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The real dirt on how to catch your man

What do you think a man is – some kind of game animal?

When I was young my mum told me that you had to let men pursue you.  Your role was to act as if you didn’t give much of a stuff, and that would make them pull out a ring, eventually.

Robert Wright says, in his controversial tome Why We Are the Way We Are, that women instinctively know where they are on the Great Ladder of Desirability, and that girls who know they’re hot will hold out, while girls who know they’re not will grab it where they can.  Reading this, I instantly recognised myself as a girl who grabs.  The only men I hold out for are the ones I don’t want, and the ones who don’t want me (this last, obviously, involuntarily).

Moral ANimal

But after fifty-one years of puzzling over the correct way to catch a man, I think finally I’ve come up with a few nuggets of wisdom, and they are these:

  • It doesn’t matter if you sleep with a guy on the first date.  They don’t care.  If they like you they’ll still want to get serious, and if they think you’re a slut, you wouldn’t have wanted them anyway.
  • Every man is different.  You can’t apply the lessons you learn in one broken relationship, to the next one, because each one is its own challenge.  One man might be a rabid cheater, so alright, you decide never to tolerate another flirt – but the next one will inevitably be something else entirely.  Different shit happens.
  • Men are romantic.  They’re more romantic than women – who, let’s face it, are often scarily pragmatic at bottom.  They like buying roses and whispering sweet nothings and the thought that one day you might be seen together in Harvey Norman looking at couches.  Try telling one all you want is his body for the night, and you’ll see what I mean.
  • Some men, like some women, get anxious when they have to chase you around.  River God seems to blossom on assurances of everlasting devotion and availability – and he gets very upset when I don’t text him something nice at least twice a day.  It’s hard for a girl that was brought up on ‘whatever you do, don’t show them you like them’.
  • I haven’t met a man yet who really likes the fact that I’ve had sex with lots of guys before him.  I’ve met guys who say they do ‘oh that’s great, that just makes you more experienced and sexy!’.  I’ve met guys who say they don’t care.  But inevitably, it makes them nervous, and then they either get jealous ‘But can you REALLY just give it all up…for me?’ or competitive ‘I too can rack up double figures of meaningless bodily interfaces, if I want, so there!’.
  • There’s no hurry.  You don’t have to ‘catch’ a guy when you’re young.  Lots of guys like women more or less their own age (although I will admit they tend to have a bias to 5 years younger) and I personally know of many romances which have blossomed in the nursing home, so relax, do what you want with your life, and pay no attention to The Princeton Mum (instead, read the Other Princeton Mum).
  • You don’t have to be beautiful.  There are all sorts of men and they like all sorts of women.  Some of them even like me, and I’m not remotely beautiful.  If you are beautiful, it doesn’t really help, anyway.  Men leave beautiful women broken-hearted too – you only have to read Who Weekly to know that.
  • Men are not the Buyers and women are not the Product (or vice-versa).  It’s more like an op shop kind of arrangement – you go in looking for a black jacket and come out with a purple silk shirt, and that’s all good.  Don’t think you have to sell yourself – you’re a person, not a used car, for chrissake!

There are three slogans it’s pretty useful to have up on the wall above your bed, as you embark on your quest for lurve.

One: Be Happy.  Don’t let him interfere with that.  If he’s bringing you down, go watch a funny movie.

Two: Chill.  If you feel yourself getting into a tizzy, take a deep breath and sit on it.  Now is (probably) not the time to have a tanty or make big decisions about make or break.  It will probably look different in a day or two.  If Romeo and Juliet had just chilled…we would never have heard of them.

Three: Everything that is wrong with your guy, is going to be apparent in the first three weeks – if not to your cerebellum, to your gut.  If you’re like me, you’ll probably go ‘oh yeah, whatever, I can deal with that’.  Ok, but don’t say you weren’t warned.

Strange Stories: One Sided Conversation

Hi.  I’m Mike.

And you’re…?  Mary?  Like the virgin, ha ha.

