date machine : airheadgenius

Date Machine: Who Am I and Why Am I Here? or Let’s Keep in Touch

amboabe — Fri, 08 May 2009 01:08:00 GMT

I didn’t want my last post to be a formal goodbye so I’m going to do all that formal housekeeping here, in my second to last post. My name is Michael Thomsen.

“Amboabe” was a dumb nickname I gave myself in Madagascar. After an extended rant about something marginal and self-reflexive my friend S, who was a fellow volunteer, said “I hear you barking, big dog.” Madagascar is a country defined, in large part, by taboos and there are a lot centered on dogs. Dogs are considered filthy. It’s taboo in many areas to bring a dog into your house. It’s taboo to feed a dog the same food that humans would eat. It’s taboo to refer to another person as a dog in any way.

Dogs are mangy and opportunistic lurkers, crawling through the filthy back alleys on a never-ending search for food and shelter. They’re turned away and cursed at every turn. Children amuse themselves by beating dogs with sticks or throwing rocks at them, giggling when they evoke a pathetic yelp.

“Amboabe” is a literal translation of “big dog.” Once I got to know people in my village, I would make joking reference to myself as “amboabe” to see how far I could bend the taboos. When I told Bernadiny, the tank-like nurse at the clinic where I spent most of my days, she scowled and said I was dirty. “That’s not alright,” she told me. “People can’t be dogs. That’s bad.”

I made a point to laugh and make joking faces whenever I said it, but it was always received with headshakes and clucking disdain. After my first year, I noticed people had started calling me by the name. “Where is the big dog?” they would ask my neighbors when someone was looking for me. “Are you coming on the vaccine drive… big dog?”

The scorn was still present, but I could see the lips pointing upwards just a little bit every time they said it. Bernadiny started calling me Amboabe regularly, shaking her head at how ridiculous it was. There was no one else in town who could have been called a dog, much less request it. It was stupid. Absurd. Wrong. She would shake her head, as if she couldn’t believe what she was doing, and then laugh to herself when she saw what an joy it was for me to hear her say it.

Nothing happened when the taboo was broken. There wasn’t any ugly incident, the gendarmes didn’t storm the clinic, and god didn’t strike anyone down for blaspheming the human spirit. We laughed, and shook our heads. It was so stupid. “Beeg dug,” she would say in her broken high school English. “Eka, izay ty anarako,” I would tell her. That’s my name.

I write for a website called IGN.com. I freelance for them now, but when I was in San Francisco I was an associate editor. I wrote about video games and music. Before that I lived in LA and wrote for a smaller video game website called Nintendo World Report and had a day job at a big game company called Activision (the people that make Guitar Hero). I wrote a couple screenplays and came pretty close to raising $500,000 to direct one I wrote about kids in high school. It didn’t really come together and then I got offered the job in San Francisco.

If you want to read other stuff I’ve written, you can Google me. It’s not hard to find. Here are a few links just in case. Hopefully you’ll recognize the voice, even if the terms might seem a bit foreign. If you aren’t moved by my writing here I don’t know if any of this other stuff will change your mind. But it’s me, I wrote it.

Editorial: The Case for Six Days in Fallujah
*and here's a short video interview I did for ABC about the game.

Contrarian Corner: Mirror’s Edge

Animal Collective: Meriweather Post Pavilion Review

Writing for Date Machine has been one of the most consistently difficult things I’ve done over the last year, and this has been one of the toughest years I’ve had. It started with my grandfather dying, and ended with the possibility of my mother dying. In between, the love of my life moved across the country to live with another man, I got an STD, I feel into a depression and lost twenty pounds.

But I wanted to write. And so I would come home after work every night and sit at my desk for three or four hours trying to come up with something that would be worth reading; something honest, entertaining, and worth returning to. I tried to do it five days a week, after twelve hours in another office, and in between directing, producing, and editing a short film, and working on some other freelance writing jobs.

It’s been great to do it with Zeitgeisty and Airheadgenius. It probably doesn’t seem like much of a trick from your end, but on my end it’s been consistently frightening. It’s easy to be honest and unapologetic with your friends and people you care about, but it’s a separate thing to do it out loud and in public. It’s really hard to spend hours sharing something vulnerable and intimate and indemnifying, only to hit publish and face an anonymous swell of readers eager to evaluate, convict, and issue sentence.

We’ve fought amongst ourselves, and the end has been no different than the beginning in that respect; but I’m thankful to have written alongside them. It was always a little less daunting to climb out on the rhetorical limb when I’d see each of them taking their own risks everyday. Whatever I’ve written here, it would have been less without their camaraderie.

I’m also glad that you’ve been here, reading all of this. I’ve tried to give what I could of myself in every post. I’ve also asked for you to give me your time, and your energy in reading all these little stories and thoughts. It may not seem like it given how self-absorbed much of this must read, but I appreciate that time and energy more than you may expect. Whether you liked what I wrote or loathed it, you still gave me a hearing and that’s the most any writer could ever ask of any reader.

If you want to stay in contact, I’m on Facebook. Find me if you want to. If you’re in New York, buy me a drink. If you’re not send me a note.

Tomorrow afternoon will be my last post. I’ll try and finish in the same way I started, with some red meat. I’m kind of scared to write it, but I’ll be talking about everything that’s happened since I moved to New York.

See you then.

Previous Posts:

Date Machine: How to Pick Up Women

Date Machine: Women at 30, or the Scent of the Medicine Cabinet

Date Machine: My Friend's Girlfriend is my Girlfriend

Love Machine: Dating Someone with a Handicap

Date Machine: How to Pick Up a Nurse at the HIV Clinic

Date Machine: Full Disclosure

Sex Machine: The Bare Minimum

Date Machine: The Seductive Art of Dancing

Sex Machine: Becoming A Virgin Again

Sex Machine: Come On My Face

Sex Machine: Because I Can

Love Machine: Am I Romantic Enough?

Sex Machine: Picking Up Women in Gay Bars

Sex Machine: Diary of a Sperm Donor

Date Machine: Long Distance Lovers

Sex Machine: A Revised History of Whores

Date Machine: Moving to New York in Pictures

Date Machine: Old Love Letters, or Things That Got Thrown Away in the Move

Sex Machine: Talking About Sex With Your Parents

Love Machine: Willing to Relocate

Date Machine: Bad Sex

airheadgenius — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 14:29:00 GMT

I kinda sorta think that this tale has been told already, but fuck it - go ahead and fire me. Oh wait, you already did! Boo hoo.

Contact deets at the end...

Zeitgeisty, on more than one occasion, has talked about some women being bad in bed. I’ve definitely experienced ordinary sex and uninspired sex, but other than a few teenage trysts that weren't very satisfactory, I can't say that I have had bad sex. Thank whomever the fuck you thank for things like that. Except for one awful time in 1999 when I first Internet dated. We'd gone out a few times, and got very very drunk on the last date (our third I think) and wound up at my apartment.

That night, we fell asleep in a drunken stupor, but had perfunctory sex the following morning. To quote a friend of mine "It would've been rude not to". I remember thinking "this has to get better", but I had been wrong before, wrong since and boy-oh-boy was I wrong then.

This man kissed really well. I had high expectations for him physically, although mixed feelings about him in general. The main misgiving was that he’d assumed a nickname as his “real” name that had been derived from a spelling mistake in 5th grade and involved an X at then end. It must’ve been killer funny aged 10, but at aged 30 it did seem a little inappropriate.

But that, I could’ve worked with.

However, there were deal breakers to be revealed: the man had an incredibly small penis.

The smallest I have ever encountered before or since. I didn’t notice when we were rolling around drunk, but in the morning as we lay against each other, I couldn’t feel anything. I kept thinking “it must be there somewhere!” and “maybe he takes a while to get a hard on”, but in fact it was already erect and simply very very tiny. If you’re thinking that I don’t sound like an active participant, let me confess that this was not the norm for me as I am not usually shy about grabbing the dick of a man I am in bed with, but in this instance I couldn’t bear to. Deep down, I knew the truth, but acceptance had not arrived and I wasn't prepared to rush it. Had I not been hungover and, therefore, my wits were more about me, I would have declined sex with the first fumble. But my addled brain coupled with my ludicrous tendency towards optimism and a – back then – not insignificant knack for denial enabled me to keep my hands out of his pants lest the sad imagined truth became an even sadder reality.

I won't regale you with any more gory details, but suffice it to say that it's inadvisable to try to put a shine on certain parts of the female anatomy however much you think it is desirable to do so. It's a clitoris, not a brace door knocker. About 10 minutes in, I decided that there was no point offering gentle instruction as you can't make a silk purse from a sows ear. I am not entirely comfortable with that idiom though... so I let him move on top of me and, to the extent that he could, knock himself out. Usually, one can say pounded, or banged, nailed or some such. In this instance, it would be kind to say poked.

