Giving business the business.

I received an email three days ago from a Dan T****ns, (I decided not to blank out the surname entirely so as to inspire just the right amount of terror in the sender), that went as follows:

 

Hello,

Long time no see. I was wondering what you are up to this weekend?

Dan

Because my email service providers spam filter has been working like a government minister on a fact finding mission in Tahiti lately, I was naturally a bit suspicious, and sent the following reply:

How do you know me?

Two days later, I received an email, in my spam filter this time, about an 'Exciting new service for singles,' signed off on by its creator, one Dan T****ns.  This aggravated me for two reasons.  The first, obviously, is the fact that this person/money-making concern was able to bypass my spam filter by posing as an individual.  Insidious to say the least.  The second, and most important reason, is that it came on the very same day that I sent out several aggrieved responses on Twitter to the seventeen or so companies who followed me under the guise of individuals.  Some of these companies were also dating services; one offered to bypass dating altogether for a fee, if you know what I mean.  My blocking these users and exposing their tactics to my seventy or so followers resulted in yet more faux individuals following me, which I could only assume was either a pathetic attempt at revenge, or a barely literate programmer's misapprehension of exactly what I was driving at.  My regular readers will know that I like to give dating sites, and matchmaking services in general, a thorough going over with a rusty chainsaw, and for good reason; they take advantage of lonely people in order to fund their creator's lifestyles.  So, Mr Dan T****ns, and any other individuals/concerns with designs on bilking me out of my hard-earned child support, I offer the following response:

I am not now, and will never be, interested in utilising your services.  Whilst companionship would certainly be desirable at this point in my life, I would prefer to rely upon my own, admittedly sketchy, judgement and good taste when it comes to procuring it.  I thank you for your kind offer, and wish you luck with your business endeavours in the future.  On that subject, I've noticed that there are several underground pharmaceutical companies advertising their services in much the same way; perhaps you should consider a joint venture?  I should imagine the earnings you could derive by finding companionship for lonely eighty year-olds who have regained the use of their penises after twenty odd years of flaccidity would be more than substantial. 

Too much?  

Hot and Funny.

 Someone once said that a sneeze was like an orgasm.  This was a misquote of a remark made by a famous television sex therapist and has since been scientifically refuted, but it got me thinking about another involuntary response that's just as therapeutic: laughter.  I'm not saying you should carry a change of clothes everywhere you go, just in case you happen to overhear a well-timed zinger while waiting for your morning train, but to me, a good giggle fit (induced by the right person) is akin to foreplay.  I would much rather spend a lazy Sunday afternoon in with a funny guy than with a man who thinks mega earnestness is an access all areas pass.  Yes, I want to know your thoughts on globalization and marriage equality, (and if you DON'T support the latter, the deal is off), but who wants to get romantic with the six o'clock news playing on an endless loop in the background?  Another great thing about humour is that it can't be faked.  Sure, there are as many variances on what people find funny as there are actual people in the world, but unfunny is the universal equivalent of a cold shower.  A good rule of thumb when trying to spot a faker on a dating site, (if you haven't yet discovered that dating sites are full of them and should be avoided like shaking hands with a dysenteric hobo), is not to believe the guys who say 'All my friends say I'm funny.'  Generally speaking, they're not, and their friends are either sadists or idiots.

There is a direct correlation between humour and intelligence.  Any idiot can jump up on stage on improv night and make fun of celebrities, it's too easy.  It takes genuine wit and observation to wail on yourself and the world around you without having to consult TMZ for material.  To all you doubters who argue that women always say they look for a sense of humour above anything else, but throw that consideration out the window when it comes to making their choice, I submit my list of current comic crushes, in no particular order. Make of it what you will.

Ray William Johnson
Jason Bateman (okay, he's an actor, but he's still damn funny)
Zach Braff (see Jason Bateman)
Brad Sherwood
Wayne Brady
Ryan Reynolds (see Jason Bateman)
David Tennant (see Jason Bateman)

Still doubt me?


                                      

My hippie tendencies explained.

