What do women want?

Just a heads up, this piece contains a few sexual references.

Maybe I haven’t had enough relationships to determine what is and what ain’t. Perhaps truth lingers in that sentence, but I still feel I have gained enough information to acknowledge my personal opinion on the matter. Now, it is true that many blokes believe that they haven’t the foggiest as to what women want. Hell, I used to be one of them. But it came to my attention not too long ago that the answer is really simple, and at the end of the day most women stereotypically I have come to find are after the exact same things. Now, when I say stereotypically, I mean in Australia, and by Australia, I mean Melbourne. Perhaps women overseas are different?

One thing I have found is love; I don’t think it’s on the menu. Now ladies, if you happen to be reading this, before you grab your torches and pitch forks and come looking for blood, please, allow me to continue.

I used to have this, well, what I would call a rather stupid opinion now that love would always win out. But that is Hollywood for you. In those films the man always gets the girl regardless of his stature or what he has to offer. As long as he has love in his heart and is willing to provide this undying affection to the woman he cares for until the end of time itself he is able to successfully wrap his arms around his lover and never let them go. SOB! Oh, sorry, think I just got to myself just then. Let me get me self a tissue before I continue. Rightio!

Australian and American films are similar in this aspect because they both promote certain amounts of realism in their films. Many evolve around stereotypically average people who live stereotypically average lives before something happens to dislodge this idea of normality which inevitably leads to the more exciting, you know, unrealistic occurrences. But in romances especially, the issues of realism are especially apparent and that is what makes films contradictory to life. If one was to believe what they saw in cinema, then they would believe, as I once ignorantly did that love could inevitably conquer all. Sometimes I think that if Hollywood was more like Bollywood this wouldn’t be a problem. It’s not that I think Bollywood makes better films. It’s that their movies are so vastly different from life itself that there is no way one could ever believe there were any comparative traits, with the audience frequently adsorbed in the suspension of disbelief due to the lacking amount of realism. Yes, the lacking amount. Hollywood and Oz have too much of it when it comes to films, which is what can make blokes like me confused.

So, like I was saying, love ain’t INITIALLY on the menu. That is not to say that it wouldn’t happen, but I believe women are after something far more right from the very start.

What is this you might enquire?

Well, first off, the category would be looks. Yes. Now, I used to believe that women cared more for what was on the inside (no, not guts and organs, but feelings), whilst men cared solely for what was on the outside (physical beauty, breasts, etc).

Now, if that were so, and women cared for what was on the INSIDE, I think I’d be a far better hit with the ladies than what I am. I will admit, I ain’t the best lookin’ bloke in the world, but even so, if women cared for feelings and not for looks, they would disregard that fact and I’d have women dangling from my arms each and every day. Not true however. Also, scars. It is said that women dig them, but if that were so, I’ve a couple across my body and I’m not getting’ any additional looks from the ladies for ‘em. If anything, they are a deterrent. Perhaps some blokes out there can speak differently, if so, maybe you could tell me what I’m doing wrong. Or perhaps, it’s only a certain scar that gets ‘em all hot and heavy. Damn, I should have told the doctors at the hospital that before they cut me open two years ago as to leave the RIGHT kind of scar! (Slaps forehead in anger) Why didn’t I think of that?

Okay, but I’m kinda getting’ off track here, so, back on topic. Looks, right? Now, when I talk about ‘looks’, I do not mean sex. Women have the benefit of not having a penis. Now, many people may wonder ‘what do you mean?’, but, allow me to say this. Women have one brain; a rather large one located in the centre of their head. Men have two; a very tiny one in their skull, and an incredibly large one in their penis. I think it is obvious what I am trying to say here. And unfortunately, the one in a man’s penis usually wins every single argument;

Brain in Head: Let’s watch a movie

Brain in Penis: Let’s masturbate!

Brain in Head: Let’s work on those reports due in three days time

Brain in Penis: Let’s go to a bar and get me freak on!

You see, it’s a no win situation; men are but slaves to the thing that hangs on the end of their stomachs. Women however are not. Women are capable of thinking logically, and when they begin to date a bloke, I believe it is not accidental or what have you, but a very well laid plan.
I am trying to emphasise that when blokes get together and talk, they communicate to one another about sex. That is the prime focus of any conversation. How good was the girl last night? How many times did it happen? Additionally, masturbation is another key topic at hand, something I have not once ever heard any of my lady friends talk about.

What do women talk about exactly? Not sex, I’ll tell you that much, and if they do I haven’t been present when they have. No, they talk about boys. ‘Isn’t that a sex topic though?’ you might ask. No, because they talk about how they look, hence the reason why women enjoy dating guys who are good looking. They can then report back to their friends about how cute their boyfriend is.

I have come to believe that men and women have one thing in common – we are all at competition with one another. Men are in competition to see who is the better person in bed (although bed is one of the last places it happens now a days), whilst women are in competition to see who has the better looking boyfriend. Basically, guys with good looks are going to win out with girls against those who are not blessed with such a thing because of this very reason. On top of this, women want to be with a guy who is good looking because I believe women like being noticed. On Twitter, I once posed the question ‘why do young women insist on wearing tight clothing when they don’t appreciate blokes such as myself checking them out?’ The answer is simple really – they want to be noticed, often only by a certain group of people. They also want to make other girls jealous. Men make other men jealous due to size. Women make other women jealous with looks, and a good lookin’ boyfriend is just another way to achieve this.

