Tag Archives: on-line dating

Mastering the Art of Conjuring Up Bone (OkCupid Edition)


Okay my furry friends and cuddling comrades, I finally got a job last week which I’m not going to tell you about at all EVER. We know what mayhem happens when one blogs about work, I am the social media poster child of What Happens At Work Should Not Be Blogged About Because We At The Dusty Box Have No Sense Of Humour Whatsoever. One week in and I have so many juicy little nuggets that I’m busting to talk about, so stay tuned, they might slip out disguised as fictional characters.

Also I am on Week 3 of my adventures on OkCupid. I am still completely obsessed, my hermit lifestyle is in peril. Last post, for the new arrivals take note: if you want to  scroll down further, we went over some tips on how the menfolk should woo a lady on-line. I am very so pleased at how many Cupid dudes took the time to read my blog, even though they had another option. They have all been so very nice and gentlemanly. I love them all! Their ethereal boners and their solid dick pics mean a lot to me. And especially the poetry.

Lately, however,  most of my Cupid time is spent scrolling through the other women’s profiles. It’s smart marketing to check the competition, am I right?

There’s zillions of them and their pictures are all so promising, there are a Costco-load hot of MILFs out there, but! what is up with their written profiles?  AM I THE ONLY ONE AROUND HERE INTERESTED HAVING SEX? Aren’t every single one of these women suffering from a post-divorce, post-cougar-rampage dry spell? Their profiles are so boring, how do they expect some dude on his laptop in his underwear, scratching his balls, to respond? Even the chick with the whip lists her “loving family and her great friends” as her things she cannot live without. Maybe she ties them up? That is what your audience is hoping for, just so you know, they do not give a fuck about your Friday night yoga class or that you read some fucking book, I cannot even be bother to think of a title, it’s so boring.

Most of these women are doomed to be future cat ladies. It’s true. Seriously, tell me what you would think of someone who answered the following question:

What are you doing with your life?


What the ever loving fuck does that even mean? 9 out of 10 women have that response in their profile AND YET somewhere else if you scroll down, they will inevitably say they enjoy “jazz, cooking, and really good wine”….REALLY GOOD WINE…really, sister? I am so on to you. Admit you have a box of L’ Ambiance white plonk in your fridge, and by cooking you mean you put a brie wheel in the oven and the only jazz you are listening to is the riff in the opening credits of Sex and the City that your watching on your laptop in your stained yoga pants.

The real tragedy is that the wine guzzling househag you really are would be way more fun to date than the pretentious twat you portray yourself in your  profile. If you said, for example, that on your typical Friday you are consuming an entire brie wheel to yourself, do you know how many men would be lining up in your in-box , scratching to get in? They will come in droves. Men love cheese, and ladies, let’s stand together and forget all these man vegans who actually righteously fill that in on their profile eating habits. Digressing a bit, can you imagine actually boning a man who is a strict vegan? I feel like his peenie would like a little sprite sprig that would take way too much effort to spew out a tiny shot of bitter green fluid, barf. Swipe these dudes to the left, move them along. No sister, you want the pussy-eating cheese loving A-team in your box.

Oh wait, let’s scroll down your profile, you actually don’t want that. No hook-ups. You and your vagine are far too precious for casual bone, you know that’s a penis in a polo shirt. No “casual” sex for you. You are looking for a “long-term relationship.” On the internet, no less, and yet you have the colossal nerve to dismiss a perfectly good dude based on your criteria which is:


I hate women like this, and I know so very many who are barely over 5 feet and yet they insist on going out with men who over 6 feet. Tall men love diminutive chicks because they make them manlier. THINK OF THE BLOOD FLOW THO!  It takes a long time for the Mississippi to go from Minnesota to the Gulf of Mexico. This is why short men are better, they have blood gushing every which way, it’s instant boner erectus, even if you just tap their shoulder for a half a second. You know there will be a time, after your ridiculous 3 month dating rule, when you will finally have to put out for your giant internet trophy to stick his dick in you, and you will be all like, what the fuck? when he can’t get it up and it’s because he’s stuck in Tennessee, his navel had a hernia waiting for you, and that’s all because you gave him blue balls with your ridiculous rules. This may have been the worst metaphor I’ve ever made but my point is maybe stop with your strict criteria. Short men are as hot, if not hotter, they often have that arrogant personality that is really important when you are a submissive (me). Just saying.

