Saturday, October 01, 2005

What The Hell Is Going On With You Guys?

I think I mentioned in one of my earlier posts that I don’t do relationships. I tried it, the relationship thing, back in the Dark Ages when I still believed in all that crap. I tried it for long enough to know that it sucks. Big Time.

But that isn't to say I've taken a vow of chastity. A girl needs a little r&r, you know? What it does mean is that any guy who wants the full Sara experience has to wise up to my rules; no getting heavy, no mushy stuff, definitely no meeting the parents, and when it's over, it's over. And that's that. No looking back, no emotional mayhem, no pissing about. Since I haven't got the longest attention span, over can happen anywhere between a few hours to a month or so. It really depends on the quality of the material I've got to work with.

In the last couple of months I've come the closest ever to becoming a born-again virgin. I kind of totally went off the idea of men, thanks to Johnny (read my earlier posts if you want the skinny on that one), so I've been keeping myself to myself. I just haven't had the patience for it.

Last night I'm doing my usual shift at the club when the most beautiful guy walks up to the bar and orders a vodka. I was like, hello. It turns out that not only is he hot he's also bloody brains on toast - and there's nothing more likely to get me interested than that. A guy who can quote Pixie's lyrics and Camus? Coupland and e.e.cummings? In one conversation? I mean, fuck, there was no way he was going home alone.

So I make him wait until the club closes and invite myself back to his place. If I'm going to get back into the saddle, I want to do it in style, you know? We get back to his flat, it's nice, we smoke a spliff, drink some wine, listen to some music, chill out a bit, all the usual stuff. Then we snog. I'm thinking, yeah, OK, here we go.

Until, that is, we get to a critical point in the proceedings and he pushes me away. I'm like, is there something wrong? Thinking, oh great, just my luck, here's where he announces he's got crabs or something equally unappetising. But he goes, Sara, I really like you. I'm like, cool, that's great, let's get on with it. And then he says, Sara, I like you too much to have sex with you right now. I only just met you. Let's take this slow.

I mean, WHAT?

When was it that guys turned into girls? How did this happen without me noticing? Just when I thought I had men all figured out, you only go and move the fucking goalposts.

Answers on a postcard, please.

Friday, September 30, 2005

A Promise Of Cheap Titillation

I was checking out a the new blogs section on BritBlog and came across What Doesn't Kill You which put me on to a new blogosphere enthusiasm - Half Nekkid Thursday.

Basically, Half Nekkid Thursday is an excuse to get your kit off and your camera out. Lovely for exhibitionists and voyeurs alike.

Read all about it here:


And check back here next Thursday...

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

God Is A Blogger

Just when I thought life couldn't get more weird, it turns out that God is blogger. Yep, you heard me. So if you're in need of divine intervention direct your prayers here.

It is Sunday, after all.

However, if fire and brimstone is more your thing then He Of The Rosy Hue is also kicking around the blogosphere (it figures). Click here for eternal damnation.

I'm about to spend some quality leisure time at the pub so I won't have time to put in my request today. So do me a favour, will you? When you speak with the Man Upstairs ask him to send me a pair of those sexy new season Marc Jacobs boots before the fashionista bitches hog them all. Size 5, any colour. Thanks.

Don't ask Lucifer. His fashion sense sucks.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Why Is It That Some Guys Just Don't Get It?

Some men don't understand women. And they really don't understand what women want when it comes to sex. Let's face it, we can put up with a lot if a guy knows what he's doing in the sex department so you'd think they'd be putting some serious study into the subject. Yeah, I hear you, most guys do put a lot of effort into honing their technique, but just because they're practicing a lot doesn't mean that they're paying attention.

I spent a lazy afternoon in the pub yesterday with my friend Joe. I've known Joe for years. He's nice looking in a geek-chic kind of way, funny, clever and permanently single. I'm like, so Joe, what's happening on the getting laid front? And he's like, oh God, Sara, it's terrible. I go, what? You're not getting any? He looks all mournful and says, no, that's not it, I'm getting laid left right and centre, it's just that they're not coming back for more.

