Would You Let Your Sister Date Donald Trump?

Muriel Baumeister.

Passing West Palm Beach airport during the week, I spied The Trumpster's Boeing 757 sitting proud amongst all the other fancy-pants jets. Trump is there quite often, given that he owns Mar-A-Lago, an historic pile on frou-frou Palm Beach.

Trump's famous not only for his property empire, but also for regularly renovating his love-life. His pathology is to consistently upgrade wives when their time is up. It's a rich-guy thing, I guess. Why stick with someone when there's a mezzanine floor full of willing totty a few floors down the private elevator from one's penthouse?

Giving in to the temptation of a perkier model doesn't make Trump a bad man. But it doesn't make him a good one, either. This is what used to be known - quaintly - as "the character question". A man's character doesn't interest modern culture that much any more. Bulk media prefer narcissism and self-expression to doing the right thing and selflessness. Unfortunately, where television dwells, so go the people. Mostly, anyway.

I don't have a sister, but if I did, I'd want her dating and marrying men of character. I'd hope she'd want to, too.

Bottoms Up, Gulfstream Owners.

Chaos and Cupcakes

Madalina Ghenea

I need help completing the following:

The way to a woman's heart is.....

I raise this in the context of that old simplistic generalization:

The way to a man's heart is via his stomach. 

Let me be clear that I'm not about to defend - even in jest - this kind of  aphorism. To do so thesedays requires sixty-five pages of exceptions, eight declarations about domestic stereotypes and a dozen portion size disclaimers. What I will say is that any woman who presents me with a hot plate of beautifully roasted chicken, fresh green vegetables and a small serving of garlic mashed potato might find herself the object of my (relationship-appropriate) affection.

Just sayin'.


Here's one possible answer to my question.


Bottoms Up, Food Networkers.

The Dating Horizon - Wombatgram #24

The triumph of imagination over reality leads to all sorts of dissatisfaction and grumpiness. Best to figure out what's likely, what's possible, and what that one-night stand will actually lead to.

For greater clarity, click on Wombatgram. 


Previous efforts. 



Bottoms Up, Simplificators.

Green Light, You Fool! Go!

Emma Caulfield

As a younger man I was a complete bonehead wrt women. I remember (amongst a few such incidents) a particular Saturday morning. The lovely dark-haired young lady and I had been on a couple of dates, and we planned to spend the morning out and about. We drove around to her mother's house, a substantial pile in a sweet part of town. Mother wasn't home. As we wandered the rooms, I failed to notice that her gorgeousness was wearing a very flirty dress, spent a lot of time close to me, and lingered long in her childhood bedroom showing me bits and pieces from earlier days. Only later did I realize just how bright and clear her green lights shone in my direction.

Damn. Another opportunity missed.

What was I thinking? In retrospect she was SHOUTING at me to CAPITALIZE on her horniness.



The single, active, hetero man requires two core skills.

1. Be able to find, charm, envelope and start the motor of attractive single women.

2. Know when attractive single women have found, chosen, and desire them.

These are the light and shade of satisfying our sexual desire. To get what biology drives us towards, we must navigate the female defenses and/or know when the drawbridge is down.

Unfortunately, the two sides of this coin share little by way of requisite skills. Going out and (effectively) hunting a woman is the light. It's the time-worn Hemmingway-esque approach that relies on confidence, optimism, showmanship and out-gunning the next guy. It's the shotgun blast and reload approach.

The shade is different. If a woman chooses, it calls for a more careful thought process. The subtleties of this path to heaven-on-earth sometimes elude younger, less mature man. Ahem. Clearly, I speak from experience, and now I understand it, would happily live in the shade. 





Bottoms Up, You Subtle Wonders You.

To Protect and Provide

 Melinda Clarke

Whether it's a tipping point, a turning point or simply a point of inflection, there's something in the wind out there. Not that it's an overnight shift nor even noticeable year-to-year, but I smell a sea-change.

Specifically, men want to protect and provide for their women.

And women seem to neither want nor need either service.

If true, this means more change to relationships, marriage, child-rearing and old-age. Whither men if we're needed only as suppliers of DNA? 





Bottoms Up, Changeagents.

The Date Horizon

Alyssa Miller

Two qualities I observe in my own brain:

1. It looks for patterns of behaviour (in women I date) that might or might not exist.

2. Its imagination leaps to long-term possibilities with women far beyond reality.

They're both manifestations of an inaccurate Date Horizon. The Date Horizon (did I just coin this?) is the natural expectation of what's reasonable from the other person given the current state of the liaison. For instance:

* After a first date, the Date Horizon can really only extend to the possibility of a second.

