Ever find yourself asking, where did it go wrong? Was it my bum in those jeans? Did I bore him with the details of my personal grooming? Garlic breath?
Just like spots and stipes don't mix, chocolate and beer don't mix, the French and the English don't mix..... Drinking and Dialing DON'T MIX
We've all been there, let me refresh your memory..
You've been seeing a lovely fella, all going swimmingly, you cool calm and collective. In fact your so charismatic, you've almost convinced yourself. Like any seasoned dater you understand relationship need to Breath. So out you go on a Friday night with the girls for a change, have a laugh and about 8 to many drinks. What comes next? You get the urge, the urge for some lovin... You pick up your phone desperate to indulge in conversations like "do you miss me? How much? do you want to see me?", but your friends get the urge too, the urge to stop you and salvage what could be a potential boyfriend "DON'T DO IT!!!!!, NOOOOOO" but you brush them of with comments like "You don't know him, he'll think this is great" or "He asked me to call" (lies). Then the sneak in you emerges, the sneak is the you that lies to your friends saying you wont ring him and then runs into the bathroom to make your booty call, its also the you that "sex-messages" all night but will delete them from your sent items straight away so that you dont even know about it in the morning. Sometimes your calls don't get through, of course sober you accepts this and moves on, only highly persistent drunk you becomes (for lack of a better word) 'obsessed.' Four missed calls and three text messages later (reading these messages is somewhat like cracking the Davinci Code) Why do we do it? because alcohol alters our perception of ourselves, your thinking "Im so drunk, ha he'll probably think I'm SOO Kate MOss right now" when all you are is SOO trash bag right now. Waking up next to your mobile phone has never hurt so much.
How can we stop such travesties? Unfortunately a breathalyser for our mobiles hasn't been invented yet, so in the mean time here is a little trick I came up with a while ago. Before embarking on your first drink erase your new lovers number form your phone, give it to one of your friends (the strong one) and inform her not to give it back until the next day. Don't be sneaky and leave it in your call register and remember to delete all those messages too. You know that really sweet message that he sent you after your first date and you swore you'd save? Well delete that too. You ll thank me for it in the morning.

Untouchables

They often say "it takes on to know one" well in this case its true. I'm about to let you in on all the all the wrong reasons men are single. How do I know this? because I was once what I call an 'untouchable' Yep, I stalked, hated men, compared them to my ex boyfriends- so as a converted untouchable I'm shining the light on some tricks of the trade.
'Untouchables' are single for the WRONG reason. These reasons vary from commitment problems to mother attachment issues. If you get inside the mind of an untouchable you ll find they will go to any length to hide the fact that they are just that. And I plan to offer some sort of translation to help you recognise the warning signs because of course "it takes one to know one"
1, Lets say your handsome new lover has already saved your home number and work number but you can only remember giving him your mobile number.. Hang on a minute, you may have called him from your work phone but that's not to say you physically gave him the number. Topped with this guys reason for being single is that he "keeps giving too much in relationships and never gets enough back".. Alarm bells! this man is a stalker. He has saved all your contact details for one reason, he is preparing for the inevitable, your going to stop answering his calls so he will need to bug you everywhere else. And the old "giving too much" line? please give ME a break. No you don't need to find a pair of binoculars in a fella car to know that he is a stalking untouchable.
2, ok now you've met Mr perfect, hes tall, dark, handsome and financially secure. He showers you with compliments and never out stays his welcome. Hang on? he never stays at all! His reason for being single, "I just haven't met the right person" Well Id assume that out of the 26 ladies a month Mr Perfect meets at least one of them had to be the right person. He is a Commitaphobe, you can bark all you want up Mr Perfect but I'm afraid this untouchable is the wrong tree.
The third and finale untouchable I'm warning about today is well discussed as the family man. You know the one recently divorced, couple of very much loved kids. Sounds nice huh? Yeah until asked why he is single he replies "you know how it is, I had a few girlfriends before I got married but they were just nothing special. Then I met the ex-wife and everything would have been fine had she have not been a megga bitch satanic WHORE" Need I explain? You don't need to be a brain surgeon to realise that this untouchable is a woman hater.
One final piece of advise I have on the Untouchable is this. Be careful when tarring too many of our men with the untouchable brush because after a while you may have to admit, It takes one to know one.

THe Fighting sisters

There are two types of woman in this world. Ones that are scared to fight , and ones that are not. Ones that fear if they don't look good enough they will be alone and ones that know that they look just fine lying in there bed minus the hairy chest next to them. Ones that shoosh there kids at a restaurant because the grumpy old fuck at the table next to them is TRYING to bore his wife in peace, and ones that ask there kids to sing that 'Pink' song again, this time taken from the beginning and louder with the dance moves, as nobody deserves to miss out on your little stars song.
Ones that buy sugar..... and ones that do not.. And no, this has nothing to do with any jokes on us already being sweet enough.
Despite menstrual cycles and G-strings, woman have never been killers. The theory is that we were designed to give life and not to take it. Well I suppose the male to female ratio on serial killers supports that.
This is not to say that we don't fight. Everything we have today has been fought for, our freedom to vote (for those who care enough to,) our pelvic floor muscles (after babies) and our right to wear the pants (this wasn't the hardest fight considering all the good men are wearing skirts.)
In the late 1700's when Slavery was on the verge of being abolished there were still some greedy, heartless bastards in positions of power in England that refused to outlaw it. Just as abolitionists were about to give up something amazing happened... Sugar sales dropped dramatically, any sugar produced with the use of slaves was no longer being bought. Why? because woman do all the shopping of course. So back in those days inside those tiny tiny overbearing corsets there was room for the biggest fighting overbearing hearts.

