmenYou naughty, spotted beast, you! Now, what possible joy could a much younger man bring you? Orgasm, schmorgasm. According to Wikipedia, men over the age of forty are twice as likely to bring a woman to orgasm in under twenty minutes. (OK, maybe I’m making this up.) Why you gotta be so superficial, yo? Whatever.

All right, I understand—you are taking a break from bald heads, man titties, and saggy balls. Please understand that from where a man’s eyes are, all of those things appear just fine. Well, yes, our eyes are fucked too. Look, I’m not arguing. You want to date high-haired Justin, go for it.

You know where to find him. Perhaps he’s somewhere on your block drawing chalk figures on the sidewalk. That one’s convenient, but aim a little higher and avoid being featured on Fox News. Try a playground. No, not the swing sets. Look for shiny, hairless chests sprinting back in forth on macadam while trying to stuff a piece of leather through a metal hoop. Just pull up a park bench, and watch. Avoid yelling things like, “That was a fucking charge, Ref!” Just reapply lip gloss, check your phone, and enjoy.

Soon enough, ole squeaky shoes will come bouncing over, and give you some witty line, like:

  • “Wassup?”
  • “Dude. How’s it hangin’?”
  • “Hey, yo.”
  • “Did you see somebody run off with my scooter?”

Ignore whatever he says, unless it includes the word “herpes,” and ask if he’d like to get a blue-flavored Slurpee with you after his game.

Yes, I know that “blue” is not a fucking flavor. But, I heard some choad tell the clerk that the machine was out of blue Slurpee. I wanted to hit him with a red brick.

Offer to drive, since his car (if he has one) is most likely full of surf attire, dirty socks, Whopper boxes, and marijuana roaches. Do not take him anyplace fancy. He’s all sweaty. Something like a Friday’s is a good choice. They have mac ’n cheese and placemats he can draw on. Insist that he sits next to you in a booth. I’ve heard that, oddly enough, man sweat from someone under 25 smells of morning dew and hibiscus, compared to old bastards, whose smell is more like, um, death. During dinner, place a hand on his knee and inch your way toward his stick shift. It will probably be hard as a crowbar. If not, well, maybe not a good day for you and your recently waxed princess.

These boys are pretty pliable. I suggest you have a roll in the car right after dinner. You can bypass the whole text, call, flowers, candy, blah blah horseshit. You’re not going to date him; you’re going to masturbate with his body. Get on, get off (physically), get off (mentally), and get out of there.

You should insert one of these ponies after every three of four old clunkers, just to prove you still have it, and that there are men who can get it up for you without porn and pills. Just make sure you get your pony back in his stable at a reasonable hour, so he doesn’t miss homeroom.

How To Date Longtime Single Men

mancaveSpecifically, I’m referring to men who have previously cohabitated with the finer sex, but not in the past five plus years. Why is this its own genre? Because we—I mean they are rare birds, requiring special handling.

As a man spends more and more time alone, or with pets, he begins to develop an intolerance. Now, Ms. Lovely, I am not insisting that all women cause high blood pressure. That would be an unfair generalization, which would land me in the No-Pussy-for-You Club. My point is that the level of nonsense a man will put up with is inversely proportional to number of years he had been alone, and directly proportional to the time passed since he last penetrated something other than his fist.

Here’s the equation to help:

a * Years Alone = 1/a * Her Shit Put Up With

So, if I—I mean he were alone for ten years, he will put up with precisely one tenth of the amount of female silliness he would put up with if alone for one year. To further break down the equation, I’ll offer examples for “Her Shit Put Up With.”

  • Facial creams on his sink.
  • Anything Kardashian on his HDTV, including the lesbian father.
  • Soy milk, Greek yogurt, tempeh, hummus, or any similar non-meat in his fridge, stealing precious space from life’s essentials: beer.
  • Panties on the doorknob.
  • Any text message that refers to the number of drinks had, or expected pub departure time.

If, young lady, you can control yourself, and avoid being that black gnat in his eye, you’ll find this man is quite a catch. Yes, he is. You want a strong man who knows what he wants, correct? Well, that requires him to know what he doesn’t want. So, if he’s willing to take you home, and get your makeup all over his pillowcase, you’ve leapt quite a hurdle.

Now, how does one find Mr. NotSoNeedy? Simple. You’ll find him calmly sitting bar-side, watching the telly while occasionally giggling, and sipping his frosty beverage. He’ll be admiring nearby couples by wrinkling his reddish nose. His reaction to lovers is similar to yours when you see mandals or excessive nose hair. Don’t be dissuaded. Approach him, and express your shared disgust with the public face-suckers. Tell him you’ve sworn off men. I assure you, this will only hasten your trip to his pad. A man loves a challenge, as long as it stops leaving its earrings on his bedside table.

Once you begin extracting him from reclusion, do so gently. Don’t be a pest. If he angers you, vent to a bestie. If he provides excessive radio silence, appreciate the fact that he’s not stalking you. Heck, you might learn to enjoy your man-free time. Another thing to consider is that since he isn’t taking up so much of your time, it free you up for more shopping, and/or men.

The main thing is to make the best of (e.g. stay naked) what limited time you spend with Man Solo, then, well, have you tried Uber?