* After the first sex, the Date Horizon probably includes some number of future sessions. (NOTE: Or none.)

* Once the Fidelity Agreement's in place, the Date Horizon extends out by a few months.

* Marriage takes the Date Horizon at least to the natural horizon.


I imagine that we all get ahead of ourselves when we start out with someone new. Sadly, it's unrealistic and I believe ultimately destructive when the other person fails to live up to our dream (the hide!) or we actually start living in a way that's not reality-based.

So. Note to self: One step at a time. Take each date as it comes. Understand not everyone will work out. Keep a tight rein on the imagination. Watch how nice it is when the Date Horizon really does move beyond tomorrow.



Bottoms Up, Imagineers.

Friday Fluffer - Make Love Not Porn

Ashley Tisdale

The crack-addictive nature of porn for guys is the never-ending stream of new, easy trim. Just one more pussy can be more tempting than any woman will ever understand.

Until now.

I think Cindy might have run smack bang into the middle of something sticky that she didn't like.

Cindy Gallop's TED talk.

And here's her (awfully designed but interesting) website. Make Love Not Porn.



Bottoms Up, Pron-Stars.

Women are from Two-Stroke

 Ferrari F430

I read Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus when it was published a few light years ago. It was enlightening in an obvious way, by which I mean that the metaphor overwhelmed the information. Does anyone not understand that men and women are different? Did we need an entire book to make that point? Were the stereotypes thusly created valuable?

Still, it created positive controversy. The chattering class had something vaguely titillating with which to pretend-shock friends, and Dr Oprah's millionaire factory created another alumnus. Chalk it up to nothing succeeding like success.

But something about the premise bugged me, and still does. I can't quite put my finger on it, but the idea that men and women are from different planets - abstract as the whole deal is - strikes me as more divisive than creative. We're the same species divided into two sexes, not two civilizations.

Anyhoo, as they say in the classics, I found a metaphor that I like that helps explain one Martian/Venusian characteristic, and it's this:

Men's sexual motor is always on, idling when not in gear, revving hard when in motion.

Women's sexual motor is off much of the time, needing to be started before moving  from the curb.

Neat eh?

Because I always take stuff too far, I'd say that:

Men are diesels. Diesels happily run all the time, but also thrive on hard revving.

Women are two-stroke engines NPI. Two strokes are lively and have high power-to-weight, but are best suited to be on when needed, and off when not.

Men, this was a teachable moment for me (another modern linguistic triumph.) Remember, before attempting anything, first start her up, and, better still, warm her up.




Bottoms Up, Internal Combustors.

Butt me no Buts.

Dr Sadie Allison

Going to college will never be the same. It might not be Ivy League, but the Institute for Advanced Study of Human Sexuality sounds like a mighty fine place for anyone to take a few classes, let alone achieve a full Doctorate. One wonders what original research remains after thousands of years of practical application by everyone who ever lived, but it sure as hell would be fun finding out.


Such musings are for another day, because I want to introduce the latest work by a graduate of the IASHS, Dr Sadie Allison. Her book is called "Tickle my Tush" and it's subtitled "Mild-to-Wild Analplay Adventures for Everybooty." My copy was sent to me free.

Firstly, let me say that some of my most memorable sex and orgasm highlights stem from the time I spent with a woman who knew her male anatomy. She was fearless (and determined) in figuring out how to get to both of our pleasure centres, both mind-based and body-based. What set her apart from lots of women was her understanding of the prostate, what Dr Sadie cleverly calls "The He-Spot."

Here's the thing: the He-Spot is best accessed via one's anus, a concept loaded with pre-conceptions, stereotypes, misunderstandings and multiple other psycho-anatomical baggage. Indeed, it took me a while to relax into the idea that the arse, in this context, is just an access point, no more, no less. The point is: WOW, the H-Bomb-Quality orgasms left one radioactive for days. You rapidly overcome any reticence when your universe explodes like that.

Then there were her orgasms, which looked and felt similarly thermonuclear. All that from a little bit of self-knowledge anal-wise (and a willing student.)

Secondly, it is unusual how well edited and constructed this book is. Many of the (surprisingly numerous) books I receive to review don't even make it to a blog post draft - if the author and editor cannot, for instance, complete a table of contents with accurate page numbers, or maintain a consistent tense, or understand possessive apostrophes...then I can't be bothered either.

So. This book is thoughtfully and consistently laid-out, beginning at the middle, proceeding logically to the end. That's refreshing.