There are two types of men in this world too. Ones that are scared of a fighting women and ones that are proud of one. Ones that will clip there woman's wings and ones that will clear them a place to land. Ones who's idea of romance is a ping pong show in Thailand, and one who's idea of romance is kissing off jam love hearts from the wobbly bits on your tummy. Ones that teach there daughters to follow the rules and not disobey, and ones that tell there daughters stories of there fighting aunties, grandmothers and mums that fiercely change the world with overbearing hearts.

Disneys Deceptions

Prince Charming swept her off her feet and they live happily ever after........
So um Walt or Mr Disney- what ever you prefer, don't know if you noticed but you missed a couple of things mate..
Did Snow white and Prince Charming have to go on a break before marriage so that old Charming knows for sure that he's done shagging other woman? Did Cinderella accidentally pass on a nasty case of thrush to her Prince Charming only to be accused of sleeping around? Did sleeping beauty realise that the snooze was better then the reality and try and top herself with a bottle of sleepers?
One thing that most of us ladies learnt from these fairy tales is the Damsel factor. A man loves a good Damsel, or so we were led to believe. I personally spent the best part of my childhood daydreaming up a rescue job where I was kidnapped and recovered injured, but alive by all the boys in my class. I would cling to the hot one, still in too much shock to talk but grateful that they all love me so much that they couldn't rest until I was back at assembly. Of course in reality boys hate a damsel. All the boys Iv been had the pleasure of going out with have just desired someone they didn't have to look after- Miss 'independent' Miss 'Buy your own drink cos I'm too tight to buy you one" And thanks to my Disney conditioning that isn't me.
The Little Mermaid 'Arial' gave up her entire family, her friends (OK a fish and a crab, even my friends top that) and her fin all for a pair of legs and Prince Eric. And what did Eric teach our male companions about sacrifice? In fact I think Eric's the reason that most of our boyfriends idea of sharing is asking the waitress to put half our dinner on there plate before we've even laid eyes on it. Thanks Eric, or should I say Walt.
So after establishing all the 'problem' areas of my life that your to blame for Walt, the question remains....
What exactly did you mean by happily ever after? Did Prince Charming finally spread his wild seed enough to exhaust himself and educated himself on the nature of thrush, just in time to wake his lady friend out of her coma and make an honest woman out of her. Meanwhile Pocahontas or who ever his latest is realises she has nothing left to give, shes old, fat and financially tangled to him so what the fuck... And they both lived happily ever after... The end

what they dont tell you about motherhood

Breastfeeding ruins your clothes, pulling a boob out and letting your little monster suck on it whenever its peckish will inevitably stretch all your lovely clothes out of shape.

Babies backs are like peaches filled with heroin- sweet, addictive and slightly furry.

No matter what they say, your vagina will never look the same. If your not blessed with a reason the doctors see fit for a Cesarean (I know I was researching all sorts but my doc never fell for any of them, I was even prepared to go out and try and catch herpes as I read that its a sure fire way to get one however finding a wart infested man prepared to share the love with a woman that resembles a whale wasn't as easy as you might think) Yes if you have an episiotomy your Vag will have a nice thick scar going all the way down to near your bum if your as lucky as me. I for one don't care- I was never much of a minge model to begin with but its a personal thing that might really upset some fanny owners.

Babies get thrush in their mouths and transfer it to your nipples. Yep nice isn't it.

Single friends don't babysit. In fact, hardly any friends babysit- everyone coos over the belly begging for first sitting rights and never follow through. While your single friends love you dearly theyr not prepared to spend a Saturday night chained to your couch while you go out and probably don't even notice the 14 potential lovers you come across.

Dad = hilarious and Mum = food

You will never sleep again, Once your baby starts to sleep through the night you will still be up 8-12 times a night just making sure that their still breathing.

God designed babies extra flexible so that while your breast feeding them they can get there foot up to your mouth for a kiss.

Mashed banana stains your clothes.

There is more guilt in motherhood then you'll find in Casurina prison. Whether it be the things you cant help like saying goodbye at daycare and brushing out a deadlock or the more selfish things like hearing your baby cry and finishing your make up before you check or whispering that "its all daddies fault cos he's a selfish bastard" you never feel like you done enough for your little ones.

Through the narrow eyes of your in-laws enjoying yourself or having a rest = bad mum. And sleep deprivation, and getting fat = good mum.

When my little monster was born she came 5 weeks early. When I was waiting in hospital for her to ripen up all ready to be taken home she was lying in her little bed rapt up in vulnerability. I said to the nurse, "I cant hold her yet because of all the cords but Im scared that when I do she wont know who I am" the nurse laughed and replied "But your her mum… Mums are babies secret favourites"

And that's the best secret of all, your not supposed to know this and kids are so diplomatic these days that when there old enough to talk they'll only deny it but the truth is, Your mum.. Your the secret favourite..

