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Bye-Bye Bad Boys Hellooooo Gentlemen!

tatooeditIf you are a close, personal friend of mine, you’ll know that stories like the one I’m about to tell are all too common when it comes to my dating escapades.

After reading a Huffington Post article written from a male perspective about the advantages of asking a woman on a ‘date’, instead of the vague, ‘let’s go for coffee’, I knew I had to share my latest man-tale with you.

If you are not a close personal friend of mine, trust me when I tell you never to take a good guy for granted, especially as you get older.

Like good women, good men become tired of dealing with games and players and craziness.

As 2013 rolled into 2014, I was somewhere downtown grooving my new little silver studded flats into some grimy linoleum. Thanks to a designated driver, a favourite band, my best man-pal, lots of wine, and a little help from my pal Pablo, the evening was fun, relaxing and happy.

When I settle in at a bar, I have bat-like radar when it comes to bad boys. ‘With such keen radar I have been introduced to pilots, rugby players, writers and all sorts of lovely men. Before I’d even taken off my coat or ordered my first drink, a little hottie with a tattooed forearm caught my eye.

“Bad news,” is not what my inner voice said. Nope. Not even after all of these years of experience. What my inner voice jubilantly rattled off like a school girl’s song was, “Ding dong, bring it on!”

As luck would have it ladies, Mr.Badass Tattoo Boy swung me around the dance floor a few times, told me a little bit about himself, and took my number. Nice…

Long story short, not only have I been around the block a few times, I helped design the neighbourhood. After a few text messages, sexy tattoo man basically revealed himself as a classic male-gold-digger;

It’s me, your new dance partner – I hope you got home safely. Can’t wait to see you again xo……I have a really great job, but was just laid off. I may have to look out west for work, unless I have something to stick around here for…. You seem like such a nice woman….I had to move out of my apartment and have nowhere to live…..

Ok, first of all, homelessness is not sexy. It’s sad, and if you think this sugar-momma is going to tuck your boots under her bed while you sit on your cute, tight, buns all day while she’s at work, you’re wrong. Although I do keep my home rather warm, perhaps I could get him to do a little housework sans shirt….just a thought. It is cold outside after all.

For gentlemen confused by my abrupt turn to glaciel-ice-bitch, please refer to my previous post for amorous menfolk.

I figured the guy was a player of the worst kind, and cut him loose. He ranks right up there with the guy who asked me to pay for dinner, and then a bit of a cash advance, “just until payday”. Seriously. What the hell?!

Le sigh.

However….all was not lost. Just the day before I had been very gallantly escorted to my vehicle and asked to dinner. When I said, “Sure, I’ll go for a drink with you,” he said, “No. Not a drink. I want to take you out for dinner.”

Now gentlemen, that’s how you ask a lady out. On a date. You do not ask, Wanna do something? Wanna hang out? Wanna go for coffee? Wanna….ah…let me think potential man-cake…no. No I don’t ‘wanna’ anything. I would however, be delighted to be picked up at 7:30 after having been asked to accompany you to dinner at the restaurant of your choosing.

Being vague with, ‘do you wanna’s’, is nothing more than a layer of emotional armor that women of a certain age really just aren’t willing to wonder about. We know what we want and what we don’t. We don’t want indecisive men who are lukewarm about our luscious charms.

Another man who can’t commit? How very refreshing (sarcasm font). Another man who has no direction, but a good eye for a hard-working woman? No thank you sir. A date? Sure, why not? See you at 7:30.

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Why Nice Guys Finish Last First, then First Last

Nice Smile
Nice Smile (Photo credit: Tobyotter)

Yes, it’s a quite a bit to wrap your pretty little heads around, but eventually it makes sense.

Have a long pull on your short bourbon ladies, and settle in to tell us the story of the one who got away, or, if you’re anything like the bitch I’ve been, the one ( or hundreds) you pushed away.

So, let’s get down to the naked truth shall we my sweet little puddin’ pies?

Why Nice Guys (ultimately) Finish First…

1) Eventually we understand that a man of his word is better than a man of sleazy charm.

2) Nice stays nice. It’s kind, and cozy, and something you want to be around for a long, long, long, long time.

3) Eventually not-so-nice-guys wear thin on false-promises, and hedging their bets that some other chick will come along for a cheap thrill.

4) Nice is hot. Assholes are not.

5) Women can look forward to a nice guy. Anticipation is sexy and makes us warm up to give you lots of hot, creative, good-lovin’.  Not-so-nice-guys are a constant disappointment.