He pricked me. Just.

I've had lovers that were fabulous at some things, ok at others, but certainly not terrible at anything. I feel confident that the same would be said of me. Especially the fabulous bit. So, like any other skill set, with each lover there were things that were played up and things that were played down.

This man was bad with his hands, nothing special when going down and terrible at penetration. The experience left me frustrated and wishing that rather than fuck him when we woke up together the next morning, I’d just made him a nice cup of tea and sent him on his way.

So, here are my questions...

1) Which is worse - bad sex or no sex? Or is there a sex/time/quality ratio? Like, after 3 months without, I have to get me some, even if it's crap. Or, after 3 months, I am only accepting good.

2) What, in your not-very-humble opinion, constitutes bad sex? Be demure, or be explicit. There will be a prize for the best analogy though.

This will - hopefully - be a broadcast brought to you by the Good Sex 2009 Party.

Thank you.

(And if you are reading this, man that worked for MTV back in ’99 and had a made up name ending in the letter X, I apologise)

Boo hoo. Very sad that we're being shit canned. If anyone wants to be in touch with me, I've just created my very own get in touch with airheadgenius email: airheadgenius@hotmail.com. Feel free to send job offers, paypal account info, writing gigs, food parcels, dick photos, whatever you like really. And I used to have an airheadgenius blogspot blog which I shut down, but no doubt it will be back up and running in a few.

Instead of the Daily Knob, here's a song for you:

Here are some I made earlier:
Separated
The sexiest man alive
Naked Photos
Ever decreasing circles - have you dated the same men as me?
Way too much information
ahg, zeit, ambo threesome plus booty calls
Is this thing on? Does anyone find love on Nerve?

Date Machine: Separated?

airheadgenius — Sun, 26 Apr 2009 03:47:00 GMT

I've got a lot of emails recently from men who define their *status* as "separated".

What does that mean to you?

Several of these correspondents appear to be entirely geniune, honorable and appealing, but my cynical friend says separated means

* married with no plans to change that
* kicked out of the house for bad behaviour and trying to get a hook up til the wife cools down

Optimistic me thinks that it means that a divorce is in the works.

Zeitgeisty's new "on a break" status presumably means he fits in the separated category too - although strictly speaking there should be a marriage thrown in somewhere I guess.

Dating someone that's still got one foot in someone elses door isn't a problem necessarily. And for a commitmentphobe like me, it could actually be quite a good thing because it means that they wouldn't be bothering me too much. But there is always the chance that the separated man would be the one that I fell head over heels for which would suck if they ultimately resumed their initial relationship. It's an added complication in a situation, at least in my case, that's already complicated enough.

A few weeks ago, a separated man and I went out for a drink. I was his second date since his marriage ended. The week before, I met someone and it transpired that I was his first ever Nerve date.

Now a hardened 5 years in Nerve dater probably isn't anyone's idea of a bargain, but maybe these newbies aren't either.

Green certainly isn't my favourite colour.

Here are some I made earlier:
The sexiest man alive
Naked Photos
Ever decreasing circles - have you dated the same men as me?
Way too much information
ahg, zeit, ambo threesome plus booty calls
Is this thing on? Does anyone find love on Nerve?
Do you attract douchebags?
Jaded or pragmatic?
Let down badly by an Englishman
Dating and dying
Do your friends hook you up?
Is size everything?
King dong and jizz volume

Cute, but his left leg is attached to his body in some kind of bizarro way - like a barbie doll. Why oh why is the world not perfect?

Personals Drama: The sexiest man alive! aka More Naked Photos

airheadgenius — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 18:55:00 GMT

Today, I varnished the staircases and then, admittedly a little giddy from the polyurethane fumes, decided to check out the newest members on the sex machine that is Nerve.com

I wish I could post the real photo here, but suffice it to say that this one is freakishly similar, albeit less hairy:

Here's the profile: (he declined to divulge his height and body type from the get go, but then announced it in his charming little description of himself)

"When i see a good looking woman I dream about taking her close off.An having my way with her night an day. I am 5'5 165lbs an horn as hell.....love fishing,camping,hiking an making love in the car after a long ride in the car"

Ladies, form an orderly queue please.

Here are some I made earlier:
Naked Photos
Ever decreasing circles - have you dated the same men as me?
Way too much information
ahg, zeit, ambo threesome plus booty calls
Is this thing on? Does anyone find love on Nerve?
Do you attract douchebags?
Jaded or pragmatic?
Let down badly by an Englishman

Now on to my Daily Knob: I should've been seeing him live tomorrow night if a) my friends weren't so lame and b) he hadn't cancelled.

This song was, of course, written entirely for me

Personals Drama: Naked Photos

airheadgenius — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 20:21:00 GMT

Today, I was winked at by a naked man. Well, naked half man to be more accurate.

Clearly his photograph was taken in the bathroom mirror.
I am not mad at that in principle, especially since one of mine is too, but his face is entirely obscured by the camera flash. This makes me wonder if that was a compositional device or just bad planning. I opt for the latter only because the shot contains a none to elegant glimpse of towel on one side and doorknob on the other. Not an aesthete in other words.

An athlete though - for sure. Complete with athletic shots of his athletic body doing athletic things. No clear face photo which is always a little troubling.

What to do though?

To me, bare chest photos are just not that appealing. Even gorgeous ones - as this one undoubtedly was, right down to the chiseled outline of a lower torso. The D'Angelo shot.

It smacks of superficiality of course, but I can't really get upset about that either given my regularly stated preference for beautiful men.

I briefly had a cleavage photo on my profile - it was back on the old blog and was part of an ongoing joke. I kinda forgot that it would also be for public consumption and wasn't prepared for the slew of emails I got that week offering me all kinds of extra attention.

I am certainly not averse to a hook up, but it seems that a tit photo doesn't exactly scream "seeking long term relationship". Of course, I am projecting but I tend to assume that the naked folk are on Nerve.com for it's infamous appeal - just to get laid - and so I don't take those guys seriously. Maybe I am mistaken though and there's a deeply sensitive, evolved and interesting man hiding, shirtless, behind the flash of the camera.

How do you people feel about it? Semi-naked photos - yay or nay?

Here are some I made earlier:
Ever decreasing circles - have you dated the same men as me?
Way too much information
ahg, zeit, ambo threesome plus booty calls
Is this thing on? Does anyone find love on Nerve?
Do you attract douchebags?
Jaded or pragmatic?
Let down badly by an Englishman

He's been my Daily Knob before, but some bodies deserve a re-run.

Personals Drama: Ever decreasing circles or have you dated the same men I've dated?

airheadgenius — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 14:17:00 GMT

One of the conversations I had with Zeitgeisty after we established our real life frenemy-ship was the surprising number of men and women we've met from the "Most popular members" page.

(I am on page #1 doncha know. You may question the validity of this, but it's a fact so suck it up)

Once in a while, I scroll through the profiles of a few dozen men or so - those in my age range and vicinity - and mentally check them off: met him, he wrote to me, I wrote to him, slept with him (rarely is this the case due to circumstances not allowing too much early date sex) and so on and so on.

A few weeks back, I went on a date with someone who knows friends of mine. This has happened more than once.

Last year, I became friends with a woman through Nerve on the personals blogs. We shared information about past dates and it turns out that we'd both briefly dated the same sloppy kisser.

I tend to go out in Brooklyn in one of three neighborhoods. It is only a matter of time before I am on a date and I see an ex date in the same bar.

Small circle of bars.

Small circle of people.

Ever decreasing circles of eligible men.

I grew up in a relatively small town and, due to my reasonably conspicuous personality, knew quite a lot of people. Even when I visit 20+ years after leaving, people still "know me". I don't like small town mentality - I don't like too many people all up in my biz.

How is it that in a city of millions of people, I keep seeing the same faces?

(Note to self: must stay off computer)

Here are some I made earlier:
Way too much information
ahg, zeit, ambo threesome plus booty calls
Is this thing on? Does anyone find love on Nerve?
Do you attract douchebags?
Jaded or pragmatic?
Let down badly by an Englishman
Dating and dying
Do your friends hook you up?
Is size everything?
King dong and jizz volume

May as well have stayed at home and shagged an old farmer.

Date Machine: Way too much information.

airheadgenius — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 23:47:00 GMT

I had a little insight into what it is like to sit across the table from a date machine blogger this week. I've often wondered if Date Machine has a detrimental effect on my dating life and, since meeting up with Ambo and Zeit on Tuesday, I am now convinced of it.

