Ahhh, that’s the spot…

Done everything except send out the CSI: Missing Pieces Unit looking for your G spot (y’know that ooh, ahh tissue located somewhere in the front wall of your pink bits)? Positively flummoxed when female friends talk about having vaginal orgasms like they’re having a cup of tea? Then this is the post for you.
Scientists in Italy have been in the lab cooking up some very interesting findings on the female G-spot recently. Apparently, the unlucky among us don’t actually have one. How’s that for the ultimate genetic short straw? They reckon, by scanning the location with an ultrasound, they can now sort out who’s at roll-call... and who’s decided to take the day off. It must have gone something like this: “Amanda’s G spot? Present!... Sophie’s G spot... not here!”
The white coats say women can now check their G status by simply booking in for an ultrasound. Apparently a simple scan can show that gals who are blessed with vaginal orgasms had slightly thicker tissue in the front wall, whilst those who were struggling to feel much more than a pleasant in-out sensation, well, er, they didn’t. Fancy that? For those struggling to locate the damn thing, it would be a quick way to call off the search, pack up the torches and head back to the clitoris.
Detractors to the study did throw up a counter argument. They reckon the G-spot is something we have to take the gym and give a jolly good workout. Every day. They say, the G-spot muscle can be trained to perform ... much like a monkey or an Australian Idol star. That we can all achieve mind blowing sex through a bit of daily practice.
You can check out more on the study here.What do you reckon folks? Is the G spot something you’re born with, or something you have to work on? When did you first discover that special spot? Come on – let’s crank this column up to an R rating! Must fly, I’ve got kegel exercises to do...

To tell or not to tell... that is the question

Definitely a situation we all hope we’ll never be in is discovering that a friend’s partner is doing the dirty without our friend’s knowledge. Do we tell? Or do we – usually rightly – expect that our friend will shoot the messenger?
Anyone who watched Cashmere Mafia the other night will know where I’m coming from. Zoe spots Juliet’s cad of a husband in a public clinch with another woman, and bands together with the rest of their gal-pal group to deliver the news. Cashmere catfight? No, Jules takes it quite well, giving a sad little speech about how she prefers her life to the alternative (single), but later socks it to her hubby by revealing she will be taking one of his friends as a lover. Ouch. OK, so it’s not exactly how most people would like their marriages to operate, but whatever revenge tactics float your boat.
Anyhow, it’s the ‘telling’ that got me. Would you, should you, could you? My friend Amanda says she’d only tell if she saw the evidence with her own eyes. “Rumours about how a friend of a friend saw so-and-so’s boyfriend with someone else wouldn’t cut the mustard,” she says.
Ellen, on the other hand, says she’d prefer to approach the cheating partner and clobber/convince them to ‘fess up. “If they didn't, I’d tell.”
And it’s not always cheating that you’re torn over telling. Spare a thought for this delightful little triangle of deceit I experienced many years ago. I was royally dumped – at my own birthday party no less – by my boyfriend who was planning to go back to his home country to work. Nice timing, I know, but the thing that left more of a bitter taste in my mouth was the fact that my very good friend and flatmate knew of the dumping before I did. My boyfriend had announced his plans to her prior to the fact and asked her to ‘look after me’. At the time, I wanted both to fall under a bus, but over the years I have come to see she, too, was in a conundrum: here I was having a ball; in telling me she risked wrecking my night – especially if he chickened out and never went through with the said dumping. Also, he was a jerk for involving her in the first place. Would I have held my tongue like she did? Who knows. I hope I never have to find out.
Sooooo, gang, spill it: have you ever been in a situation where you witnessed or heard something you really should confess to a friend? Did you? Or when would you?

Are you fit to date?

Here’s a question that flew into RC’s in-box lately….
Dear RC, I’ve exhausted all dating possibilities from speed dating to online sites. How else can I meet a decent bloke? Single in the City

Dear S&C. Have we found the answer for you. That is, if you like getting a sweaty, sexy aerobic workout on the first date. Oh tut, tut. I wasn’t talking about that kind of workout… RC has been informed there’s a new dating venture that’s sprung up in Sydney (and soon to be in Brissy and Melbourne) it’s called Fit2Date. The clever little venture gets sixteen sporty singles together once a week for a one-hour outdoor training session that involves just as much flirting as your average Friday night bar in the city. Methinks this new trend has sprung up for the 30something among us whose livers (and waistlines) need a break from bars and pubs. It begs the question though. Is this a good way of meeting a match? Whilst groaning through crunches, grunting though step-ups and gritting through sprints?
On the one hand – you get to test the endurance skills of your potential date, as well as checking out their goods in a pair of bike-shorts. And there’s nothing like team sports to get closer to your target (I mean, just look at how much groping those rugby player do…)
On the other hand, it means you will have to be prepared not to look at your date-ready best (unless you look like Maria Sharapova and have the heart-lung capacity of Phar Lap) If you sign up with Fit2Date, you can forget about the wonders of GHD or trying to put together an outfit to flatter your thighs. By the third push-up, you’re going to be downright bedraggled.
Personally, I like to think it could work. Perhaps by being prepared to get a little down and dirty, it’s actually going to endear you to your potential partner. And hell, the only way is up from limp hair and blotchy cheeks. Just think how dashing you’ll look when you get to drag him/her off the oval and into a 2 hat restaurant…
So, let’s hear it people. Would you be prepared to mix personal training with dating? Or have you already had a close encounter at the gym/running track/yoga studio? Do tell.
Oh, and if you’re itching to throw on a tracksuit and meet that special someone. You can find out more here. Tell them RC sent you...