I just don’t get what is wrong with casting a wide net when you are looking for dudes on-line. Why not check the “casual sex” box on your profile? I know every dumb ass stupid man thinks this means you are a hooker doing pro bono work on a Tuesday night, as if. Direct them to  Craigslist then. I learned this one the hard way, I thought the guy was joking when he said COME OVER at 7 a.m on a weekday morning. So I entertained him as I got ready for work. By the way, I’m one of those people that has to allow leisure time in the morning rather than sleeping until the last minute, that’s just me, I am a big proponent of the morning wood project. Note to self: I should mention this in my profile along with my prowess at logrolling. Anyway that dude actually thought I was coming over for a nooner (I take the blame entirely for that because I thought why not? as I was trying to put on that wretched winged eyeliner I still have yet to master, so frustrating!)…so when I didn’t actually show up, he was seriously mad! Apparently I wasted his time as an unemployed self-employed person. Yes, fap fap fap, sorry you skipped a fap, there’s always the afternoon fap you can make up for, fap fap fap. Too bad, he was kind of a cute weirdo, with a soft furry head like puppy. Sigh.

What is casual sex anyway? It’s the sex you have on the couch while watching tv. That’s my definition anyway. It means you may or may not put out after the first date, possibly the second, maybe the third, likely the fourth, pretty much a sure thing after the fifth but without some weird idea that we are exclusive and heading for some boneheaded delusion of long-term hit-my-head-with-a-frying-pan commitment. And I want to go on dates with different dudes. Why am I the only female animal who wants to be in the dinghy beside the proverbial Noah’s Ark? Catching the rogue lions and bears who fall off the boat, no giraffes for me though, they’re just too goddamn tall.

You know where my in-box is, call me.






How To Turn That Frown Into A Raging Boner

magazine6610fbbd27f123650915b7f2e7101dc4303f9d7bPeople are always telling me that men are simple creatures. As a woman, to keep a man in a holding pattern, all you have to do is know how to crack open a beer, make a kickass sandwich, and put out in a timely manner.  Do it in that order and if you are lucky he will stick around for the weekend and grout your tub.  There’s a rule in the “timely manner” aspect of it all.  Ironically, if you put out too early, he thinks you are a big ho and won’t stick around to do some chores. You have to fool him into thinking your vagina is a precious place, like a lush, secret garden that only he knows, or an out of the way fish market in a remote coastal town where the catch of the day is so fresh, it melts in your mouth and doesn’t have that fishy odour.  If your vagina is busy like Six Flags in the summer time, he might want to ride that roller coaster once, but he’s not going back if there is gum on the seat and the floor is sticky from cotton candy vomit.

This is a hard trick for most women and especially those who have birthed out some babies, such as myself.  If I’m going to make a metaphor out of the state of my cooter, I would have to say it’s like an old comfy couch that has been reupholstered in a brand new sleek fabric and is just waiting for someone to park his tired old ass on it and create his own dented imprint on the cushions, I don’t care how he does it. The waiting is driving me crazy but what can you do? All the fish in the sea are gay or married, and all the streetcars have short turned.  THERE IS NO GRINDR APP FOR COUGAR SLUTS…maybe that is this my million dollar idea?

In the meantime, as I wait, I have decided to become proactive but not on internet dating! No way, Jose, it’s too soul crushing.  Every on-line dude says the same thing:  No game playing and no drama.  What does that even mean?  Everybody plays games, it’s how we evolved as majestical text messaging, Grindr app playing beasts.  Your parents met, played the game of courtship, and you were born.  Your mom had to pretend she wasn’t interested in her super cool crush so he would think she was a challenge and he would ask her to the prom…But she was so good at being aloof, he asked another girl, who was the town trollop and she ended up pregnant with had some other baby, not you.  Your mom got really jealous so she ended up going out with her best guy buddy, Duckie, and although he was friend zone material, a brilliant game was being played and she fell in love with him anyway and they got married.  And yes, that is the way “Pretty in Pink” should have played out but it didn’t because test audiences didn’t like it!  But that’s the way these stories happen in real life for everyone else.  It’s all just a big game.  And the drama is the icing on the cake.  Without the drama, there are no boners, haven’t men figured this out yet?

