Real Life Is Not A Movie

A friend of mine recently reminded me that real-life does not resemble a movie. We'd just seen a romantic comedy and I should confess, I have a huge thing for rom-coms. I adore Sandra Bullock's shiny hair, Hugh Grant's dithering charm and even though I've seen Notting Hill a thousand times and can mouth the lines with Julia Roberts, I still cry before the final credits are up. Every. Single. Time.

But if life is not a romantic comedy, then it's certainly not a porno either. And yet, more and more, my girlfriends are telling me that their bedroom lives are vaguely resembling a category of Pornhub.

"It's like I don't even need to be there," one friend revealed about her last few encounters with the opposite sex. "He was attacking me like I was going out of fashion, and I could have been passed out or even dead for all he knew. Or cared."

"Better than my experience," chipped in another friend. "He kept wanting me to moan and talk dirty. And when I didn't, he started doing the talking. He kept asking, 'Do you like this baby? Do you?"

Ummm, what? You should be able to tell from her face whether she likes it or not. And if you can't, then you're doing it wrong. Very, very wrong. But as I investigated this further, I kept hearing the same thing: men seem to think that all women are porn stars.

So gentlemen, let me clear up some myths about women in the bedroom:

1. If you're asking me if I like it, I assure you, the answer is No. If I liked it, you'd know.
Hell, if I really liked it, your flatmates/neighbours/mama would know too.

2. I am not a piece of meat. The only women that want you to "Fuck me harder baby, oooh, yes" are the ones getting paid for it. They're called 'actors' for a reason.

3. No woman likes you to finish on her face. It tastes foul and is really hard to get out of your hair. (Plus, adding water only seems to increase its power.) Again, only women who are paid for it pretend to like it.

4. You know how when you were a kid and your mom fed you, except she put the spoon in before you're ready? (See where this is going?)
Most women actually don't mind you directing her head downwards. It's nice to be wanted. We also don't mind you changing the rhythm of our head--again, direction isn't so bad. What we bauk at isn't speed, it's depth. Forcing it down her throat is like bulimia: it's only going to result in vomit where you don't want it. (And before you go ewwww, look at No. 3 and tell me it's not worse.)

5. Lapping. I know porn kings do this all the time, and the girls moan like they're lovin' it, but honestly, it's not a water bowl, and this isn't what doing it doggy-style means. Use your tongue like you mean it for God's sake.

6. Changing positions a thousand times. Look, I get it, you're very athletic. But that's not why I'm with you. That's why I'm with Bikram yoga, but that's not why I'm with you. Besides, it shows a lack of commitment to keep changing, don't you think?

Anyone else experiencing this? Do your bedroom antics resemble a porn film?

Man Drought

Summer in Sydney usually signals Drought Season. But while farmers in the country worry about plunging dam levels, us city dwellers have our own limited fishing waters causing concern. Yes, I’m talking about The Man Drought. And it has reached critical proportions.

A friend of mine recently joined an online dating site in order to find a man. Before you jump to conclusions about her resemblance to Susan Boyle, she’s often mistaken for Sienna Miller, and to add to her blonde highlights, perky breasts and endless legs, she’s also bright, down-to-earth and laughs at my jokes. Which makes her an all-round catch.

Surprisingly, she’s not alone. Thousands of women across the country are going online in a desperate search to meet a man, and everywhere I turn, I hear stories of fabulous girls unable to meet a decent guy simply because there aren't enough to go around. And anyone who's been on RSVP, Oasis or any other online dating site can assure you that the calibre of the women is a lot higher than that of the guys. But this goes beyond just hot women unable to get laid. The socio-economic consequences of a Man Drought can be as devastating as The Black Plague or the GFC.

Aside from the basic population growth issues it presents, a Man Drought also goes against the natural order of things. Men are supposed to be hunters, and yet, women, driven to desperation by famine, are forced to go hunting, competing against each other and fighting for what are essentially dregs (see “down-dating”). The urban jungle has become a dangerous place, populated by cougars and their younger, more nimble counterpart, the puma.

Because men aren't being pushed to hunt for the best mate, they become complacent and lazy, which means they aren't honing their skills and evolving. Natural selection no longer occurs because of the shortage, so 'ugly' and 'ginger' keep perpetuating as a gene. You want to find the real cause of rising childhood obesity in Australia? I suggest you look to the Man Drought. Even Fatties are gettin' some in this climate.

