Dating for dumb-arses.

I swore I'd never do it again, but boredom and lack of inspiration in terms of subject matter conspired to have me consult a dating advice site for men, in the hopes that I would either be pleasantly surprised and be able to post a positive review of one of these damn things for a change, or that it would provide sufficient comic material to relieve the dry spell that's left this blog looking rather bleak of late. 

It excelled in the latter respect.

Upon entering the site, I typed the following key phrase into the search box: Single women over thirty survey.  The article that came up in response wasn't actually anything to do with a survey, but the 'information,' (and I use the word in the same context as a reporter from the National Enquirer would use it), contained therein proved to be just as side-splittingly stereotypical.  What I found most captivating was the section entitled: Types of women you'll meet. 

How wonderful, I thought, tongue firmly planted in cheek; this wise and altruistic gentleman is going to use his experience and vast knowledge of the female psyche to pigeon-hole women into types, making them easily identifiable by virtue of their behavioural traits so that his fellow man may pick out the perfect breed, I'm sorry, 'type' for their emotional and physical needs. 

The canine adoption analogy may seem harsh, but it's also hysterically apt once you read these personality descriptions.

THE DIVORCEE.  ...you'll probably be told how happy she is to be rid of the louse.  You may be in for a lot of man-bashing.  On the other hand, if you're looking for some good, vengeful sex, you're in the right place. 
Maybe it's just me, but I don't imagine that most men would find the idea of spending the night with a woman crowing about how much she hates her ex, and screaming: 'Men should eat shit and die' between "Oh god' and 'Oh yes' while ripping out tufts of their chest hair to be a very powerful aphrodisiac.  Speaking for myself, I still love men, and should I be fortunate enough to have sex again this millennium, I wouldn't waste time picturing any of my exes whilst in the throws of passion.  To describe how I'd feel if an image of an ex popped into my head just as I was about to drift into the blissful abyss more succinctly, I'll use a term that's popular with the youngsters these days; Eeeew!

THE ETERNALLY SINGLE WOMAN.  There's a reason she's eternally single - she's not really sure what she wants.  You'll realise she fits into this category when you get to talking and she tells you all the things she's looking for in a man, and each sentence contradicts the one before.  She'll want you to be the most spontaneous guy around, but you'd better plan out that spontaneity to the last detail for her.  With loads of patience, maybe you can sift through her delirium...maybe. 
Huh.  And here I thought crazy chicks were a turn-on. 

THE CAREER WOMAN.  She'll get straight to the point.  She's a busy woman with little time to waste on games.  There's a life plan in motion and a man is but one aspect in the greater scheme.  The good news is she's ambitious and will get what she wants out of life.  The bad news is you may be just another prize. 
The seed this one planted in my mind germinated into an awesome mental picture.  I could just see her, the uber-successful executive; six feet tall with a Pamela Anderson head and Madonna body, blasting one of her under-performing minions on the phone while barking out instructions to the potential new mate feverishly applying for a position under her desk, which he would only get if he was willing to be on call twenty four hours a day to service her and fit the particular employee demographic she had her eyes on that month.  All the writer forgot to add was her ability to snap unworthy men's necks between her knees.


THE SUGAR DADDY WOMAN.  When the first words out of her mouth are 'How much do you make?'get ready for expenditures.  This honey wants to be pampered, and you can own her, but for a price.  If this is your ideal and you have enough bling-bling, you're all set to go.  She'll do her part in bed and on your arm at functions and charity events, just don't expect too much and keep the cash flowing.
If there are still men who only desire a trophy woman, and I pray to God, Alla, Buddha and the benevolent creators of chocolate that there aren't, I know of a venue that has an abundance of them; it's called an escort service.



              

All men aren't bastards!

My mum is a tough lady.  She has survived some incredibly hard times that would have seen a weaker minded person declared certifiable, and she got through it all by virtue of her sheer, steely determination.  Once she sets her mind to it, there is nothing she can or will not do.  Unfortunately, it's a character trait that wasn't passed down to me; I inherited my dad's Cross-that-bridge-when-you-come-to-it/Don't-stress -until-you're-down-to-your-last-five-cents attitude to life, which is something I've always been ashamed of.  But there is a point when determination becomes blind stubbornness, and when it comes to men, my mother reached that point years ago, crashed through the road block and kept on driving. 

As with most women who've suffered a lot of heartbreak, Mum has major trust issues with the opposite sex, and I can understand why she's reluctant to ever enter into a relationship again, but the zeal with which she's adopted that old eighties 'All men are bastards' philosophy alarms me sometimes.  She doesn't hate men in general; she just thinks that they metamorphosize into thieving, skirt chasing Mr Hydes once they get their own set of house keys, and has erected an Olympic swimming pool-sized moat around herself to keep them from getting too close.  Mum told me not long ago that the reason she was so glad she had a daughter was because she'd envisioned us being more like sisters, and I know she's always been a little disappointed that she didn't get the kindred spirit she'd hoped for, but the fact is that despite my own similar experiences, I love men, don't believe they're all bastards and wouldn't mind having one share my life again some day. 

As I've said before, my skill for character judgement is rather sketchy, but like any other skill, it needs to be honed, and I think everyday life is doing a decent job at that.  It's taken until my fortieth year to finally begin to learn to trust my gut, and my gut says that not all men are bastards, any more than all women are bitches.  Stereotypes are like cliches - they might roll off the tongue easily, but they're over-used, ugly and, ultimately, meaningless.