MY BRAIN, MY HEART, MY GUT AND MY VAG.

Every time I'm faced with man issues, there's always this little voice inside of me. And then another. And another. And another. The only one that made sense was the one insisting that I eat more fried chicken.

 

These voices came from four highly opinionated body parts: my brain, my gut, my heart and my vag.

 

These crazy bitches bark orders and advice at me incessantly, often at the same time. They are all saying something different, and sometimes I’m not sure who’s saying what. It can be quite maddening.

 

“Go out with him again, he’s hot and funny!” Wait… is that my brain talking… or my vag? I really want to go out with him again, so maybe it’s my gut. My heart jumps whenever he calls… so maybe it’s my heart talking. Shit, I don’t know.

 

Let me introduce you to the players:

 

MY BRAIN

 

In a nutshell, my brain is a workaholic. She overthinks, overanalyzes, and considers then reconsiders every possible angle of every situation.

 

I’m a cerebral chick, I know that. I always want to make the right decision but never know what it is, so I think and think and think until my eyeballs bleed. And then if I ever do make a decision, I’m never sure if it’s the best one, so I think and rethink some more.

 

I implore you, lobotomize her immediately and put her out of her misery.

 

MY HEART

 

Ah, my heart. She is… damaged. The wear and tear on this item should qualify me for a newer model, but sadly, we’re only allotted one per lifetime.

 

Sometimes she’s afraid to speak up, largely because my brain often tells her what an idiot she’s been in the past. Nevertheless, when she does speak, she speaks volumes.

 

Folks often say, “Follow your heart.” And despite all the risks this might involve, somehow, I still want to believe it. And it’s why I gave my ex-boyfriends a lot of second chances.

 

MY VAG

 

This little bitch always gets me into trouble. When she gets lonely, there’s no telling what she’ll do. I think it’s fairly common knowledge that the best decisions are not made by your hoo-ha — but she’s crafty.

 

She talks to the other organs while I’m not looking to try and sway them over to her side. She’s very charismatic and persuasive — much like Jim Jones, or Dakota Fanning.

 

She’s also a master ventriloquist. She’ll say something and I’ll swear it’s my brain talking. Gotta keep an eye on this one. When she doesn’t behave, I’ll sometimes threaten another Brazilian wax, but she remains undeterred.

 

MY GUT

 

When people tell me, “Trust your gut, it’s never wrong,” I want to kick them in the nards. It sounds like sound advice on the surface, but not when your gut has multiple personality disorder.

 

One day, my gut says, “Fuck him off! You don’t have anything in common and it’s just wrong!” The next day, she says, “Don’t dismiss it so fast! You have a great connection and he’s an amazing guy!”

 

Very rarely do I experience an overwhelming “gut instinct.” Sometimes I think I do — but it changes by the hour. How can I trust my gut when she’s so damn wishy washy?

 

I have always envied people who can make a decision on the spot and never look back. Perhaps their brain, heart, gut and vag all get along and make a team decision. Or maybe one of them is the captain and always calls the shots.

 

But mine just can’t seem to get their shit together. I’ve got the Bad News Bears playing inside of me and we lose every time.

 

The Scarecrow, the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion and Dorothy searched all of Oz for these four items. (In the original version, Dorothy asked the Wizard for a vag. That’s why she’s so popular with the gays.)

 

I want to tell them that these organs really aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. In fact, they can have mine — I’ve had enough.

 

From now on, I’m leaving all my decisions up to my buttocks.

Dick Pics

And so it happened...I was asked to blog about men sending us dick pics. Here's the first draft...

 

Hey guys, what’s up? Your penis. Right. Very funny. And original, I might add. And speaking of unoriginal matters involving Mr. Winky, I’ve got a question for you: What’s up with the dick pics?

 

Over the past couple of years as a single blogger, I’ve talked to many ladies about many dating issues. And I have learned that a sizeable number of women have at least once fallen victim to the unwelcome cock shot. It might appear in a text, an e-mail or just hanging out on an online dating site. In fact, in her hilarious memoir, Jenny Lawson reported that as an HR manager she’d catch a different employee e-mailing his junk at least once a quarter. That’s a lot of peen to screen.

 

And of course, it leaves us women asking one question:

 

WHY???

 

Is “Looking forward to meeting you” code for “Send a portrait of your Johnson”? Are you afraid I won’t recognise it in person? Are you running for Parliament?

 

Now, I’m not talking about the online exhibitionists who get their jollies exposing themselves, hoping for a shocked reaction. I’m talking about guys who are actually trying to score with us.

 

After musing on it a bit, I’ve come up with the only plausible explanation for this odd behaviour: You think it turns us on because it turns YOU on.

 

Please guys, use your brain. The other one. WOMEN ARE NOT MEN. We know you dudes would love nothing more than to receive copious photos of our beautiful lady junk. You like porn. We get it.

 

But let me make one thing clear: seeing a digitised image of your dork does about as much for me sexually as watching my neighbour's cat vomit and then eat it.

 

There is no circumstance in which I need to see a photograph of your wang. Not even if we’re just fuck buddies. Not even if it has won some sort of penis pageant. Not even if it bears an uncanny resemblance to Meryl Streep. I don’t need to see if it’s big enough or pretty enough or circumcised enough – I’d honestly rather wait for the unveiling in person. In fact, I kind of like the suspense.

 

Let’s say I meet a guy on Tinder and he texts me a visage of his one-eyed wonder worm. Here’s what will happen: First, I exclaim, “Ew.” Second, I consult my friends immediately and we analyse the shit out of it. This is what our conversation might sound like:

 

Me: Sweet Jesus. This guy just sent me a picture of his dong. Look!

 

Girlfriend: Whoa. What a weirdo. Why would he do that?

 

Me: Shit if I know.

 

Girlfriend: Did you send a boob pic? Did you ASK for it?

 

Me: No and HELL, no.

 

Girlfriend: Ewww, look at it, it’s all veiny. And the head is, like, freakishly bigger than the shaft.

 

Me: Ha! That’s so bizarre! And he didn’t even bother to manscape. It’s like his weiner has an afro.

 

Girlfriend: And check out the shag carpet in his bedroom. That’s just bad taste. Wait a second, what is THAT?

 

Me: What is what?

 

Girlfriend: That little dot right there.

 

Me: Oh, yeah… Maybe it’s something on my screen. [Wipes screen.] Nope, still there. Perhaps a freckle?

 

Girlfriend: Perhaps a genital wart?

 

Me: Omigod. You think?

 

Girlfriend: You never know. I saw some wart pics online that looked like cauliflower. Do you want cauliflower growing out of your junk? Girl, you need to lose this dude. He’s obviously a major perv who may or may not have genital warts.

 

Me: Agree. Delete. Wait… let’s show Sharon and Heather and Jamie first.

Incidentally, a conversation with my gay bf would go something like this:

 

Me: Sweet Jesus. This guy just sent me a picture of his dong. Look!

 

Gay bf: Seriously? Could you forward it to me?

 

Is this what you want, fellas? To be the subject of ridicule amongst our girlfriends or the subject of masturbation amongst our gay bfs? I thought not.

 

Trust me, we’re not nearly as obsessed with your manhood as you are. I mean, sure, we love it when we’re in the throes of passion and think of it fondly if it’s given us pleasure in the past. But I don’t need a picture of it. Ever. And if the two of us have not yet met or are just beginning to date, an Instagrammed version of it will not make me want to instantly bang your brains out. This I promise.

 

So for the love of God, put your camera down and your penis away. And please, tell your friends. Make this go viral. Spread the word, my darlings, spread it like genital warts.

 

Love,

Women

Should you be friends with your ex?

