Going with your gut

I once went out with a guy who was nice, thoughtful, mature, funny and even a little bit edgy. He was kinda cute too. So what’s wrong with that? And why aren't you happily planning your life together right now, I hear you ask.
Well, I was not sure about him. Not sure in that anxiety-ridden, cancelling dates, maybe-this-is-the-one-and-I-just-don’t-know-it-yet-should-I-just-give-him-one-last-try kind of way. In the end, after three weeks of trying to talk myself into it, it was back to the drawing board, or RSVP or speed dating or whatever works these days. This one wasn't for me. Not by a long shot.
You see, by the third date (hell, even by the first date) I should've known if he was right for me. I should have been doing cartwheels with glee, spending hours getting ready, wondering if he would kiss me and what his lips would taste like. Instead, I really didn't feel like I wanted him to touch me. At all. And I wanted to go home and sort out my sock collection, rather than hang out with him on a Saturday night. Hmmmmm.
In times like these – when the person you’re seeing seems ‘almost right’ or ‘good on paper’ or ‘sorta cute in the right light’ – there’s just one body part that you should trust. (No, not that one – keep it clean people!)
It’s your gut. Mine works every time. The moment I get that heavy / uneasy / guilty feeling smack in the middle of my tummy, I know I’m kidding myself. And as painful as it is to call off a new thing, that’s the only way you can get rid of the queasy feeling. Before you ask, Berocca is no substitute.
Tell me: how do you know it’s not right? Do you really think love and lust can grow over time or is that just settling?

Has coupledom passed me by?

Confession time: I like starfishing. I like eating dip for dinner. I like hitting the pub with my gal pals and mucking up with guys who are probably a) too young and b) beyond wrong. I like knowing that one day I’ll have to be responsible, but I especially like knowing that day isn’t here yet.
But, as I smugly chronicle the good bits of my happily single existence, I hear the faint bleatings of my alter ego in a parallel universe, busy burping her third kid and trying to remember where the heck her waistline and sex life went. It worries me.
Could it be that I’ve set up a single life so cosy and controlled that I’ve lost the ability to reach out and grab what it is I actually want? That I’ve been so busy goofing around like a 22 year old backpacker (even if I can’t drink like one) that I’ve let an arguably less fun but possibly more fulfilling reality* pass me by?
Not much can stop a lovelorn-saving superhero in her tracks. But my mum does it every time.
"You know, you can have a swishy cape, and a clean kitchen and a jet-setting lifestyle; you can eat dinner at posh restaurants and juggle three different lovers, but unless you let life get messy, unless you let yourself fall in love again and cry buckets and have bubbas and basically learn to love the baby porridge mashed into your favourite Moroccan rug because the smiles of your family are totally worth it, you’ll never be really living," she told me in her Don’t-Argue-I’m-Your-Mother voice. She’s a wise chick, but I’m not ready to sacrifice that Moroccan rug for just anyone.
OK, OK, Mum, I’ll think about it.
In the meantime, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Is this just an ambivalent blip on the singledom radar or can the other stuff pass us by when we’re not looking? When should we cash in our Get Out of Singledom Unscathed and Still Pretty card? Is it a case of fate and that life finding you?

* I’m in no way dissing Singledom here, I know some people set up camp and stay forever. And if I could find a way to shut this stupid ticking clock off, I’d buy shares in the place and live out my days quite happily. With a clean rug, no less.

How to get a man to do what you want

Recently I was talking to a guy who just got off the phone to his girlfriend. She was mad, he said, but he just didn’t know what about. “I wish she would just tell me what I did wrong,” he sighed, “instead of just acting pissed off and hoping I’ll figure it out.”
“I won’t figure it out. I’m a guy.”
Well, isn’t that just too easy? We could just tell guys what we want and need from them. Imagine. We could put an end to the frustration we feel when our boys swap Thai takeaway for that romantic meal at Est, don’t bother with flowers on Valentines Day and think that a blender is a really great birthday gift.
Bless their cotton socks, but most guys aren’t born with an instinctive understanding of women. In fact they find us downright flummoxing at times. It’s high time us chicks realised they want to please us, but they have no idea how.
In the spirit of this – next time I get the chance I’m going to tell my guy the following things and not wait for him to surprise me with his insightfulness:
*** I’d like to try to go to the hot new restaurant on Crown Street and I want you to book it for this Friday night at 7.30.
*** I want flowers sent to my work on my birthday – which incidentally is next Thursday. Please write that down.
*** I don’t think a good night out is takeaway and a game of pool. Take me dancing.
*** I’d like you to cook something other than spag bol for me this Monday when I come home from Pilates and I’m really tired. Then I want you to not talk to me during Desperate Housewives.
Tell me! What do you want to tell your partner that they can’t work out on their own?