So I’ve been telling everyone I know to set me up with their local divorced dad-type, I think I need my male counterpart so we can understand each other’s trials and tribz.  The problem is that there are two kinds of divorced dudes:  The first kind has not even let the ink dry on the divorce papers as he has already put the light on his cab and has hooked up with the first passenger that comes along who he is going to spend eternity with and get his vasectomy reversed for, etc.  He will jump through hoops in order to remarry because he can’t handle being alone.  This is not the type guy I would like to have sitting on my brand new reupholstered couch, if I was actually fast enough to catch one, he is too needy….and probably a premature ejaculator…no.

Then there is another kind of divorced dad who is a whole other animal, all full complexities and emotional issues. All the damages come out after the age of forty.  Which I don’t have a problem with as I am all about the fascinating case studies. There is nothing simple about these guys, they are up and down drama kings, all in desperate need of therapy.

Case Study #1:  I have a Facebook friend who is not a contender for my comfy couch because he doesn’t know I exist as he is one of those 5,000 friend hoarder-types. He would never bother reading this blog because he is too busy blathering on about himself…yes, I know I blather about myself BUT I READ ALL YOUR STATUSES AND POSTS, whatevs, let me have my little blog.  This dude SHOULD have a blog because he writes a diary as a status. Most of the time he is pining away for his ex-wife and children, which would be sort of noble except that she is in therapy for the fact that she has 8 kids. She hates him, she was probably in an oxytocin haze for their whole marriage while they had all those kids and now she no doubt prolapses when she sneezes. And all this guy wants is to have her back and plant more seeds in her bomb blasted womb.  He’s like a honey badger, just plowing away wherever he wants, and if she doesn’t take him back, he’s going to find himself a nice girl and make even more babies.  The only thing I will say is that there are not enough gingers on the planet and I do love a ginger so maybe he is doing a good deed for the greater good of diverse world population.

But seriously, this is a dude without any self-actualization at all.  This guy will pine away forever until he cures his misogyny.  IT’S 2013, YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO KEEP A WOMAN BAREFOOT AND PREGNANT ANYMORE.  Grow up, read a self-help book, and get a haircut. And a vasectomy.

Case Study #2:  I have some friends who heard my plea and invited me over to their house recently for drinks on a casual setup with their newly divorced dad friend.  This divorced dad’s ex-wife has a blog (!) and I perused it before I met him.  This was not one of those blogs that make me jealous with its amazing content because it was crappy, boring stories of children and hair.  I’m not even kidding, it was pictures of her kids getting haircuts but for some reason every post had hundreds of comments, seriously really? That pisses me off seeing dumbass blogs with loads of traffic for no good reason. When I met him, I thought he was very handsome and! he wore plaid shirt which is one of my fetishes left over from Grade 9.  But! All he talked about was his ex-wife.  What a bitch she was. Drinky, drinky, drinky:  “Selfish whore.”  More drinkies:  “What a heinous cunt.”  I told him I saw her blog and said it was kind of silly…I thought we were having a bonfire-style bitchfest where we could all throw a log in the fire, but no, he ripped me a new one for being disrespectful of her journalistic integrity, or something to that effect.

Talk about a whacked out attachment disorder.  You just know he stalks her on the Facebook and in her driveway.  There will be no moving on until a certain someone realizes you can’t find happiness in another person.  In order to move on, one needs to strategize a game plan and this guy is just too addicted to his own misery.  Until then, I probably would let him on my couch, if he could get his mind off his ex-wife for twenty minutes or so, something about him protecting her shitty blog got me all hot and bothered, he’s got some spunk in him.   I ❤ spunk.


Searching for Gak

I had a couple million dollar ideas this week.  One of them is that I’m going to write a book of erotica…and keep reading because I’m going to add a steamy example of my titillating prose at the end of the post that you won’t want to miss.  It’s so hot in my head right now, I’m sucking on a popsicle.  Seriously I can do better than that 50 Shades of Shite.

But first, as not so much a million dollar idea but a 20 buck bargain, I am offering a service to help you men who are dating on-line with your lousy profiles.  Check out the top of the page and click on “The Dating Whisperer” and see what I am offering.  I am serious, all you cyber dudes could use a tweaking.

