Sunday, 24 June 2012

Flirting under the influence (or how to catch a man with two straws and a smile).

Last weeks guide to "Faking Yourself Beautiful" was so popular that I've decided to carry that theme through to this week.
I've been thinking that I've given you all the ammunition you need to find a mate but I haven't given you the gun to shoot it with.
You're all dressed up with no where to go.
I've left you with your pistols cocked and not a target in sight - so I'm going to put that right, tonight, all right?

Who? What? When? Why?
Below is an excellent tip to attract and keep the attention of anyone you might take a fancy to across a crowded bar and this really works, I promise.
If you see someone looking at you and they look like they might be fun for a night, a day, a week or a lifetime this is what you need to do.
Get your best mate, or any mate actually, if any of your mates are better looking than you then pick that one. The only rule is they can't be so tall that they block your eye view of the person you're thinking is looking fine.
Now get them to stand in front of you (with their back to the person you fancy) and pretend you are having a conversation. They can say absolutely anything to you because you're not going to be paying them any attention.
What you need to do is catch the eye of the guy you fancy and in your most flirtatious way, say "Who? What? When? Why?" and keep repeating it on a roll. You can say it in any way you like but just keep repeating it.
You can toss your hair, laugh, lick your lips but at all times you MUST say "Who, What, When, Why?"
Try thinking of Marilyn Monroe when you do it, that's just about the right amount of lip control you need.
You could be coy and girly or downright suggestive and slutty but keep saying "Who? What? When? Why?
If you go for the Victoria Beckham pouty way of speaking you'll look a bit too contrived and if you do it with any type of angry face at all the person you're directing your lips at will probably think you're about to bottle them.
You can pause between each word but don't say anything unless it begins with a "WH" (unless it's WH Smith's, that's just not sexy).
I swear it works, from the age of 19 - 29 my "who,what, when & whys" took me all the way around the world and back again - with god knows who and god knows why but I had tons of fun doing it.
It's harder for me to use that as a way to attract a potential mate nowadays, the danger being I'm getting a little older now and it could easily be mistaken for the early onset of Alzheimer's. The last thing I need is to be rushed out of The Dog & Duck on a gurney when all I was trying to do was get my leg over.

Now try it in front of the mirror and practice, practice, practice.

Two Straws = No Drawers:
By now the person you've been "Who, What, Where & Whying" should be on his way over. It's at this point you can tell your mate to stand at ease. If it's the mate who's really pretty tell her to go and hide or just push her over, not backwards though because the one you fancy might just catch her on his way over to you.
Whatever you are drinking either down it now or suck it straight down to the ice cubes. If you're drinking a pint of lager then you should never have started reading this blog in the first place. It's a sure bet that he is going to ask you if you want a drink and this is when you have to be clever.
Order something sophisticated, you don't want anything that you:
Down in one
Set fire to
Have a sparkler fizzing about in
Could accidentally swallow a small plastic fish or umbrella from
Pull a really ugly face at the first sip and end up spitting right back at him
Used to drink from the Slush Puppy machine

What you need to do is order something sophisticated, expensive and glamorous but also something you have to drink through TWO straws. The reason the drink needs to be all of those things is because your behaviour with the straws is going to be anything but sophisticated, expensive or glamorous.
You need to work those straws. You need to roll them around your glass with your fingers, your mouth, your tongue (never your nostrils) and you need to be as suggestive as you can be with two pieces of coloured plastic caught between your teeth.
There are no boundaries - if you can pull them apart and then flick them back together with your tongue you'll have him delirious with desire by the time you've licked the rim of the glass and he's finished fiddling with his peanuts.