I once watched a documentary (ok, it was oprah) on the laws of attraction. They claimed that our siblings let off a certain odour or pheromone to us that was designed to repel us and thus turn us away from breeding with them. This is responsible for the reason that something as simple as reading the previous sentence is enough to make us all cringe and possibly vomit. I found this entire episode interesting and started to think… I wonder if this same odour is let off between women and there boyfriends friends? Why is it that when a single girl asks her taken friends if there boyfriend knows anyone to set them up with we all laugh with discust? Is it pheromones, designed to stop us being lead astray? Or are they really as repulsive as they come across? One theory is that men travel in packs and every pack only has enough room for one prize and the rest have sacrificed all good looks, charisma and self respect for the greater good of the prize.

This doco went on to explain that everything we once thought was our own personal taste in regards to what we are attracted too was not our choice at all and simply our hormones guiding us to the most appropriate breeding tool. Men preferred the scent of an ovulating woman and women preferred the strong virile man to the red head with glasses. This also supports my theory as is it just me or does everyones boyfriends friends smoke so many bongs that theres probably only three mutated sperm in there sack, sitting on there own little sperm couch trying to order a little sperm pizza.

On the other hand I have always felt a similar repell to friends boyfriends. The difference being that rather then being unattracted to them because there unattractive, I can appreciate the appeal however an automatic barrier goes up. As if its natures way of conserving the friendship and you find yourself thinking of your handsome, successful and funny friends boyfriend as A-sexual. Like a cousin or dog.

However while your cooing over the man your friends now see as a non-sexual drinking buddy, he no doubt has friends of his own and while you might view them as mortien for woman your friends might not be so repelled..

Ahh yes the laws of attraction wont fail to mystify, what is it about Sean Penn that makes me weak at the knees And Peter Andre that gets him egged overtime he leaves the house? What is it about your boyfriends sweat that makes you want to ride his disco stick and the cab drivers that makes you puke?

We may never uncover all the secrets the laws of attraction have to offer but we can stick to some of the guidelines… Never shag the untouchables (or unwantables), your friends boyfriends or your boyfriends friends. However if you were stranded on an island with one of both and the future of mankind depended on you shagging one of them, take a deep breath and go with the mortien. As the mere act of doing so will be punishment enough for the bad deed. Now lets just hope that his little sperm gets out of its sperm coma and swims for mankind.

Conversations with God (mum)

When your little your always mad at your mum. I considered my mum to be a 'no' mum. "No you cant go to the Big Day Out with your uncle, No you cant get another dog to keep Mortisha company, (I don't actually believe any child on earth thinks there mums have bought them enough pets) She made me take my guini pig back to the pet shop because there was maggots in the hutch that I never cleaned out. And even after all this betrayal she was still the one I cried to when a budgie died or a dog ran away. She wouldn't let me stay up as late as she let my sister, she made me have a bath even when I was hardly dirty. But that was just my mum, if you were one of hers you were bathed, fed and ready for bed by 5. She insisted on pulling my hair back in a a plat so tight that even head lice would have jump ship. However no matter how many times she stabbed my head with bobby pins Id still always rest it on her lap while we watched neighbours.
Mums can act like complete bitch's, they lie, fight and back stab but always for the same reason... There defending one of there own.
One thing that most mums around the world have in common even if there complete enemies is fact that theyd do anything for there ungrateful children. I was totally pissed off at mine because she wouldn't buy me a new Sega Master System game, never mind the that she had spent half her weeks wage on it in the first place.
And we were broke.
Not starving broke, just broke enough to wear a Mambo jumper in a men's size XXXL because it was on sale for 15 bucks when I was 8. Broke enough to catch busses, even when it was raining, late, or I was faking an asthma attack. And of course it was all mums fault. It never occurs to kids that this is not the way there mum imagined there Saturday night either.
When your a teenager your mum tends to remind you of Benjamin Button, while the rest of the worlds growing up and maturing your mum seems to be doing the opposite by gradually immaturing every year and embarrassing you at every opportunity. While my mums at home shes allergic to bras and pants which makes for interesting chats when being picked up for a date. And yet when countless boys dumped me after that first date, mum was always the one Id run too.
When you have a baby its time for your mum to step back in. When I was in labor no one else would help me, only my mum. Doctors told me to try harder because they've obviously had lots of babies and know how if feels, nurses tried to rob me of my rights to drugs, but mum was there in my corner fighting for my drugs and convincing me that Id done a good job. When the baby finally came I knew Id had just given birth to someone mum considered one of hers. She didn't say "Congratulations, good job" or "Well done" She looked at her little blue squished up grand daughter and blurted "my god your so lucky"
And thus begins a new relationship. While I'm busy being a "no" mum, making my daughter mad by not buying her enough or not letting her stay up late enough, shes completely mesmerised by her granny, who's embarrassing quirks don't embarrass her at all.

When I was a teenager I new a beautiful boy with the longest eye lashes from high school who unfortunately died, leaving behind devastated parents and a pregnant sister. He was the first person Id known that died and I'll never forget the funeral. His mum couldn't stand up, she was carried by her husband to the coffin to say goodbye and was obviously so heavily sedated that while her blank eyes looked through the coffin there was confusion as to how many people were last that day. 10 Years past and people moved on, only two weeks ago I was at local restaurant when I heard a giggling, screaming, naughty little munchkin running a muck. I turned to see a familiar looking beautiful little girl with the longest lashes playing with her grandma. My old high school friend had a niece that looked just like him. He may have never had the chance to meet her but I was sure that his mum had given life to her daughter and her gran daughter had brought her back to life.