Thirdly, I'm just gonna say it - this is a great read. As our good Doctor suggests, I would take it to bed with my sig. oth. and read it with her both for the fun and the education. There's no cuteness here, just simple ideas and instruction wrapped in an attitude of telling it like it is. The tone is a model of neither talking up nor down to the reader. It's a straight-gazed effort at a sometimes tricky topic.

For anal newbies and wannabes or experienced operators, this is a concise commonsense reference to keep you safe, happy and orgasmic.





Bottoms Up, Choccy Starfishes.

Be Careful For What You Wish

Eva Amurri

A recurring theme in my life is how often I learn lessons about living by making mistakes. I write Kiss & Blog because airing my thoughts on dating and relationships helps with nailing down at least a few rules of engagement. Falling flat on one's face is a universal experience for anyone who has ever had more than one encounter with the opposite sex, but I can't help wondering how much better my nose would look had I been privy to some inside skinny before I began. Your nose, of course, is as cute as a button.

It does begin with one's parents. Not only do we have DNA shepherding us behind the scenes, we all model our behaviour on the example they provide(ed). Some examples are good, of course, but many aren't and a number are downright destructive. Awareness of this helps. Out-thinking one's formative environment can lead to a better life. That's pretty much where I'm at, figuring out what my programming is - genetic and environmental - and deciding whether any of it is any good.

Taking a long, hard look around leaves me quizzical at how many others are in the same position. My parents gave me precisely zero sexual education, no tips on relationships and not one guiding principle on how to avoid girl-trouble. (Not that girls are intrinsically trouble - it's the way I behave around them that creates such a thing.) So it's an almost universal co-ed dorm room, this University of Life and Love where we all start from scratch, generation after generation. Wouldn't it be cool if we could build knowledge of what works and what doesn't and pass it on to our babies? Yes, but apparently we don't.

Everything I know is a synthesis of experience (good and bad), both mine and peers as related to me. Which is a problem of itself. When we grope for understanding based on what our buddies tell us, dating life can easily slip into some odd movie combination of American Pie and American Psycho. Finding the path that's right for each of us as individuals requires a lot of going it alone. No way around it.

All of which leaves me in the following position: I work to discover the architecture of how to live life. Finding a framework on which to hang a desirable façade, one that's true to the underpinning foundations, is a lifetime quest.



Bottoms Up, Lifetime Questers.

Target Practice

Virginia Mayo

I shall state for the record that I'm opposed to squeezable mayonnaise. Squeeze-bottle mayo poses two dilemmas, linked like yin and yang:

A. It's squeezable, making it too easy to dispense and over-dispense, and

B. It's mayonnaise, which has the worst nutrition/devil-food ratio of any substance known to man.

Mayo was invented by people who used it like cocaine (by the gram), but in glorious fashion, we've figured to offer it like lube in a Thai whorehouse.


Unless you are one of those aforementioned whores doing ten tricks a day (expending a gazillion calories) mayo should be treated like a schedule two drug. I'm looking for such a warning on my bottle of mayo right now.

So if one has a weight target to maintain or attain, one should choose one's target foods carefully. I figure it's the same with one's sex diet. If we're after someone for body-slamming only, we need to know that we're partaking of that particular food group. If we're after someone to be a public partner, that's another group of people, and so on. Matching motives is the goal.

For every person who owns up to being in a particular relationship frame of mind, there's another who actually has different motives. Lots of people say they're after only a hook-up, but like plans for war this attitude rarely survives first contact. Someone squeezes the mayo, and uh-oh; things move beyond the simply physical.

What I'm trying to say is that to know one's own mind will save much heartache. The most frustrating and deceptive person you'll ever meet looks back at you from the mirror every day. A good sit-down chat with them will get you closer to clarity of motive.




Bottoms Up, Tartare Sauces.

Man as Pie - Wombatgram #23

They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, and who doesn't like pie?


Click on Wombatgram for larger version.


Previous Wombatgrams here.




Bottoms Up, Doughmeisters.

Hamburger Helper

 Priyanka Chopra.

Alcohol is to dating as Hamburger Helper is to ground meat - it stretches slim pickin's into something more substantial. Booze/Helper won't change the underlying person/protein, but it will fill out the gaps in your character/meat quality. Think of it this way - would  you prefer a short date of complete honesty in a white room with two chairs and a table, or a couple of hours of low-level banter in a pub?

The meat equivalent would be one small portion of raw beef as against a big gooey cheeseburger. We know which one is more unadulterated - so to speak - but are early dates better if consumed raw? Like eggs, meat and first dates, warnings against consuming them uncooked exist for good reason.