Murder on the dance floor:
Hopefully the WWWW"s and the two straw trick have got his interest and he wants to get to know you a bit better. Now is the perfect time to not tell him anything with your mouth, it's been overworked already with the above - you need to get him on the dance floor and show him your personality through the medium of dance.
You need to make sure he knows how to "get into the groove" before you let him anywhere near yours.
Dancing is a great way to gauge someones background:
Posh people dance like windmills or bunny rabbits on ecstasy
Bullied people dance with their hands in their pockets and keep looking behind them (so do drug dealers)
Drunk straight girls dance like lunatics with elastic hips
Sober gay men dance like drunk straight girls

Taxi (for two?):

So now you've flirted, you've WWWW, you've two strawed and you've done some dirty dancing and this is the difficult bit where everything goes incredibly right or incredibly wrong. The only sure thing now is that someone is going to end up eating a kebab and the other person (if you've followed my rules) gets their kebab eaten. This is where it's always best if you've planned in advance or if you live really really close to where you've just seen all your plans come to fruition.
You must always book a cab in advance. Once the ugly light comes on in a nightclub you know it's like the last of the rats leaving the sinking Titanic and the mini cabs are the last remaining lifeboats. Hopefully, you've already got yourself together and you're out of there snuggled up together in the back of an unlicensed Mercedes being driven home by a man in a nylon suit and cheap jewellery, but if you're not then now is the time to make like Cinderella and get yourself home.
Mini cab offices are the ugliest places on earth.
The lighting in those places is enough to make Gisele look like one of the Addams Family.
No one looks pretty under a naked bulb or against wood chip walls.
Last call at a mini cab office is not like last call at a singles bar.
They are the kind of places only mini cab drivers like sitting in.
Have you ever seen a good looking mini cab driver?
I rest my case.

So, to recap, you need to work on your Who? What? When? & Whys? You need to practice getting gymnastic with your tongue and a couple of straws. You need to make sure he can dance - a man with two left feet is going to be awful between the sheets and lastly, you need to always, always have a safe ride home.

Who? What? When? Why?

Because I told you so, that's why.


Saturday, 16 June 2012

Sex, Lies & Tit (or toupee) Tape.

We are all guilty of a little subterfuge and fakery when it comes to attracting the opposite, the same or just about anybody for sex.
All of us need a little fluffing, a little padding and a little extra sumthin' sumthin' when we have our eyes on the prize and our mind on someones flys (zippers for the Americans amongst you).
Vanity can go a long way. It can lead us to the hair salon, to the tanning booth or to the spray tanning gun, to the gym and back again and to a whole host of buffers, scrubbers, primpers and pamperers.
Planning on getting your knickers off can lead to you getting them in a twist long before you've even made it to the bedroom, but if you follow my guide to looking your best then you'll be horizontal with your face in a pillow in no time.

Hair (S)Care:
This is easy - if you've got some then make the most of it, if you've lost some make a ghost of it.
Nobody wants to see a balding pate (that means a head, not chopped liver) that has been cleverly disguised with the use of three hairs and a can of Elnett. If you're a man that's going bald then crop it off. No amount of teasing it or combing it over is going to bring it back to life so you may as well just say goodbye to it.
However, I have heard it said that if you're rich then there is no need for a man to ever go bald anyway. There are pills, lotions, potions, plugs and transplants to be had so in that case, if you want to get some head - get some hair.
If you're a woman then you already know the drill - tease it, tong it, add to it, work it, go large with it. Not since 18th Century France has there been so much teasing of the tresses. In the 1770's the rich women of France used to keep pet rabbits and birds in the elaborate nests of their hair and nowadays, if you find you fancy a cockatoo, then you best do the same.

The Tanning Salon:
"Every ugly man, needs a good tan".
It's obvious that we all look and feel better when we have spent a couple of hours in the sun but the sun is often in short supply in England. I think the bible ( I've never read it but I watched the miniseries) talks about it raining for forty days and forty nights and if that is the case then I am pretty sure that Jesus was born in Bethnal Green not Bethlehem and Moses parted the River Thames not the Red Sea.
Anyway, my point is this, if you can't bake in it then you may as well fake it.
The high street is awash with fake tan so there isn't one particular brand I could recommend but you do get exactly what you pay for. The cheaper the tan the cheaper you'll look. It's no use thinking you're going to look sexy writhing around in white sheets when you've only paid £3 for your tan and if you're going to apply it yourself make sure you put it EVERYWHERE. It's no use glowing like Jennifer Lopez from the neck up when you're glowing like Casper the Ghost from the tits down.