I'd like to say here and now that I have no shame in aspiring to be the 'Cool Mum.'  The reason I'm okay with it is that my definition of the term is not what you might expect.  I don't let G stay up until midnight, scarfing bowls of mega-sour warheads and playing enough Call of Duty to give himself survivor syndrome, nor am I happy to lovingly scruff his hair and write off his ever increasing mouthiness as 'Growing Pains.'  The area in which my Hippie tendencies really come into play is love; or at least the teenage facsimile thereof.  Unlike most so-called 'liberal' mums, I am fully prepared not to like my son's first girlfriend.  She will be cute, funny, smart, a bit geeky and probably cheeky.  Just as I'm about to chuck the damn PS3 out the window following my fourteenth request for him to turn it off, she will tear him away from it with one phone call.  After I've laboriously downloaded all the pod casts of his favourite You Tubers as a reward for studying well, she'll be the one he'll want to watch them with.  And when more than a decade of affirmation and congratulation has never quite been enough to convince him that he's deserving of his place in the world, she will convince him he's cool by holding his hand.  What will my response be to this little usurper coming in and taking my role as the chief influence in his life?  First, let's consider what my mother's response would have been in the same situation.

My mother spent my formative years convincing me that boys were evil, and only out for 'one thing,' and that I and my raging hormones wouldn't want to get involved with them, lest it should ruin my life.  Conversations like these really resonated with me; I was already convinced I was the ugliest girl in school, so when I had my first kiss at thirteen, with a boy I didn't even like, my immediate feeling was confusion.  Now that I'd let him get to first base, he wanted to go further, and I almost let him.  If someone wanted me, Horror Head, who was I to say no?  Especially given the enormous kick in the gut it would be to my mother, who I understood, even at that age, had her own reasons for 'protecting' me from boys.  Fortunately, I didn't give this one what he was after, and he went on to seduce another girl my age, but my mother's advice about boys was still ringing in my ears throughout my adolescence, stopping me from giving even the nice ones the time of day.  The only guy I ever dated that she did like was Aaron, my first boyfriend, who you will no doubt remember from one of my early posts, 'What I left on the ocean floor,' and I strongly suspect that the reason she thought so much of him was that she knew he wouldn't be a problem for long.  My mum is a wonderful lady.  She is strong, loyal, loving and completely devoted; but her reluctance to want to share me with anyone as a teen was one of the things that lead to the choices I made later on.  I was a smart kid; I had even proven it by fending off the clumsy advances of a nineteen year old at a time when most girls my age were too afraid to say no.  Had I entered into society with an open mind, as well as some constructive parental advice, I would have made the right choices eventually.  As it was, I dove into bad long term relationships in my twenties with the zeal of a prize fighter, both as a means of escape and to prove her wrong.

Yes, when my son introduces me to his first girlfriend, I'm sure I won't like her. 

I'll love her.          

Driving Miss Lazy

I don't drive.  It isn't because I can't afford a car, like to live an ecologically friendly lifestyle, or have a moral objection to lining the wallets of oil magnates.  By choosing to use public transportation, I am doing my part to ensure that there is one less dangerous driver on the road in a city full of motor heads, lane lingerers and brake huggers.  I didn't get my license until I was twenty-three, and that was at the insistence of my then boyfriend, who was afraid he might end up becoming my personal taxi driver.  It took four, (count 'em, four), attempts but I did pass, mainly because I happened to pull off a textbook parallel park; a trick I was never able to repeat.  I was on the road for three whole weeks before a catalogue of driving disasters saw me throw my boyfriend the keys to his early eighties tank/sedan and vow that I would rather spend the rest of my summer afternoons glued to a vinyl bus seat with my own bum sweat, squashed up against the window by old men who wreaked of cigarettes and vino than endanger the lives of innocent people a moment longer.  Sixteen gridlock free years later, I got to thinking: what if we could take the concept of public transportation and apply it to our love lives?  Sounds weird, I know, but imagine the possibilities if you could dispense with Internet dating and club hopping, and just hop on a bus and end up exactly where you wanted to be!  Of course, there would need to be a ticketing system. 