Too much information.
Way too much information.

For example, both gentlemen are attractive and, at face value, dateable. So, had it been an actual date with either one I would have known vaguely what they looked like from their photographs and a little bit about their likes and dislikes from their profile and email. If there had been an email rally, I'd have a sense of at least the potential for conversation. And that would be sufficient. The date would have commenced, chemistry (or lack thereof) would have been established and a second date arranged, or not.

Instead, I know that Zeit likes: big tits, anal sex, coming in someones open mouth, being deliberately argumentative, farting, extreme bowel movements, body hair except on legs, being miserable and not going out very often. He dislikes humans.

Ambo likes flamboyant language, considering the minutiae of other people's sex lives including his parents, examining wrinkles and liver spots, staring at himself naked several times a day, video games. He dislikes many of his dates, physically at least, and is in love with someone else.

My dates know up front - those that read the blog of course - that I like tall men, skinny or built men but not fat men (or even a little shabby), foreskins, people that amuse me. Men also know that I am not a big fan of America or those pesky Americans that live here. To name but a few.

All of the above has been delivered in forthright and finite terms, as if any kind of deviation from the preferences as stated would be a deal breaker.

In fact, I've managed to (albeit begrudgingly) deal with a foreskinless penis, have dated some real shorties, even gone as far as to have two children with an American. (I will not compromise on the penis size issue however. If it is less than 6" and more than 8" then the deal is irreparably broken) But my ability to make concessions on these and many other issues is not remotely clear if one "knows me" from reading my blog.

Even though the three of us, by many accounts, are much more appealing in person, this abundance of insider information makes us much less appealing as a dating prospect. Especially as some of it, presumably, is written in jest or simply to be controversial.

In short, airheadgenius the blogger is shooting airheadgenius the dater in the foot.

Time for a new profile...

Here are some I made earlier:
ahg, zeit, ambo threesome plus booty calls
Is this thing on? Does anyone find love on Nerve?
Do you attract douchebags?
Jaded or pragmatic?
Let down badly by an Englishman
Dating and dying
Do your friends hook you up?
Is size everything?
King dong and kizz volume
Prostitues - yay or nay?
The female orgasm

Ok, so the last guy did not have a knob and thus threw everything into confusion. This guy appears to have a reasonably large willie, however he also needs to scratch even on camera which can only mean he's got crabs plus he's stoopid enough to put two watches on. Ah well, it's an imperfect world.

Sex Machine: Picking Up Women in Gay Bars

amboabe — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 23:51:00 GMT

So as you’ve probably heard I had drinks with Airheadgenuis and Zeitgeisty the other day. We spent the better part of the evening in a gay bar, with softcore porn playing in monitors underneath the tables and big ticket Hollywood movies like The Great Santini and Polanski’s Tess projected against the far wall.

According to guy lore, gay bars are the easiest places for a straight man to meet a woman. I remember casting the first short I directed several years ago. I posted ads in Backstage West and met with dozens of actors afterhours in my boss’s Beverly Hills office.

I remember one guy I spoke with jumped very quickly from telling stories about his acting background into tales of his sexual prowess. It seems some male actors in LA are more excited about their prospects for having sex than they are about working. Hey look, ma! Somebody fucked me! Can you believe it?

This man swore that he could have sex with any woman in a gay bar. Their defenses are down, they feel safe, they vamp suggestively without having to worry that some guy is going to get the wrong idea, and they tend to drink heavily, chugging fruity two-for-one specials.

I had originally planned on shooting the short as an all-nude production. When I mentioned this to they actor he immediately stood up from his chair. “I’ll strip right now, if you want,” he said. “I’m not ashamed of my body at all. You want me to get all the way naked?”

I’ve always had mixed feelings about gay bars. I don’t like the idea of separating social groups based on sexual preference. Bars are bars. People get drunk, they dance, they try and meet someone new, many wind up bringing someone home later on. You’re a little less likely to hear Tom Petty or Dire Straights in a gay bar, but otherwise, the idea is basically the same.

On the other hand, the gay bars I’ve been to have felt less serious and weighted down with social posturing than other straight bars. Would that there were more straight bars with porno playing on the walls and colors outside of the red and black vinyl variety.

The first gay bar I remember going to was in Austin. It was a lesbian night at a place called Boyz Cellar. All the bartenders were topless and covered in bodypaint. It was surreal to be in a room filled with women and not a single one paying attention to me. Knowing in advance that everyone in the bar was outside of my sexual purview took a lot of tension out of the air. I felt like I could stroll around leisurely and talk to anybody about anything. There was no worry about having intentions misconstrued or being shot down by a cranky tyrant.

After a couple of hours one of the friends I was with reached a level of dramatic intoxication and decided she needed to vomit in the corner. The bar manager saw her and asked that she leave. She was still lucid enough to feel insulted by this and she went nose-to-nose with the pasty man for a few minutes trying to pick a fight before finally relenting.

I don’t like the idea of having to pick someone up, no matter what the context. There has been a lot said for the thrill of the chase and wanting the unattainable, but I don’t see the value in either. I don’t believe in unattainability. We’re all born out of the same primordial question mark. We all want to believe in someone. We are all attainable.

Chasing after someone is equally uninteresting. Why should I have to pursue someone who resists the idea of my companionship? If they don’t want to spend time with me, what does it benefit me to convince them otherwise? I want to fight for the people who’ll fight for me, and not chase after a trophy to validate my sense of achievement.

Those two ideas hang heavy in straight bars, like wooly fogs across the neon light. It might be easier to pick someone up in a gay bar. But it isn’t any easier to fall in love.

Previous Posts:

Sex Machine: Diary of a Sperm Donor

Date Machine: Long Distance Lovers

Sex Machine: A Revised History of Whores

Date Machine: Moving to New York in Pictures

Date Machine: Old Love Letters, or Things That Got Thrown Away in the Move

Sex Machine: Talking About Sex With Your Parents

Love Machine: Willing to Relocate

Sex Machine: Checking my Oil, or the HIV Test

Date Machine: How To Pick Up a Bartender

Date Machine: Are You My Girlfriend Now?

PDA Machine: Making Out in a Bar

Sex Machine: The Cake is a Lie, or Does My Butt Show When I Walk?

Obituary Machine: Natasha Richardson, or Smoking Cigarettes on the Roof

Love Machine: Throwing Punches, or Get Your Hands Off of My Woman

Date Night: The Most Expensive Date I've Ever Been On

Sex Machine: Monogamy is for Losers

Sex Machine: I'm Not That Kind of Girl

Date Machine: Civil War and Sex on a Toliet

Date Machine: ahg, ambo, zeit threesome, plus booty calls.

airheadgenius — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 01:51:00 GMT

As advertised by Zeitgeisty, last night the three active bloggers on Date Machine went out on a non-date. (spjv has been incarcerated after a bar brawl and fishnets is locked in a tiny box after a revenge attack)

I hadn't planned to meet them because a) Zeit insisted on Manhattan and b) from some of their blog posts, it didn't seem worth the price of a babysitter.

But, it's Spring Break and my kids and their father cooked up a last minute scheme for them to spend the night at his apartment. This was the first time they'd ever slept over so it was a big deal.

I needed somewhere to go as I was feeling a little emotionally fragile and didn't want to spend the evening alone and, since most of my friends have kids, it was a bit late to make other arrangements. Upshot is, I met them in the East Village.

Ambo looks exactly like his photographs. There's an English expression for it: dragged through a hedge backwards. I mean that kindly. He has chaotic hair and is long and lean with a nice smile and laughs easily. He didn't say anything creepy the entire evening.

Zeitgeisty looks uncannily like his photographs. Actually, now I think of it, we've all seen him in 3D on the chicken dance video so maybe that's why he seemed so familiar. What was surprising about him was that he has a really soft, pleasant voice.

They are both abundantly bendy it would seem. At some point or other, they sat cross legged on the banquet seating. Are skinny people always bendy?

Neither one is remotely obnoxious and both were charming company. My reality has shifted.

Anyway, it was a fun evening and I was really glad for the distraction as I would have been miserable at home. I came back to an empty house and couldn't even go into the kids room because their absence was horrible. I didn't get to sleep until about 3am - it was so weird to be in the house at night alone. It occurred to me as I lay awake, that I haven't slept in a house by myself in 6 years. The last time I took a business trip was back when my first son was just over a year old. He stayed in our Manhattan apartment with his dad - we were still a couple - and I flew to LA to work in the garment center there. 4 nights without him back then was tough, but different from now because I wasn't so enmeshed in my role as someones mother.