6) Nice guys never have an issue with their erection. It’s true darlings, don’t deny it. They’re honest with no psychological baggage to weigh down their mascot.

7) After reading #6, why read any further?

8) Gosh you’re demanding!!! Please, have another sip of that bourbon darling…. Nice guys don’t need reminding of your birthday, your anniversary, or that you need extra-special TLC on a regular basis.

9) Nice guys never forget how lucky they are to have a woman like you on their arm. They don’t scan the crowd to see what else is out there. They cherish what they have and maintain it sweetie pies.

10) Nice guys are ok with women who like to take the lead, and they feel flattered when you trust them enough to take  their turn.

Go ahead, work up your courage ladies. Pamper yourself with a hot bath, tidy up your tender bits, and get on the phone to that wonderful, nice guy that you know is out there waiting for you.  I promise you won’t be disappointed!

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And Then He Kissed Me – Again – No Kidding This Time

John Quinlan
John Quinlan (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The universe has a silly and cruel way of picking me up, putting me over its’ knee, and giving me a hard tap on the bottom whenever I think I know what to expect.

As deliciously seductive as that may sound, I like to think that I’m more mature than that darlings.

I like to think that having been around the block a time or two, I know every trick in the book. I like to think that, but I’m wrong, wrong, terribly wrong, when it comes to some matters of the heart.

If you read my last post, “And Then He Kissed Me”, you’ll know that I was giving some of you a bit of a tweak on the bottom to get up, out, and onto the next lucky lover.

Today, I walked right smack-dab into the middle of a grand spanking of consciousness.   The universe is trying to tell me something, and I don’t know what it is. Perhaps, as my friend Darleen thinks, it’s simply telling me to quit going to my favourite coffee shop. Thank you, Darleen for your pragmatism.

This morning, waiting for my half-sweet-whatever-was-brewing, I experienced  that eerie feeling of being watched. Looking up, who caught my eye? No, not some long-lost love my darlings.  It happened to be a-not-so-long-lost-I-don’t-know-what-to-call-him.

I wouldn’t call him a ‘fling’. It didn’t last long enough for that.  I wouldn’t call him a lover, although we do have some intimate knowledge of one another. I wouldn’t call him anything other than a brief blip on my man-radar. An entertaining little shenanigan which lasted one rather long Saturday , into the wee hours of the next morning.

I do seem to recall having nicknamed him,  “L’Enfant” when recounting our chance second meeting to my fabulous, but very married gal-pals.

You see, I met L’Enfant over a year ago while doing some writing on a snowy December evening.  I politely declined getting together due to our vast age difference (ok darlings, not so politely – I stood the poor kid up at the very last minute).

We met yet again this spring, and I thought it was more than just coincidence, so I consented to one simple day time get-together in a public place. You know, just to see if perhaps my kinky universe would reveal a greater purpose. It did not.

On the surface this charming young man was entertaining, inspiring, and a huge shot in the arm for my ego. But I know better than to indulge in something like that. There is always fallout, and inevitably, a small piece of jagged shrapnel gets imbedded deeply in my psyche and wiggles around, causing discomfort for years.

I took the encounter for what it was – a distraction from the mundane, and an experience to reinforce my idea that I shall no longer waste my time on men who do not hold the promise of something  absolutely delicious and sustainable.

So, today, as the barista finished making my whatever-you-want-to-call-it, I took a seat across from L’Enfant, and chatted with him about his work, the Syrian crisis, the new iPhone, and sports. That is all.

I wonder about meeting this little cutie-patootie for a third time by chance. I simply wonder.  If he were 10 years older I wouldn’t be sitting here typing about my curiosity. Instead, I would have found a way to be making unabashed, passionate love to this fellow under blankets by the river…..

Perhaps the universe is just feeding my imagination for a while, stirring hope, wonder and a bit of inspiration?

Time will tell my sweet little peaches. Time will tell….

 

 

 

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What’s Up With That?!

HENRY O'HARA CLIVE Seaside Flirtation, calenda...
HENRY O’HARA CLIVE Seaside Flirtation, calendar illustration, c. 1925 (Photo credit: Fred Seibert)

Today was a long day darlings.

Having only realized my lack of ice-cold club soda upon arriving home, I had to substitute champagne.

Given the hooch-tragedy, I decided to go all out fabulously-girly and enjoy it while soaking neck-deep in a bubble bath.

Immediately after the bubbles hit my blood stream I  became relaxed and inspired by sublime genious. In the candlelit room, serenaded by the likes of Ella Fitzgerald and Nina Simone, I wondered about;

1) How someone so ugly on the inside can be almost as ugly on the outside – Bashir Al  (now that’s downright ug-lee). Are we really wasting time playing this idiot’s game? Seriously. How can this breathing example of satan still be standing when innocent kids get shot on the street. Just the thought almost makes me want to switch from bubbly to bourbon.