Unfortunately, our exes don’t disappear from the earth after a breakup. They keep existing, seemingly for the sole purpose of appearing when you’re horribly hungover, buying Advil and coconut water in your sweatpants, and then—boom,there they are, still alive. I’ve never understood those couples who stay friends after a breakup. It just seems impossible to form something truly platonic with a person who I’ve had feelings for, who knows exactly how to make me cum, and who’s seen me smell my underwear to check if they’re clean. They know some vulnerable parts of my personality. Those aren't things that friends should know or want to know - it doesn't work that way. There's a big difference between trading juicy secrets and actually doing them. 

Many claim that being friends with your ex is the “mature” thing to do, but I always feel like those people are confusing maturity with masochism. But if you do choose to keep your ex in your life, it’s important that the friendship is genuine, without ulterior motives.

Now, there’s a difference between being friends and being friendly. Friends means we watch Netflix at your apartment and I complain to you about my new relationship. Friendly means that if we pass on the street, I’ll smile and say hi, rather than try to fashion a weapon out of the objects in my handbag. Generally speaking, friendly is a good option, for the sake of social harmony. You don’t want to be one of those people who can’t be in the same room as your ex, and causes a major scene if ever it happens. That’s annoying for your friends, and makes you look like an adultbaby. (Hence where that whole “maturity” thing comes into play.) And even though it would be convenient if we could ask our friends to “choose sides,” that’s unfortunately not really acceptable after the age of 21.

I am not an exemplary case, in that I’m not on speaking terms with any of my serious, long-term exes. Cheating and jealousy spoiled my first relationship, and the ex after that resents me (I might have blogged about the problems in our sex life without his permission one too many times). With my most recent long-term relationship, our breakup involved so many nasty fights that it would be ridiculous to try to rebuild after all the horrible things we said to one another. Despite this, we stupidly made a brief attempt at friendship. Not surprisingly, literally every hangout resulted in a fight, me crying, or us having sex. Old habits are hard to break.

Tellingly, how a relationship ends has an effect on what happens afterward. If it ended badly—cheating, disrespect, trauma, etcetera—then attempting to form a subsequent friendship can be difficult, or worse, unhealthy. However, if your relationship just naturally runs its course and then ends mutually (which, let’s be honest, is not the way most relationships end), then a post-breakup friendship seems more feasible. Personally, I believe the only way to truly be friends with a serious ex is if you had already entered the friendzone before the breakup. Because when you end a relationship that’s still sexually charged, or that one person isn’t ready to give up, it’s impossible to hang out afterward without wanting to fuck, marry, or kill each other. But it’s not just about the sex. Being in a relationship is about so many other things—it’s about family, support, codependency, and being intimate in a way that transcends the sexual—and that’s what makes it hard to transition into friendship.

For a lot of people, breakups are about winning. That’s not necessarily a bad thing—some healthy competition with your exes is natural, right? I’m not saying I want my exes to suffer a major tragedy, but I definitely want them to be far less happy and successful than I am. Duh. But you have to keep it classy. Clearly, it’s always good news when your ex gets fat, but enjoy this hardship privately, with a celebratory glass of wine in the bath, rather than making a big deal about it in front of your mutual friends. Constantly talking about how your ex’s new girlfriend is a budget version of you just makes you seem like you’re still emotionally invested in his life, when really you should be too over it to know or care who he’s dating.

In my experience, when exes stay friends, there’s usually another dynamic at play. For example, one partner secretly hopes to get back together, or is feigning closeness to keep dibs on the other. Or you agree to spend time with your ex out of pity, because they still like you, and the attention feels good. Or, you could be using the facade of friendship simply to hurt the other person—e.g. making them jealous by rubbing new romances in their face. (We’ve all been to that awkward holiday party with an ex-couple—“Isn’t it great we’ve stayed friends!”—where one ex is so obviously enjoying parading around their new partner while the other silently dies inside by the hors d’oeuvres.) And lastly, a classic case, is the type who keep their exes around as a backup plan, in case no one better comes along. Not only is this unfair to your ex, but this dynamic is probably holding you back as well.

You might not realise it, but keeping your ex around “as a friend” after a breakup can keep you from moving on. You think you’re being morally superior, when actually your ex is sucking up so much of your emotional bandwidth that you have zero energy left for Tinder.

Moving on is hard, and the impulse to keep your ex in your life can be really strong—we all get it. And yeah, maybe you can have your ex back in your life in some capacity down the line, but you first need to give yourself a window to move on physically and emotionally. It’s not weak or dramatic to stop following your ex on social media—it’s strategic. If you don’t, you’ll just end up staring at your phone all day, waiting to find clues in each new Instagram they post. You might have to sacrifice some parties, restaurants, movie theatres, and even countries to avoid running into them for a while. But if you do end up in a place where you might run into your ex, be sure to look casually fabulous.

The Trouble With Hookup Culture

When I tell people that I’m doing the whole casual hookup thing, I’m always met with a blend of shock and awe. They tell me how modern I am, how great it is that I’m so comfortable with myself that I don’t need a commitment, and that I’m brave for not being afraid of such a harshly judged lifestyle.

To some extent, they’re right. I am focusing on myself. I am pursuing my sexuality unabashedly. And I’m not afraid of what people may say. But what they don’t realise is that I’m exhausted and it took me a long time to learn to be this way and sometimes I wonder if I haven’t permanently ruined myself. I’ve learned more about men and human connection in these past two years of hooking up than I learned from any long term relationship prior, and I don’t like what I’m learning.

It’s great to do things for yourself; to pursue the things that you want for you and you alone without having to compromise with someone else. It’s good to have a healthy approach to sex. What’s not good is the realisation that you live behind a shell labeled “hardass” because that’s the only way you can survive.

The first time I had a one-night stand, it felt so strange. I wanted more, I felt like I was entitled to a connection, even though I knew I wasn’t. I was hurt that the man in question didn’t call me and ask for some commitment, even though I knew that I didn’t want a boyfriend. I was asking for someone to care about me, even when I didn’t care about them and knew I had no right to ask that of them.

You learn to harden yourself against expectations because happiness is reality minus expectations. You learn how to be both brutally honest and carefully guarded. I say things to my hookups that I would never say to anyone else, precisely because we have a limited window of togetherness and I have a small amount of time to establish myself as strong and independent. But I never care too much or ask too many questions or let them know how content I really am, because that makes me clingy and crazy.

You learn early on how to tell when someone doesn’t give a shit about you and, nine times out of ten, a hookup doesn’t give a shit about you. Even when he spends his weekends in your bed and kisses your forehead and laughs with you as you talk in the darkness, he doesn’t really care. What you mean to each other only goes as far as the door to your apartment. The trouble with hookup culture is that it is, at the same time, empowering and crippling. The very same moments that make you feel strong and content are the ones that leave you hollow and haunted.

And I’m so tired.

I’m tired of giving to someone who is only going to disappear and I’m tired of taking from someone while being fully aware that they are replaceable. No one thinks they are replaceable. I’m tired of being more armour and hard logic and cynicism than I am heart. I’m tired of my friends telling me that I love like a man when I am at my very core all woman. I’m tired of doubting whether or not I’ll ever be able to love again.