The Quick Trip, a one way fare, would be for passengers who weren't planning on returning that day, but also had no intention of extending their outing beyond twenty-four hours.  This, as you would expect, is a relatively cheap ticket.  The Long Haul would be for those travelling for business and pleasure.  Whether the journey lasted a week, a month, a year, or a lifetime, this ticket would be well worth the cost.  The Final Destination, as the name implies, would be more for the, shall we say, 'seasoned' traveller.  The equivalent of a seniors pass, this ticket would suit those who had thousands of kilometres under their belt with nothing to show for it, trying to outrun fate by taking the express route to the last stop on the map; Nothing Specialville.               

How's that for a business venture?  Kiss my grits, EHarmony!

Played by your playlist.

Take a look at my Blogger profile picture.  I look pretty normal, right?  Your average thirty-something mum.  You'd probably assume, judging by the deep pink top I'm wearing, that I'm 'girly.'  My regular readers will know this isn't the case, but what if this was your first time reading my blog?  You wouldn't have the slightest idea that I have hairy toe knuckles, can belch on queue and can't start the day without the hard core stylings of Disturbed jolting my brain into action.  We all make assumptions, and assumptions make asses of us all, which brings me to something I found on my latest round of Google search bingo.  A study commissioned by Cambridge University in 2009, (I know that was two years ago, but if I only just discovered it, it's new), found that people judged one another by the contents of their iPod playlists.  The architect of the study warned that sharing your playlist could damage your social standing by 'reinforcing stereotypes and social prejudices.'  Why not take it to the next level and do a study on the effects of sharing your musical tastes with someone who you'd like to be pressing more than just your click wheel?  I'll pretend for a moment that I actually take these sorts of studies seriously, and share with you the top ten most played tracks on my girly pink Pod.  Judge me if you dare!

10.  APPLE STORE LOVE SONG - FATTY SPINS/RAY WILLIAM JOHNSON.  Who doesn't adore the idea of going shopping for a laptop and finding someone whose lap you'd like to be on?  To me, loving this song says that I have a fully functioning sense of humour, and that I believe in love at first sight, but I can see where a guy might find it troubling.  For one, almost anything baring the Apple logo is expensive as hell, so men with modest incomes and a tendency for taking things literally might find hanging out at the Apple store in anticipation of my arrival a tad intimidating.  They might also make the assumption that I have a thing for short men with brown eyes and a ribald sense of humour.  One of those assumptions would be wrong...I don't shop at the Apple store.
    
9.  BOSSY - KELLIS.  I'm no man magnet, the last time I wore 'grills' was when the orthodontist fitted them, and my toughness can best be summed up by the admission that I've seen Dumbo seventy times and it still makes me cry hysterically.  The reason this song is in my top ten is quite simply because it's an awesome track, but a read through the lyrics might lead potential suitors to picture me sitting on a velvet nightclub couch, dripping in bling, holding court over a crowd of rich, powerful men.  The last guy I dated was an accountant who was into The Little River Band.

8.  SPEAKING IN TONGUES - EAGLES OF DEATH METAL.  The rocking guitar on this song is what makes it essential listening when I'm having a bad day, but the title could imply something entirely different to the, ahem, nocturnally minded.  Contrary to what the title suggests, and I think I'm speaking for a lot of women here, any thoughts of an amorous nature quickly dissipate when I'm forced to use a napkin to mop saliva from my face.

7.  DOING YOUR MOM - FATTY SPINS/RAY WILLIAM JOHNSON.  This is one of the funniest songs I have ever heard, which says a lot coming from an armchair feminist, but lecherous younger men are warned here and now that any attempt to take the lyrics literally will result in me 'doing you' physical harm...unless you happen to be the artist.

6.  SIR PSYCHO SEXY - RED HOT CHILLI PEPPERS.  Yes, this song is the lyrical equivalent of an STD, but once again, it's just a song.  Whatever conclusions less astute men may draw about me from it, I do not want to know.

5.  DREAM A LITTLE DREAM - THE MAMAS AND THE PAPAS.  There have been many versions of this song, but Cass Elliot's rendition is my favourite.  I used to sing it to my son when he was a baby, and I like to listen to it on lazy Sunday afternoons when making a cup of tea and changing out of my pyjamas is the most activity I can muster.  Would finding it on my Pod alongside Hendrix, The Beatles and The Doors out me as Hippie?  Possibly.  Do I care?