Since then, I had a second child and they have been with me every single night with the exception of a long weekend when I went to Aruba with a girlfriend for my 40th and 9 nights when I went home to see my Dad before his surgery last year. Both times, I slept alone, but there was someone else in the house.

I missed them.

Although it did occur to me that my dating life would be easier and less expensive if I got a night completely to myself every now and then.

On the Date Machine non-date, we talked about booty calls and friends with benefits.
Both Zeit and Ambo said that they weren't into the concept, but kinda wished that they could be at times. Both don't seem to be able to separate affection from sex.

I was thinking about that last night, given that I couldn't sleep and there's precious little else to do at 3 in the morning in a house by yourself.
In the past, I wasn't able to separate the two either and could never have had the constitution for a FWB a few years ago, but now I've developed the ability to compartmentalise my needs and separate my desire for sex from my desire for love.

Like most things in my life, it all comes back to being a parent.

I am loved. As my kids and their dad got ready to leave yesterday, my 5 year old said "take my picture mummy so you can remember what I look like". I nearly cried. The theory of this event was great, but when the reality of it came, small son couldn't stop crying and had to be physically carried out by his dad (whom me loves, but he is just very attached to me)

I am loved. I am adored even.

I have some great friends so that's companionship covered. I have physical affection on an hourly basis from my children. What I am missing is sexual intimacy. And you can get a version of that with a booty call.

It's not the perfect situation - ideally I'd love to have love, companionship, physically affection and sex all from one person, but in the meantime I can get by with them in segments.

Synergy, or something.

Here are some I made earlier:
Is this thing on? Does anyone find love on Nerve?
Do you attract douchebags?
Jaded or pragmatic?
Let down badly by an Englishman
Dating and dying
Do your friends hook you up?
Is size everything?
King dong and kizz volume
Prostitues - yay or nay?
The female orgasm
Fabulous at 40, the reprise

I like this guys body, but there's something deeply disturbing to me about a man being coy.

Personals Drama: Is this thing on? AKA does anyone find love on Nerve?

airheadgenius — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 12:29:00 GMT

I am up early this morning waiting for the appraiser to view my house, put me through hell for 20 minutes and then determine whether or not my interest rate can be lowered. My financial life hangs in the balance of some shabby little man with bad breath and a bad attitude. (My apologies if you are an appraiser since the truth can sting)

The house is deadly quiet. The 6 Austrians staying upstairs that I hoped would be out sightseeing are clearly still asleep and will be sprawled everywhere when he arrives. I am wrangling with the choice of trying to explain them away or simply pretending I do not see them as we move through the apartment. My children remain asleep having consumed bucket loads of easter eggs and gone to bed too late. They will wake groggy and demanding at the most inopportune moment.

If it isn't abundantly clear, the day is threatening to go pear shaped.

There's nothing I can do but wait - the house has been staged so I don't want to mess it up by starting some new project - so I misguidedly decided to review the available men on Nerve.com. This did not exactly alleviate my dank mood.

I've been on the site for two years. And apparently so has each and every man in the 38 to 50 age range that the search function just threw at me. Presumably we didn't all sign up on the same day though so it can be reasonably assumed that some have been here longer. Many men, who clearly did not major in marketing, have their sign up date displayed thus advertising the fact that they've been at this game for as long as 5 years.

I flicked though page after page, refamiliarizing myself with various profiles and annoying headlines. "Ugh, not you again", "Quelle surprise - you're still here" etc etc. I saw the ones that I've dated: ones that looked nothing like their photo, ones with fatal personality flaws, the ones that I liked, but didn't like me and so on.

I read with a sinking feeling as I just don't need to see the same old faces knowing that they are not my "one". Presumably many men have the same response to me when they trawl through the listings: "Oh gee, airheadgenius is still here. Still pitching that ridiculously long profile".

That's not good.

So, today's question is: Does this work for anyone? I don't want to be doing this in my dotage.

Here are some I made earlier:
Do you attract douchebags?
Jaded or pragmatic?
Let down badly by an Englishman
Dating and dying
Do your friends hook you up?
Is size everything?

Why isn't his guy on Nerve and just itching for a short blonde chick just past her prime?

Personals Drama: Do you attract douchebags or is it just my bad luck? Plus open relationships - could you swing it?

airheadgenius — Sat, 11 Apr 2009 19:16:00 GMT

A man wrote to me yesterday. He had a cheeky grin and was reasonably appealing to look at.
His email wasn't all that engaging though - especially this sentence: "And perhaps you might enjoy a light tap on your fanny now and then" given that in my language, fanny means vagina, but his profile was pretty interesting.

I usually just skim, but luckily this time I read it completely. Right up to the bit that said that he was currently in an open relationship but could always find space for new and interesting people.

I wrote back thanks, but that I was not interested in someone in an open relationship. Actually, I'm not too keen in someone in any kind of relationship come to that.

He wrote me back using the instant message function: "Thank you, but I am not interested"

What a douche.
I instant messaged him back: "To be honest, I am looking for someone younger". And then I blocked him, which ends that particular chapter.

But what of open relationships people? (I've written about this before, but can't remember when)
I've been in dating situations in their early stages where there's been more than one man on the go, and FWB type situations where quite likely they've been involved with other people but since there was no serious relationship, I didn't ask who they were dating. It didn't bother me one way or the other.

I've never been in an official open relationship though and can't imagine wanting to be in one. I am not a jealous person, so that's not the reason it doesn't appeal to me and I've absolutely no moral judgement against it. It just seems unduly complicated.

My kid's dad asked if I would consider an open relationship many years ago. I had an 18 month old and was pregnant with my second child. I didn't think it would be a good look for me back then.

Still don't.

Here are some I made earlier:
Jaded or pragmatic?
Let down badly by an Englishman
Dating and dying
Do your friends hook you up?
Is size everything?
King dong and kizz volume
Prostitues - yay or nay?
The female orgasm
Fabulous at 40, the reprise
Slim, petite or average?
Losing Momentum

Personals drama: Jaded or pragmatic?

airheadgenius — Thu, 09 Apr 2009 18:06:00 GMT

Do you create personalities?

I got an email from a man last week expressing interest in meeting me.
I declined politely.
He wrote back.
I replied, but again without any indication that this was going to fly.
He is many years older than me which doesn't particularly appeal, but what's really off putting is that his interest is in women much younger than him. His top parameter for age is 8 years his junior. That turns me off completely.

He has since written 3 more times even though I haven't been answering.
Clearly he is convinced that we have something to talk about.

It seems to me that he must have constructed an identity for me. After all, even though my profile is ludicrously long, it still only gives a snippet of information about me. My photos show me on my best day, and me on a regular day, but again, just a snippet.

Somehow, he must have assigned traits and decided we'd get along. I read his profile when I got the first email. He seems perfectly pleasant, but there's nothing about him that I could particularly hang my hat on. Nothing that says he's my kind of guy.

I just wrote him a snippy email. Hopefully that's the end of that.

Do you do that though? Daydream an identity before you've met a person?
I guess I used to - back in my salad days of Internet dating. But after a couple of years (yikes) I tend not to have any expectations at all. If a profile appeals, then I meet for a drink and, if it doesn't work out then c'est la vie.

Does that make me jaded or just pragmatic?

Here are some I made earlier:
Let down badly by an Englishman
Dating and dying
Do your friends hook you up?
Is size everything?
King dong and kizz volume
Prostitues - yay or nay?
The female orgasm
Fabulous at 40, the reprise
Slim, petite or average?
Losing Momentum

Face is nothing special, but you can't have everything apparently

oh, he came out tiny! How disappointing! It looks like he's having a wank too. Ooer!

Personals Drama: Let down badly by an Englishman

airheadgenius — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 00:55:00 GMT

I miss my compatriots.

I miss their wit and their humour. I miss their spellings.

So, imagine my excitement when I receive an email from an English man.

My glee was horribly misplaced however. Here's a snippet:

Hi I’m most intrigued... I would love to chat
Maybe a candle light date.....
Your thoughts...??
XXXXX

My first thought was "ewwww", not least because of the row of kisses, but I checked out his profile anyway. Turns out we went to the same design college which is quite a fluke. Especially because it's very hard to get in to. So I wrote back and mentioned this unlikely coincidence.

His reply failed to acknowledge that point and instead went like this:

Darling a quick note from my bed...
Very hectic running around getting ready for my trip...
I will be in the city presenting two projects, so setting up meeting with galleries etc....
Will call when I arrive, will send you my cell number when I get a sim card... Which network...??
Till then all my kisses
XXXXXXXX

There was nothing appealing for me here, so I didn't respond, but that didn't stop him.