No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be in bad taste.  Did I tell you you must be the best looking girl in this place?  No?

So what’s a nice girl like you…

You’ve heard that line before?

Oh, sorry.  So what do you do?

What do I do?

I’m rich.  Actually I can’t tell you exactly what I do because it’s secret – classified work, you know what I mean.  But I do own a Porsche.  And, yeah, I’m travelling for work.  It’s so boring being a senior manager – you get so sick of all the pressure.  People bothering you for decisions, decisions – and you work fourteen hour days, never get to see your family – not that I have a family – never get to go out and just have a good time, let your hair down…

Yeah, well, alright, I’m out now, but usually – god you’re a goodlooking woman.  Care for a drink?

Uh huh.  Cocktails make you drunk quicker, you know.  Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a beer?  No?  Right, an Orgasm thanks and – how much is that?  Uh, right.

So, um, tell me about yourself.

An intelligent woman!  I like an intelligent woman.  I like a woman who is capable of understanding me, really understanding me, having a real conversation, you know what I mean? you mind if I ask you how old you are?

You’re kidding?  I would have guessed you were twenty-five at the absolute outside!  You certainly look pretty good for your age..

Yeah.  Well, like I was saying, my work is classified, really, but I can tell you a bit about it, since you’re a friend of mine now.  We work on decoding satellite data for NATO, you’d be fascinated to hear the little things we find out…I mean those Iranians get up to things you wouldn’t believe, in a Moslem country..

A woman like you, I suppose you’ve got lots of boyfriends…


Yeah, I’m divorced.  My wife is..I mean she was a bit of a ballbreaker.  Executive type.  I mean I love intelligent women but there’s got to be some softness there, don’t you think?  Femininity…

Relationships?  I love women and leave them – until now, that is.  Until I met you!  I mean, they’re always trying to pin you down, leaving their shit at your flat, wanting to buy furniture together…I never date a woman who lives nearby, she’d always be calling round to see what you’re up to…women tend to pursue me, you know what I mean?

Sure, all that’s changed now.  I’m a reformed man.  I just came to this place for a quiet drink, anyway.  I wasn’t thinking about sex, I mean women, at all – but then I saw you and I was just bowled over..

Oh yeah, I love dancing, but I get this pain in my leg….old war wound, from Vietnam, I mean Bosnia

Sure, I was in Bosnia – that was when I was a war correspondent.  People think it’s all drama and excitement and danger, but you get blasé about all that after a while, bullets and risk and saving lives and getting scoops and so on..

You know, we’ve been talking for – what’s it been – it seems like hours.  Twenty minutes – no, it has to be longer than that.  Anyway, I need to tell you,  I’ve got this feeling about you.  You’re something special.  I look into your eyes – has anyone ever said what beautiful eyes you have – and you know what, I think I’m falling in love.  I think you may be the one I’ve been waiting for all my life.

No, this is only my third drink.  I can walk a straight line any time, you watch me.

I don’t usually do this, but would you consider coming out with me?  I mean, we could go to the movies, the theatre…I’d just love to take you out to dinner, somewhere special, somewhere really expensive…

Let’s go out and take a walk.  Look at the stars.  I love nature, don’t you?  Where’d you say you parked your car?

Do you mind if I hold your hand?  No?  I love liberated women, they’re so sexy.  So…liberated!  Some women are afraid of their sexuality, don’t you find?  But you’re so lusty, so assertive…I find it devastatingly attractive…

No, let’s go in your car.  Mine’s….in the garage being fixed.  I mean, having a new cocktail cabinet fitted and an in-car tv.

You want to do what?

Uh, yeah.

You’re into…come again?

I mean, I’m really glad you’ve got a healthy sense of your own sexuality, it’s really great but…did I hear you right?

Wait a minute – oh, I think that’s my mobile buzzing – I’ve got one of those vibrating ones, the latest model…

You mean you want me over there right now – but I’m – well, ok, if it’s that urgent, I guess…

I’m so sorry, something’s just come up.  Looks like I have to go in to the office and save the nation…

Sure I”d love to see you again.  Now let’s see, what’s your phone number?  I’ll call you, alright?