I still get mad at my mum, she cant keeps her opinions on my mothering skills to herself nor can she stop herself from fighting with pretty much everyone we meet. My boyfriend told me that he thinks my mum would pick an argument with her own shadow.
But I replied to him.. "I'm sure she would, if her shadow was hurting one of hers"

The circle of love

Once I had a boyfriend with dreadlocks that I was neither hear nor there about not because he was short, but because his height had effected his personality to the extent that the term "short mans syndrome" was nothing short of an understatement when describing him. Anyway, for come reason, even more unusual then his singing voice I decided to go to England with him. What I had neglected to tell him is that I had an old passionate Italian lover that lived in London. Now like any Italian stallion this one had a way of lingering in my mind. Who could resist a long haired travelling Italian photographer? I didn't stand a chance and nor did my Jockey like companion. It didn't take much for my current boyfriend to annoy me to the point that I was packing my bags, thanking him for an amazing!, life changing!, earth shattering! three months and jumping on the nearest train to London. He was devastated, he cried and chased me to the train station. I looked at him sympathetically, trying to disguise my pity and told him "I'm sorry baby, the heart wants what the heart wants".
Like always I was broke, I'm talking no ticket back to Australia, no money for accommodation etc. All I had was a memory of a crazy fling, a fling that hadn't even lasted that long and a desperation for a life with slightly more risks and slightly less dreadlocks. With nothing but a map and a keen sense of desperation, I of course found my man. He was cutting hair in a little barber shop in Soho(did I mention he was a barber? probably not as its no where near as romantic as his photography yet much more imperative to his survival), it paid terribly but the tips were good and we all know Stallions don't need much to get by. He was thrilled to see me. Picking me up in the middle of the street and showing me off to all his friends. He told me in his deep Stallion voice that he'd look after me, we'd live together in the little hostel he lived in and I had nothing to worry about. We had a ball together, road trips in the snow, photography expeditions. He took me to all the Museums and gallery's desperately hoping I'd turn out to be the girl he'd always desperately hoped for. Meanwhile I too was desperate, desperate to be held in this corner of the world forever, desperate to appear believable in my interest for History and desperate not to be exposed for the wine guzzling uncultured fraud that I so wished I wasn't.
Needless to say I was eventually exposed (and when I say eventually I mean after 7 weeks. Long however by my standards), I cant remember the details (OK I can but don't want to get into them) they involved about 3 bottles of red and a restaurant full of people I didn't know. My stallion left me and no amount of begging or ignoring was going to get him back. I did my standard creepy thing, I went to his work, called from a private number and all that jaz. All he could say to me was "Hey, you broke the short guys heart and now I'm braking yours. Its the circle of love"
So that was my long winded way of explaining The circle of love. Not unlike Love karma only Love Karma's more like when you don't bother to even courtesy call a fella after a shag chances are its going to happen to you. Love Karma's also responsible for those people that seem to be at the top of the Love chain and dodge the circle of Love by always being the dumper and never the dumpee- Love Karma steps in by making sure that there never happy. Never for long anyway, always picking at small things that annoy them.
Anyway so that very next week when I had decided to pull myself out of my miserable state I was sitting on the bar at the restaurant I was tortured in daily (cant call that work) when in walked the florist. Now the florist came to the restaurant every week to change the flowers and he was beautiful. He was skinny with tatts all over his hands, always wore an old man hat and had side burns half way down his sensitive looking face. His flowers were amazing (or maybe they weren't but I'm a romanticist.) Anyway on a mission to recover my self esteem I walked up to him knelt down beside the vase he was arranging and handed him my number. I told him he was beautiful and he should go for a walk with me (god knows that's all I could afford). He smiled beautifully yet sympathetically and tucked my number into his pocket. I knew he would never call me. But, later that very same day in comes the wine delivery boy. He bounced in like he did everyday, smiled at me and told me "Its a good day if I see you Constance" as I was wiping down a painfully dull bench he walked up to me and asked, "if I give ask you out, you wont say yes will you?" I replied sympathetically "Sorry baby, the heart wants what the heart wants"
Dam that Circle of Love.

In between my sheets

My body has created a precious little girl, my breasts have fed and kept her alive until now, and for her my cervix has dilated, vagina stretched and somehow managed to go back to looking some what human again, the hairs on my back are brushed up against everyday yet will still stand up at someones touch, my liver has recovered from various abusive nights as have my kidneys, my heart has been broken countless times and yet continues to beat.
So what could my body have possibly done to me today to force me to turn my back on it? Well inbetween my sheets It Wobbles, no matter what I do the hair it grows so slowly on my head and so fast on my bikini line, I have moles- not just scary looking moles but ones with more fast growing hairs sticking out of them, I have ingrown toenails, I'm going grey prematurely (but I'm angrier at my boyfriend then my hair for that) there is a tattoo of a butterfly on my right breast, the butterfly looks old before my daughter has had her breast milk and dead after (again more my fault but I'm on a rant) and how could I forget my snail trail.
Now finding a man to wax your lower back hairs is not the problem, fitting in to size 8 Betina Liano Jeans is not only impossible but is also not the problem, having breasts that don't require a sign "please watch your step" while would be nice is still not the problem. The problem like always, lies within..
In between your sheets. Somewhere along the way everything got mixed up..
Stretchmarks are a sign that you've shared my body with a baby so tell me why someone would prefer to kiss a protruding hip bone then a beautiful pink stretch mark? Your pot belly is a sign that Iv just enjoyed a big Delicious meal, so why does it get more attention when you hold it in? Smile lines? beautiful. Your pubic hair like a woman's coat of arms, we earned it going through that wretched puberty so why shave it off? Saggy breasts should be celebrated and snuggled up to and flat bums are just asking to be pinched.
At the end of the day, if you exclude new years day, (when my body pretty much packed it in after I consumed enough Vodca Red bull to give a train an anxiaty attack) and the time I bounced back from a fad diet by gaining 14 kg's. My body has stood by me through everything, so its about time I stood by it inbetween my sheets.