4.  SMILE - LILY ALLEN.  Lily's songs sound like sweet indie pop, but her lyrics soon put paid to the idea of categorising her in any way, which is exactly what's so cool about her.  Before I play this to any man, I plan to explain to him that the only revenge I ever got on a guy was through my blog.  Yeah, that'll put his fears to rest. 

3.  THERE IS A LIGHT THAT NEVER GOES OUT - THE SMITHS.  A lot of Morrissey's tunes have a touch of that emo 'let's slash our wrists and bleed out together' sensibility about them, and I couldn't really blame a guy for being put off by lyrics like 'If a double-decker bus kills the both of us, to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.'  I don't suppose chasing him down the driveway yelling 'Please come back!  I'm not emo, I swear!' would help matters, either.

2.  SEETHER - VERUCA SALT.  What does a song about a chick tending her own garden say about me?  Who the hell cares when the guitar's this good?  

1.  HE'S MY THING - BABES IN TOYLAND.  It's no secret that I love my 'grunge' rock, and Babes in Toyland are about as 'grunge' as you can get.  Lyrics like 'He's my thing, I keep on a hook,' might give men the impression that I have psycho sexual, homicidal tendencies, but hey, whatever keeps a relationship interesting. 

*Note: the above remark was a joke.  My house has no basement, nor do I own butchery implements with which to restrain unsuspecting men.  I still have to watch horror movies in the daylight, for Pete's sake!

The most any half way intelligent man is going to glean about me from this will probably be that my musical tastes are somewhat bi-polar, and there's nothing wrong with that.  I'll have no qualms about handing over my iPod to my next boyfriend and letting him scroll through three hundred of my favourite songs, because I don't happen to be attracted to judgemental people.  Besides, if anything is going to scare him off, it'll be my mother!

Imparting some wisdom

One of the benefits of being single over thirty is that I can give my son, G, dating advice without fear of him saying 'What would you know?  The last time you went on a date, Britney Spears was still a virgin!'  He's just turned thirteen, and I'd be lying if I said the thought of him going to parties and kissing girls didn't make me want to reach for my migraine medication, but the good thing about the inevitable is that you can prepare in advance for its arrival.  The idea of the parent/son dating talk probably sounds a bit Growing Pains/Who's the boss/(Insert any cheesy 80's sit-com here), but where else is he going to learn this stuff?  YouTube?

A GIRL IS NOT YOUR PERSONAL PS3.  This is a piece of advice he won't need until he's at least sixteen (god willing), but any woman who still harbours vivid memories of trying watch a movie while fending off tentacle attack will agree that it's wisdom that needs to be imparted. 

BITCH IS NOT A TERM OF ENDEARMENT, EVEN IF YOU HAVE YOUR ARM AROUND YOUR GIRLFRIEND WHEN YOU SAY IT.  Being privy to other kid's conversations while waiting to pick up a sixth grader from school has led me to question the wisdom behind any parent letting sixteen year old boys babysit their younger siblings.  This will probably sound strange coming from a card-carrying Hippie, but had I been blessed with a daughter, my advice to her re. dealing with boys like this would be to do what their mothers should have done and smack them upside the head.

IT'S NOT WEIRD FOR A GIRL TO ASK YOU OUT.  Hopefully this won't still be an issue by the time my boy starts dating, but it is now so I'm addressing it.  We can't expect girls to be confident and secure in themselves if they can't ask a boy out without being labelled desperate, so with that in mind I have given my son the following piece of advice: if a girl you like asks you out, shut up, smile and say yes.

BE CAREFUL WHAT MOVIE YOU PICK FOR YOUR FIRST DATE.  This isn't to say that girls only like Rom-coms; my regular readers will know I have a pathological hatred of them.  Nor am I about to make the gross generalisation that girls hate action movies; millions of women loved every kick-arse minute of Kill Bill and Terminator II.  I illustrated my point to G by recalling the first date I had with his father, in which I had to sit in the dark with someone I hardly knew for the longest one hundred and seventy-seven minutes of my life.  Factor in the sex scenes, and I think you'll concur that Braveheart was not the ideal first date flick. 

