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Ummm, is there something wrong with that?
Yes, clearly there is. The story goes like this… I met a smart, funny, kind, generous and very, very keen man a few weeks ago. We started dating and all was going very well. Except for the fact that I wasn’t physically attracted to him. Anyhoo, before our fourth (and last!) date, he became quite interested in the activities I had scheduled for that day. I had many things to do in a particular area of Cosmopolitan City and he wanted to know everything I was up to before we were to meet up that evening. I told him my plans, which he repeated back to me with stunning accuracy, considering he was not involved in the days events.
No kidding! Finally!
After all of the desperate and dateless action in Cosmopolitan City, Spring has sprung and the men are coming out from their hideous hibernation. They’re everywhere – checking me out at the gym, at the local coffee shop (well, his wife was there, too…), at the grocery store (with their wives and children), on the sidewalk, repairing said sidewalk and watching my ass instead of watching their work with power tools… Yes! It’s raining men all over town!
Sadly, the answer to that question is… No.
Sadder, still, is the fact that not even my aesthetician has seen it lately. Mmm hmm… I’ve even given up on my regular maintenance schedule. Instead of looking like a Brazilian babe, I’m looking more like a hirsute horror!
I’m afraid that I might have to hire a private investigator to locate my formerly-loved lady parts, love life and libido. What brought on this desire to wax nostalgic (well, let’s face it, I haven’t been waxing much of anything lately!)?
That’s right.
Yep, that’s what I said!
I wanted to let you all know that Valentines Day 2013 is the day that may (or may not) represent the one year anniversary since I had sex. Shock. Horror! How come maybe? Well, that’s sadly because last year, the last time I was known to fornicate, happened to be when I was dating Big Daddy, whose performance in the sack should have led me to sack him. Our last attempt at lovemaking (similar to the first and second episodes…) was an unmemorable affair. What do I remember? Oh yes, that’s it… I certainly remember not having an orgasm! So, to recap, this time last year I was faking it. Sad, sad, sad! Therefore, this year I’m calling this Hallmark holiday ‘Vagina Day’, as it marks the unfortunate occasion of when I last used my vagina.
Stop laughing!
Clearly, this is my favourite new show!
I was relieved and refreshed to see this Bravo show debut. The premise? Like this blog, Miss Advised follows the disastrous dating lives of… you guessed it… fellow dating experts! No joke!
The divine dating doyennes are:
* Julia Allison, a dating columnist
* Emily Morse, a sex expert (hello!)
* Amy Laurent, a matchmaker
All are smart. All are seriously sexy. All are single.
Okay guys, seriously…
The catcall I received today has inspired me to educate men as to the success rate of this creepy callout. Oh, and it’s not just me who feels this way… This goes for all women – believe me.
Today, while innocently pumping gas after a blissful yoga class, I was accosted with a cloying catcall. A (pot-bellied, slovenly) middle-aged man in a (dirty) wifebeater got out of his thumping, heaving truck and started panting heavily. So heavily that it could be heard over the badgering beats. All of a sudden, I hear: “Look at you, working that pump, eh? I’d like to pump you.” Nice. That’s exactly the kind of pick up I go for.
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