It's not a costless bargain, this one. Your self/patty will suffer from the dilution, a little at first, but more if you over-indulge. The burger that's mostly Helper won't be re-ordered, coz it's all bulk filler and no taste. Likewise, a completely plastered plating probably has you scraped into that person's scrap bin forever. The idea is to have your date want to taste you on more dates.

 However, if you can find the optimum mix, you're on the way to making the best of the date/meal. My buzz peaks at around 1.7 martinis, knowledge that's quite hard come-by. At that point I'm still mostly sober, but loose enough to lose the usual dating inhibitions. That is the aim, by the way, to overcome nerves or other social inhibitors that get in the way. These problems are born of overthinking, and the best way to circumvent thinking that I know of is a good stiff drink or two.

But be smart and order food with your drinks. I'd suggest tapas-sized steak carpaccio and frites.





Bottoms Up Buzzed Bollywood Beauties.

You Belong With Me?

She's cute and mighty popular and won't ever struggle to pay her electricity bill, but doesn't Taylor Swift remind you of Kathy Bates in Misery?

The song says it all: it's the story of a teenaged girl infatuated with a guy who bypassed her for a better model.

Taylor's the only one who gets his humour.
Taylor's the only one who understands him.
Taylor's the only one who really knows what he wants - Taylor.

Nothing stalkerish about that.

Is she planning to abduct this dude and chain him up at her place?
To save his life, will he confess that he hates his cheerleader girlfriend with the heels and short skirts?
Does the dude end up with broken legs after he tries to escape?

We understand that all relationships are fundamentally sado-masochist in nature - someone has the power, and the other likes it.

But some people just take it a little too far.





Bottoms Up, Country Musicians.

Crazy Motherfucking Bitch

 Miss W pic credit.

There is no pleasing this woman.* She looks at you and observes potential unfulfilled, possibilities unattained. There's no way around it - she sees you as a compromise, a worthy non-profit cause goofy enough to love, not smart enough to admire. We muddle through, chatting up an acceptance storm, nibbling on settling-brand cheese, drinking best-I-can-get wine. Who cares, it's approximately where everyone else is at, right?

It's a downer scenario. There are plenty around like it; indeed, I've been in at least one affair like this. But I'd like to offer some optimism. There is hope if we recognize the following:

1. Love is waking up every morning wanting nothing more than to make the other person's day better.

The difference between dalliance and to-die-for is motivation. 






*Obviously I am not impugning the fetching Miss W, shown. She's a paragon of selflessness.

Bottoms Up, Upward Managers.

The Dating Distribution Curve - Wombatgram #22

Click on Wombatgram to enlarge.

How to interpret the Dating Distribution Curve:

* Sequential date number shown on x-axis
* Total number of daters shown on y-axis
* Three peaks represent peaks of dating numbers
* Two troughs represent dips in dating numbers
* Successful negotiation of dips becomes progressively more difficult
* After date #10 you're beyond dating and onto some other status

Obviously, most people know by date #2 or #3 if there's a future with this person.

The dips exist to test whether you really should be together. Read more about The Dip here.



Other Wombatgrams here.

Bottoms  Up, Long Lasters.

Expecting the Unexpected

 Eliza Dushku

Meeting and dating someone in quick succession can be one of the funnest things in the universe. If you feel you have something with this new person the exhilaration of discovery is like a drug. Gimme more!

The downside of that is if it doesn't work out, you end up in a relationship with some sketchy dude who sells you low-grade shit at street-plus prices. Wait. That's another kind of drug, although the analogy holds pretty well.

We singles are all looking for that starburst of wonder and goodwill, elusive as it might be. There's no way to pre-figure the feeling, the chemistry follows no particular rules. Encounters with this drug are not restricted to singles either - I can think of at least three married women with whom I've shared that moment of singularity, of knowing. Fortunately, my better nature prevented anything more happening. There are quite a few what-ifs hanging out there in the universe.

Like any drug, mutual discovery is best enjoyed in the right environment. Bathrooms and cars are fun, but more appropriate when you're both on a slightly more solid footing. Passion can overwhelm common sense, so at least in the beginning some dating structure is good.

That's an old-fashioned view, I understand. Trouble is that heightened emotions - all I can think about is HER - leave no room for circumspection. It's all about wondering what she's doing, whether I need a haircut and how her pussy might taste.




Bottoms Up, Newly Acquainted.

Regrets, Imagination and Missed Connections

They first caught my eye years ago in The Stranger, Seattle's free leftie weekly, but I note that Craigslist has them too. "They" are the wee Missed Connections classifieds, posted by those poor souls who think they've spied someone special in public but botched the opportunity to introduce themselves.