2) Why does our conscience evolve to higher ethical and moral standards at a point in life where day-to-day stress and our need for physical connection are both at their height? Getting laid is far more work than it’s worth, and with a more discerning conscious, it’s like having a got-lucky-hangover the next day.  Call me.

3) I wonder if it would be ok to kick someone in the wiggly bits for routinely disrespecting my time?

4)  Do most women appreciate that they peak physically in their early 30’s as acutely as I did?

5) Why do we celebrate when things are going well for people? For example, we celebrate births, graduations and weddings. How about middle age spread where your friends would buy gift cards to clothing stores, showers for folks who are celebrating over a decade of being single (goodness knows I could certainly use some new tea towels and small appliances), or perhaps even celebrating your first complete calendar year taking anti-depressant medication?  That shit would rock!

6) Morning radio. We want a quick review of traffic, news and some music. I don’t want to hear some patronizing, politically, correct, melodramatic rant that goes on for half of my commute. Shut your trap and play some music already. Perhaps I need to call in tomorrow morning just to get this off my luscious chest.

7) Would it all be ok if one day we just decided to walk out on our life as we know it? What if one day you just didn’t go to work, pay your bills and wandered the planet dependent on the kindness of others? If my bubble-bath-champagne-fuelled opinion counts for anything, I think we’d all be considerably more happy. I’m sure some foot pervert would happily maintain my pedicures and you’d share your bourbon with me wouldn’t you darling?

8) How much talking does the weather-person have to freaking do? Just tell us the temperature, the type of precipitation, and if there’s a twister on the way you annoying-waste-of-time! Sheesh!

9) People who call to schedule appointments through the work day, and complain, ” But I work.” Yah? Really? I work too – do the math. We all work, see # 3, and appreciate we all like to be treated with the same respect.

10) How come my pizza guy always looks like a brow-beaten-on-the-edge-of-starvation character out of the Grapes of Wrath and not a porn star?

Yes, that covers the tiniest bit of what travelled through  my wee little girl brain tonight as I soaked my voluptuous, inebriated body in a deep, hot, bath.

I think I could be verging on genius. Of course, I think you are too darlings. Really, I do.

After having those not so charming questions loll around my pretty little head, I have decided to head straight for a protracted state of champagne-denial. Life is good my sweet little peaches, you just have to think it so.

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Ten Traits Your Autumn Man Should Have

Autumn Stroll
Autumn Stroll (Photo credit: MTSOfan)

It is a proven fact that men and women start to settle down into warm, cozy relationships as the weather cools off. Known as cuffing season to the more cynical, autumn is also the time for settling down and getting your snuggle on with your true love.

Often, my darling gal-pals and I discuss the wonders and horrors of our manscapades. The things we love, and love-not-so-much about our deliciously delightful menfolk.

For all of you ladies out there deciding upon which man to snug in with this winter, which man you will share romantic cocktail hours with fireside, which man next to whom you will wake up, snuggle closer too, and smile because you feel like the luckiest woman in the world, I have prepared a list of qualities you should value more highly than looks or a charming smile.

1) You know he’s crazy about you. That means that he KNOWS how to make you feel comfortable and confident. There is no flibberty-jibber stuttering about how inept he is at communicating. Bad communicators are simply; A waste. Of. Time. Move along.

2) He is thoughtful and considerate of your time. In other words, he’s not chronically late. Furthermore, he is a decisive ‘date maker’ without you having to do all of the work.

3) If he has ever had an obligatory occasion to give a wonderful gal like you a gift, it was a thoughtful gift. In other words, it’s not something he knows you don’t prefer, and just bought it because it was an on-line sale and easier than going out to do the work of thoughtful gifting.

4) His  physical amorous efforts  make your nether regions become an edge-of-your-seat-fully-entertained-standing-ovation audience which is left both exhausted and eager for more. Now, keep in mind, the other nine tips listed here must also be applicable as well, because let’s face it ladies, we all like to entertain men who momentarily make us strap on our bed-spurs and shout, “Giddy-Up!”, but they’re not the kind we need to keep for very long.

5) He takes care of you.  Gives you his jacket. Brings breakfast in bed. Pours your cocktail for happy hour when you arrive home from work. Does the driving.  Covers you up when you fall asleep reading…..you get the picture.

6) He makes you laugh. Belly laugh. Until you snort and pee your pants.