Big Brother,

I'm going to begin by telling you that I'm actually quite ambitious. When I was 5 I was going to be a princess, 8 I was going to marry the skinnyer guy from Milly Vanilly, 13 I was planning to take on the music industry myself and so on.
Becoming the first Big brother housemate in the history of the world to A) be evicted not only first but before the first two week eviction show, B) Be evicted for Lying and C) to be given the boot without any of the prizes that I so desperately needed, was never the plan.
It just sort of happened that way. Speaking of the plan, getting too drunk on the first night, sitting in a position not intented for skirts and showing Australia my nickers (and bikini line with its gravitational pull down my legs) wasn't on there either.
Oh yes that was the night my adorable new house mates all voted that I be the one to loose my luggage for my entire stay. I cant remember who I voted for though.. I was too drunk.
On the second day my hangover and I marched ourselves (wearing a sheet as I had no clothes) into the diary room to give Big Bastard a piece of our mind. His reply was, "Well Constance what did you expect you Big Brother experience to be like?" (generic answer, was probably on a palm card)
"Well Big Brother, I was expecting a little more then a house full of- 8 individual silicone breasts belonging to ever ambitious promo models, 1 intellect who was so far above everyone that I swear he was starting to hover, The red headed lazy eyed auzzie sheep shearer that the promo models attached themselves too as they believed he was so stupid that the Australian public would feel sorry for him and see him through to the final two, (unfortunately this was the first bit of human female attention the shearer had ever been exposed to and he pretty much exploded by about the ninth week) Then there was the girl with an IQ lower the one of a Tequila worm who describes herself as the "complete package" this would be more true if you cut off her head and replaced it with my Jack Russels Arse.
And so the list went on. Big Brother, less then thrilled gave me another creative reply, "that is all Constance"
Oh yes, it was me against everyone in that house and the Big man was my number one Nemesis. My strategy was that surely the outside world hates these promo bogans as much as I do? So Ill be as rude as humanly possible to each of them and the public will love me for it. It was my strategy to stop Hotdogs from sharing his sexual escapades with Australia. And was my strategy to let the "complete package" know that even after 45 minutes of applying her makeup she still looked slightly inbred. But sadly on May the 18th 2005 exactly ten days after my quest for fame began my strategy failed and I was kicked out.
Now lets go straight to public perception... After all my hard work- fighting for Australian rights not to have to listen to promo models working on solving the worlds problems (like hair extensions or highlights and shaved or racing strip?) while sun baking, where was my reward? Was I about to be crowned Public servant 2005? where was there a studio full of my grateful followers?
Nowhere- I was robbed of my prizes and my people had turned on me.
Speaking of regrets.... When Gretal asked that famous question asking if we had any regrets from our time in the house (the question everyone responds to with a lie?) Well I do regret something. I regret not being honest about my regrets. Because in truth I regret my entire Big Brother experience almost as much as Gretal should regret her entire outfit choice.
As for you Big Brother. That is all.

Hard to get

What do spaghetti, burgers, crayfish, whole baby chicken and crabs have in common? None should be devoured on a date.
As the words Fuck, prick, broke, shit, desperate and cunt should also be avoided.
I need not mention that the appearance of cigarettes, bike pants, crimped hair and maternity bras go down like a lead balloon when you first meet someone.
So why then does my friend Miss B always get the guy? Miss be will arrive at the restaurant, drunk and chain smoking, hair in a scrunchy (for fuck sakes,) spag bol running down her face while she tells a story about the cunt of a boss who under pays her.
I will tell you why. 'Hard to get' is no longer a game- its a life style. Throw 'The Rule book' where it belongs, in the sanitary disposal unit at your local Red Rooster. It is shit, its a fad diet for dating.
You see playing hard to get is the oldest trick in the book. Men have evolved and although they might seem to have the intelligence of an ingrown hair they can actually be quite cluey and see straight through it.
So in order to step it up a notch you need to stop pretending to not give a fuck and actually stop giving a fuck. For example- before a date, ask yourself- if this was dinner with my brother what would I wear? or better yet- if I was going around to mums house what would I wear? the new rule is "The less attention and effort, the closer you'll get to your fella"
Here's an example of the power of this love law.
When Plain Jane went out on a date with Super Stud he wasn't expecting much. Until she got there wearing dirty tracksuit pants and a Bintang singlet. He asked, "whats with the attire?" PJ answered- "fuck should I have put some effort in? sorry Iv had a million things to do today"Of course this left SS thinking "she wasn't even exited about this date... Why not?" and by the time PJ slugged him with a huge bill and stumbled out the door poor old SS didn't stand a chance.
The final step for the new and improved "hard to get" is one not to be taken lightly and I only recommend for use by the most confident and experienced female players as failure can lead to the utmost embarrassment.
If you really didn't give a fuck what a particular man thinks of you but would still like to get him in bed, would you bother playing hard to get? No. You would do the complete opposite- So in order to become believable in you playing hard to get you must 'Come on strong' tell him you've "always wanted to do this," and that "you cant wait to get him back to your house" and "that hes manly and huge" After you've had your wicked way with him sneak out and ignore him for a week. Then prepare to welcome a new stalker into you life.