Don't try this at home, kids

Movies have a lot to answer for. Not least, the myth that sex against a wall actually works. Yes, I know someone named a cocktail after it but in the real world, that doesn’t make it any more physically possible. I was planning to write about something else this week, but while watching a show where two actors made wall sex look a) easy and b) sexy, I got mad and decided to shed some light on this big fat lie.
My own failed attempts at it, combined with watching far too much wall sex take place in a variety of movies and shows over the years, have led me to an empowering conclusion. Namely, that elitish, elusive, try-hardish positions like the above give movie sex in general a bad name. After all, sex against a wall isn’t nearly as erotic as a naked, passionate tryst on a marble staircase, a la Rene Russo and Pierce Brosnan in The Thomas Crown Affair. Or wet, frantic fumblings in a muddy field like Scarlett Johansson and Jonathan Myer in Match Point. Even Michelle Pfieffer and Beau Bridges making whoopee on the grand piano in The Fabulous Baker Boys can give a girl hope that there’s movie sex out there for all of us.
So here’s to watching more of the romps we can recreate in our own lives and less of the kind that could actually leave you and/or your partner with a serious injury.
After all, you’ll never be short of a staircase, muddy field, grand piano – or, in really drastic situations, bed. On that note, what’s the movie sex scene you’ll never forget?

Bag O’ Tricks

Is there ever a right time to bring out your sexual ‘bag of tricks?’ You know, the ‘Look, Mum, no hands!’ moves and manoeuvres we’ve picked up over the years from Cosmo sealed sections, ex-boyfriends, helpful best friends and handy sex books. Think ice-cubes, chocolate sauce, feathers, handcuffs, that quirky thing you can do with your tongue ... ooh, is it getting hot in here?
Personally I think that the first time you sleep with someone new (and keen on seeing again) you should be delivering a short, spicy covering letter. A highlights reel, rather than the whole movie. Sure, there are exceptions to every rule, but I reckon first-time sex should be as no-frills as possible. I certainly don’t want to be showing off any tantric yoga moves, giving him the best blow-job of his life and making him a full cooked breakfast afterwards. Surely a chick has to keep some things in reserve for later on down the track? A little mystery and a poker face?
A guy friend of mine agrees some women can be a little too eager to show off their bag o’ tricks. He formed this opinion after spending a disconcerting night in the boudoir with a girl who made Paris Hilton look demure. After a bit of foreplay she whispered into his ear that she had a sexual trick that would make him weak at the knees. She certainly delivered on that promise - proceeding to shove two fingers where the sun don't shine. Ouch. Some warning and/or lubrication would have been nice. His reaction was to scream and hide under the doona, causing his flatmates to think he was being assaulted. Which, perhaps, he was...
Another girlfriend just doesn’t get the withholding of sexual prowess. She reckons once you’re naked, all bets are off. And why wouldn’t you want to be as versatile and surprising as possible with a new lover?
What exactly is in your bag of tricks anyway RC?!, she said, demanding specifics. But, of course ... that's a whole other post...
Tell me... what’s in your bag of tricks? And are you revealing them all on the first night?

Warning, red flag ahead

"I never saw it coming" is arguably the biggest break-up lie in the book. And whether you were married for 20 years or boinking like bunnies for two weeks, slipping on a pair of rose-coloured relationship glasses is all about survival when you're in a world of pain. But when the heartache is over, as Cher likes to say, it’s easy to see there were signs all along.
In fact, in the interests of helping my readers head off inappropriate lovers at the pass, here's my personal flag system, colour-coded for ease of use. Yellow flags translate as Cause For Concern; Orange mean Warning, Warning! and Red: Abandon Mission and Get The Hell Out, Now.
I like it when a red flag pops up early, because at least you know what you’re dealing with and have only yourself to blame if you push on and hope for the best. We’re talking flags like, I’m still in love with my ex girlfriend / I have children with three different women / I can only get off in a threesome situation.
Yellow flags are trickier. No compliments from a guy, even if he seems to like you, could be a potential flag. A first date who insists on going dutch when the coffee bill is under $6 may also be a cause for concern, especially if he asked you out.
It’s the orange flags that should really send your antenna nuts. Like the fact that you’re always doing the calling – or six months in, you realise you haven’t met any of his friends or family. Your sex life spluttering and dying a month in should also trigger alarm bells. “A month? A month?! Are you freaking kidding me? The only thing he should be tired of is thinking of different ways to ravage you,” insists He’s Just Not That Into You guru Greg Behrendt.
I know flags suck. But they’re all we have in sizing up future partners. What are some of the biggies you’ve ignored … at your own peril?