Hi it's the end of an exhausting day I'm off for a hot bath with almond & rose oil.....
I will be staying downtown, where in the city are you....??
XXX

Clearly he was exhausted, given that he could only muster up the energy to give me three kisses. I ignored this one too, but he remained unperturbed:

morning darling from downtown ... It’s great to wake up to the new york sunshine....!!!
i’m feeling a bit stiff from my flight, now in need of a massage...... maybe with jasmin oil.... any ideas...???
i would love to chat, when is good for me to call.....??
all my kisses...
XXXXXXX

When is a good time to call? Howzabout when hell freezes over?

Back to the drawing board full of Americans with less of a penchant for kisses.

Here are some I made earlier:
Dating and dying
Do your friends hook you up?
Is size everything?
King dong and kizz volume
Prostitues - yay or nay?
The female orgasm
Fabulous at 40, the reprise

A tiny picture of another fey Englishman: Quentin Crisp. A witty conversationalist, but I wouldn't want to do him. Then again, he wouldn't want to do me either.

Date Machine: Dating and dying

airheadgenius — Sun, 05 Apr 2009 03:54:00 GMT

This is not my doctor.

I had an MRI this week for some random weird crap that's been going on with my mistreated body.
I am sure everything is ok, because it usually is, but it made me think about dating and being sick.

It would suck.

Finding a partner involves putting your best foot forward - applying make up, wearing lingerie, not farting (Zeitgeisty clearly excludes himself from this social norm), being positive, not talking about your whack mother etc etc

Now, unless you've hooked yourself up with someone with a variant of Münchausen syndrome, being a sick puppy and not in a good way doesn't increase one's chances of dating success I imagine.

On a date "your hair is beautiful"
"err, watch this space. That might be changing"

"Your tits are amazing"
"Thanks, although I am about to get a whole new look"

And so on and so forth.

But no one wants to die alone do they?

I imagine this is when the extreme contingency fuck kicks in. Or at least dating someone that you're just not that in to, but who cares for you. This could be an instance when the nice guy does get the girl.

A date from a while back was trying to set up a booty call, but logistics kept getting in the way. One of them was my MRI and resultant evening of juggling kids and my schedule. I wasn't going to get into the details of why I wasn't available, but it wound up being easier to tell him. I asked if he still wanted a booty call. He said "oh yeah. I'd still want to do you even if you were dying".

I found it weirdly touching.
Clealy I have a brain tumour.

Here are some I made earlier:
Do your friends hook you up?
Is size everything?
King dong and kizz volume
Prostitues - yay or nay?
The female orgasm
Fabulous at 40, the reprise
Slim, petite or average?

Date Machine: Do your friends hook you up?

airheadgenius — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 16:33:00 GMT

My landlord chores of the day involved buying a gazillion cleaning supplies and a trip to my local hardware store. When my house was being renovated, this store was the nearest go to point for last minute or emergency supplies. Even since the building work has been done, I have occasion to go there probably once a week being the handy little chick that I am.

Today, I needed plumbing putty for a sink that's leaking from the gasket.

I've been in the store dozens of times with my kids on the way home from school and the owner, Abdul, has always been very sweet to them. They have had many a free key chain or mini flash light and, as with most of our local stores, everyone knows us. Last week, Abdul asked me if I was single - more specifically he asked me why I am always so busy and why I don't have someone to take care of "this shit" for you.

Abdul knows my name, but my title is "The English lady" and he always uses it when directing his guys to get stuff for me. "Vincent, the English lady needs sand less grout", for example.

This morning Abdul says "are you looking for a husband?" I asked him why he wanted to know and he said "I've got your card and I am going to pass it on to my friend Mike. He's going to call you".

Now, much as I love this store and have spent considerable time there, the conversation has always been specific to projects around my house, so I cannot imagine much information about me has been gleaned. And I don't know Mike from a bar of soap.

"You'll like him. He has a good job".
"Oh yeah, what does he do?"

"He runs my other building supply shop for me".

I swooned. I am a home improvement and interior design freak! Man, that would be beyond convenient!

In reality, I am pretty unlikely to wind up with the guy introduced to me by the hardware store owner, but it got me to thinking about my friends and their friends. Or lack thereof. I cannot remember the last time I was introduced to a friend of a friend. And I cannot remember the last time I introduced someone to a friend of mine.

I wish it would happen though. To meet someone a little more organically than this email interview nonsense.
But apparently I just don't have the right friends.

Anyway, date machiners, do your friends introduce you to their eligible friends and, if so, with what result?

I am assuming that the answer for most is a resounding "NO" otherwise presumably you wouldn't be here.

Here are some I made earlier:
Is size everything?
King dong and kizz volume
Prostitues - yay or nay?
The female orgasm
Fabulous at 40, the reprise
Slim, petite or average?

I can imagine this guy laying a pipe

Date Machine: Is size everything?

airheadgenius — Tue, 31 Mar 2009 19:04:00 GMT

I like big men.

I like a man that can pick me up with minimal effort. A man that stands at least a head taller than me. Someone that I'd never question whether they were strong enough to... whatever it might be.*

This desire of mine has always been present. Instinctive almost. My father was 6' 1" before age started to reduce his height so maybe there is a Freudian element to it. I remember, aged about 6, being introduced to my friend's dad. He was about 5'5" and I clearly remember saying "that's not your dad" to my friend. I couldn't conceive of a dad that was mum sized. Still can't.

This morning, I dropped the kids at school, went to a meeting and then walked to Trader Joe's. Armed with 36lbs of groceries, I walked six blocks or so and took the bus home. (Out of curiosity, I checked the weight when I got back. I am supposed to be doing my taxes and thus looking for any and all distractions)

The groceries weren't so heavy, but still, I could have used a big man then.

I am not a girlie girl. I don't baulk at lifting stuff, getting my hands dirty or taking care of whatever needs to be done. But at 5'2" and without sufficient time to get to the gym, I sometimes get frustrated by my relative lack of strength. I am impressed by physical power and like nothing better than watching a man be manly. (Actually, pedantic reader, there are things I like better. I am simply using an expression)

There's that cliche about men wanting a maid in the parlour and a whore in the bedroom. I guess I want the mind of a new man with the build of a farmer.

It's funny how needs morph into wants though. I wonder if I'd still have a penchant for big men if, for example, I had a car and Trader Joes had a parking lot.

* I will deal with small men as long as they are freakishly strong

Here are some I made earlier:
King dong and kizz volume
Prostitues - yay or nay?
The female orgasm
Fabulous at 40, the reprise
Slim, petite or average?
Losing Momentum

Trader Joes Brooklyn. Sexy huh?

Date Machine: Youporn, King Dong and Jizz volume. Oh yes indeedy.

airheadgenius — Sun, 29 Mar 2009 15:40:00 GMT

I have a morbid fascination with youporn. The titles are often the most entertaining bit though - OMG!!! 18" for example. Under those circumstances, one has to investigate right?

Watching a man endowed with a 12+ dick is like taking a trip to the zoo to look at an exotic animal. I've never encountered such a specimen in real life and, if I did, cannot imagine trying to cram it into my body.

And therein lies the rub with the 12" dick. No one seems to have an orifice sufficiently deep or wide to accommodate it. Having sex for these men must be somewhat of a disembodied experience - two people separated by a bridge like dick. There's no body to body contact after all. The only way I can imagine the man having flesh surrounding his freakishly large penis is if he had sex from behind with someone with unfeasibly round arse cheeks and a cavernously deep butt crack. I wish I hadn't imagined that actually.

The next draw back of being King Dong is that a regular sized man just doesn't seem to have sufficient blood to engorge his arm sized member. Part of the experience seems to involved a double handed squeeze to force an erection into the final third of his dick - the only bit that ever gets to have sex anyway. That's got to be frustrating for everyone involved right?

Giant dicks ain't all that is my point.

But the real point of today's inquiry is this: are these monster cocks really full of half a pint of jizz? I've seen videos of women being half drowned in cum. Does it hold true that the bigger the dick, the bigger the volume of semen? Surely that has a link to the size of the testicles, but it seems to me that these men with fire extinguisher volume ejaculations would need balls as big as shopping bags to blow a load that big.

But what do I know? Enlighten me date machiners on the big dick big blow connection.
If you would be so kind.

Here are some I made earlier:
Prostitues - yay or nay?
The female orgasm
Fabulous at 40, the reprise
Slim, petite or average?
Losing Momentum
How do you get ready for a date?
I need you
Heartache or just another real estate opportunity?

Here's another one of my Daily Un-Knobs: Don King. Not to be confused with King Dong.