DON'T HOLD WOMEN TO RIDICULOUS STANDARDS.  Fear of dumb grandchildren was the motivation behind this one.  I would like to confess here and now that in spite of my feminist leanings, I love Two and a half men.  I'm of the belief that it's okay to laugh at the questionable wisdom spewed from the mouth of an ageing man whore, as long as you realise that taking it seriously means that your i.q is on par with the vitamin content of an M&M.  This is what I reminded my son of the day he looked at me with his soulful brown eyes and said: 'Mum, I'm going to marry a girl like Candy one day.'

THERE ARE LIMITS TO CHIVALRY.  I don't think there's anything wrong with a guy holding a door open for a girl whose arms are loaded with shopping, or offering to take on some of the load if he can see she's struggling.  Manners are a wonderful thing for a guy to have, providing he's not patronizing about using them.  It's one thing to offer to pay for dinner, it's another to order for her.  Any guy who stands between me and a bacon cheeseburger is bound to end up eating alone.              

BEING DUMPED SUCKS.  Contrary to popular belief, boys do have hearts and they can be broken.  G would kill me if he knew I shared this with you, dear readers, but one day last term he came home from school looking like someone had ripped out his heart and played Saw Monopoly with it.  'She likes someone else,' was all he managed before running to his room and slamming the door.  Once I knew it was safe, i.e when I heard the PS3 booting up, I went into his room with a cup of hot chocolate and we had a talk.  I told him what my mother should have told me at his age, which was that your first love is never your only love.  Being spurned is like a kick in the guts; it hurts like hell and makes you want to heave uncontrollably, but the pain and the sickness do subside, and there are plenty out there with more discerning taste who would kill to love you...and I'm not just saying that because I'm your mother.

A V-CARD DOES NOT HAVE A FIXED EXPIRY DATE OR FREQUENT FLYER POINTS.  Thankfully, my ex had the sex talk with our son when he was twelve, (*sends out mental high-fives to every other single mum who's glad she had a boy), but G did come to me recently and ask when it was okay to lose his virginity.  My answer was a three parter: 

a)  Losing your virginity, life changing as it may seem, does not make you any cooler, and amassing a collection of conquests does not garner you legendary status.

b)  Losing her virginity does not make a girl fair game, nor does it make her a ho.
            
c)  You're only a kid once, so forget about sex for now and get back to burping the alphabet, telling Michael Hawk jokes and watching =3 with the sound down, thinking I don't hear it (a YouTube reference, for the uninitiated).

The best I can do as a mother is provide a good example and give advice that comes from the heart.  Whether or not my son chooses to heed my words, I can still sleep better at night knowing that I've done my utmost to prevent the unleashing of another Guido/Stud/Legend onto society, and keep him out of the cross hairs of Daddy rifles.


      

The boyfriend interview

Wouldn't it be great if you could approach dating like a job interview?  Imagine for a moment that you could sit all the potentials for the position of, (pardon my crappy hallmark moment here) 'Keeper of your heart' (thank you), in a waiting room and grill them one by one on their qualifications?  How much easier would it be to go into a relationship with someone with your arms and your eyes wide open?  What kinds of questions would you ask to sort the dudes from the duds?

*Note:  As with 98.9% of my posts, the following is not to be taken entirely seriously...I came up with this post in the shower this morning.

1.  What's your relationship with your mother like?  Freudian, I know, but you really can tell a lot about a guy by how close he is to the most (soon to be second most) important woman in his life.  If he has a picture of her in his wallet, it's a good indicator that he was raised a gentleman.  If he constantly refers to her as 'Mother' rather than 'Mum', becomes visibly shaken at the mention of her name, or says things like 'Every boy needs his mother,' run.

2.  How long was your last relationship?  If he tells you how many years he was with his last partner and leaves it that, not a drama.  If he calls her the love of his life, recounts every significant moment of their time together in date order, or says something like 'She really broke my heart, but I'm over it now; I've got you!' carefully stash your letter opener in a drawer.

3.  What's your idea of a perfect date?  This is an invitation for him not only to show you his interests, but also his motivation.  Interest wise, pretty much anything is acceptable, provided it is something you are actually interested in.  If he tells you it's a fun place, it's supposed to be a good movie, or he hears the food's incredible, perfect.  If he refuses to divulge where he's taking you, says 'It's gonna be a big surprise, hey,' or refers to your upcoming meeting as 'Our Hot Date,' hang up and change your phone number post haste.