35 Things I Learned This Year

1. You never have to settle. Not in a relationship, not in a job, not ever.
2. Love your haters. They just want food, cuddles, attention and exercise. They're basically a puppy. 
3. Some people are kept in your phone just so you know not to answer when they call.
4. Never eat a party brownie ever again. 
5. Bad decisions make good stories.
6. When you get harassed and bullied by TSA officers in LA, remember two words: AUSTRALIAN EMBASSY. 
7. Don't sit too much. It kills you. Move, dance, run, play. 
8. The things that you hate about your body are oftentimes what other people find attractive. Embrace your flaws. 
9. If you think something is cute, fucking wear it. Don’t worry about what everyone else thinks. You’ll look great, I promise. 
10. Sex stores are fun, even if you just want a good laugh.
11. Some days are better than others. 
12. Forgive. No one wants to be bitter. It's bad for your soul. And it's bad for your sexy.
13. Know when to walk away. Holding on will only cause you more pain. Don’t exhaust yourself when there are people out there who would readily appreciate and love you—every part of you.
14. If you have to, make the first move. It’s scary, but someone has to do it. 
15. Men come and go. But your friends will always be there. Never ditch them for any guy unless of course he’s Channing Tatum or Trey Songz. They would be very bad friends if they didn’t understand. 
16. Nobody cares about you as much as they care about themselves.
17. People who feel the need to tell you that they have an excellent sense of humour are telling you that they have no sense of humour. 
18. No matter what happens, somebody will find a way to take it seriously. 
19. You will never find anybody who can give you a clear and compelling reason why we observe Daylight Saving Time. 
20. Arguments are pointless. You can’t change anyone so don’t try. 
21. You will make mistakes. So what?
22. It’s okay to be sad. But try not to forget about what makes you happy.
23. There is nothing wrong with you. 
24. Memories are priceless. Take plenty of pictures and videos of everything. That way, when you scroll through your camera roll, you’ll remember everything about that day -good or bad. 
25. Do what you love. Even if you don't get paid for it. 
26. Telling someone they’re wrong never leads to anything positive. Even if they’re wrong. 
27. A great massage, a great glass of wine, a great workout and great sex are a few of life's greatest treats. 
28. It’s OK if you don’t like something. Just don’t pretend that you do.
29. You should play on a swing set at least once every year. It is guaranteed to bring a smile to your face.
30. If you can’t sing, sing anyway. Especially at karaoke. 
31. If you think something is a bad idea, it might mean you should do it. Or it might mean it’s actually a bad idea.
32. Do activities by yourself. Solo Social Activities (movies, dinner, concerts, travel) can be a lot of fun.
33. Low calorie does not mean healthy. Stop fooling yourself.
34. Stop texting or checking your phone when you’re with other people. It’s rude and it’s sad.
35. Everybody lies. Trust people anyway.

Is Being A Hopeless Romantic In A Hookup Culture A Special Kind of Hell?

“I want all of you, forever, everyday. You and me … everyday,” is what Ryan Gosling’s character, Noah, said to Allie (Rachael McAdams) as he begged her to choose him instead of her fiancé in a pivotal scene in the riveting emotional fluffer, The Notebook.

Back in the good-ol’-days of drive-in movie dates, chocolate-covered strawberries with flowers and corny Hallmark cards that generically express the feelings of the emotionally stunted, this type of sappy profession of one’s inner soul was once an admirable quality of a potential lover.

Nowadays, these types of lines are as likely to win over a woman’s heart and panties as restraining orders are likely to gain friends.

Technological advancements, such as the automobile and movie theaters, brought young couples out of their parents’ homes and constant supervision, giving them more freedom and opportunity for sexy time. Never has seeing a woman’s elbows and ankles been so readily available.

With the loosening sexual morals and the advancement of feminism and birth control that accompanied the sexual revolution in the 1960s, sex became unhinged from nuptials and non-marital sex became more socially accepted.

Fast-paced modern society, combined with mobile technology and social media, has bourgeoned hookup culture and courtship has evolved from developing instant intimacy to an endless barrage of dick pics, creepy pickup lines and mind games.

However, this isn’t all bad, as the hookup culture has marked the beginning of a demise of outdated, religious, misogynistic sexual double standards, as women are more free to explore their sexuality with less judgment from sexually frustrated moral purists and creepy old priests who choose to share the love of Jesus with their subservient altar boys.

But is our collective Attention Deficit Disorder turning into Affection Deficit Disorder?

A recent survey states that both men and women are deeply unhappy with hookup culture. Meaningless intercourse apparently led them to associate sexuality with “ambivalence, boredom, isolation and loneliness,” yet they reluctantly accept hooking up as an obligatory prerequisite of young adulthood.

Nevertheless, this blatantly jaded view presupposes young men and women are completely devoid of the ability to cultivate a relationship that grows from casual sex and that “traditional” courtship of admitting one’s desire during the heated passion of encountering love at first sight is actually attractive.

Essentially, texting and casual dialogue has transformed courting into a mental chess match, where every message, smooth line, date and reaction is strategically planned to elicit a certain kind of emotion in order to play mind games that stimulate subconscious arousal rather than express genuine emotions.

Next time you think about answering a text from that potential someone or want to plan a date with them; wait an hour, or a day, or a week, or a year, or even a decade to respond, so neediness isn’t displayed. Psychology shows that being random, spontaneous and opaque is the key to attraction.

The only way to show interest is through disinterest, so the other person’s disinterest turns into interest while your disinterest hides your interest and over time, hopefully, the initial interest doesn’t gradually fade into disinterest because showing interest creates disinterest. It makes sense because the only way to properly pursue someone is to manipulate their emotions.

We now live in a world that disregards cheesy romance lines and proliferates magical dating apps, like Tinder, which connect just as many private parts as hearts. Men and women continue to cycle through each other like a lifestyle hipster snob cycles through curated homeless person ensembles at Urban Outfitters every three months to seem trendy.

But is the hookup culture the scourge of the millennial generation or a natural progression of human intimacy?

As men and women drift through partners after countless 30-second jackhammer doggystyle sessions, there’s an opportunity to find that significant other as people are constantly being connected through technology and social events without the need for an idealized Hollywood portrayal of romance.

Lifestyles are constantly being challenged and diversified in the western civilisation. Traditional nuclear families have now expanded to cohabitation, gay and lesbian couples and single parents. There’s no reason that random, sloppy coitus can’t coexist with dating.

People look for different kinds of relationships at different points in their lives, so there’s really no right or wrong way to conduct one’s personal life.

In the midst of all this casual sex and questioning of traditional dating values, the main takeaways from the emerging hookup culture are the cliché expressions, “do what makes you happy” and “be yourself and people will love you for who you are.”

Men shouldn’t let the number of sexual conquests dictate their self-worth, while women shouldn’t allow sex to devalue them. As long as people know what they’re looking for in life and refuse to allow other people’s perceptions of them to influence their self-esteem, then maybe hookup horndogs and hopeless romantics can pursue their affectionate ambitions together in the modern dating world.

Life is simply a series of random events, and the universe will inevitably unfold as it was meant to.

Everyone will eventually find that special someone, whether it’s in the bed sheets or their beating hearts.

Or maybe you’ll just die cold, bitter and alone. I don’t know, I’m not Cupid

The Real Problem Between Sex, Love, And The ‘Almost’ Relationship

I both love and hate so many aspects that are such a huge part of this generation. For example, I love that technology makes it easier than ever for us to connect, but it also makes it harder than ever to make meaningful connections, particularly face to face. One gripe I have that seems to be such an integrated part of this generation is the problem of the “Almost Relationship.” Let me explain what I mean by this.

I’ve known some beautiful, intelligent, amazing women in my life, and many of them have been faced with this issue. Let’s see if this applies to you. You meet a guy, you’re intrigued by him. You like him a lot. He isn’t easy to deal with, but it seems worth it to you. Perhaps you have baggage or issues of your own that you’re wanting to work through while you’re with him, you helping him with his issues and vice versa. You spend a lot of time together, maybe he even introduces you to his friends, which you take to be a great sign. You text back and forth all the time, and he is affectionate with you, calling you endearing names. You get to the stage where you want to ask what this is, what you’re both doing with each other.

Is it a relationship? You don’t quite know the answer. You’ve had sex, been intimate, shared meals. Maybe you bring up the question to him, or maybe he brings it up himself. Either way, what he tells you is that he doesn’t want a relationship. This confuses you. Maybe you think, “But it was going so well!” and you wonder how he could come to this conclusion after all the time you’ve spent together. You also feel like you’re getting mixed signals. After all, if going out on dates, taking care of each other and having sex isn’t a relationship, then what is?