The flip side is that attractive, intelligent men aren't that compelled to settle down, choosing instead to play the field rather than sow their oats. The Man Drought has led to a Commitment Crisis as these guys know that supply is always going exceed demand. In Russia, the situation is so severe (war and famine have left a population that is majority female) that women tolerate alcoholism, domestic violence and even polygamy to snare a man. No wonder there are so many mail order brides...these women are desperate.

And Eau de Sperate is not a pleasant odour. I smell it on the bleached, fake-tanned 20-and-30-somethings every Friday at Ivy, and it overpowers the smell of sleaze, making it harder for a girl to pick out the jerks from the good guys. Because the most dangerous animal stalking the urban jungle is not any of the big cats, but the love rats.

For those of you that deny the Man-Drought, think of the single guys you know. Any of them date-able? I don't mean just nice blokes, but good-looking, nice blokes without a beer belly, personal hygiene problems or annoying twitches. Now think of the single girls...I bet everyone knows at least one super-hot, nice, inexplicably single girl.

If I do happen to meet a seemingly cool, single guy in Sydney, I have to question whether it's a mirage, a figment of my drought-addled brain. I know there is a Man Drought, so chances are, about 100 thirsty women rejected him prior to us meeting. I've come to the conclusion that if he's single, he's single for a reason--something so massive that many good women decided he was simply Undateable, his fatal flaw too large (or small) to be overlooked.

I'd like to know exactly where the Weather Girls were when they sang, "Hallelujah! It's raining men," because right now, we're a long way from a mansoon (as in, we'd like a man, soon please.) In the meantime, ladies, don't lower your standards. We can ride out this little side-effect of global warming. But if you can't, as one man said to me last Friday, "Hey baby, no-one's ugly after 2AM."

The only thing that left me thirsty for was more vodka. And as I later found out, no-one's ugly after 20 vodka martinis either.

The Why-Not Relationship

A friend of mine recently started dating a very lovely boy. He’s attractive, attentive and thoughtful, and they have a great time whenever they’re together.
“So, what’s the problem?” I asked her over cocktails.
“It’s been five weeks, and I have no idea what we are or where this is going,” she fretted. “It’s not like we only meet to hook up either. We go to the movies, he organized a picnic in the park for me, and last night, we made dinner together. Like seriously domestic, right? I was even wearing my faux-daggy outfit.”

Note: A faux-daggy outfit is one that looks so effortlessly casual that you can pretend you just chucked it on, when in fact, you know it makes your boobs look fab and your legs look endless. In this case, the faux-daggy outfit was a colourful beach caftan that was just transparent enough to leave one wondering if that was a thong underneath or a figment of the imagination.

“Have you talked to him about it?” I asked her.
“Yep. And maybe its just because he’s foreign, and English isn’t his first language, but I’m getting nothing from him. It’s like, he likes me, but not enough to have a conversation about it.”
“Ouch,” I replied. “Honey, you’re Why-Not Girl.”

Why-Not Girl is the next level up from a Fuck Buddy. You don’t simply hook up when you’re drunk, or horny, or both. Instead, you do stuff together, but only if it’s convenient for both of you. It’s more that, “It’s Sunday evening, I have nothing else on, I need to eat, so why not? I’ll have dinner and/or sex with you.”

Why-Not Relationships can last for ages, and have all the trappings of a real dating relationship, but without the discussion or the official title. Which can be fine...even better than fine. After all, it’s nice to have someone to do that stuff with—dinner, movies, picnics and yes, sex.

But in my experience, I don’t play Why-Not Girl very well. Firstly, if I’m in an almost relationship with someone, I want the title. I like to know that it’s official, that we belong to one another. I hate the idea that it's not all me, all the time because I really don't like sharing my toys. Plus, I’m so goal-orientated that I just feel like if this isn’t going anywhere, then what’s the point?

And finally, it’s Man On A Bridge all over again. I want to be wanted, I want to be chosen, and I don’t just want to be the filler because there’s nothing good on TV. I may not know what I want, but I know I want him to want me.

Has anyone else been Why-Not Girl (or Guy)? Ever dished it out? And if so, how did it work out for you?

Fatal Flaw

A friend of mine recently started dating a new guy, who is gorgeous. I mean, he is a really desperately good-looking man. He’s also funny, nice, well-mannered and doesn’t wear jeans that are too tight or skinny. All very good news.
“So, what’s his fatal flaw?” I asked her over dinner.
“He doesn’t have one!” she said excitedly, her eyes glowing with fanatical joy.
“Honey,” I said as gently as I could. “All men have a fatal flaw.”