As you know, if you follow this blog, I hit it out of the ballpark on my first on-line date last month.  Even though I wasn’t looking for long-term love, I got exactly what I wanted because I listened to my instincts and didn’t pussy-foot around, so to speak. Make your needs known!  I cannot stress this enough. I’m not on any site currently but I have getting daily match-ups mailed to me from Match.com, which is a serious site, not like the one I posted on that I treated like a boner tracker.  I am fascinated by the buffoonery out there…and I’m not making fun of you fine fellows, you are all worthy of finding love!  But here are just 3 of the fatal mistakes I found in just one daily mail-out:

1.  “Rex59…age 53, is looking for women between the age of 30-39.  Wants kids!”  Um, are you fucking kidding me, Rex59?  You are 53 years old and you want kids? When you are 60, they will be calling you “Gramps” in the school yard.  They will laugh at you when they find out you are a father of a kindergartener. You are not Warren Beatty.  Either go to Thailand or broaden your search to women your own age.  Your sperm really should be contained and you should accept the fact that your ship has sailed.  Of course, if he were a client I would be much nicer but still firm.  Men like that make me mad and they need to know their place in the world.

2.  “TravelMan….I love to travel but (in caps no less) I FIND EUROPEANS TO BE GOVERNED BY GREED!”  Okay, what is that all about?  First rule, never lock the cap key on your profile, it makes you look insane.  Also you love to travel but you hate the people?  I mean, I get it, I hate some people, too, but not in lump form.  Why not simply say:  “I love to travel, but there’s no place like being with the one you love at home.”  This is killing two birds with one stone, you express your love of travel and your hatred of foreigners is carefully concealed in romantic sentiment.  #Winning.

3. “I’m looking for someone who is down-to-earth and doesn’t play games.”  Oh my God, that’s all of you.  And here is the truth:  There is no such thing as a down-to-earth woman, all of them are crazy game players…that is how we roll.  We retain so much water that half the time we don’t even know who we are.  Accept the fact that if we like you, our demons will come out, and you will be subject to our perplexing riddles, nonsensical jargon, and mood swings.  Learn to tune out and take a how-to cunnilingus course at the Learning Annex.  It will help us out a lot.

These are just a few points and I wish everyone who is on these site luck because it is brutal in the real world.  I think most people are governed by the fear of being alone, which keeps them in bad relationships and that is really sad.  I like to believe that romantic love exists but mostly I believe in lust.  Although I do like to entertain the idea of “soul mates” as I think they exist somewhere in the ether.  I like to imagine that I met mine in the early pre-historic days when fire was hot as a trending topic.  My cavehunk, Gak, discovered my secret Gspot when he chewed on my ear as he was pulling on my hair (Yes!  I like that!  So sue me!)…I’m kind of sad that in this life I haven’t my soul mate, although we are probably all messed up in some time continuum under-lap what with one us dying early of consumption or being killed in a war.  Not to mention how diluted and polluted the soul pool has been getting lately, maybe parts of Gak live in every man, which means I better get busy.

So here is my pre-historical cave erotica, put some batteries in your pokey and grab a tissue:


The tribe from the north had been coming to Nitsirk’s village since she was a young girl to teach her people of fire and hunting with sophisticated new tools. And occasionally they took a young nubile woman or two back with them to make babies.  Diversity is key to keeping the pack strong and progressive.  No one really knows how much time passes but Nitsirk remembers first seeing Gak down by the river when she had just become a woman and had spent her 5 hellish moon waning nights in the woman’s cave, sitting on a pile of blood soaked leaves and clutching her cramping belly all the live long day.  When the older women told her that her time was up, she went to the river bank to wash herself.

There was where she first laid eyes on Gak, a young cavebuck from the north. With a spear over his muscular brown shoulder, he stood tall and upright. He was unlike the boys in her village who were still hunching around making patties out of buffalo dung and covering them with dried leaves and setting them on fire in the front of the caves for the elders to stomp out with their bare feet. They would grunt and guffaw as the elders growled “OOONGA BOONGA!!!” their feet covered in flaming fecal matter.