disaster dates

"I don't hate women, I just think they have there place in the world. I do however hate Indians, there ruining Melbourne. I'm driven by money, have allot of the stuff and strongly believe this is the reason you will eventually call me back"
And he was one of the better dates Iv been on.
Dating is never ever easy. Iv been on a date with- a bong head (I'm talking a portable bong in his bag that spilt and left bong water all over the restaurant.) Two male prostitutes, (I didn't find this out until half way through, both times) one that sat through dinner talking about the guilt his sexually transmitted diseases have brought him and the other that said "I suppose I prefer having sex with men" this was just before he accused me of drinking too much. An Irish backpacker that claimed to be running from a murder charge (Ecstasy got me through that date, probably not the wisest move)
So now your thinking, yeah yeah we've all been on disaster dates. But wait theres more... What do all these complete winner men have in common? They rejected ME.
Maybe I just don't come across well at a dinner table, could be the four bottles of wine I insisted on ordering because the mere fact that I was on a date was reason enough to celebrate. Of course Id never admit that. In my head there were two reasons, and each rejection was allicated one of them. 1, I'm too fat, superficial bastard would have called if I was thinner or 2 He cant handle a strong empowered woman, (no he cant handle a drunk, scene making drama queen.)
Then theres the ones who would seem to have only asked me out in order to reject me. You know like when a guy asks you to call him only to not answer it. Once this extremely hot black guy that worked in this funky boutique clothing store on Flinders Lane asked me out, not once he practically begged me to go out with him. When I finally agreed (knowing all along I was going to) he asked me to meet him at a bar in the city. I got there, dressed up and exited. He was 20 min's late- he walked up to me, kissed my cheek and told me I looked beautiful then he apologised for being rude however explained that he wasn't staying as his ex girlfriend was waiting in his car for him and they were getting back together. "You don't mind do you Constance?"
"Um well yeah, actually I do you stinking asshole, fuck off then. Hey bar tender? make that a bottle.... one glass"
Hmmmm Am I the disaster date? I have stood outside a block of apartments at 3am calling some guys name cos I cant remember which number he lives in and I felt like a cuddle. I have dated too soon after being dumped and continue to ask my current date if he can figure out why someone would dump me? And Iv refused to eat and only drink because my new fad diet didn't allow carbs after midday and food after 5pm.
So is there really a question as to why I sat next to my mobile day in day out waiting for a call or text even a booty call via text?.. Or why I used to call vodaphone once a week just to ask them to text my phone to make sure its working?... No there isn't.
No dating is never ever easy, not for me... Or anyone dating me.

I have felt the agony of being cheated on. I have felt the guilt of cheating on someone and I have also felt the loneliness of being the woman someone cheats with.

When your in love with someone your back to back with them, fighting off the world and when you realise someone has wedged in between you, your now fighting off the world from all angles. Nobodies got your back. Sorry means nothing- part of you thinks that finding out every detail if the betrayal will take away the mystery and take away and secrets this woman shares with your secret keeper or bonds she holds with your rock. But inevitably the details will only hurt you more and thus a bad idea as your protector is no longer doing his job and you need to step in his place and fill that roll by protecting yourself from such images. Might have been one small fuck up or might have been a year long fuck up but either way you feel lost, your little corner of the world has been invaded and you believe there will be more comfort in the bottom of a bottle of Jacks then you ll ever find in your bed again. All of the sudden your lonely.

Cheating never feels remotely similar to being cheated on. Its just as they say, "a bad decision" half the time you cant even remember you did it and other times you'll never forget the deep thrill of the new forbidden skin. You'll either regret it straight away or you regret it later on. There is nothing sexy about being sneaky, about hurting someone you love and theres certainly nothing sexy about being miserable in you home life. This of course is something that we'd all like to believe- Ill only cheat or be cheated on if my relationships going down the drain. But its not the case, we slip up and we land on our love. The combination of beers and flattery or wine and long legs is what we need to convince our selves that the angel waiting patiently between our clean sheets at home is less then perfect and deserves this. Or we deserve this. After woods you've hurt someone and in doing so hurt yourself and the one person you go to that bring you back to yourself you cant tell. All of the sudden your lonely.


I'm a mistress, I'm the other woman, I'm younger and more fun. How ever you put it you know deep down that your second best. You ll always know that someone else gets to sleep the full night, someone else gets to make future plans, someone else gets that respect that either comes from bearing children or a long history. There is another woman that calls out your lovers name while shes bathing his children, and can make him loose it laughing without even looking up at him. You cant yell at him, you cant kiss him at the checkout, cant go on a road trip together and cant call him at work. But you look dam good in a g-string. All of the sudden your lonely.