Date Machine: Prostitutes - Yay or nay?

airheadgenius — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 15:26:00 GMT

I have an email buddy who has mentioned a couple times in our correspondence that he uses prostitutes and escorts.
We've never met but photographic evidence suggests that he is attractive and our emails lead me to believe that he is reasonably well off, responsible and quite entertaining. I am sure there's baggage, but there are no immediate indicators that make me think he couldn't get a girlfriend if he wanted one.

Clearly he wants to get laid and using an escort/prostitute means he is on a promise and doesn't have to try very hard, if at all. Finding a girlfriend involves speculation and the risk of rejection, plus ultimately the chance to not get laid.

I have mixed feelings about the, supposed, oldest profession. A part of me thinks why not? It is simply fulfilling a market need. But part of me feels that it's just laziness on the part of the procurer and that they simply can't be bothered to invest the time or energy in courting a partner. Plus, I think it's likely that the judgement made on a woman paying a male escort would be much more negative than a man paying a woman, so that just pisses me off on principle. Plus, a woman would presumably find it harder to make that transaction in the first place given that "the norm" is for men to be seeking out female prostitutes.

Another friend ventured that it's all about choice and so he doesn't have a problem with it. But it really isn't about choice if you are female - you only have to peruse the back pages of The Voice to know it's yet another male dominated domain. Also, the women on the low end of the prostitute spectrum - the whores rather than the high class escorts - may not have much choice in the matter to begin with.

Even if the entire market was run fairly, prostitutes were paid reasonably and had decent working conditions etc etc, I still feel that it would encourage people to be lazy and to avoid taking emotional risks. It's like ordering take out every night instead of going to the supermarket and then preparing a meal. The former being a quick fix solution which costs more money and is ultimately bad for your health.

My bottom line is that I wouldn't feel comfortable in the company of someone I was having to pay to show up.

How do you feel about it Date Machiners?
Prostitutes - yay or nay?

Here are some I made earlier:
The female orgasm
Fabulous at 40, the reprise
Slim, petite or average?
Losing Momentum
How do you get ready for a date?
I need you
Heartache or just another real estate opportunity?

This is a Hot Man Trivet. Sexy huh?

Date Machine: The female Orgasm, or come together, right now, over me.

airheadgenius — Tue, 24 Mar 2009 13:55:00 GMT

To quote John Lennon.

For the duration of this post, "come" will represent "cum". I don't mess with cum, as a written word anyway, for the same reason that I have never felt the need to write luv or to draw a heart in place of a dot above my i. Work with me here...

I don't like to have sex with the sort of man that thinks his orgasm is a given and that mine is the icing on the cake.

I know this isn't very zen but my orgasm is a requirement.

The first few times, nervousness or unfamiliarity with your partner's body might delay an orgasm, or make it more difficult to attain, but trust me, it's there.

I like a man that's commited to it. A cunning linguist will go down for as long as you'll let him of his own volition. But even if he's just learning to be cunning, I like a man that will commit however long it takes to get the job done. Even if his jaw aches and his tongue is about to fall off, he stays there until his mission is completed. And I like to know that that's the deal, so that I don't have to worry if he's going to give up at a crucial moment. There's nothing that puts me off my stroke like knowing that the dinner bell is about to ring and lunch is over.

Sometimes, a girl has to take matters into her own hand(s) but if that becomes the norm, then Houston, we have a problem.
A brief boyfriend (in more ways than one) said that he didn't think we were sexually compatible because I only came if I did it myself.
His technique involved rabbit fucking for a relatively short period of time. Apparently all his other girlfriends had explosive orgasms that way. I guess he's dated more than his share of fakers.

Lovey, it's not me, it's you.

I read recently on another blog, that "most" women can't achieve orgasm. No sweetie pie, most women can't achieve orgasm with you! Unless a chick has very serious entitlement issues, she can come.

Every time.

You've just got to figure out how. I mean, seriously, is there a single woman reading this blog that has never orgasmed? At the very least, you've done it on your own. And if, and my heart goes out to you, you haven't, then please hook yourself up with either a pulsating shower head or a Gigolo II. (The latter goes out to all you design whores out there. It is way more pleasing aesthetically than the Rabbit and not as loud as the Sinnflut. The latter is only good if the sound of a pneumatic drill gets you off. but I digress...)

(Another aside - I can appreciate some mmmm's emitting from the practising linguist, but when your mmmm's are louder than mine, then I am going to suspect you have an eating disorder)

The goal oriented lover isn't such a good deal either. You know the type - your orgasm(s) are a reflection on his prowess so he goes on and on and on. Now I am not knocking multiples - far from it - but if their attainment is more about your ego than my enjoyment, then honey, you can keep them.

And the "did you come?" man. Now what the fuck is up with him? You will know when I come - trust me on that one.

A woman coming on your dick could be the best sensation you're ever going to have beyond your own orgasm, but it doesn't always happen from you just pounding away. It doesn't diminish your manhood by reaching down and lending a hand though. In fact, it enhances it.

It doesn't matter if it's you first or me first, or both together, as long as we both get there.

And if I haven't convinced you yet, here's food for thought...

An orgasm a day keeps the nagging at bay.

Darling men, please take the long view. An orgasming woman is a happy woman. A happy woman does not nag you about your career path, your bathroom cleaning technique or your twisted relationship with your mother.

Trust me, it is worth your time.

Here are some I made earlier:
Fabulous at 40, the reprise
Slim, petite or average?
Losing Momentum
How do you get ready for a date?
I need you
Heartache or just another real estate opportunity?
From Russia with love
Nipples
Too hot to internet date?

Who the heck is this? He certainly looks useful

Date Machine: Fabulous at 40 - the reprise.

airheadgenius — Mon, 23 Mar 2009 15:08:00 GMT

It was my birthday yesterday. I turned 40.
Those of you paying attention will know that this is not for the first time.

In 2007, I celebrated my first 40th with a friend in Aruba followed by a big party at my house. That was the "F word party", aka "Oh Fuck, I am Forty".
The following year, a couple dozen of us had dinner at a local restaurant - that was the F word remix party. This year was the club mix (although it was very low key, unlike my usual birthday style). Next year, maybe it will be the 12" version. Here's hoping.

I see no reason to move past this particular age. I like 40. It suits me.

Ten years up or down seems to make sense to me as a parameter for age - as mentioned before - but to be honest, 52 seems ancient to me.
Celebrity men age well. Real men really don't. Very often, the big four o happens to a woman and she steps up her game. Or at least learns to wear clothing that flatters her softened waist and increasingly jowly neck. The average man, having paid minimal attention to his appearance, continues to pay minimal attention and winds up looking like something the cat dragged in. And something the cat dragged in is not something I want to have sex with.

Aging hipsters don't do it for me. There's a point where we have to leave things to the younger generation, but you can be stylish until death parts you from your well cut clothes. I look at profiles of "older" men and they just look like schlubs.

On Saturday, my kids school had a fundraiser and we were of course obliged to attend. It was a basketball game with ex NBA players and, at half time or intermission or whatever the fuck you call it when they stop playing ball, the kids got to run around the court. I watched my kids dad as he played with the children. He has an incredible body - broad shoulders, enormous biceps, six pack, tiny waist, an arse that you could rest a tea tray on... but I know from bitter experience that having the body of a Greek God doesn't necessarily bring me happiness.

I try to keep that in mind when I look at the schlubby pictures.

Unfortunately it ain't working. Maybe 42 will allow me to silence the gay man living in my brain and bring me the maturity to accept a happy medium.

Here are some I made earlier:
Slim, petite or average?
Losing Momentum
How do you get ready for a date?
I need you
Heartache or just another real estate opportunity?
From Russia with love
Nipples
Too hot to internet date?

Here's my little-gay-man-trapped-in-my-brain's fantasy man:

Date Machine: Losing momentum

airheadgenius — Tue, 17 Mar 2009 01:47:00 GMT

Did you ever try and make a date only to have to cancel, or they have to cancel, or there's some major snow storm or other natural disaster, or.... whatever it might be?

I am ridiculously unsympathetic to sickness as an excuse. It is, of course, an entirely reasonable request to postpone because of strep throat, projectile vomiting or whatever communicable and revolting condition that ails you. What I can't abide is the "under the weather" type illness that steers the weaker amongst you towards your beds.

Weak people irritate me. Male or female, old or young. Man up for chrissakes.

Or maybe I am just jealous since I never ever get a chance to throw a sick day. I tried it once a few Sundays ago - an attempted lie in - but the result was 40 pounds of 5 year old sitting on my back and demanding pancakes. It wasn't any more restful than being awake and moving.