For a long while, she just stood and watched Gak.  He was wading knee-deep in the river, completely focussed on the spawning fish.  He would arc his back, muscles flexing, and lance the spear in the rapid water.  He missed each time, but his face remained patient, a vision of strength and virility.  His hair was wavy, dark and shiny in the sun, showing tinge of ginge, and just stopped above his shoulders.  His village had sharp cutting tools and their haircuts were stylish compared to men her tribe, where their heads looked like they were carrying lumpy nests filled with burrs and twigs.  He had not yet grown a full beard like the older men but his chest had dark hair that trailed down to his belly and all the way to the top of leather loincloth that was barely covering his bulge.  Occasionally some flesh would pop out, reminding her of a live eel her father once made her hold after he caught it.  She was both terrified and excited as it squirmed in her hand.  Gak’s dick slip was no different, she desperately wanted to hold it and stroke it just like the eel’s slippery body.  Just then, he turned around and saw her.

Something about him made her feel shy and awkward and so she hid behind a bush until he left, empty-handed with the spear over his shoulder.  It would be several moons before she would see him in her village again.

Thank Gork for older sisters!  Nitsirk’s eldest sister, Sluk, had been one of the nubiles taken to the northern village for fornication and conception.  One fresh day during blossom time, she came down for a visit, bringing shiny new things like a hair brush made out of boar bristles (who knew?) and perfume that she had made from the glands of a muskrat and the petals of bluebells.  She also had a swollen belly and her breasts were the size of the gourds that grow in the fields when the moon is orange.  Nitsirk’s eyes widened with surprise.

“Me have baby,” Sluk said, rubbing her rounded belly, “You need makeover.”

Before she could grunt anything, Nitsirk’s sister sat her on a rock by the river and started to brush her hair.  She had long flowing russet hair, much different from the others in her village.  Her skin was also much paler and she would get pink if she stayed in the sun for too long.  As her sister stroked her hair, pulling out burrs and little bugs, she closed her eyes and held her head back.  The sun felt good, not too hot as the warm season was still early.  The trickling sound of the river was intoxicating as she pulled her shoulders back and let her deerskin sheath gape open.

“Gak like bazoongas!”

Nitsirk was startled.  She opened her eyes and standing in front of her was the boy that she had seen by the river.  He was even bigger and stronger than she had remembered.  He was smiling right at her, looking at her chest.

Instantly she blushed.  Her breasts had completely fallen out of her deerskin.  For the past while, they had been a source of shame for her.  Since her first red flow, they had grown so huge, they couldn’t contain themselves in her sheath.  They would sproing out the sides or pop out the front.  There simply was not enough elk hide in the village to cover them up.  The boys in the village would point and grunt and guffaw, just like they did when they burned the buffalo crap.  So puerile.

But Gak just stood there, smiling and staring.  Gak had seen many breasts of many village women before, some were long and pointy like tusks, others were shaped like tree mushrooms, flat and droopy. Tits were tits and Gak’s big veiny member would harden to the sight of all of them but Nitsirk’s breasts were unlike any others.  They were pale and swollen, the nipples were hard and pink. He wanted so badly to touch them, squeeze and pinch them. They reminded him of the time when as a little boy, his father made a large balloon out of a honey badger’s intestine and he and his brother played with it all day…bouncy, bouncy, squeeze, squeeze.  Then his brother grabbed it and threw it off a cliff, and they both watched it sail into the chasm.  Gak cried because he had never seen anything so beautiful.  Until now.

“Gak, this is my sister, Nitsirk,” Sluk said, putting down the brush, “Gak’s brother made my baby.  You two should totally…”

Gak didn’t wait for Sluk to finish her sophisticated sentence, he grabbed Nitsirk’s hand and said, “Let’s go hunt fish in river!”

“Oinga!” she said, eagerly, which means “yes” as playing hard to get was not a concept back then.

Nitsirk stood up pulling up her sheath to cover herself.

“No leave bazoongas out!’  Gak ordered, “Those will feed my many babies and Gak will get some too!”  (Editors note:  Sometimes you can’t control the embarrassing things your soul mate will say or do which is what makes him so cute).

So Gak and Nitsirk went “fishing” which turned out to be a euphemism for “fucking” which is what they did on the first date in those days, before the “rules” ruined everything.


That’s the teaser, you’ll have to stay tuned for the rest and buy the e-book for your Kindle.  I’ll let you know when it’s done!  And Gak, if you’re out there, and you know who you are, call me!