Public Masturbating

Its rude to point at someone, its ruder to stare at someone. Spitting at someone is vile and reserved for only the classiest of folk (train station dwellers.) But an all new low... and a rudeness with its own community of rude is masturbating at someone. What does one call this activity? its not flashing, its not molesting its masturbating at someone. Some characteristics of a extroverted masturbator is the inability to walk, they lurk. The inability to sit still, they shake- not a scared shake, more of a cold shake (imagine a whippet) They have strange sleeping hours, almost nocturnal.
One freezing cold Melbourne morning my sister left our house to go to work, she was doing the breakfast shift at the local cafe. She briskly walked to the tram stop to read the timetable. My poor innocent sister noticed the shadow of a lurker but thought nothing of it as she stepped into a doorway to keep warm while waiting for the tram. That's when he struck. Around the corner popped the pathetic excuse, pants down, dick in hand, desperate look on his face as he started to masturbate towards her. My poor sister ran all the way to work. Mortified.
Now I'm not naive to the fact that men love there dicks. Nor do I think I'm the only one who's been in the following situation......
Girl gets drunks, girl meets guy, goes home with guy, gets into bed and realises shes to drunk and not into it so opts to pass out instead. (Come on we've all done it) Funny part is when guy gets desperate and after trying to wake the girl up for 15 Min's realises he has to take matters into his own hands and proceeds to wank right there in front of her.
Orgasms arn't the only thing we ladies fake, we also fake sleep. So cheers for that one fellas doesn't leave us feeling awkward at all!
When I discussed this scenario with a girlfriend she admitted shed been there but didn't think there was anything wrong with it.
Anyway I'm not that understanding, I don't see it as a mans need to get off or a beautiful thing. I don't feel the need to celebrate a mans cock at every opportunity nor do I see his orgasm as an imminent ceremony.
To me these acts are desperate showcasing a sexual greed and lack of control. But a lack of self control that Iv learnt to tollorate. Should have just coughed up for a cab home.
The real villains in the story and the public masturbator... The train station wanker, the guy on a date with himself in the sand dune and the cinema creep camouflaged in all the different shades if fowl.
So after carefully reminiscing the time I almost bumped into a guy doing a poo under a statue in Madrid and the overweight, half naked hooker that looked to be halfway through her menstrual cycle on high rd Kilburn- Iv come to the conclusion that if you places public masturbators in a community with all the above and worse they would still find themselves the guy in the town being referred to as 'The Rude Guy'

I was just writing a blog, it wasn't going anywhere so I was getting slightly agitated. When my charming boyfriend slumped on the couch, picked up the remote and told me I had bloggers block. Naturally I told him to get fucked. Then with a smugness that only he can project he warned me against biting the hand that feeds me.
Stubbing my toe doesn't piss me off as much as my boyfriend does. Once when I was little I cut up a piece of Vegemite toast into tiny little square pieces, so exited to eat them I ran to the lounge room- tripped- and every single square landed Vegemite down. That didn't piss me off as much as my boyfriend does.
Here is an example of a Friday night in our house. Billy finishes work, tells me his going out. I ask if I can come, he says "sure" but when I actually look like I might do it he starts getting annoyed. So I tell him its fine Ill just drop him off. I ask him to empty the babies bath water while I put her in the car. I ask him, "What time will you be home? doesn't bother me I just want to know if I should cook dinner" he replies "7 at the latest babe, I'm exhausted from work. Love you"
"Love you too"
OK that's all well and good so I cook dinner. 10pm comes and my sweetheart stumbles through the door with his friend Clive. He declares to me "Clive's dumping his girlfriend, selling his house and moving back to England and Iv decided to do the same"
"OK Billy" (you can tell I'm used to this) So I leave them to it and go to bed, I sleep in the spare bed to avoid being woken up. Of course I cant sleep with the music and football and TV- finally he goes to bed after 12. I'm now starting to worry as I know the baby will wake me up at 5am and I wont get enough sleep. Then just as I manage to drift off I hear my dog Elvis barking and the neighbours telling him to shut the fuck up. So furious I drag myself out of bed, between Elvis barking and Billy's snoring I'm ready to throw a punch. I call Elvy and let him in. He does what he always does and runs straight to the bathroom for a sniff, its dark in there, he jumps into the bath and then realises its full. Poor little dog stands there shaking and in shock. The smell is putrid as I haven't bathed him in ages. I was ropable. Billy had forgotten to empty the bath.
Now If theres one thing my obsessive compulsive boyfriend hates is dirt and mess. So the only thing that I could think of to do was open our bedroom door where Bill was sleeping and let my saturated stink bomb curl up in between snoring Bill and his cotton sheets.
In the morning its- "Morning babe, Elvy slept with me"
"morning babe, that's nice dear"
I have to get off the computer so his Holiness can play medieval war games. xxx

Ode to my Ex.