Great, well it’s been lovely meeting you too…

Oh, fuck, that was a near one!  Mate, I may be open minded, but I don’t go that low…if she wants to talk about post-structuralist modern art and Jungian theories of identity – phew – she’d better get one of those..gigolos or whatever  – I’m not into that kind of kinky stuff,  man…Fuck me

Rose’s Ranch


Me and Darla, the Gypsy Temptress of Oh I Do Blather on a bit don’t I fame, have hatched an ingenious plan. We”re going to create the rules and regulations for our own little paradise – a women’s community, where men (and women, sorry Darla, because not ALL women are as nice as you) are only admitted by invitation and at our behest.

Yes, it’s a wee bit sexist…but at least WE’LL get a laugh out of it!  Plus, we are currently trying to think of a suitable title for an award that we can palm off on other women bloggers we want to invite to paradise.  Yes, YOU TOO can come to Harlot’s Heaven, Goddess Gate, The Land of Ladies, or perhaps the Royal Women’s Institute for the Training and Correction of the Other Lot…and make up your own Rules, if you want to!  You can even bring your husband, as long as you keep him on a lead and pick up his little accidents (ok I said it was sexist, alright?).

Darla’s Version of Feminine Fantasia will be along shortly but here’s mine – just to prod her along! I dunno, she seems to spend so much time LIVING that she forgets about BLOGGING! Honestly!

So here goes!!!!

Out the back at Rose’s Ranch


  • Like men in the bedroom but not in the boardroom?
  • Ever wished you could have a full set of tools for every emergency, instead of having to choose between a screwdriver and an allen key?
  • Ever wanted to live in a society where YOU call the shots and he does the dishes?
  • Ever wondered how much better life could be if only THEY did what they were told!

Welcome to Rose’s Fantasy Ranch, where men are men and there’s plenty to go around.  And the best thing about it is, if MY fantasy’s not YOUR fantasy, that’s just fine – this place caters to EVERYBODY’s dreams.  Register yours now (dream that is) and take that first step towards the fulfilment of all your secret sexist longings!

On Rose’s Ranch:

  • There are at least three men for every woman.  Those who don’t want that many can donate to other women who want more. Personally, I think five’s a good number.
  • Variety is the key.  We have the traditional beefcake, but we also have witty conversationalists, big brains, those happy sort of guys whose smile just cheers you up straight away, men who are just the dreamiest dancers, and men who fix stuff.  Oh yeah, and FOREIGN men, with accents.  Sorry, I just have a thing for them.
  • You have to be forty or over to get in. Sorry girls, you’ve got enough on your hands already.
  • Women sit at the head of the table. Men are allowed to throw their weight around only if it turns their partner on.
  • The first Sunday of every month is Swap Meet.  Nothing sleazy.  One woman’s trash may be another woman’s treasure, you never know!
    All the men are on the male contraceptive pill, which will be especially invented for the grand opening of the Ranch.  The ranch is STD free, so the only reason to involve condoms is if they’re studded, ribbed or light up in the dark.
  • At night, all public areas will be lit by either candelight or that soft pink light that makes you look about twenty years younger.
    There are no gyms on Rose’s ranch.  There is a lovely swimming spot though with a sandy beach.  Nude bathing is just fine.  So are those swimsuits that come down over your knees. Whatever.
  • If you fall in love and want to stay with a guy forever, he has to pass an extensive examination by a jury of your peers on his suitability for a serious relationship.  They will examine important things like whether he ever cooks you dinner, how much time he spends whingeing, and whether he’s ever looked up another woman’s skirt.  If the jury blackballs him, you can still keep him, but he has to wear a red bowtie, which will make him look just a little bit stupid.

ps We like men really.

Oh that dirty slut!

Inspired by Tearmatt (Sex is Key) – the topic for today is the Slut.