The Gym:
"Going for the Burn" doesn't mean another ten minutes under the hairdryer, it means really pushing yourself that little bit further at the gym.
Girls like muscles, guys like muscles. A body should have a little bit of resistance to it, it needs to be hard in all the right places. You don't ever want to dive on top of someone and feel like you're grappling with a bag of marshmallows and it's no use if you've switched off all the lights and your one night stand finds out that it's not really a water bed he's been bouncing on top of it's you.
A little bit of exercise goes a long way but don't ever be too intimidated to go to a gym. If you think "thin is in" just remember "fat is also where it's at".
If you've been running on a treadmill then you're allowed to eat a doughnut.
If you remember to always work that body maybe someone rich will marry you and then you'll never have to work again.

Dress for Success:
I only have one strong belief here: AGE APPROPRIATE.
If you're still at school - dress like a school girl and if you're not? Put it away.
No one wants to see a Nana in pigtails. 16 going on 60 is never attractive. I'm not saying anybody over the age of 35 should wear a Burkha I'm just saying if it says 8 - 10 on the hanger, that may be the age group not the body size.
A man should NEVER be seen in a boot cut jean.
Deep V T shirts, boot cut jeans and brown pointy shoes are the uniform of sex pests and Simon Cowell and jewellery on a man should always be kept to a minimum.
If a mans wrists jangle when he puts his hands in his pockets then you best hope he's looking for small change.

Tit tape / Toupee Tape / Industrial Strength Gaffa Tape:
Feel free to use all three of these but if you want to save time and money just go straight for the gaffa tape. If it's good enough to bind metal, electrical cables, garden hoses and Essex boys to chairs then it's fine to use on any sagging area of your body.
It's best to use it on areas where you can cover the evidence with your clothes though. It's no use turning up for a candle light dinner with your face looking tanned, taught and tight only to find midway through chewing, your chins have dropped into your mushroom risotto.
I don't think gaffa tape is especially fireproof either so if you do lean over for a romantic kiss make sure your earlobes don't get singed or your cheekbones go up in flames.

The Goodnight Kiss:
If you've followed my guide you should now be on the home run to being halfway up the bedroom stairs.
You want this first kiss to be special and to mean something. You want all of your time and effort to have paid off. You want to throw your knickers in the air and get your back doors smashed in but before you do this you must remember to always, always practice safe sex. You must be always be prepared, but if you're not and you've forgot then you must use my fail safe method for never catching a disease or waking up pregnant.

March yourself straight up to that bathroom, take off that hair, wash off that tan, let loose that gut and rip off that tape . . . . .

And watch whomever you've brought home run a mile.

Monday, 11 June 2012

The only way to approach middle age is with a pot of Creme de la Mer and a gun.

It's been a week since my birthday week.
The memory of the celebration of the day of my birth seems hazy, which if you celebrate your birthday correctly, it always should do. I don't want to remember exactly what I was doing but I'm sure it would have involved lots of cake, copious amounts of champagne and 48 hours in the recovery position.
As we age the recovery time is about double the party time. Whereas before I could stay out all night and then be sitting at my desk the next morning ready for the day ahead, if I stay out all night now it takes at least a full day of cold compresses, about eight litres of water, a box of Nurofen and a pot of Creme de la Mer before I can even think about leaving the comfort of my bed.
Age will not wither me but the leaving party for my youth might just do it.

I'm on the fast train to middle age and this is how I feel about it.

I haven't really tempered my behaviour as I've gotten older and I don't see why I should? In lots of ways I probably still haven't grown up. I'm still attracted to the creative crazy types, the ones who don't really care about the consequences. What are the consequences of having fun? As long as you're flame retardant, STD retardant and arrest retardant there aren't any. At my age there isn't anybody who can wriggle their finger and tell me I can't do something without my grabbing hold of their finger, bending it backwards and wriggling it back at them. 
I never question how long I have left, and that's the reason why "middle age" makes no sense. It's just something that is used to label people, a bit like a "Use By" date on your groceries, and most of us are still ripening.