Maybe you’ll ask him at this point what he does want, and why he doesn’t want a relationship. Maybe he gives you answers, maybe he doesn’t. Maybe you fight, you have misunderstandings. Maybe he tells you that you’re just friends, or friends with benefits, or that he’s so messed up that he couldn’t possibly have anything to offer anyone. You go through stages of being angry, then forgiving him. Then soothing him. Then trying to help him with his anxiety or his panic attacks, or his disconnect from his emotions, or help him get over his ex. You wonder to yourself, “If he doesn’t seem to be after other girls, why doesn’t he just admit he wants to be with me, or that we’re together?”

Because in his mind, you’re not. Because in his mind, he has all the power. Because in his mind, he’s getting something he wants, and he’s giving you something you want, even if you’re left unfulfilled. Because in his mind, what you are both doing with each other is “good enough” for now, particularly until he finds something else. Maybe his voice is sexy and drives you crazy when he leaves you voice mails at midnight, asking you to come over. Maybe he makes you laugh. There could be a thousand reasons why you continue to devote so much time to him, even though he says he doesn’t want a relationship, or tells you directly that he doesn’t want to be with you. Maybe you think you can change him, or change his mind.

I love that in this day and age women can be more free with their bodies sexually, admitting that they need a physical connection with someone, that they enjoy that type of intimacy. Unfortunately, I think this still leaves most women so much more vulnerable than men in this scenario and more likely to get attached after being intimate. We want to think sometimes that we can keep it casual, but how many times have you found yourself at an impasse trying to separate sex from love?

This is a huge downfall of the modern era. Women should be able to be as free as they like with their bodies, as long as they understand that sometimes they will grow attached, and have to be prepared for the possibility that the men they want to be with won’t want to be with them. If you are one of these women, just know that not everything is meant to work out or line up. Fall for the person who says, “Yes. I want you. I want to be with you” and is willing to prove it.

Getting Dumped Was The Best Thing That Ever Happened To Me....

"When you deal with the heartbreak of an unwanted breakup, you need to look very carefully at the person who broke up with you and look very carefully at yourself. If you are radically honest, you will see a myriad of ways that you asked for the breakup to happen as well as the ways that you deserve something better in relation to another" – ­ MUM-

My mum’s advice resonated with me because it is true. A couple of years ago, I was the epitome of a woman scorned. I spent years with a man who not only broke my heart, but also broke my essence. It amazed me that I entered the relationship thinking I was complete, yet once I left, I saw myself half-finished. For quite some time, I allowed this to make me disillusioned, but now I see it as a valuable life lesson. Being dumped was the best thing that ever happened to me. It made me realize that once you enter a relationship with your eyes closed, you leave it with your eyes wide open. 

Like all of my previous relationships, I met my ex-boyfriend when I was fresh out of a breakup. There were no sparks when I first locked eyes with him. No butterflies. No trumpets to herald his coming into my life. He wasn’t different from every other guy. Nevertheless, I spoke to him and inadvertently gave him my number.

Remarkably, the months that followed our epiphanic meeting were nothing short of amazing. Unlike the previous guy who would relentlessly criticise me for my physical flaws, DB made me feel like I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on.  And for the first time in my whole adult life, I felt alive. It wasn’t long before we fell inevitably and irrevocably in love with each other.

However, we rushed the relationship immensely. We were virtually inseparable. We would talk innocently about our future. We made plans about getting married years down the line. He even gave me a promise ring and would oftentimes introduce me to everyone as his fiancé. At that point of my life, though, I had a lot of sorting out to do. I was mourning the loss of a loved one. But instead of properly going through the entire grieving process, I used him as replenishment for my loss. He became my crutch and my only source of emotional support.  Needless to say, it eventually became apparent that we move in together. And so I ignored everything logical that my brain was spouting out at me and hastily moved into his place.

The first year of living together was wonderful because we were candidly playing cubby house. He was the best part of my day and the hours that we spent away from each other felt like light years. He would take me to his gigs because he wanted me beside him while he’s working behind the decks as a DJ.  I stopped seeing my friends and doing things that I usually love to do because all I wanted was to be with him. He became the focal point of my existence.

Yet, after a year of bliss, the relationship began to sour. We’d argue about anything and everything.  And as we both started to see characteristics of each other that we would otherwise deem as red flags had it not for the circumstances that we got ourselves into, the arguments became frequent and more intense. As months passed, I saw myself changing. I was no longer the carefree girl that had a healthy social life. Instead of figuring out what I wanted in life, I was trying to figure out how to keep a man. I was dependent on someone’s love. And, as is the way with gravity, the fireworks between us ran their course and eventually came crashing down, leaving me dazed and heartbroken with a thousand questions left unanswered. 

DB was not only controlling. He was also very manipulative and demanding. I saw myself walking on eggshells and bending over backwards to make things work.  And without realising it, my life became all about him. I took up culinary lessons because he didn’t like my cooking. I would wake up 20 minutes earlier every single morning before I go to work while he sleeps in (DJ hours, remember?) to make him breakfast.  I would feel extremely guilty if I hadn’t done the laundry in a week and he ran out of clean underwear to wear.  I would literally drop everything every time he’d need my help like drive to town in the middle of the night because he forgot something from home (even on those nights when I badly need to rest or when I’m sick). I would oftentimes restrain myself from speaking my mind because I was perpetually trying to avoid potential arguments with him. On top of that, he would throw my clothes out the balcony and threaten to kick me out of his apartment every time we fight. 

Ultimately, the relationship became emotionally and psychologically abusive. His demands became more unreasonable and I found myself in perennial struggle to make him happy. It almost felt like I was being performance managed but no matter how much I tried to reach my KPI, my efforts were just not good enough. Not only were his standards impossible to live up to, they were extremely obstructive and perverse as well. I remember contemplating on flirting with other girls when I go out so I could take them home and have a threesome because that was his biggest fantasy.  Our date nights were unwittingly reduced to going to swingers' parties. And although we would not have sexual intercourse with other couples, I would unscrupulously allow him to make out and fondle other women because I knew it made him happy. The whole relationship was so toxic that it came to a point where I became very emotionally unstable and volatile. I would oftentimes try to get a glimpse of the man that I fell in love with by ostentatiously attempting to harm myself in front of him hoping that he’d hug me and become that loving person that stole my heart a year ago. Instead, he had me committed in a mental ward. At this point, I was so far gone that not only did I apologise to him for my ‘misdemeanour’ but I also tried to dispute the treating psychiatrist’s conclusion that I have a sound mind. When I was advised to walk away from the relationship, I broke down and stubbornly insisted that everything was my fault and that I was crazy hence, they should think about reassessing my mental health. 

Consequently, our malignant relationship finally came to an end in February 2014. I still remember his icy cold stare and his thunderous voice stinging me. I left his place trembling with fear, thinking that I messed things up for good. I was supposed to be heading for work that day but instead, I made a detour to the library and cried for what seemed like an eternity. I kept asking myself why I couldn’t make him happy. I couldn’t figure out what went wrong and ultimately, I blamed myself for the demise of our relationship. I thought I was a terrible girlfriend despite knowing that I loved him with every molecule of my being. And for the first time in my life, I felt like a failure. Naturally, I spent the following weeks crying and begging him to take me back. I hung onto the false hope that we could fix things and that he would eventually come into his senses and take me back into his arms again. To this day, I'm still not certain whether I was holding on to the image of the man that I fell in love with and I was too stubborn to accept the person that he has become or if I was too naive to recognise the red flags at the start of the relationship and I failed to see him for the person that he truly was.  

In the months that followed, my heart felt like it lived directly under the thinnest layer of skin, overly sensitive to every thought, loud sound or even touch. Some days I'd go to bed feeling like I have a defaulted cardiac arrest, and I’d wake up feeling the same way only to repeat the cycle again. I spent everyday sobbing and vomiting, haunting my friend’s spare bedroom like a ghost. Apparently, that's what you do when you are 26 and have just been summarily dismissed from your long-term live-in relationship. You cry and snivel and you plead with a God you don’t quite believe in to make it all a bad dream. You sleep fitfully on a blow-up mattress in a room that is not yours and every time you wake up, you have to quell the panic of not knowing where you are by reminding yourself silently, resolutely that this will pass. 