Dear Ex, Thank you. You taught me so much...
You taught me tolerance.. At first I learnt to tolerate your constant jealousy, then listening to you breath in and out required tolerance- eventually I learnt to tolerate you like a bush fella does the fly on his face.
You taught me compassion, after months of paying your rent I learnt to have compassion for everyone you bleed off not to mention an extreme amount of sympathy for myself.
You and your small dick taught me how to enjoy sex, having experienced nothing but your sexual gluttony for so long, when I finally moved on- somebody so much as opening the taxi door for me was enough to make me climax.
You taught me not to sweat the small things, who would worry about the toilet seat being left up when theres also spew down the side of your bed.
Your Rabi approach to dividing a bill at dinner, it has taught me to budget.
You taught me how wonderful my friends are, they love me enough to come over for coffee even though they had to sit on the same couch as you while you sat in nothing but your jocks and pulled a bong they still came.
You taught me Independence, bailing on me for your dead shit mates every time we went out taught me to rely only on myself.
You taught me to take care of my body, coming home to you at 3am David Hassle-Scoffing a pizza would teach anyone to eat well.
You taught me the importance of financial stability, The memory of you knee deep in dust because you could have sworn you vacuumed up 20cents earlier that week is one Ill never forget.
Finally my dear Ex thank you so much for dumping me, I could have never put all these lessons to use had you not have.
In the words of Celine Dion "I'm everything I am because you loved me"xxx

Ode to my Ex.

Lifes little rules

Husky voiced woman are better lovers- Benders are cool as long as your not over 23- Only woman can drive with the roofs off convertibles- Joints are fine/bongs are not- babies should never be named after celebrities, days of the week or fruit- Don't pull out a two for one voucher on a date, also if complaining about the food on a date do it after you've paid- Don't keep friends that repulse you to look at- Never eat a whole chicken- forgive your mother in law, she doesn't mean to be a nosey cow-Men with dead mothers should always be considered for marriage- Don't trust deep or spiritual face book status updates- blowing raspberries on your babies necks is good luck-Get farting over and done with early in a relationship, it only gets harder the longer you wait- never go out with a guy who's tits are bigger then yours- when your kids are sleeping with there mouths open, poke your nose in and have a sniff, this is what true love smells like- when your lover has food in there teeth pick it out and eat it, this is what true love tastes like- Have compassion for people with no chins- Avoid men who put on baby voices, its possible they weren't breastfed for long enough- Avoid woman who refer to themselves in third person, they will prove to be high maintenance- Indians lie-

I know from experience that if you hardly ever let your boyfriend go out then when he finally does he'll get totally shit faced and stay out all night... They feel the need to 'make it last'. However I also know that men apply the same mentality to receiving blow jobs. There you are sucking your heart out praying to hear those two words "I'm coming" only the feel your fella tensing up, holding on, some times even trembling with might trying to prolong the blow job or to 'make it last'
We women approach receiving head differently. We pull you guys back up when we think you might have had enough. That is of course on the rare occasion that you venture down there....
A recent study conducted in the USA showed that 70% of female high school girls had performed oral sex (I'm home schooling my daughter). Surprising? not really. However the same study revealed that only 12% of high school girls had received oral sex. Surprising? no, however appalling and a statistic that sets the bar for the rest of our sexual life.
So why do men consider there sexual satisfaction up there with world peace and global warming while ours is as urgent as Junk mail?
I know a guy, who's name I wont mention that said to me once "Giving head always seems like a good idea, until you go to do it, its like a fucking alien down there" Nice one JAMIE.
I hope none of you guys out there are pulling the smell card. We have more hygiene in our little toe then you have in your entire bodies. Ever had a whiff of a nob after a night on the razzle dazzle? Another one I like is the "I only do it if shes really special" what? as apposed to the Cain toad you picked up for the evening? Trust me if shes special enough to pull the one eyed stiff one on then shes special enough for a bit of the royal treatment.
Once I heard an American comedian say that if you wanted to get a black guy to go down on you your best best was to hide a chicken wing in there..
Well Aussie guys arnt that keen on chicken wings but I have to tell ya desperate times call for desperate measures and, I know a few guys that could sniff out a bag of weed from a mile away..... xx

Caution may contain graffic infomation

Women Poo.
Well obviously, but women poo while giving birth. When everyones looking- with there faces right there trying to get the best view, that's when allot of women poo. We spend our whole lives trying to cover the smell of our poo and even the sound only to be confronted by this fact by our midwives. When I was pregnant I spent nine months preparing my boyfriend for the dreaded poo. It wasn't even him I was worried about, it was the nurses, doctors and midwives seeing it at the same time as him. In the end I didn't poo. I was, ironically constipated.
Part of me on the other hand- wishes I did poo. At least then I could file birth poos in the completed fears cabinet in my brain along with public speaking and bush poos. Instead it lingers in the pending fears cabinet with bungey jumping and under water poos.
Now as I understand men claim to be just as scared of there girlfriends poo as we are. In fact I'm positive that any men reading this are cringing right now wondering "why must you share everything Constance?" Well Ill tell you why, despite all the Diarrhea, farts, constipation and occasional Haemorrhoid, men are still obsessed with our bums. And not just the way they look in jeans. If men put as much energy into there work as they do trying to get there girlfriends to have anal sex with them they could afford to buy us a new asshole after woods. And to be honest I think its kind of strange.... Exactly who's supposed to benefit from a finger in a bum hole? How come you cant get over a bit of menstrual blood on your sheets however you can see past all the fowl jobs our bums were designed to do if it means you get to poke your nob in one for a minute or two?
I have a darling friend who's pregnant now with her second baby. Like any strong and amazing woman spent many painful hours in her first labour giving birth to a sweet sweet girl on an obviously life changing day. Only to be faced with a charming suggestion from her husband to start having anal sex instead now as it is to be 'tighter.'
When she told me this I was disgusted and racking my brain for advice all I could come up with was, "thank god your about to give birth again, this time rather then being shy or nervous about your birth poo, be grateful cos now you have something to aim for"