I can work out and buff and sculpt my body and rub lotions, creams and potions into my skin. I can swallow as many pills or tinctures as it takes to keep me young and I can choose what good or bad things I want to imbibe, infuse or refuse, but what good will it do?
We will never know our middle age and why do we want to know our middle age?
We may just as well say it's our "halfway to dead" age.
When I take my final tumble only the people I leave behind who will be able to say "Ooo, that Dan Warner was halfway to dead at the age of 73" or "that wrinkly old fool was middle aged at 109, we  thought we'd never get rid of him".
I'm hoping that when I get to meet whomever is keeping my seat warm on the other side they say to me "Listen, you were supposed to be here 43 years ago, now get your tardy ass down that blood red staircase and start shovelling coal because any time now this whole damn place is going to freeze over".
As you can see, I'm planning on living a long time - you can do the math.

Life as the old cliche says is "all about swings and roundabouts' - which is fine. I can stay on the swings all day long watching my moods swing like a pendulum and then I can jump off and have a go on life's roundabouts.
Isn't life also supposed to be "just a bowl of cherries"?
Did I mention that I'm on the roundabout, going around at about a hundred miles an hour and I'm spitting cherry pips, and when I'm on the swings I'm swinging so high that I can spit those little pips for miles? I'm living life so fast that I might just take your eye out with an errant pip and a flying stalk.

I'm going to embrace the onslaught of my 40's like an alcoholic at a free bar. If I'm going grey then I'm glad to be grey. It's like my hair has finally thrown open it's closet doors and it's coming out. (Actually, thank god it's not "coming out" at all, it's still as thick as a baby Koala's) and I may be "middle aged" but I'll still be as relevant as a firearm at an armed robbery (and twice as dangerous when loaded).
If old mother time is taking me down then I'm going down fighting and I'm not talking just about looks - it's more about attitude and outlook.

It doesn't matter what we do to our physical appearance, it's either good genes or good doctors that keep us looking young but there will be a time for all of us when our tits hit the floor and we just haven't got "it" anymore. Age is the great leveller because we are all going to get old (if we're lucky). The rich, the poor, the good, the bad and the ugly. Kings and courtiers are all going to grow old.
The only ones that won't are Queens and movie stars (and movie stars whom are Queens).

The physical decline with age can be the most obvious and although my eyes may get wrinkled what I see through them will still be youthful and exciting to me and that won't be because I've smeared the lens with Vaseline. I don't need to see my life in soft focus. I will still get excited about every single thing on every single day and when I'm too old to know I'm excited? I'll take a pill for it and remember why I was excited in the first place. I feel exactly the same way about life today as I did twenty years ago and all the fun I've had probably does show on my face. It's said in your twenties you get the face you were born with and in your forties you end up with the face you deserve (or can afford)? 
Well, I'm looking forward to seeing the face I'll have in another 20 years because I'm hoping it will be the face someone else can afford.

I'm planning on growing up and old disgracefully.
There isn't anything I could do better at 21 than I can do at 41, it just might take me a little longer.
 All the bravado and character I had then has doubled (as has my chin) and as for having the time of my life?

 I'm still having it - and I'm probably having yours too.

Sunday, 3 June 2012

So the third world is starving and the only man to save them has the same name as a dog biscuit?

Recently I was put up for a job that I really couldn't see myself enjoying and one I really didn't want to go for. However, the recruiter I am with was very persistent in their selling it to me, even after I had refused to attend an interview. She knew all the right things to say to flatter my ego and to plant just the tiniest amount of doubt in my mind that maybe, just maybe I would be perfect for this role.
Persistence goes a long way with me. I'm all for people who won't accept no for an answer and unless it's someone I really don't want a second date with or telesales people, I will normally cave in and accept another drink, another ride on the roller coaster or another roll of the dice.
Persistence should either be awarded with a kiss or a punch - and this time I decided to kiss.