Fortunately, I eventually moved out of the vomiting/hysterical weeping stage and into the kindling stage. In fact, if you would have told me then, “You will someday be grateful for your broken heart,” I would have laughed (or more likely cried) in your face. But I say this now: Thank you, dear heart, for being strong enough to fall apart. Thank you, heart, for the precious gift of your breaking.  After that devastating blow, something inside of me snapped. I looked at the mirror and I saw this feeble girl staring back at me. How can I love someone if I’ve forgotten how to take care of me? I felt a switch and all of a sudden I was faced with the choice to be pathetic forever or to conquer my sorrow. I decided to conquer. I reclaimed myself. I reconnected with old friends. I went on a spiritual workshop up the coast. I did things for myself and explored new hobbies. I opened myself up to male attention and threw myself back into the dating pool. I focused on rediscovering myself.  I regained my self-respect and before I knew it, I was alive again.  

It didn’t take long before vivid memories of my failed relationship turn into blurry renditions. And my resentment towards him was replaced with gratitude. After all, he opened my eyes to something greater in life. He taught me that love doesn't mean leaning and company doesn't mean security. He showed me that LOVE is what’s left over after the passion ebbed and that kisses aren't contracts. The experience taught me to think more rationally when it comes to matters of the heart - not to rely on the idea that happily ever after necessarily exists. And it’s unclear whether there’s someone out there for everyone. I don’t want to be cynical about love, but I don’t want to be naive either. 

In addition to that, I still had so many things in my life that I need to straighten out.  For so long, I’ve been coasting by blaming other people for my despondent life, yet I forgot I was talking about MY LIFE.   I’m the master of my own destiny.  I wasted so much time worrying about another person’s happiness that I have completely forgotten how to actually be happy.  And so I decided to plant my own garden and decorate my own soul instead of waiting for someone to bring me flowers. 

And as I went through this process, I came to terms with why things ended up the way they did. I listened to my truth even when it’s “ugly” and I forgave myself for not being perfect.  I see now with clarity that our relationship was toxic. We were not right for each other and I should have walked away a lot sooner, instead of trying to fix something that was destined to be broken.  Now, as I begin to see why and how things started to unravel and how I ended up a total mess, I am finally able to grow. In the grand scheme of things, the moment I finally put as much effort into the relationship that I have with myself as I did with other people is the moment that I am able to stop searching for something outside of myself.  I am able to find peace -the kind of peace that doesn’t change with the wind. I feel vulnerable and strong at the time because I know that what I have gone through serves a greater purpose.  The next time I find love, I will understand my needs and wants better. And I will know myself enough to give myself what I want and avoid falling into the same patterns I was in before this relationship.

Yes. Getting dumped hurt like hell but it was in hindsight, the best thing that has ever happened to me.  Amazing things are manifested when we face our demons in new and creative ways, and that is true no matter who we are.  I decided to build my roads for today because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans. And the future has a way of  falling mid-flight. But even though the future sometimes frightens me, I look back in the past, and the past before that, and I see that whatever happens, I will always be much better off in the future that I'm scared of than in the past that I left behind. 

My story is no different from everyone else's.  I've loved and I've lost. But needless to say, I have gained the one thing that matters the most - ME.

69 THINGS THAT WENT THROUGH MY MIND WHILE WATCHING MAGIC MIKE XXL

1. First 2 minutes: Women in the cinema are getting the downstairs feels. Yes. Already. 
2. I feel like I’m at the horniest hen party of all time. They should’ve given us dick straws. They missed a trick there.
3. POOL PARTY! Or, more accurately, NAKED JOE MANGANIELLO PARTY! Wait, that was just the tip of Joe's penis between his legs. Did we just see his tip?
4. We also have a dripping wet Channing Tatum. Can Channing please wear a wet shirt, like, all the time?
5. CHANNING'S GARAGE. I've seen the trailer, I know what's coming. Probably me. In my mind.
6. The same trailer we watched on loop one Saturday night, drunkenly spouting wildly inappropriate things about what we’d do to Channing Tatum.
7. Now he's humping with a drill. I have never wanted to be a power tool so badly.
8. I think I have suddenly developed new and interesting feelings about welding.
9. Channing Tatum is dancing to 'Pony' in his workshop. This is truly life changing.
10. He’s properly humping a table. And great, I’m officially jealous of an inanimate object.
11. I’m lost in Matt Bomer’s blue eyes.
12. No. Like I’m seriously lost. .
13. Matt Bomer is so pretty. I want to lick his face. 
14. He’s teaching us eyebrow tricks. Apparently you can catch more strays by using your iPhone camera instead of a mirror. Thank you, Matt Bomer, you beautiful human you. 
15. I want to touch all of them. In the pants.
16. I am now reconsidering my taste in men. Is there such a thing as too hot?
17. This stripping brainstorm is the kind of meeting I want to be involved in. I could literally contribute SO much…if staring counts as a contribution.
18. I wish men who pee in public areas look like Channing Tatum so I could take a pic of them and use the environment as an excuse to chat them up. 
19. Channing's inner drag queen is called Clitoria Labia. Life made.
20. If Channing doesn’t make a Clitoria Labia spin-off movie, what is the point of living?
21. Big Dick Ritchie (Joe Manganiello) has just confessed he hasn't had sex in five months because his dick scares off the ladies.
22. Every lady in the cinema is currently thinking they’d be up for the challenge.
23. Cinematic greatness has just happened! And it came in the form of Joe Manganiello humping a refrigerator. 
24. I can't write. I am crying too much at Joe's opening of Cheetos. And water, 
25. “I want it that way” by the Backstreet Boys is taking on a whole new meaning. 
26. My envy is real. I hate Sophia Vergara. And Jenna Tatum. And Amber Heard. And all those women who got to touch these magnificent and glorious humans.
27. Why is Channing holding a diamond ring? YES CHANNING! A THOUSAND TIMES YES!
28. Wait, did he just say he proposed to someone with bacon? I think I just had a tiny orgasm!
29. Wow, Jada Pinkett Smith is hella sexy. And she’s the owner and ladyboss of a strip mansion filled with beautiful black strippers. Tough gig.
30. She’s giving us a tour in her pleasure mansion. I’m scared right now and I love it!
31. Jada’s pleasure mansion is where I want to be every day of my life and also I would like to die and be buried there and instead of a ,I would like a sexy man to dance on my grave.
32. Jada is reminding me that I’m a queen and I believe her.  
33. Can Jada Pinkett Smith please just narrate, like, my whole life?
34. I want a shirtless Childish Gambino to do a special rap for me. I have never wanted anything so much. 
35. Channing's old stripper name was White Chocolate. I could so go for a Milky Bar right now. That's not a euphemism. I'm genuinely really hungry.
36. Channing just did a handstand and thrust his pelvis and basically defied gravity AND IT’S EVERYTHING. 
37. Andie MacDowell and her big, fabulous hair are here and all is right in the world.
38. Honestly pissed a group of male strippers has never crashed a single one of my wine nights.
39. Matt Bomer is singing and making a woman feel beautiful and it is so beautiful I want to weep. And dive into those eyes.
40. Channing just said "Cookies are awesome" and "My God is a She" in one glorious minute. Wisdom.
41. If Channing likes cookies, you like cookies (science).
42. Yup, Andie MacFreakingDowell gets the pleasure of being Joe M’s perfect fit. #LIFEGOALS
43. Wait, is Joe wearing a sleeveless fleece? Where do you even buy a sleeveless fleece? I hope I don't get turned on by sleeveless fleeces from now on. 
44. Andie MacDowell just NAILED the "I've just had sex with a guy with a really big dick" sigh so accurately. Give the woman an Oscar! The acceptance speech would be 👌
45. They’ve referred to women’s vagines as glass slippers a fair few times. I’m ok with this analogy
46. I can’t decide whether Tito’s hair looks better curly or in cornrows.
47. Elizabeth Banks and Jada had a moment and it was damn sexy. 
48. Here comes Tito. I don’t know about all that whipped cream. A hot dude + hot fudge sounds really awesome at first, but that shower must have been rough.
49. YOU’RE MAKING A MESS, TITO.  
50. JOE MANGANIELLO IS A SEX GOD. He’s not a human man but a god descended from Mount Olympus.
51. Joe. Dressed in a suit. He looks REALLY good in a suit. But he also looks good shirtless. Hell the man would look good in a friggin’ tutu.
52. I want to marry Joe Manganiello and announce my nuptials on facebook.
53. He’s tied her up in some metal device. I am vividly picturing my honeymoon night with Joe Manganello. 
54. Wait, did anyone ever actually get that woman off Christian Grey's swing?
55. I WANNA CHANNING ALL OVER YOUR TATUM.
56. Dear Twitch, YOU COMPLETE ME. 
57. I want to hug every part of Twitch’s body with my mouth.
58. Twitch doesn't get to speak. But men everywhere should take a leaf off his book. Sometimes, all you need to say is *gyrates sensually*
59. I wonder if they actually go down on women by picking them up over their heads like that?!
60. More feels in the downstairs department.
61. I want to throw money on the screen. Take my dollar bills beautiful humans!
62. I kinda feel for the dudes in here. I mean, this has gotta produce some crazy feelings of inadequacy. They are f*cking ridiculous!
63. I wonder how many people will be having parties for one over Channing Tatum tonight...or shutting their eyes pretending they're getting busy with him.
64. Wow. Is it hot? Are you hot? Yes, I am definitely burning up here.
65. Enough with the dialogues. Please stop talking and go back to dancing. PLEASE?
66. Is there a real stripper convention in Myrtle Beach? Spoiler: there is, according to Channing. Who’s coming with me next year?
67. It’s over. I am sad. But weirdly elated and most definitely feeling strange things.
68. I want to live inside this movie.
69. Is it too late to change careers? I want to be a ladyboss pleasure merchant like Jada Pinkett Smith.