I must admit to having double standards when it comes to last minute changes of plan or cancellation. If it's a fellow single parent, then it's fair game. If you've got one child, then that's two humans in the mix for shit to happen to. Two children puts three people in the mix, and so on. Factor in the babysitter and the odds of them getting sick and the chance of you meeting goes floating down the swanny.

But single, childless people are different. I once scheduled a date with someone that flaked out at the last minute. I had a weird feeling about the guy so had a friend on standby to have dinner. Sure enough, he texted me an hour before meet up time to say he wasn't feeling well and could we reschedule. Fat chance. Presumably he'd been feeling sick all afternoon.

You might think this sounds harsh, but booked babysitters have to be paid, people.

Anyways... back to where I started: If it's tricky trying to schedule a date with someone for whatever reason, does the whole shebang lose momentum and become less appealing? To me, it seems as if there's an unspoken time limit between "do you want to meet up?" and actually making that happen. If that process drags on, it just seems as if it's not meant to be.

However, I am never sure if it's fate lending a hand, or me making excuses.

Here are some I made earlier:
How do you get ready for a date?
I need you
Heartache or just another real estate opportunity?
From Russia with love
Nipples
Too hot to internet date?
Bed
Where do these losers come from?

I used to have the hots for this geezer. I prefer my men a bit more rugged these days.

Date Machine: How do you get ready for a first date?

airheadgenius — Sun, 15 Mar 2009 13:21:00 GMT

What do you wear on a first date?
Do you give it any thought or just show up in whatever you had on for work?
I am assuming that women put a lot more thought into this than men, but maybe I am wrong.

Maybe I am misjudging the hairier gender.
But I don't think so.
Because even the skankiest of that group seems to think they can give out advice to us chickies. Here's an example...

I was at a meeting once with an old school garmento. At the time, I had a nose ring. He said 'you know, you're an attractive woman but you spoil your appearance with that big nose ring. You would look so much prettier without it'. Meanwhile, the guy is sitting there with his shirt buttons bursting over his fat belly and wearing a toupee in a striking shade of copper over his naturally grey hair. It was never going to be the trend of the season. But doling out advice on my appearance didn't strike him as inappropriate.

According to a super nice married man friend of mine, wearing a skirt on a first date shows that a woman is really interested.
Does it? And if so, why? Because it's feminine or because it's easy access if you want a quickie on the way home?
My friend wouldn't elaborate. His wife was there.

I noticed the other day, as I got myself ready for another first date, that I tend to gravitate towards the same outfits. It's hard in winter to dress in something reasonably form fitting, yet warm. (I am a mother. We are practical beasts) Last week, I had a really nice outfit on, but I was underdressed and freezing cold. I kept my coat on the entire date and might as well have been wearing a shell suit.

It will definitely be easier in the Spring. Daffodils and cleavage blooming.

So all you chicks out there- how do you get ready?

And, dear male reader out in blogland... do you really think that brushing your teeth and having a wank is sufficient preparation for a date?

(Oh quit it with the man hater thing. I love men. Cute big dumb things that they are. Jeez)

Here are some I made earlier:
I need you
Heartache or just another real estate opportunity?
From Russia with love
Nipples
Too hot to internet date?
Bed
Where do these losers come from?
How many sexual partners have you had?

Tim Roth looking scruffy and cute. Just stop pulling those "duh" expressions on Lie to Me would ya?

Date Machine: I need you.

airheadgenius — Fri, 13 Mar 2009 01:39:00 GMT

(I write a bunch of blog posts in one go and then nothing for days. Store the buggers in me gmail. I honestly have no idea if i've posted this one before or not. Forgive my poor addled brain - it is rare for me to get more than 5 hours sleep and I don't function well below 8. Pity the poor single mother, for she is exhausted)

Brace yourself, it's time for another one of those "what we do differently" posts from yours truly - your favourite authority on being English. It is almost bound to be challenged by profrobert who confuses being married to an English woman with actually being an English woman.

Today's topic is use of the words "I" and "need".

Are you sitting comfortably? Then I will begin.

(English people say things like that you know. Especially the women. Because we are all modelled after SuperNanny...)

You people say "I did"...whatever it might be, when you mean "I had someone else do"....whatever it might be.

For example...
Me - Ooo - your hair looks great
American chick - I cut it
Me - you did? it looks fabulous! My hair would look awful if I cut it myself.
American chick - I didn't cut it myself. What are you stoopid??
Me - but, but....you said you did

Ditto "I am building a house"
Ditto "I am wallpapering my dining room"
etc etc

13 years I've been here and I still fall for this trick. Please, just quit saying you did it when you didn't did it. (That was a typical American sentence, just to blend in)

Now on to an argument I have with my kids very often: The correct use of the word "need"....

NO YOU DON'T NEED IT.

It is entirely possible that you might like whatever it is you are requesting, but unless it's sustenance, sheltar or oxygen, you probably don't need it.

For example, when requesting some food from a deli

"I need a bagel". You - fatchops - might like to have a bagel, but you sure as shit don't need it.

Here are some I made earlier:
Heartache or just another real estate opportunity?
From Russia with love
Nipples
Too hot to internet date?
Bed
Where do these losers come from?

Date Machine: Love, heartache or just another real estate opportunity?

airheadgenius — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 21:19:00 GMT

Many years ago, I was residing happily in a rent stabilised one bedroom apartment in the heart of the village.
I'd gotten it through a colleague who had an aunt with a property management company. Having moved from LA where I had a huge one bedroom complete with a walk in closet, balcony, swimming pool and roof deck for $750 including utilities, $800 for this cute but tiny apartment seemed astronomical.

I am going to keep looking, I told my colleague
No, you are going to take it she replied
It's too small
You are going to take it.

She was right, although it took me a couple years to discover how tough it is to get a nice apartment in NYC, especially in Manhattan.

Cut to a few years later and I was heavily involved with a new man. We'd known each other for years - in fact we met in London when we were both teaching in a college there - but the relationship was only about 6 months in. To make matters more complicated, he'd recently gotten a divorce. His new apartment was on the Lower East Side and in 1996 or so, this wasn't exactly the most des of res. The second time he was burgled (I refuse to say burglarized - what the fuck is up with you people and English?) we decided to review our respective living situations. He spent 6 nights out of 7 with me, so wasn't it better to pool resources and shack up? NOOOOOOOOO I hear the sensible amongst you scream. But shack up is what we did.

The relationship lasted maybe 18 months or so before it went tits up, but we had no business living together in the first place.

But that's New York for you. Or London. Presumably Tokyo et al. In areas of high priced accommodation, the decision to live together is often made out of economic necessity rather than a desire to wake up EVERY day to your significant other.

I hate to admit it, but it's a mistake I've made not once, but twice.

Here's my advice for those of you considering living together: chances are you spend most of your time at just one of your apartments right? For some reason, it always seems to happen that way. Well, if you're the one with the "good" apartment, for goodness sake go visit the other one. Really visit it I mean. Open closets, look underneath the sink, peer under the bed. And if all is not to your liking, don a gag until the desire to say "let's live together" passes.

Here are some I made earlier:
From Russia with love
Nipples
Too hot to internet date?
Bed
Where do these losers come from?
How many sexual partners have you had?
The time I dated Zeitgeisty
F*ck off yer ol git
It's not funny being single

Sex Machine: Nipples

airheadgenius — Sat, 07 Mar 2009 02:52:00 GMT

I had a weird day today. Something just didn't feel right.
I did my usual thing - pitching this, managing that, but, to use one of your charming Americanisms, I was a little off my game. Am I getting sick? Even more tired than usual? Stressed about the accelerating demise of the Western world?

Maybe, yes and yes, but that wasn't it.
Nope, larger forces were at play here, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

Until I took an early evening shower.

And made the unsettling and almost unbelievable discovery:

I learned, much to my chagrin, that I was wearing mismatching lingerie.

Yes, both items were black with cream lace trim. But one was a balconette by Agent Provocateur, whilst the other was (dare I confess?) from George at Asda.

I'm amazed that I made it through the day.
Which brings me to my love of underwear and my heartfelt desire to bring nipples back.

Seriously, when was the last time you saw someone else's nipples? As in, in public. At work. At your friend's birthday party. (I am, of course, talking about the impression through clothing, not the real naked deal)

Nipples have been eradicated from the public domain in America and are only to be seen in the privacy of your own home with a lover or a porn site.

What are you people so afraid of?

Nipples used to be a common occurrence. They were to be viewed everywhere you went. As a teenager enmeshed in the horrors of puberty, I remember dreading a stiff breeze or an erotic thought. I have memories of a particularly perky breasted, bra less teacher and a friend with nipples like Roundtrees Fruit Pastilles. (I betcha can't put a roundtrees fruit pastille in yer mouth without chewin it)

Distant memories though. Because the day of the nipple is over.