A fatal flaw is the one thing that turns out to be a deal-breaker, unless you are so hooked on the sex/so deluded you think you’re in love/accidentally pregnant that you decide to try and keep brokering the deal.

Usually, the hotter and more perfect the guy appears, the more fatal the flaw. As examples let me cite Two-Fifty Dave, who seemed cute, interesting and successful. He was, except that on our first date at a very average coffee shop, he asked me for $2.50 to cover the cost of the coffee I’d just had.
“It’s actually $2.80, but $2.50’s fine,” he said, magnanimously.
Or Third-Date-Steve, who suggested that my refusal to have sex with him on our third date made me ‘a cock tease who expected him to buy before he tried.’

There was Alcoholic Andy, who threw up on my Agent Provocateur lingerie and filled the water glass on his bedside table with vodka, Energizer Jeff whose cocaine habit become apparent on a weekend away at a remote farmhouse and Pee-On-Me-Matt who...well, the name speaks for itself really.

My girlfriends have dated “That’s-Not-Herpes-I-Promise Tom”, “You-Look-Just-Like-My-Ex-Will-You-Dye-Your-Hair Jonathan” and “I-Will-Never-Love-You-More-Than-Jesus Richard.” Then there’s “Married Sam” although we now refer to him as “Married Mr. X” because turns out he lied about his name too.

It may sound jaded but these days, when I meet a boy, I’m immediately wondering what his fatal flaw is. And the more perfect he is, the bigger the bomb.

As for my friend who’s dating Mr. Perfect, turns out he has a fatal flaw too.
“What is it?” I asked her. “He’s pretty great, so it must be big. Is it sex with animals? Does he molest his dog? Or is it more that he can’t live within 50 metres of a school?”
“Well...” she replied. “You know how you said it must be big?"
Uh-oh.
"It’s not.”

Turns out, it’s so tiny she can give him a blow-job and still have enough room to suck on a lollipop and talk about Barack Obama’s foreign policies with anyone caring to listen.

Yikes. The only thing I can do is hand over some tissues and remind her that Pee-On-Me Matt is, surprisingly, still available. (On the plus side, he has the good manners to always sleep on the wet patch.)

How to dump somebody before you actually get together

A friend of mine recently wrote this guest post on the Faux Dump. We've all been there, but I'll let her explain:

There's a certain grey area during those early stages of a relationship (before a relationship really becomes a relationship) where things often dwindle and die on one side. Perhaps you're two dates in, you've gotten to know each other better, and now you've realised that your date has all the charm of a used condom. Maybe they made a really bad joke about menstruation while you were out for coffee and you both ended up in Awkward Town. Or maybe there's simply no sexual chemistry. Whatever your beef is, ending things at this point can be difficult. If you'd made up your mind one date earlier, you could have just given them the flick by ignoring them altogether, but now you find yourself too involved to be able to simply break things off by ceasing contact and avoiding the other party. However, you're not quite involved enough to warrant a traditional break-up including an explanation of what went wrong and vague promises of friendship. In this situation, one needs to execute a Faux Dump. This is where you say, quite simply, "I'm just not feeling it."

To claim you're "not feeling it" is by far the most humane, ego-preserving way to end a relationship. It doesn't point the finger, but rather blames the failure of the union on some abstract, uncontrollable issue - a chemical imbalance or point of fate or whatever. Something is simply missing, but it's nobody's fault. (Of course, in reality, it's their fault. It's always their fault. You have probably fantasised about them being hit by a truck because they are so irritating you wish they would die a million times, but it is inappropriate to mention this during the Faux Dump. Overall, your objective is to get it over with as quickly as possible and then forget about the whole thing, not unlike an episode of Two and a Half Men.)

But be warned: despite all its padded corners, the Faux Dump will not often be received calmly. This is because when you claim that you are not feeling an interest in pursuing things, you are implying that the other party did feel an interest. And this is humiliating for those with fragile egos and passive-aggressive conflict resolution skills (aka most people currently alive). For this reason, the other party will still get defensive and feel the need to make bitchy, vindictive comments illustrating the various ways in which they too were "not feeling it." Don't take the bait - the best way to deal with this little outburst is to swallow your pride, smile, and say, "Well I'm glad we're on the same page." And then, get the fuck out.

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If only I'd read this before last weekend, where I accidentally said the words, "It's a pity you chose brains when God was handing out large penises," I'd have handled that break up a lot more gracefully.