4.  What are your best qualities?  Trite, yes, but revealing nonetheless.  As with a job interview, the more detailed his answer to this question, the better.  If he uses well-worn responses like 'I'm sensitive,' 'I'm caring,' 'I'm down to earth,' or 'I have a good sense of humour,' and offers no evidence to back them up, refer him to Oasis Active or Match.com.    

5.  Describe yourself.  See above.

6.  What do you look for in a girlfriend?  This can go one of two ways; either he'll be balls-out honest with you (in which case you'll get the picture very quickly, pretty or not), or he'll take the politician's approach.  If he takes the first tack and says things like: 'Someone who's not gonna try to run my life; I hate that,' or 'Someone who'll take care of me,' chances are he has unresolved issues with his ex, or his mother, or both...*shudder.  If he dances around the question, revealing nothing at all with responses such as: 'Someone to have fun times with,' and 'A real woman,' he is in fact telling you everything you need to know.

Those were the most I was able to come up with before the water went cold, so how about you?  Have you asked someone questions like these and gotten some eye-opening responses?  What questions would you ask if you could?  Let me know in the comments, or hit me up in any of the ways mentioned at the top of the page; I'm dying to hear!

My community service

The following post is a community service announcement. 

I love you all, my dear readers.  Three times a week for the last eight weeks or so, you have loyally checked in and read each of my posts, and have in turn validated my choice to pour everything I have into them.  Your loyalty means the world to me, which is why I am willing to risk the wrath of the powers that be behind dating sites such as Oasis, RSVP and Zoosk in order to warn you not to make the same mistake I and, judging by Google search, plenty of others, have made.  Regardless of the mission statements made in their ads, dating sites were not designed to find you love.  They were created to line the pockets of the self-serving bastards behind the scenes.  A few posts ago, I told you I had killed off my online alter-ego, and now I am advising you to do the same.  I am not the least bit afraid of the consequences I may have to face by mentioning actual company names here; in fact, I'd actually get a rather perverse kick out of watching their C.E.Os try to sue an unemployed single mother.  Form an orderly cue with the other debtors, guys. 

I have read countless horror stories online about women and men who have had all manner of dreadful experiences with online dating, ranging from the bizarre to the fatal.  What you must first realise is that anyone can create a dating site.  One particular site was created by a man whose credentials consist of a diploma in computer systems technology; hardly the background one would expect from a man whose vocation is to help decide people's romantic fates.  His site, as with the ones I mentioned above, generates the majority of its revenue through advertising, and is estimated to have earned him over ten million dollars thus far.  But wait, I hear you protest, what's wrong with making money?  Absolutely nothing!  I have no moral objection whatsoever to people who can live comfortably while following their passions.  You Tubers, for example, can make a very tidy living, netting thousands of dollars a year from sponsorship deals and banner advertisements.  Why do I not have a problem with this?  One word: motivation.  I don't think any of the film makers on YouTube suddenly went down to their local electronics store one day and bought a camera with dreams of early retirement dancing in their heads.  What shows in the final product is that they do what they do because they love it, and I along with thousands of other fans happily come along for the ride.  Call me cynical, but I struggle to imagine that the aforementioned computer genius embarked upon his little business venture with altruistic dreams of mending broken hearts the world over. 