Amboabe posted about padded bras the other day and whether or not they are misleading, but what he may not know is that it is virtually impossible to buy a non padded sexy bra in this God forsaken country. At some point in the last decade, the T-shirt bra became de rigeur and, since it's inception, it has become a females responsibility to make sure her nipples are well and truly reined in.

I have no desire to falsely advertise my bosomage, but the girls do need a little assistance in maintaining a reasonable altitude and thus I require a bra with at least a little boost. And boost without padding is a rarely sighted beast it would seem. Unless it's plain white and utilitarian and I just refuse to go there.

And it pains me to admit that this phenomenon has crossed the pond. In my last trip to M&S's lingerie department (which, for the uninitiated, is equivalent to Mecca for the reasonably priced lingerie lover) and was nonplussed to find nary an unpadded scanty to be had.

So, in conclusion brothers and sisters, I'd like to invite you to get behind this new cause, get thee a placard and begin shouting to the rooftops:
Down with padding! Up with nipples!
(as it were)

Here are some I made earlier:
Too hot to internet date?
Bed
Where do these losers come from?
How many sexual partners have you had?
The time I dated Zeitgeisty
F*ck off yer ol git
It's not funny being single
The V Word
The taste of kitty

Confessions, Personals, Comments - please don't make me cringe

airheadgenius — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 02:33:00 GMT

You know that reaction - when your nose kinda curls up and you squint a bit?
A serious cringe might give rise to an involuntary shrugging of one shoulder or even an audible "ewww".

For example, as a reaction to the bright spark that commented on Ambo's blog "Whoa as me"

Or the many, many times I've read "wa la" (yep, that's voilà folks)

Maybe even the Nerve confessor apparently looking for a physiatrist. And even though physiatrist perhaps shouldn't be a word, apparently it is, but it's not usually used in conjunction with "because I am a really disturbed person" is it? (It appears I don't have a significant problem with run on sentence usage)

All those little literary quibbles pale in comparison to this particular cringe inducing phenomenon though:

The thing that makes me cringe on Nerve more than anything is when I get a suggestive email from a man I have no interest in whatsoever.
If it's innocuous and uninteresting, then it makes no difference to my day at all. Just another "hello" from the ether.

But when it has sexual connotations and it's someone I wouldn't get naked with for a bet, it knots my shoulders up to no end.
Like todays "Let me spank you" from some chump who "prefers not to say" his height and weight and, if that wasn't enough, he's adorned himself with a beanie hat that would make your average pedophile run screaming for the hills.

I guess it takes all sorts though right? Anyone looking for a chubby dwarf with a distinct look of a serial killer about them, I know just the man...

Here are some I made earlier:
Too hot to internet date?
Bed
Where do these losers come from?
How many sexual partners have you had?
The time I dated Zeitgeisty
F*ck off yer ol git

Another daily un-knob in honour of cringe factor

Date Machine: Are you too hot to Internet date?

airheadgenius — Sun, 01 Mar 2009 14:00:00 GMT

I was discussing Internet dating with my Internet date a few weeks back. He said something to the effect that really good looking people don't do it because they don't need to.

Ouch.

This is not a post on whether or not I am good looking - I am smokin' hot (admittedly with the subtitle "for a women in her 40s)
Or whether or not he has foot in mouth disease - clearly he has.
More, it is about the stigma still attached to the process.
Apparently, according to some, we are here because we can't get attention any other way.

Well, speak for yourself oh big mouthed date.

If I go out for dinner with friends, I tend to only speak to them plus the waiter. But if I go to a bar or club, I almost always get hit on. But not necessarily by men that I would want to be in a relationship with. For me, it's not worth my dating dollar to cruise the bar scene in the hope of meeting someone compatible. Especially as my dating dollars include the cost of a babysitter. It makes much more sense to me to preview a bunch of men from the comfort and relative affordability of my own home. (If a giant mortgage can be considered affordable that is)

I very rarely meet anyone through work: 15 years in the garment district meant for introductions to straight women, gay men and garmentos. These days, juggling my various different jobs, I am still meeting mostly women and gay men.

My pool of friends doesn't lead to introductions either. Most of them at this point are married or partnered with married or partner friends and then the single gals I know are mostly dying to meet a man and are hardly likely to share the wealth. In fact, if an eligible bachelor comes into the radar of a late 30s, early 40s women hoping still to have kids, there's practicaly a feeding frenzy worthy of a pyranha.

Which brings me back to Internet dating. Yes, sometimes it sucks, but what doesn't? With the exception of eating dark chocolate, which is unfailingly fulfilling, everything in life has it's high and low moments doesn't it?

Here are some I made earlier:
Bed
Where do these losers come from?
How many sexual partners have you had?
The time I dated Zeitgeisty
F*ck off yer ol git
It's not funny being single

Date Machine: Bed

airheadgenius — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 03:09:00 GMT

I worked really hard all day on my latest business venture.

Then picked the kids up from the bus and helped with homework.

My friend brought his sons over to play.

I cooked dinner and ate with five males. Four of them aged seven and under.

I've cleaned the kitchen and done the laundry and am now contemplating a website I am supposed to be building for another project.

So, just another normal day, but I am exhausted and wondering why on earth I even bother to date, much less write about it. Some days, it just seems like yet another thing that needs to be done, like a chore, to add to my already very long list of things that need to be done.

I've got a few single mother friends and only one of them dates. The others just can't muster up the energy.

At this point, my dream date would be spending a day in bed. An entire, complete, uninterrupted day in bed. By myself.

Here are some I made earlier:
Where do these losers come from?
How many sexual partners have you had?
The time I dated Zeitgeisty
F*ck off yer ol git
It's not funny being single
The V Word
The taste of kitty

Date Machine: Where do these losers come from???

airheadgenius — Wed, 25 Feb 2009 01:10:00 GMT

A while back, I exchanged a bunch of emails with this super cute guy. Fit body. Good hair. Seemed intelligent.
But fairly early on in the proceedings, it became clear that he had this spoilt brat rich kid thing going on and was used to getting his own way.

Before we'd even met, he asked if I'd bring the children over because he "likes children. It'd be fun"

I said no.

He got kinda snippy and said that surely it was a relief to find a man interested in my children and that I should take advantage of that fact. I pointed out that it's not like having a puppy - a cute thing to goof around with for half an hour. These are humans. With feelings and attachments and not remotely a part of my regular dating experience.

Rich kid got pissy.

Then pissier.

Upshot is that he emailed me an incredibly vitriolic missive calling me, amongst many other things, a cunt.

Anyways, I blocked him, thanked my lucky stars that I'd avoided meeting someone overdue for a stint in an anger management program and moved on.

Turns out I couldn't have blocked him after all because today he sent me an email saying "didn't we talk a while back? I know we didn't meet because I would have remembered you. What happened?"

I wrote back: "Yeah, we exchanged emails. You called me a cunt. I moved on. Bye"

He wrote back "Oh, sorry about that. I wonder what ridiculous thing sparked that off?"

Note to potential daters... I tend not to be terribly chatty after being called a cunt. I am old fashioned like that.

Jeez Louise, where do these losers come from???

Here are some I made earlier:
How many sexual partners have you had?
The time I dated Zeitgeisty
F*ck off yer ol git
It's not funny being single
The V Word
The taste of kitty
You people smell
Click Addict

Who the heck is this? I could use one of these in my closet - to pull out when I needed it, like the ironing board.

Date Machine: How many sexual partners have you had?

airheadgenius — Tue, 24 Feb 2009 02:39:00 GMT

How many people have you had sex with?

That's todays question.

More specifically:

Did you have a time when you considered some arbitrary number to be too high, but now you've topped it?
Are you comfortable wth your number or do you wish it to be lower or higher?

Do you perceive a woman with, say, 30 partners the same way as a man with 30 partners.
And, if your perception is different, why is it different?

If you or someone you know has a "high" number of one night stands, do you judge that differently than a high number of short/attempted relationships?

And how do you judge someone with a low number? Does that enhance or detract from their sex appeal?

And lastly, if you could choose, how many sexual partners would your ideal PERMANENT partner have had, approximately?

(This goes out to my regular readership of three people. It's not exactly a survey to knock Kinsey off his throne, but we all have to start somewhere. Comment, oh dear three readers.)

Here are some I made earlier:
The time I dated Zeitgeisty
F*ck off yer ol git
It's not funny being single
The V Word
The taste of kitty
You people smell
Click Addict
Profile Pictures

Today's daily knob is me. Even though I haven't got a knob. It's just that all the men I can think of are too annoying.

Sometimes, you've just got to love the one you're with right?