LOVE ME TINDER...

I joke my love life is like a soap opera. The only conclusion I can come to about this is the fact it happens so I can share it with all my readers.

2014 for me was a bad year for love, breakups and attracting people who weren’t right for me. I find though because I work so often, meeting people only happens when I’m at a bar. And though I’m loving the single life at the moment, I figured seeing what’s out there isn’t gonna hurt. And meeting the man of my dreams while I’m taking selfies with my martini isn’t going to happen so under a blanket on the couch, pondering  with my aching neck and likely eternal spinsterhood, I made the questionable decision to download Tinder. I considered the app a perfect match for my dating laziness. It is literally as simple as swipe left for ‘pass’ and right for ‘go’. In short, it’s the place where humanity, grammar and conversation skills go to die. For an app based mostly on looks, these are some pretty ugly truths. So, it was with this in mind and some liquid courage on board that I dipped my feet into Tinder’s murky waters last month. 

And as a serial relationship person, I thought Tinder would be a good way to ease back into dating. It is an interesting juxtaposition in my social circles; as some of  my friends are settling down, buying houses, getting married and having children, I'm just out of a 3 year relationship and finding my feet in the adult world alone for the first time in a long time, talking to strangers and enduring being sent dick pics. 

In a way, tinder is everything i thought it would be: a cesspool of broken hearts, shirtless photos and sleazy one-liners. It is the equivalent of a Saturday morning meat market that prioritises attractiveness over personality. But the swiping part is actually quite fun, particularly as a social experiment – there are some absolute gems of idiocy and oddity, and some fairly terrifying stuff too. Sorting through the Charizards and Pikachus of this world is a lot like playing “hot or not” and, while it might sound incredibly vain, no one would bat an eyelid if you did the same thing in a bar or club.  Tinder is the online version of that first up-and-down look you’d give someone at the Disney trivia night after-party - when you’re mildly inebriated and the conversation has switched to the portrayal of non-human animals in Pocahontas - only now, you’re positive the admiring look is mutual, because Tinder told you so. 

Needless to say, I ended up getting a sizeable amount of matches. Some of which never made contact and a good majority wrote messages that blatantly express their sexual innuendoes. I was propositioned for sex every other message. No shame. Just straight up “wanna bang?’ first messages. And it was gross. Don’t get me wrong. Like most women, I love sex! I am a willing participant in this sweaty game of rubbing genitals. However, my mouth isn’t just a hole for someone's dick. It more often than not spouts out hilarious, wise-beyond-my-years rhetoric that you should be grateful to be in earshot of. This applies to the majority of women.

Eventually, it became apparent to me that Tinder really is just TINDER - an app to meet different kinds of people whose intentions should not be defined nor questioned.  So I turned my neurosis off and stopped taking everyone’s messages seriously. I would oftentimes ignore the rude messages and on a good day, let out a sarcastic retort. But more importantly, I became an expert at picking out behavioural patterns. I became very sharp at sorting out which “Hi. How are you?” messages to reply to.

And so the saga of my tinder exploits began. I started experimenting. There was cute and funny Justin. A finance manager who thinks I’m way too much trouble for him. Our banter would often revolve around how his beard is really making me and the rest of womankind asexual. Then there was Peter - dude on a rebound. We would mostly talk about his ex and how gloriously shocked he is at how easy it is to get laid as a single male these days. Then Jonathan - a Sydney born Caribbean man who knows my ex very well. We exchanged a few flirtatious banter until he eventually realised the inevitable - I’m the chick that everyone in his community knew so he bailed. Not that I even considered talking to him outside of tinder but apparently, he can’t offer me sex or anything more because of the complexity of the situation. Yeah about that, Jonathan….can’t say it crossed my mind either so no love lost there. 

So here I was - a pro tinderer, swiping away and having mindless conversations with random strangers, when another guy that I matched with messaged me. Let’s call him David. Nothing really stood out about him except that he could spell better than the others and his pics were just of him - no group photos, photos of kids, dogs or other women. And he didn’t have anything written on his profile. So I spoke to him. Then like a pro who comes from the old school, he gave me his number for me to text him. I contemplated on it then decided against it. Instead, I gave him my number and told him to text me. Five minutes later, I got a text from him saying I have a massive ego. A few banters later and I was on the phone to him for 5 hours. It was both surprising and refreshing at the same time. Surprising because I found myself enjoying having a conversation with someone that I met online and refreshing because it was basically the first contact that I’ve had with a man in a long time that didn’t involve looking at the screen on my phone. 

And so I decided to be more receptive to David. Come Saturday night, he called after we exchanged a few text messages. Now I don’t exactly remember the course of our conversation that night but for some reason, I agreed for him to come over my place at a very unholy hour on a saturday night. I justified it by telling myself that we have become phone friends so we might as well meet up and get it out of the way. Besides, not once has he tried to sleaze on to me over the phone so he can’t be that horrible in person. And call me hypocritical but I am not one of those DTF bitches. I know you’re all rolling your eyes at me right now but here’s my argument: 1) I didn’t make an effort to dress up - I was wearing my trackies; 2) I didn’t bother putting on make-up; and most importantly, 3) I was wearing grandma panties! Surely this rebuttal would silence your judgmental minds. 

So then David showed up in my doorstep. It wasn’t as awkward as I thought it would be. We got on to it like we have known each other before tinder. We laughed a lot and had a few banter. And then it happened. With one swift movement, he scooped me up and kissed me.  I wasn’t exactly sure what went through my mind at that moment but I knew it felt good. Well I imagine a huge part of it can be attributed to the fact that I haven’t had physical contact with any man since late December last year (remember, Frenchie? yeah there was no one else after him! - HEY I'VE BEEN BUSY WITH OTHER THINGS, OK!). But as a human being with hormones, things escalated pretty quickly. And so I, a self-proclaimed non-DTF chick, might have actually become an accidental DTF tinder-oni. 