You can follow Annik at @neekatron, or read more on her sex life, conversations with her mom, and her amusing friends at http://annikskelton.com/

Jennifer Aniston Theory

A friend of mine who was recently broken up with discovered that her ex has a new girlfriend. A hot new girlfriend. And a new job. A great new job. “Oh my goooodddddd........” she wailed on my couch. “How is this justice?! He cheats on me, he breaks up with me, and he gets to move on and move up while I get fatter and older and more single by the day? Whhyyyyyyyyy??”
“It’s Jennifer Aniston theory,” I say sagely, passing her the Baskin Robbins.

Everyone knows that Brad Pitt cheated on Jen with Angelina Jolie. When they broke up, she got all the bad press, while he went on to father a rainbow family and become one half of the most powerful couple in Hollywood—that scary entity known as Brangelina.

While Brangelina were photographed in glamorous locations doing glamorous things with their multi-coloured babies, Jen’s career took a post-Friends nosedive and she dated a series of dropkicks and love-rats. The media have become obsessed with her single status, with headlines ranging from “Lonely Jen can’t find love” to “Jen’s biological clock is ticking, she’s never going to have babies, and she’ll die single and alone,” which, let’s be honest, is the headline we all fear.

And it just doesn’t seem fair. Jen is hot and rumor is, she’s nice too. Oprah Winfrey calls her one of the most charitable celebs ever, but Angelina cornered that market with her UN ambassador badge. The sad part is, so many of my girlfriends (and me too) have been Jennifer Aniston. And there doesn’t seem to be anything we can do about.

I don’t have a solution to this, but I ask you all out there....have you been Jen? And how did you deal with it?

"Faux-gasm"

Every girl has faked it. Every. Single. One. Boys are always so outraged when I say this--I’m usually greeted with a host of rebuttals from “It’s never happened to me” (yep, and you were the biggest she’s ever been with right?) to “I can always tell when it’s fake” (as long as you’re talking about her hair extensions, I believe you).

There’s this old joke that always makes me laugh:
Why did Moses wander the desert for 40 years? Because even then, men wouldn’t stop and ask for directions.

It’s true though, men have a real terror of appearing like they don’t know what they’re doing or where they’re going. And I don’t just mean on the road. Navigating the female form is a complicated process, and more importantly, a delicate one. It requires a certain degree of knowledge and know-how to successfully bring a woman to the end of the journey and yet, most guys seem to think that it’s merely a matter of turning up and sticking their key in the ignition.

A girlfriend of mine dated a doctor once who is the worst offender to date. They went away for the weekend and it got so bad, she took to faking her orgasms just to end the torture. At one point, just to check whether he was even paying any attention, she faked it as he was humping her hip bone. As I later commented, “Dude, if he couldn’t find your clitoris and his face was right up in it, I doubt he’s a very good surgeon.” Needless to say, the relationship didn’t last past the weekend.

The last date-pash I had, the guy went in with his tongue practically hanging out of his mouth. I, being normal, kept my mouth firmly closed. His tongue ended up ramming into my lips, and when I opened my mouth to go “WTF?!” it ended up falling in, where it then proceeded to flop around like a dying fish before I pulled away and put us all out of our misery.

The problem was, I took one look at his face and realized the misery wasn't mutual. He had that proud, self-satisfied look on his face and I just couldn't, couldn't tell him that my moans were a desperate plea for air rather than a product of my desire for him.

Yes, hundreds of girls are experiencing the 'faux-gasm', faking their orgasms in order to avoid an awkward conversation. And the older we get, the more unbelievable it seems that guys don't know they're playing in the wrong postcode. For a woman, it's a no-win situation: point out that he's licking your inner thigh rather than anything relevant, and he's going to get offended, but tell him you faked it and boys tend to flip out.

So guys, the next time you get offended that a girl has faked it, I suggest you remember two things:

1. She took one for the team. It's not like she got anything out of faking it (except a brief moment of respite) and

2. Don't wait 40 years to ask for directions. Women may not be able to read a map, but we do know when it's time to tell him to get lost.

The Man Diet

A friend of mine recently announced that, as New Years are all about New Resolutions, her 2010 was no different. She had resolved, like many others, to kick old habits, begin a new diet, and lose dead weight. She planned to achieve all of the above with one simple solution: A Man Diet.

Buddhist philosophy teaches that the human body requires one day off every week to purify itself. Devout Buddhists fast in order to give their digestive systems a break and recover from the constant overuse. Hindus often fast on religious holidays, suggesting that our preoccupation with food—the sourcing of it, the preparation and consumption of it—occupies so much of our time that by removing food entirely as an issue, our minds are free focus on higher thoughts.