It isn't only the site creators/administrators whose motives I am calling into question.  How many of you have spent hours chatting to people you've met on dating sites, nodding approvingly as they say everything you want to hear and more, only to meet them and realise that they were feeding you lines from your own profile; using it as an auto-cue to put in an award winning performance, with you as the trophy.  Sometimes, these bottom feeders don't even care enough to carry the play through to the final act; the ultimate catalyst for writing this post was a recent phone call I received from a guy I had chatted to over a month ago and made tentative plans to have dinner with.  My creep radar started blipping during one of the previous weeks conversations, when he casually mentioned (several times) that he regularly stayed in a hotel.  Anxious to get him off the phone, I made my excuses and hung up.  The following week, he called again, asking when we were going out on our 'hot date' (Blip; Blip; Blip).  I informed him, falsely admittedly, that I was emotionally unwell and could not possibly think about dating anyone at the present time.  I breathed a sigh of relief when the call came to its inevitable end, confident that that would be the last I would hear of him.  Undeterred, our horny little hero called again yesterday afternoon, suggesting that he may be able to alleviate some of my suffering with massage - I kid you not.  I told him my therapist advised me to stay away from dating for a while.  He countered with 'Oh, you shouldn't listen to therapists.'  Finally gathering up the courage to tell it like it was, I told him that I was under no circumstances interested in dating him.  'Oh,' he said, 'Well how about just sex then?'  Any shred of diplomacy I was still hanging on to went the way of disco and I hung up on him.  Sadly, this is not the first encounter I've had with men who think women on dating sites are volunteer sex workers.  I can look back on it and laugh, but I wonder how many lonely, more vulnerable people have actually been conned by this sort of sexual profiling.  Hear me and hear me well: no amount of loneliness should be enough to convince you to settle for less, especially from yourself.  Internet millionaires and their Lothario clients do not have your best interests in mind.  Matchmaking services rob you of your money, your dignity and your time.  The only person who truly knows what you want and need in your heart of hearts is you, so how about you erase that profile, turn off your laptop, and start listening to yourself.  You might just learn something.       

The five best uses for a boyfriend.

Don't let the title mislead you; I am not saying I need a boyfriend; I'm a strong, capable woman who had no Daddy issues last time she checked, as I'm sure are you.  My motivation for writing this post was a conversation I had with my friend Tina shortly after she read 'Femmish to English.'  Ever the constructive critic, she looked up from her laptop screen with an expression eerily similar to the one on my Nan's face when I told her I was pregnant thirteen years ago. 

'You make fun of men too much; people will think you don't want a boyfriend.'

I think the little disclaimers I throw into my particularly ribald posts should suffice, but just in case they don't, here's another: my posts are written with my tongue firmly planted in my cheek, and are not meant to be taken as an indictment on mankind.  Guys, the world would be a much darker place without you.  I adore you all and always will.  To prove it, I have compiled a list of the top five best things about having a boyfriend.  As always, it is addressed to my fellow ladies, but you fellas will have the satisfaction of knowing that it was you I had in mind when I wrote it. 

1.  GETTING RID OF UNWANTED GUESTS.  Whether it's door-knockers strong arming you into changing utility providers, or little old ladies in hats trying to convince you that the afterlife is an exclusive nightclub where Jehovah is the bouncer, nothing ruins a girls Saturday more than intruders hell bent on making us see the error of our ways.  Cue the boyfriend!  Once he answers the door wearing nothing but a come-hither smile, the pests will run screaming down the driveway, stabbing at their eyes with their pens and praying for our souls.

2.  KEEPING THE COUCH WARM.  If your next significant other turns out to be a gamer, don't be tempted to donate his X-Box to the Salvation Army, or install a stripper pole in front of the TV to get his attention; take advantage of the situation!  How often have you sat down on the couch on a cold winters night, only to find it colder than a plastic Alaskan toilet seat?  Fear no more!  After a three or four hour Call of Duty marathon, your guy's backside will have generated enough heat for that couch to become an incubator for an ostrich egg!

3.  SHUTTING YOUR MOTHER UP.  Anyone who has read a little post I wrote about a month ago entitled 'My mother, my pimp,' and can identify will not need me to explain this one any further.

4.  TENSION RELIEF.  Whether you're angry at your boss, nervous about an upcoming traffic court appearance, or experiencing palpitations after a Johnny Depp movie marathon, having a boyfriend to come home to is a better relaxant than Valium and a whole lot more fun to take.  Oh yes; I went there.

5.  BIRTH CONTROL.  This might sound wacky, but bare with me.  If you don't wish to become a mother in the near future, being in a 'physically fulfilling' relationship will give you that much more incentive to be careful.  Unconvinced?  I have five words for you:  'Mummy, can I come in?'

Hopefully, that should go someway toward appeasing any of the male members of my readership I may have offended in previous posts.  If there are any pro-boyfriend advantages you think I've missed, leave them in the comments section, or Facebook, Tweet or Email them to me!