The next day, my neurosis was in full force. Questions were reeling through my brain faster than the Skyliner Keisei Electronic Trains in Tokyo.  Does he think I’m a slut for sleeping with him on our first meeting? Or did he already make that assumption before I even slept with him because I agreed to let him come over my place at 1am on a Sunday morning? Wait, did I just have my first tinder bang? Have I just been baptised and initiated into this hook-up culture that has plagued my generation? Should I feel bad about what I’ve done? Hold up! Do I even feel bad about it? Does he look at me differently now because I said I’m not DTF and then I totally acted like I am? Does it even matter? Do I care? Should I care? Is this what you’re supposed to be doing these days as a single woman? Am I ok with it? Why did I even agree to meet up? What do I really want out of tinder? Did I secretly want a tinder shag and channel my inner DTF chick? Or did I want to meet someone and date them and eventually be in a relationship with them? Or am I just there because I have obvious time-wasting issues and being winter and all, I’m running out of ways to entertain myself? 

Since I’m way too much of a basket case to answer any of my questions, I decided to consult the experts:

Mum: Oh sweetie, did you at least use a condom? Don’t be irresponsible! I don’t want grandchildren out of wedlock! (Not really the point here mum but thanks for the tip!) 

Sarah: You’re both consenting adults. You can have sex with anyone you want and it doesn’t make you a slut. You know yourself better than anyone else does. And you have never been one who cares about someone else’s opinion? What is going on?

Nounou: You’re 27. Time to grow up. I slept with some of my tinder dates. Do you think I’m a slut? The most important thing is how you see yourself amidst all these. His opinion and everyone else’s are irrelevant. You should know that - being the "I don’t give a fuck" advocate and all. 

Miles: Ummmm….you’re not a slut. But you just basically became one of those girls who say they’re not DTF but they totally are!

Ok maybe I shouldn’t have asked Miles’ opinion on this one because he still refuses to have a platonic friendship with me after all these years.

I guess the jump from long-term relationship with a guy who knew me inside out to meeting strangers and hoping there was a connection is a strange one. I had heard so much about being a single girl in her late twenties - everything from Sex and the City episodes to think pieces in The Atlantic swarmed around my brain as I prepared myself for this new stage of my life. 

But unlike what the click-bait articles try to claim, my generation, Gen Y, the millenials, whatever you want to call us - don’t really do anything differently than any other generation before us. Unsurprisingly enough, teenagers have always had sex - it’s only in recent years that they’ve been more vocal about it.  It wasn’t Tinder or the Internet that caused this so called hook up culture. It’s just that now teens and young adults, particularly women, can be more open about their sex lives without being cast out of society forever. 

There’s a certain aspect of slut shaming that is inherent in critiques of hook up culture.  They dedicate thousands of words to rebuking consenting adults for getting naked and feeling good, and yet ignore the bigger problem with teenage sex - the lack of sexual education and prevalence of violence against women. They seem so sure that we’re all having ridiculous amounts of sex with numerous partners and that it’s somehow damaging to our health. 

But here’s the thing - we’re not all having orgies and forgoing commitment. Whilst some are single and fancy free, a larger percentage of my Facebook friend’s list are happily coupled up and committed. They’re having babies and picking out linens, generally progressing down the exact path the previous generations have. I’m becoming the odd one out as a 27 year old who seemingly isn’t interested in anything serious right now. 

So what’s it like to date as a late twenties feminist with a big mouth and the tendency to piss off men? A year on and I have learned a lot. 

Sexual politics, the to and fro between people who are, or could be, or want to be attracted to each other is a complicated business. There’s a reason why so much of our  popular culture is obsessed with romance - because we, as a human race, are too.  it’s partly socially conditioned, but largely biological.  As a general rule, we yearn for partnership and sex. It’s something I think we forget sometimes, that the reason we can get worked up over seemingly minimal interactions with people we’re attracted to is because our chemistry is making us. 

But if there’s one thing I’ve taken from this experience, it’s challenging the idea that men on tinder like to hook up and women are only ever after something more long term. It throws out the sexist generalisation that hooking up is a male-only pastime and finally acknowledges that women like to have sex too (sometimes just sex, hold the relationship).  The anonymity of it means both parties are more inclined to be open about what they’re after, and the simple action of swiping left or right puts the power in the hands of both men and women. In theory, at least, this makes Tinder  a feminist ideal. As soon as we stop demonising or slut shaming women for having safe consensual sex with other consenting adults, we can begin to talk about general equality and genitalia liberation. 

However, in saying that, Tinder might not be the seedy underbelly of online hook-ups I assumed it to be, but it’s no Romeo and Juliet for the modern day either. The app has changed the dating game, but the accepted misogyny on our screens, in our universities and on our streets has stayed the same – the denial of women’s sexual agency has never been more public or, thankfully, more contested. By dismantling the myth of a masculine hook-up culture, we can start to see things like Tinder as any other subjective experience – eating pizza, getting a driver’s license or having kids.

I’m not sure whether Tinder will stand the test of time on my iPhone, though. Data is precious. And I’m all for tradition and romance. I have an old soul. I prefer to date the old-fashioned way. I want to find a guy, lock eyes with him, and fall madly in love. And I’m really not sure if I can endure another dick pic from someone that I haven’t even met in person. Or meeting up with a random stranger in the middle of the night and then going through bouts of neurosis the next day.

As for David, we remained friends. He’s actually a really cool person and I have him to thank for my first and most probably last tinder-oni bang.

Bimbo Moments....

Sometimes I feel moderately intelligent. Other times I have to sing the "ABCs" in my head to remember which letter comes next.

WHAT TINDER TAUGHT ME ABOUT DATING AND HUMANITY...OK MAYBE JUST DATING.

Ok, everyone is abuzz about it, and I know I’m late to the party. But the other day, I said to my productivity, “Hey, workflow, let’s take an unexpected 2 hour break and check this sucker out.”
For anyone who doesn’t yet know what I’m talking about, ‘this sucker’ is Tinder: a ‘dating’ app that’s like if hotornot.com (remember that?!) had a lovechild with match.com. And Candy Crush might also be the father.

Basically it’s a location-based app that pulls info from your Facebook to create your profile, and then pulls up ‘matches’ that meet your age/sex/location criteria. All you see of these potential matches are a few photos, any mutual friends or interests (according to your FB profile) and one tagline. Then you ‘swipe right’ if you find them attractive, and left if you don’t (bonus: when you swipe left you get a satisfying stamp across their picture that says ‘NOPE.’) It’s slightly vain and shallow but it's also addictive. From there, if you also fall into their criteria (age, sex, distance) and they find you attractive, you match. Then you can chat, swap numbers, meet up, get Catfished, etc.

Naturally, I had a lot of questions: What are people doing on here? Is anyone normal? Is it just a hookup app? Has anyone actually ended up with someone this way? Is it too superficial? Dangerous? WILL I BE THE FIRST TINDER MARRIAGE?

The danger aspect really got me. The fact that you can tell when someone is “less than a kilometer away” made me believe that I was one mis-swipe away from ending up in some guy named Xenon’s trunk never to be seen again and all because he had a cheeky tagline and a photo of a puppy in his profile pic.

But, I’m dramatic.

What started out as an experiment got me thinking about what this app says about dating in general. Is Tinder simply a microcosm of what we do in real life (p.s. that’s what its creators profess)? File people away as attractive or unattractive, make split second decisions based on minimal facts, trust complete strangers? Do we really need to know tons of information about someone to know if they're a good match?