It turns out that the last batch of girls Joe managed to persuade back to his place for fun and games all left his place the next morning and that was that, he never saw them again. He's like, Sara, what's going on with women these days? Are they just after a quick fuck or is it that I'm doing something horribly wrong?

I go, you're not doing a Neanderthal wham bam thank you mamma, are you? You're not being shy about the warming-up phase, are you? He goes, I'm not dumb, I've read Cosmo, I'm putting a whole load of foreplay effort in. I'm like, OK, well that's good. So are you into any of the wierder shit? He goes, puzzled, like what? I go, like gimp masks or nipple clamps or dogging? Because some girls like that kind of stuff but it's a specialist area. He's like, not unless they beg me. Then I say, sorry Joe, but I have to ask - are you hung like a hamster? He looks a bit nervous and goes, no, I mean, I'm not going to break the world record but it's respectable, at least I think it is. Do you want to see? I'm like, not thanks Joe, I believe you. You just keep it zippered.

After three pints worth of questioning, Joe confides that he's passionate about porn. Put it this way, it sounds like his right arm is pretty well developed, and his favorite kind of porn isn't the classy kind. He's into the old school stuff where the women have Zeppelins for breasts, the guys have lovely big mustaches and there's a whole lot of sperm flying around.

A couple more pints and it turns out Joe has been treating his conquests to the pearl necklace experience. I'm like, euww, Joe! What? he goes, looking confused. I go, that's disgusting! He's like, but I thought women loved it. I'm like, there's your answer, Joe, that's why the girls aren't coming back for seconds. Right now, women all over London are telling their friends about this guy they went home with once who gave them an unexpected sperm facepack. Joe, you're a sexual legend.

He goes, so I've been doing something for the past ten years that sexually repulses women? I go, ten years? Uh-uh, he nods. I'm like, jeez, I thought you were an urban myth.

So I guess the lesson is that if a guy does something completely off the mark, you've got to speak up. You owe it to the rest of us.

Monday, September 26, 2005

Getting Dumped: It's A Click Away

Be warned. Technology can ruin your life.

This guy I know, Rob, called me today with a fantastic story; fantastic in the sense that it made me laugh and cringe and feel sick, all at the same time. Pretty good, huh?

Rob works with another guy, let's call him George, who is notorious for being a Grade A slag. If prostitutes didn't exist then George would probably invent them. He likes to put it about, doesn't care where, and thinks that variety is the spice of life. You might think, well, whatever, so long as he isn't hurting anyone, so long as it's all between consenting adults. Whatever. The problem is that George has a long-term girlfriend who's he's supposed to be marrying after Christmas.

George is the guy who whisked his girlfriend off to Thailand for a romantic holiday, announced shortly after checking into their hotel that he was off for a jog, jogged round the corner, picked up a whore and proceeded to engage in a very different kind of exercise to the one that his poor unsuspecting missus believed he was pursuing. Yep, George was puffing and panting and going red in the face but it sure wasn't from pounding the pavements.

You kind have to admire the guy for sheer front and creativity, but Jeez... what a sleazebag.

Anyway, George has a female fuck-buddy who he's been seeing for years, alongside the girlfriend, the whores and the countless one-nighters. So when George and the girlfriend go off to Cyprus to introduce him to her extended family prior to the wedding, George is delighted to find out that the fuck-buddy is going to be taking a holiday in the same Cyprus beach resort at the same time. After all, you can't expect a seasoned pro like George to restrict himself to sex with just the one woman for a full ten days, can you?

So George goes off to Cyprus with the girlfriend, does lots of hand-shaking and back-slapping with the Cyprus relatives, then sneaks off to an internet cafe to arrange a rendezvous with the fuck-buddy.

Unfortunately for George, when he sends his love-missive, instead of just sending it to the fuck-buddy he mistakenly sends the email to his entire address book - including the girlfriend, the girlfriend's mum, dad and two brothers, his own parents, all his colleagues and practically everyone else he has ever met in his life.

The content of this email message? Something along the lines of: Hello sexy. Been thinking about you all week. Can't wait to fuck you. I'll come to your hotel tomorrow at 3pm. Get ready for the shag of your life.

Guess what? The wedding's off.