He's got a headache. Again!

There’s a rumour that’s been around since the dawn of time that men like sex more than women. They’re mad for it apparently. Can hardly stop themselves jumping our bones and want to do it Lionel Richie style ... all night long.
Now I know that some men really are into sex – God Bless them [and do you have their phone numbers?] But there are others that – once the passion of the first few months fizzles out – are happy to snuggle down in bed with a good book and can go days, weeks, even months without a hint of nookie.
Many of my girlfriends complain that their blokes just can’t keep up with their demands in the boudoir. And they’re not asking for that much action – believe me. More of a regular oil and grease change, than a three-times-a-day romp fest. Could it actually be true that women have a bigger sex drive than men? That we reality chicks are the ones throwing a leg over most of the time?
I’ve been in relationships where I’m the one begging for a good seeing to and the guy could take it or leave it. There’s nothing more crushing to the ego than reclining in a pair of crotchless knickers, with edible chocolate massage oil and a pair of handcuffs, and being told he’d rather watch the footy. Or he’s too tired. Or too full. Or just plain too lazy.
Perhaps it was just a case of mismatched libidos, but I’d love to throw this one to the group. Are women more interested in sex than men – especially in their late 20s and 30s? Is the myth of women not wanting sex as much as men just a load of codswallop? Now’s your chance to set the record straight people!

It’s all about the bits

When you’re single, and don’t particularly care where your next boyfriend is coming from, pickiness is next to godliness. Which boils down to being able to eye up and even chat up blokes who float your boat purely because they’re physically blessed with something that always has and always will turn your insides to mush.
That may sound a bit shallow. OK, a lot shallow. But guys do it, so why can’t we pay tribute to the best bits of the male form? I’ll kick things off with my personal favourite: chunky man hands. Thick, masculine fingers adept at changing a tyre, hammering in a nail, fixing a pipe, building a brick wall... ohhh yep. Deep breaths. It's fairly random, I know, but ask around and you’ll find every girl’s got her thing.
For Kim, it’s forearms. "The thicker the better, and I like it when there are veins popping out, too," she moans.
My cousin’s partial to the bear patch. "You know... that bit of hair that grows on a guy’s lower back, just above his bum," she murmurs.
For Sophie, it’s a deep and sexy voice – "It does something to me on a primal level" – but for Sylvia, tight butts are to blame for her inefficiency at work. "They’re good in jeans, good in undies and especially good naked," she confides.
However, Mandy (and quite a few gay himbos I know) believe a guy with a flat, toned stomach, preferably with the v-shape of his hips displayed thanks to a pair of low-slung jeans, is an invitation to abandon all logic and reason.
Chunky man hands aside, I would have to agree.

*** Confession time: which man bit do you drool over?

McVet or McDreamy?

Okay – confession time. I’m a huge Grey’s Anatomy fan. I like it even more than I did Melrose Place in the 90’s. I actually hold weekly Grey’s parties in my superhero pad and God forbid anyone who talks over any of the dialogue ... I might zap them with my laser blaster.
Anyhooo... at the moment, Grey’s favourite waif doctor Meredith is going through another romance dilemma. Only, this time, instead of being hopelessly in love with a married man and accidentally shagging her flatmate, she’s in the enviable position of being pursued by two gorgeous boys. McVet – aka hot Circle of Friends dude Chris O’Donnell and McDreamy – aka hot 80s star Patrick Dempsey.
What is a gal to do? Opt for the solid, dependable McVet and spend the rest of her days wearing plaid, drinking milk and going for long walks in the fresh air? Or, choose McDreamy, who will shag her senseless in the supply closet and then completely ignore her while he performs tricky brain surgery or gets back with his ex-wife?
In my 20s, I’m quite sure I would have gone for McDreamy without a moment’s hesitation. He’s great in bed, sexy and just that little bit emotionally unavailable and broken. In fact, many of my 20-something boyfriends fitted this description to a tee. It’s hard to believe now, but there was a time when I would have put McVet into the ‘too nice’ basket and smashed his poor tender, emotionally-available heart as I rode off into the sunset with McDreamy.
These days, now I’m into my more sensible 30s, I’d make a different choice. Dependable McVet would win out over the ER’s resident bad boy any day of the week. And why is that? Well, to be completely honest, I’ve so over the bad boy thing. I’m looking for father material, not a fling. For reliable, not racy…

*** So, how ‘bout you guys. McVet or McDreamy? Lust or long term? Tell me your choice!