Thus, I drafted a list of Tinder truths... many of which are true about dating in general. AKA What Tinder Taught Me About Life and Dating:

1. If you didn’t know you had a type: you do. Hence the quick-fire way you can absolutely HATE or love someone’s face.
2. There is no smooth way to start a conversation with a total stranger with whom the only thing you have in common is the belief that you both are not ugly.
3. It’s okay to dislike someone based solely off of the Facebook friend that you have in common.
4. There is always a wrong way to spell a name. Future parents take note: you thought Craig couldn’t be messed up? Think again: I just saw a Kreagg.
5. Guys have apparently not learned that it might be misleading or confusing to highlight pictures of them with their nieces or nephews.
6. A clever one liner goes a LONG way.
7. If the main photo is of two guys, the actual guy will ALWAYS be the less cute one.
8. You never get a second chance at a first impression.
9. Apparently 80% of men like to “work hard, play hard,” travel, and are on a hunt for an INTELLIGENT girl to have sex with or they are looking for cool people to hang with which basically means the same thing.
10. NEVER trust a man who can take a better selfie than you. Never.
11. Take this as an opportunity to delete profile pictures that you didn’t know you had of you and your ex. Nothing more confusing than a Tinder pic of a guy snuggled up to a girl. The same goes for “interests” you may not know you have selected on Facebook. I just saw a guy with whom the only thing we had in common was our shared interest in Buitoni Pasta. What?!
12. Having hot friends makes you seem more attractive.
13. Everyone loves traveling! And working out! And trying new things! And food!
14. This probably says less about my physique and more about my time-wasting issues and imminent carpal tunnel, but it is remarkable to realise that over 400 men in Sydney have looked at my picture and decided it was decent enough to swipe right.
15. I don’t feel more attractive now than I did a year and a half ago, because now I have matches and messages to validate my looks. Having tons of offers for drinks, dinner, coffee or SEX (mostly sex) does not make me feel desired or even flattered.
16. Men are just as frustrated as women. Apparently, womankind is just as guilty of being sleazy as our male counterpart. There’s the chick who is in a relationship but is really bored of her bf so she’s finding solace on tinder; or the chick who is not DTF but invites the boy over to her place in the middle of the night on a Saturday; or the teenage girl who is currently on her quest to master the art of pleasuring a man orally because she wants to be in a very loving and committed relationship when she grows up; and of course there’s the webcam chick who spams the poor unsuspecting guy’s inbox after hitting her with a resounding ‘let’s have sex’ pick-up line.
17. Men, like most women who are attracted to assholes, are attracted to bad bitches. They make an effort to have a conversation with you and would eventually score you a dinner invite when they know your sweet and naïve persona is yet to be unfolded. Their objective fundamentally remains the same but their approach changes.
18. Needy men everywhere! Apparently it’s rude to not reply to a message within an hour of them sending it. They get very upset and would virtually give you a very detailed and profound send-off.
19. Practically everyone you know is on tinder. Your friends are on tinder. Your relatives are on tinder. Your neighbours are on tinder. Married people are on tinder. I matched with 2 dogs and a cupcake. Your ex-boyfriend’s friends are on tinder. And even more shocking, they swiped right on your pic! Yes, I know. I swiped right for them as well but only because I was curious.
20. If someone is less than a kilometer away, put your phone down slowly--very slowly--and run for your life (okay this one is just me).

Regardless of what your tinder experience might be, mine has been for the most part entertaining and ironically empowering. It made me appreciate where I’m at right now and how much my priorities have changed. Though I’m open to falling in love again, LOVING ME is not such a bad thing after all.

The whole tinder experience also gave me an insight on how the sheer amount of repression and suppression required for living in the context of this hook-up culture teaches young adults not to feel at all. Consequently, I have realised how much I want to go back to basics. I'm all for tradition and romance. I want to find a guy, lock eyes with him and fall madly in love. I don't want the first image of him to be a 'fully sick' photograph with his top off showing me his 'mad abs' that he's been taking 'roids to get.'' But for what it’s worth, tinder is an app - like candy crush and trivia crack- and you can always delete it.

PERSPECTIVE...

This is the second week in a row that I've witnessed someone get killed on the road. Last week, I saw a cyclist got run over by a truck and this morning, an elderly lady who lived in my building died from a cardiac arrest. The universe is putting things in perspective for me. Everything is so temporary. We don't know when our time is up. My craving for life is even more insatiable. There's so much to see, hear, taste, touch, do, be. And although life may not always be the party we're hoping for, while we're in it, we should still dance. ‪#‎forgivelovelive

MAYWEATHER VS PACQUIAO

Everyone at work is talking about THE FIGHT OF THE CENTURY. Actually, it's all everyone talks about in the office so here's my take on this saga.


Round 1 - The Cars:


Mayweather and Pacquiao are both minted athletes,which means they can afford ridiculously expensive cars. We're talking Lambos,Ferraris and Porsches.
Floyd 'Money' Mayweather comes out marginally on top as the proud owner of a $US1.9 million Bugatti Veyron Grand Sport, one of the fastest cars in existence. Jealous?
Mayweather: 1;Pacquiao; 0.




Round 2 - The Style:


Both Pacquiao and Mayweather prove the adage that money can't buy taste – at least when it comes to clothing. Subsequently, this category is less about who wins, and more about who loses.
Floyd loses slightly less on account of at least having the balls to don a black and gold onesie, complete with hood, just for the sheer ridiculousness of it all.
Mayweather: 2; Pacquiao; 0.


Round 3 - The Posse:


Mayweather cites Justin Bieber as his main man. Pacquiao wins by default.
Mayweather: 2; Pacquiao; 1.


Round 4 - The Slang:


Floyd tried to give himself the nickname Mr My Life is the Sh*t, which as a self-assigned nickname, is quite shit.
Pac Man on the other hand has a soft spot for slang words that have fallen into disuse, as when he tweeted "@FloydMayweather, don't be a boxing humbug. Let's give the fans what they want". Not exactly down with the times with 'humbug', but sweet nonetheless.
Mayweather: 2; Pacquiao; 2.


Round 5- The Do:


I'm into Floyd's cue-ball look (very aerodynamic in the ring), and think his goatee upkeep is respectable. Pacquiao's 'do', on the other hand, looks like it hasn't changed since he was a kid. This round goes to Mayweather.Mayweather: 3; Pacquiao; 2.

Round 6- The Nickname:
Pac Man versus Money.
One is a play on words and a callback to one of the greatest video games of all time. The other is a testament to vanity.
Undoubtedly, Manny takes this round.
Mayweather: 3; Pacquiao; 3.


Round 7 - The Fear Factor:


The bottom line, however, is that Floyd has never lost as a professional boxer. And has never been knocked out. That is a fearsome prospect for any opponent, even one as good as Pacquiao.

On the other hand, Manny Pacquiao has never ducked a fight… ever. So clearly Manny fears no man. Not even the best fighter on the planet. But the best indication of Pacquiao's courage is his insistence to sing (read: we all know he should stick to boxing) on live television. Seriously, you gotta be brave to go out there and sing ballads with Jimmy Kimmel without flinching. Hands down, Manny wins this round.
Mayweather: 3; Pacquiao; 4.


Round 8 - The Cute Factor:


Manny's cute dimpled smile is no match for Floyd's smouldering eyes and overall sexiness. I'll have to give Mayweather this round.
Mayweather: 4; Pacquiao; 4.

Round 9 - Who's less of a dick?This requires some analysis.
On the one hand, PacMan has said he's against gay marriage on the basis that marriage ought to be between a man and a woman. Mayweather on the other hand has proclaimed, “I stand behind President Obama and support gay marriage.”
But although Mayweather is more socially progressive, he beats women - and fairly regularly apparently.
This brings us to the knockout punch. Being a dick is one thing, and Floyd seems to have that mastered to a level Kanye West would envy. A pattern of abuse against women is another.
Pacquiao wins this round with a TKO.