Call me stupid but I don’t see what sex has got to do with morals, any more than eating donuts. To re-phrase a rhetorical question often posed by religious gaybashers, would god have given us a sex drive from the time we hit puberty if he didn’t want us to fuck?  Nope.

Yes eating donuts can be wrong – if you’re eating them in front of a dying Ethiopian kid, or if you’ve nicked them from Dunkin’Donuts while the counter kid was in the toilet.  Yes donuts can be bad for you – that sugar goes straight to your thighs!  You can CHOKE on donuts if you eat them too fast.  But donuts as a moral issue? I don’t think so.  The birds do it, the bees do it, even the bloody trees do it (oh you slutty promiscuous green things, scattering your seeds all around the place!).

Personally I don’t enjoy sex that much if it’s not with someone I have a real connection with.  That said, I’ve had sex with at least fifty guys in my life, and I don’t feel bad about it.  Some of my dearest friends have been strangers I’ve taken home from the club one night – I guess I’m a good judge of people, either that or the real jerks don’t fancy me much.  I wear sexy gear when I feel like it and I like it when guys appreciate the assets.  I can pole dance (kind of, I’m totally crappy at it though).  I do what I want.

An acquaintance of mine has been known to have sex with three different strange guys in a day cause she craves sex by the bucketload – it’s risky, it’s undiscriminating but it’s NOT unethical.  Who does she hurt? No one.  If I like a man, I want to get physical NOW – I don’t want to have to wait till the magic ‘third date’, and why should I?

On the other hand, nowadays I pretend a bit.  If a man asks me how many lovers I’ve had, I’m kind of vague (that was after a boyfriend of mine said I shouldn’t be too frank about it).  If I go out on a date, I wait a bit, not because I want to, but because of strategy (if he really likes you, he’ll wait for you, and more to the point, you’ll wait for him..and wait..and wait…).  I don’t sleep with strange men any more – it doesn’t feel good to me.  I say ‘no’ a lot – because I want to.  But if I wanted to, I’d say YES – and so I should.  I don’t want to get STDs (the devil’s way of spoiling a good time?).  I try not to hurt people, and I understand that for men as well as for women, sex and caring are often linked – what’s one person’s zipless fuck is another person’s heartache.  Grown-ups know that and they’re careful and honest as well as horny.

If I ever call you a slut, it won’t be cause I think you have too much sex.  It’ll just be because I don’t like you much.

The Get Stuffed School of Romance

I’m bringing my daughter up in what I like to call the ‘GET STUFFED‘ school of romance.  The theory goes like this.

  • Men are desperate for sex.
  • Women therefore don’t have to do anything in particular to attract them.

So my advice to Ms M is this – if anyone ever suggests you should do anything painful, boring or stupid so men will like you better, just say the magic words.  GET STUFFED.  (And I’m not referring to the sexual meaning of the term, here.)  If all the women in the world did this, men would just HAVE to fall into line.

“I’d want to have sex with you more if you painted your toenails.”

“Mmm…30 minutes sitting stock still with toes in separator, waiting for nail polish to dry, when could be out practising my karate kicks….GET STUFFED!

“Have you ever thought about getting a brazilian?”

“Let’s see…10 minutes of intense pain and embarrassment followed by redness, itching and the kind of stubble normally only seen on Brad Pitt, to be repeated at 3 weekly intervals, so I can look like an uncooked chicken fillet?…I’ll take that on notice.”

“Why don’t you pay attention to me when I’m trying to tell you about computer programming/my horrible ex-girlfriends/my 10,000 page trilogy about someone just like me who gets to dress up in a tight space suit and shoot plasma beams? If you’re not careful I’ll just go and find someone who will!”

“Mmm, that’s a hard one…..alright, off you go then.”

Three days later they’d all be back with aching balls and a much more cooperative attitude.

I didn’t write this by the way – this was Sexist Susie the Hairy-Lipped Man Hater from Hobart.  Thanks Susie!