The reason I couldn't imagine wanting or even doing the job is because it was for a charity that I have no belief in and it would mean my working for a man (not directly) whom I have no respect or admiration for. However, the money and the package they were offering was attractive and like a hooker in a room full of millionaires - I decided I had nothing to lose (and I wouldn't even need to remove my underwear).

I have mixed feelings towards charities anyway. I come from a working class family were charity always began at home. I find it very odd when I have friends who donate to charities but who won't help out a friend in need or others who donate their time and money to faceless organisations but will not crack a smile or take the time to talk to a pensioner who lives down their street. Giving to a charity can sometimes alleviate the guilt we feel in our own lives for not behaving in a kind manner to people who really deserve it or to family and friends we really should be there for.
Every time I see another celebrity with their fake hair, fake faces and fake emotions pleading for my money through a haze of puppy dog eye (liner), soft lighting and even softer focus it makes me furious. I know for sure I am not alone in my annoyance at every Chugger (charity mugger for anyone who reads this and doesn't live in England) who block my path on every corner of the West End.
My feelings towards charities are much the same as if I was on a plane that was falling from the sky - I need to help myself and apply my own oxygen mask before I can help the person sitting next to me; but I was intrigued to go to the interview, to see what the office was like, what kind of people worked there and to meet the chairman.
My best friend gave me the biggest initiative to attend when he said "you should go, you'll be able to write about it when you don't get the job".
There's nothing quite as life affirming as a supportive friend.
So I went to the interview. . . .
And then I got called back for a second one.

By now I was beginning to feel like I was on a downward spiral where I was about to sell my own beliefs and personality for the sake of an upwardly mobile salary, a gym membership, a bicycle or a monthly travel allowance and a free eye test.  This wasn't a game show prize -  it was an incentive to work for an organisation that is funded by donations. No wonder this charity has a reputation for not spending its funds correctly - it offers its staff more benefits than you could shake a (starving) fist at. The offices are smart, contemporary and in an area of London where a weekly rent could probably fund a small village in the poorest parts of Africa and yet it is precisely the starving they are purporting to help? I began to feel very uneasy in my interviewee's chair.
The chairman was pleasant, in a kind of 70's rich hippy kid way - he even asked me to "hang loose" (while he got his assistant to grab him a coffee, from the percolator, he doesn't drink instant) and I found myself becoming fixated with his open necked denim shirt and his mix of gold and ethnic jewellery. He must have many friends because the amount of friendship bracelets he wore would make an undernourished arm break.
Every time he dropped another star spangled name or spoke about how he has middle of the night conversations with a man with the same name as a dog biscuit I began to feel my heart sink and my eyes narrow. I took to sitting on my hands just in case my middle finger silently and inexplicably rose from under the table and I decided to chew my tongue for fear it would inadvertently poke itself out at him. I was now caught between letting my true feelings show or doing my best in the interview?
So I decided to do neither and instead talk like every single celebrity I have ever seen on television talking about their "favourite" charity.
I began to spout words of oneness and global love.
I wanted to quote song lyrics and say "we are the world and we can make it a better place". I wanted to stand up out of my chair and "reach out and touch someone".
I wanted to buy a whole rainbow coloured family, scoop them up in my arms and save them from a life of poverty and malnutrition and I wanted to buy the hair from a thousand Indian women's heads and make a gigantic weave with it . . . . and it was at that point I realised I'd made a mistake.

His vision of one love and mine were on a different course and the interview was called to an end.

I left the office feeling a little headed and against my better judgement called the agency:
"How did the interview go"
"Umm, really well, I'd really like the job and I can start in two weeks but I won't accept anything less than (and upped their salary offer by £5,000)".

I didn't get the job.
What I did get was an insight into how charities (not all) are run and the behaviour of the people who run them.
I still believe that charity should begin at home and I also believe I don't have to justify my own behaviour be it good, bad, greedy or ambivalent by donating to something I do not believe in.
It also affirmed that the charity I do donate to every month and the one I ran a half marathon for do an excellent job and if anything - I should go and work for them.

But best of all?

I got this blog post out of it.