It's the thought that counts. Sort of

V-Day is over, and landfill is no doubt fit to burst with ugly plush toys, cheap chocolates and fake jewellery your cat wouldn’t be caught dead wearing. I know it’s the thought that counts, yada yada yada, but surely I’m not the only one to have sometimes wished that the thought hadn’t occurred at all? Like years ago, when my boyfriend at the time presented me with a laminator (“So you can make your own greeting cards!”) for my 30th birthday, despite repeated hints that I like: a) flowers; b) classy jewellery and c) saucy underwear, not necessarily in that order.
Now, I’m not taking pot-shots at male gift-givers. No matter how much you know and love someone, it can be hard buying them a wicked present – and we probably all get it wrong some of the time. Take last Christmas. I pulled out all the stops to get my guy the perfect gifts – and he was suitably chuffed about everything he got, bless him. However, when the topic arose just recently he admitted he’d dropped numerous hints about how he’d hoped Santa would bring him the entire Sopranos box-set. Santa obviously had other ideas (or she wasn’t really listening), because he ended up having to buy it from Blockbuster. (And can I just take the opportunity to say that, while Tony Soprano may be porkier than the average bear, he has a certain something.)
Anyway, I guess it begs the question: Is a bad gift better than no gift at all? My friend June – whose boyfriend Harry broke the cardinal rule of not giving her a birthday present – thinks so.“Presents… it’s a point that fails to get across to the modern man,” she says. “Harry was like, ‘How am I supposed to get to the shops during a working day when I don't even have time for a lunch break?’ and I was like, ‘THAT'S the point! You make time! You take 5 minutes out of your hectic week to think about another person!’”
OK, so maybe it is the thought that counts (unless, of course, you’re unwrapping a laminator). You tell me, kids...

Happy Valentine’s Day to all my reality chicks and reality dudes! Scroll down for messages of lurve...

Firstly, I hope you’ll all forgive my extended hiatus. Even superheros need time out from dealing with the lovelorn, but now I’m back and ready to tend to your every need, blog my little heart out and think up polls to tempt and torture you when you probably should be doing something else. Like finding true love, filing those reports in your ‘ignore’ pile or figuring out how to cook the perfect risotto. (It’s all about a sneaky glass of wine, folks. One for you, one for the rice. One for you, one for the rice. One for you... OK, OK, you get the picture.)
Where was I? Ah yes. During my break, I was deluged by a number of nakedly honest queries (sadly, via email) from readers about a variety of topics – everything from how to talk dirty in bed, to guys and gut feelings and whether Grey’s Anatomy season 3 has really jumped the shark. For RSVP veterans convinced all blokes online are either a) married, b) freaky psycho stalkers or c) going to turn up to first dates wearing socks and sandals, I’ll also be revealing a nice, novel way to hook up online.
Ask Reality Chick is also going to get a helluva lot more action this year. People, I’m here to help. I can’t stress that enough. And my voyeuristic side is, frankly, desperate to hear what the heck’s going on in all your relationships, so bring on the curly questions. Stat.
So, here’s to V-Day – a time of joy and heartache, cheesy cards and whinging maitre‘ds. Apparently restaurants hate couples. What’s up with that? If you’re coupled, you have my blessing to demand the window seat, feed each other and smooch away to your heart’s content. If you’re single, you don’t have sit at home and watch Remains of the Day. V-Day parties are bound to be bigger and hopefully better than last year. (Two words: pole dancing competitions.) And if not, a vodka shooter or ten will make it all better.
I’d love to hear what you got up to – drop me a line. And don’t forget to pop in next Tuesday for all new blogs, Q&As and much more.
Love,
reality chick

PS. Want to send a message of lurve to your partner or a hottie you've got your eye on? Email it to me and I'll post it up - and if you include the receiver's email address, I'll personally let them know they've got a message waiting on the website!

4.45pm
Oh Owl, my elegant fowl. Let's go to sea in a beautiful pea green boat. Love you madly, your pussycat. x

5.04pm
nat... I know you know I think its a marketing ploy, but L-O-V-E, I love you, even when you burn my toast all is forgotten when you bake a delicious roast. Even when you accidently kneed me in the balls I know it was because of the rush to get off my clothes. So when I say I love you, its not just you but everything you do! pip

5.06pm
Love you truly, madly, deeply for always. Happy V Day, Anon.
P.S. and I don't even mind that you gave me the clap.

5.09pm
P...Whoever invented long-distance lurve is a real a-hole! So good thing you're here, rocking my world with your baby blues and berry smoothies in the morning. Love you chicken licken. Rx

5.21pm
DD, Roses are red, violets are blue, without you, I’d be in the poo. Love you bub.

5.29pm
To Bib, from Bub: It's been 44 years and in the dance of life, lets keep on twirling. Happy Valentine's Day.

9.28am
am I too late? ...Hey D, you're the apple to my pie, the gin to my tonic. I'll be your daggy valantine anytime. P