In the same way, the Dating Detox is intended to give her body and mind a break by removing a need and replacing it with higher thoughts. And the results are immediate. By not putting herself through the torture of wondering if he likes her, if he’ll call her, if he’ll return her text, she can step back and stop treating every man like a potential shag and pay attention to what he’s actually saying. Sadly most of the men she knows have fallen in her estimation because of these new standards, but hey, you win some, you lose some.

And there is no longer the pressure of going out on the weekend and feeling like she needs to compete with 18 year olds whose bodies don’t feel the cold and whose tits don’t feel gravity (although, as I watch them teetering in their tiny dresses in the middle of winter, their tic-tac nipples suggest they DO in fact, feel the cold). Instead, she can dress weather-and-mood appropriate, secure in the knowledge that she’s judged on the content of her character rather than the context of her crotch. She no longer has to be vigilant about waxing or contraception. She can wear comfy panties 24/7, instead of pretending that having a g-string riding up her ass makes her feel sexy. She’s unaffected by the Man Drought.

There's just one downside. Turns out, you deny your body of one thing, and it craves something else. As she herself admitted, “I’m glad I’m on a Man Fast, because if I wasn’t, I’m not sure I’d get lucky. Because now, I’m fat. Happy, but fat.” And when I think about myself, thin but exhausted by maintaining de-forestation in Brazil and denying myself that last slice of chocolate cake, I wonder if the pursuit of happiness is in fact, making me unhappy.

So, I guess if the trade-off is getting fat or getting laid, I know which one I’m choosing. Hello Double-Choc Cookie Dough Ice-Cream. Mama’s home and wondering if you want to come to bed with me, bad boy.

"Down-Dating"

A friend of mine recently introduced us to her new boyfriend. She'd been raving about him for weeks, and I'd been expecting a cross between Chace Crawford and Hugh Jackman, so imagine my disappointment to find him....well, to put it delicately...fugly.

While my friend is a gorgeous blonde with an impeccable sense of style and a dry sense of humor, her chosen beau was well past chubby (ok, he was so far into obese he couldn't even see the signpost to Chubby Town. If Obese-City was on 4square, he'd be the freaking MAYOR) and I'm pretty sure his hairline hasn't seen any actual hair since the late 90s. He wasn't funny, interesting or particularly bright, and his resulting inferiority complex made him downright rude to her friends, despite our best efforts.

This wouldn't be a big deal if it was an isolated incident, but everywhere I turn, all over this fabulous city and indeed all over the globe, women are indulging in a phemonenon I'm dubbing "Down-Dating." Really gorgeous girls are shacking up with duds and drop-kicks who, in a normal world, shouldn't even get a first date. I'm not talking about the vacuous or the ditzy either; bright, cool, talented, beautiful women are hooking up with men who have nothing to show for themselves except their ability to snag afore-mentioned hottie.

Don't believe me? Explain this:

The gorgeous Kate Moss with the gungy Pete Doherty


Hot Sienna Miller, not-so-hot Rhys Ifans

And the stunning Jen Aniston with scrag John Mayer

Interestingly, Down-Dating is only limited to women--hot guys are certainly not going for their visually disturbing counterparts. So why is this happening? Is it just the Man Drought driving us to desperation, or something more sinister?

It's common knowledge that ugly guys have to work harder. Just like small men are better in bed (they know they have something to make up for), ugly men need to be nice guys and good human beings in order to get the girl. And so, hot women date them thinking they've made a fair trade-off, which is "Ugly guy, but he'll be great to me."

Well girls, I'm smashing the urban myth that gross guys are nice people. You know what the above three couples have in common? They're no longer together. In every case, love-rat guy cheated on super-hot female.

The thing is, these guys are perfectly normal until they hook up with their significantly-hotter other. And it's a Law of Dating Nature that other women are interested in any guy that can get a hot girl, because they're all wondering what secret weapon he has. And so, like moths to a flame, we're drawn in, trying to discover whether it's his scintillating wit, his vast wealth or just his willy that got him the girl.

It's easy to confuse all this female attention with sexual interest, but the truth is, as soon as these guys dump their hot girlfriends, they lose the only thing that made other women interested to begin with. And yes, it's true that while some love-rats go on to make a career out of Dating-Up, it never ends well for the girl.

So ladies, if you're going to date a guy for his personality, make it a hot guy. Because the only thing that you get by "Down-Dating" is an ugly Facebook album, and in Kate Moss' case, a crack addiction, which I imagine she needed to bring herself to have sex with Pete Doherty.