This is representative:

You are a petite blonde hair, blue eyed woman with an amazing athletic build. Wow, you are so fit and attractive, I just can't take my eyes off of you.

Honestly, you're the highlight of my workout and the conclusion of my day. 
 
Note the slightly stalkerish POV and continued unwillingness to engage IRL.

This is more calculating:

You were at the Costco at _________ on Friday around 4:00PM . You had blue jeans tucked in your tall boots and you were with a bald older man. We exchanged multiple looks and smiles....me dark hair, light eyes, goatee, tall, handsome. I was smitten with you like no woman I have seen in years. Would love to show you the nicest of discreet times. No strings, no drama just fun excitement and passion. 

And this guy almost got it right:

We were chatting at Gin Mill, and I got your number but then i did not save it. You were a math teacher.

A tone of wistfulness inhabits these pieces. The unspoken question is "...what if..." which is clearly a product of imagination. The answer will remain in there too, unless these people DO SOMETHING about it, which is why I think this is so awesome. * snaps gum *

Check this out: MeSayingHi. SFW. The concept is simple. You store your online profile with the MeSayingHi folks. You buy introductory cards that allow access to that profile. When you have one of those potential missed opportunities, whip out the card, hand it to the person with as big smile as you can muster, and go about your day. (Then hope like hell they get back to you.)

I'm in favour of anything that eases the first awkward stranger-to-stranger encounter. Nothing will replace the actual act of walking up to someone, looking them in the eye and introducing yourself. But. Not everyone has that confidence. For those who do not, this will help.

Bravo Andrew at MeSayingHi, I'm a convert. *






Bottoms Up, Brave Knights and Knightettes.

*[BTW, in case you think I'm being paid for this: nope. I just think it's an excellent idea.]

Life's A Beach.

As a first date venue, the beach is a mixed bag. A walk along the beach as a part of a first date works well in my experience, mostly because the surrounds de-focus first-date nerves.

It needn't be a beach, of course. A park or even a stroll on a nice street will work in the same fashion, but the beach has a few advantages.

I like the beach because the palette is clear-cut. The colours are those of sea, sky and sand. The textures are air, land and water. And the sun might be shining, or not, and it's either windy or not. Elemental is probably the best way to describe being on the inside of one of nature's low-key highlights.

Think of it this way: On a first date, you are trying to find a way into your co-dater's head. You've already decided if you're physically attracted, and the permutations of how you imagine them fitting into your life have already played out. What remains is to figure out if the reality of this person can squeeze into your mental relationship-sardine-can.

Which is why a few subtle walk-along-the-beach qualities are important.

+ You both are likely to be barefoot. (Implied nakedness.)

+ You are not facing each other whilst walking. (Helps reduce the intensity.)

+ You're both breathing. (Great for clear thinking and positivity.)

 I wrote that beach dates are a mixed bag, so here's the downside. If you have a swim-date at the beach, you raise all kinds of questions regarding body-image and self-confidence. Unless you're galaxy-grade sure this isn't a problem for your date - OMG a first date, gulp! - settle for a walk. If that works, there's plenty of time for bikinis later.



Bottoms Up, Bikini Bottoms.

May I Have This Dance?

 Pic credit.

I prefer earlier composers - the Baroque suits me better. But in Salzburg, Mozart's home town, they have a wonderful tradition of re-enacting all things Mozartish. His music is everywhere and so is the sensibility. People dress as they did in the late eighteenth century and dance to the music of the time. It's wonderful to see.

The dancing's where I'm getting to. Mozart wrote a lot of dance music, and was no mean dancer himself. He wrote for the popular styles of the time, meaning popular with the kind of people who held and attended balls, not street riff-raff. He was passionate about writing and participating, especially the minuet.

There was nothing stuffy about the music:

They are exasperating to listen to in large quantity, but they are full of lively, even zany details, and serve as a reminder that eighteenth-century composers were expected to be adept at producing both 'popular' and 'serious' music, and that there was no categorical difference between the two.

The vision in my head is of a ballroom of finely dressed Austrians. People of all ages are in attendance, good dancers and bad, friends and strangers. There's chatter and laughter between dances, smiles and storytelling, like at any good party.

The music begins, and men and women partner up - sometimes wives and husbands, sometimes friends, oftentimes singles. Steps and moves are formalized and everyone knows the rules, although not everyone can keep time. The fun, as with all good dancing, lies in the shared grace and closeness. The movements are contrived and formulated, but that is the point. Anyone can dance with anyone else precisely because the rules are clear and understood.

One other surviving period detail is that men always ask for the woman to join him in a dance. That seems to work best.







Bottoms Up Salzburgers.