7) He is baggage free. No partial fresh separations, no incomplete divorces. In other words, no whiny immature excuses about his inability to have adult relationships with healthy boundaries. Trust me, B.O.B is better.

8) He thinks your quirks are cute. I once had a beau, a best friend and lover who thought my Irish temper was adorable. God rest his soul my sweet little plums.

9) No matter what, he’s there for you, and no matter what he wants you there for him.

10) Way deep down in your soul, you know, you just know, that if you could be anywhere in the world, it would be wrapped up in his arms.

Wishing you all the best in love and luck as summer wraps up her rodeo and leaves town. Stay fabulous my darlings, and don’t settle for a man who makes you feel anything less.

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The Tall, Dark & Handsome Conundrum

John Quinlan
John Quinlan (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Bless me readers, for I have committed a grave, grave, single-gal sin.

I think I’ve allowed myself to fall head over three-inch-heels in-like with a fella. Not just any fella, a good one. A keeper. The kind you bring home to mama and let kiss you in the rain.

Please, please, yes. Bring that tall pitcher of juleps over here darling and pour me another.

Best get settled in my sweet little peach. Best get yourself snugged into that chair nice and comfy with your very own cold glass of refreshing bourbon and mint. That’s right darling, this is going to make everything perky stand straight at attention.

I need your advice.

No, I’m not pulling your leg. Quit looking at me like that.  I really need your advice.

As a strong, independent lady, I don’t generally have any trouble wrangling the more macho and deliciously-man-lovely sex into some sort of sweaty submission. Unless….

Unless they truly make my wee little heart go pitter-patter.

That’s right my juicy  little plum, I think I’ve met one of those rare gentlemen that deserve to be called, “gentleman”.  Instead of flirting and teasing and making my way to the boudoir with this fellow, I’ve become tongue-tied.

Perhaps that’s for the best, no? It would be downright shameful to slip up with what my thoroughbred of an imagination comes up with every time I see him.  It’s like I get caught in time, picturing his body under his white linen shirt,  imagining his fingertips at my back, and his soft, thick lips on my neck…oh my! It’s makes me shiver with delight, and I haven’t even touched him (yet).

Well, it’s enough to make a girl blush!

Yes, top me up darling.  It’s getting awfully hot out here, and I’m nearly faint from the heat. I’m dripping wet from all of this here humidity and girl talk.

No one can ever be sure of what a man is thinking my lovely. That is, if they ever do think at all.  Some older, wiser, gentlemen friends have advised that I make my interest known, but I don’t know how to do that. Not with a gentleman, at least.

Something tells me that standing on my tippy-toes and pressing my bosom against him while I check his adam’s apple delicately with my tongue isn’t the right approach.

Well, don’t just sit there looking like the cat got your tongue honey! I’m asking for your help here!!!

 

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Growing Older But Not Up

Bath
Bath (Photo credit: Jagrap)

Ah yes, the famous Jimmy Buffett lyrics, “Growing older but not up….”. Never was a truer lyric written me thinks darlings.

I’m starting to reach the age where I finally understand some of the truisms told to me by those folks who had bravely gone before me, and had indeed grown older but not up. I remember people telling me that despite their age they still felt like the same person on the inside.

I interpret this now to mean they still feel the same emotions, fears, desires, regrets and dreams that youth think are unique to them.  Despite the general stiff upper lip with which we lead our days as productive adults, we all still have the same butterflies in our stomachs about falling in love (again), about new beginnings and relationships.

Somehow, and somewhere, logic over powers emotion. Alas, we are essentially emotional creatures, and we cannot repress our desires forever. We’ve just learned to hide it, push it aside, and carry on as if we’re stoic souls not moved by mere emotion.

But I challenge you my fabulous readers. For every woman who enjoys a long, hot, candlelit bath, there is a woman who still lets her imagination get carried away with romance and love stories.  As the hot water softens her skin, and the razor skims her calves, she remembers the way a lover’s touch felt, or imagines a first kiss.

No matter the storms of marriage, separation, divorce, child-birth, death, or loss we have weathered, there is always a little spark burning inside of us. One that, with just a little encouragement, burns more brightly as we unbind our hearts from fear of losing again.

We all grow older, but you cannot convince me that our gentle hearts ever grow up, or ever should grow up.  If you don’t believe me, draw a hot bath, light some candles, put on some of your favourite slow songs and observe where your mind goes. A glass of bubbly won’t hurt either my sweet darlings. Don’t be afraid of your heart’s desires, rejoice in your vitality.

Someone, somewhere is thinking of you tonight.