Secondly, I believe women are interested in money. If a guy is endowed with a good influx of capitol women are more likely to present themselves to him. I believe women want a guy who can buy them whatever they want. And if all women are the same, then that is a lot of stuff; shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes, and that’s just Monday’s shopping list. Tuesday; dresses, dresses, dresses, dresses, jeans, jeans, skin tight jeans, shirts, shirts, shirts, jackets, jackets, bla, bla, bla, Wednesday; and the list goes on.

In the past I have known some guys who had girlfriends for this very reason. Everything was going fine – until the money began to run out. Having a girlfriend is like having a child I have found. It is an incredibly taxing endeavor, literally. To keep them impressed you need to provide what they want when they want it; jewelry, clothes, you name it. Now, when the money did run out for those guys I mentioned earlier; bye, bye. The ladies milked them dry, before instantly moving onto the next guy who could provide. Now, maybe that was not the stereotypical woman, and maybe they were young and just wanted someone to provide to them what their parents wouldn’t, but still, money is a very large concern.

I know for a fact that women love to dress up, and when they do so, they want to go out to be noticed, hence, back to looks. They don’t get dressed up just to have dinner at mum’s house every Wednesday night. No, they want to go to that fancy Greek restaurant down the street where it’s a cool five hundred for a plate of food about one inch by one inch, before another three hundred is needed for the desert.

Now, what else is needed to get this money? A job! But not just any job – a good one, and that is the next quality women are after. A guy with a good job gets money, and a guy with a good job will also make for a good conversation when comparing boyfriends with the girls. A guy with a good job will gain respect and the ability to move up the ranks of the corporation before one day very well owning it. This will also satisfy women on another level; although they may not realise it when they are younger, many woman are destined to have children, and the steps they make to finding a boyfriend often evolve around what will be good material for a child. Money is of course one factor. A guy with a good sum of money will be able to provide for the lil guy when she/he comes into the world.

A good job and a nice amount of money also leads to the next thing women are after; a nice car. Guys in good jobs may be granted a company car, but those with money could always buy one as equally sublime. Sometimes it isn’t the car’s looks that a woman is interested in; just the fact the guy has a car is good enough because then – they have their own personal taxi service that can run them around wherever they wish. Seems pretty well thought out actually – date a guy, and get the perks. Additionally, a car, especially a good looking one will do wonders when going back to talk to their lady friends about their man.

Lastly, women want a man who has a place of his own. Remember how I mentioned Wednesday nights at mum’s place. Well, I did not mean the girl’s mum’s house – I meant the blokes. I don’t know about anyone else, but there is something unsatisfying about being at a parent’s house with a partner. There is also something pretty sexy about it too, and funnily enough they are both the exact same thing; the fear of being caught. It don’t matter what age you are, getting’ caught never gets old.

But then, that’s the benefit of having a place of your own – you never have to fear being caught. Now, I don’t mean a flat where the bloke has about a hundred other friends living three, all walking around in their birthday suit and interrupting the dinner the guy has planned for his girl constantly by happening to enter the kitchen  with little more than a linen cloth between their genitals and her body. So, with that said, a guy who has a place of his own with nothing more than his shadow for company will get the girl due to the privacy and seclusion the accommodation unconditionally offers.

So, according to this bloke, whose detective skills are somewhere between naught and zero and whose knowledge on women in general could probably be summed up on a piece of paper one centimeter by one centimeter, women want a man who has:

-good looks

-money

-a good job

-a good car

-a place of his own

So guys, if you don’t have any of these features, it is really simple to gain them. First, win the lottery. Second, put half the cash in the share market and pray to God it don’t crash. With the rest of your winnings, get yourself a facelift, a car and a house of your own. Then, become one with a fortune five hundred company and the world of women will officially be your oyster.

Ah, not so hard. NOT, being the operative word.

Additionally however, women also want a guy who can cook, clean and fix things around the house, from the taps to the light globe to the gutters, but these are just additional accessories I believe women look for after discovery of the five primary traits discussed above.

As always however this was just my opinion and I did not mean anything nefarious by them. Or did I? Because Nefarious is my middle name. Actually, it’s me last, but you get what I mean…

Thank you for reading.

Do men really date women who remind them of their mothers?

I just thought I’d mention – this piece contains some corase language (later on).

Do men really date women who remind them of their mothers? Quite a question indeed, raised in an article I read a couple of years ago from a book that was meant to help me understand the opposite sex. It provided more questions than answers I am afraid.

Now, first off, I am not a professional, just thought I might mention this. I am a twenty something year old man who has perhaps a little too much time on his hands and thus thought about this specific idea. Over half of my friends are women and they often pose to me the question whether or not men find women that remind them of their mother’s attractive. I think this may be because on occasion men may be implied to make jokes the likes of  ‘gee, thanks mum’ when a woman might say something, et al.

I do suppose that the psychological ideals behind this theory would explore how the bond between mother and son is an incredibly close one that is instigated within the womb and carried over as the child takes his first breath in the real world. The shrinks would go on to explain how mothers are the women who are primarily around their sons as they develop, and their bond becomes ever closer, so when a man goes out hunting for a partner, he begins to look for a replacement to his own flesh and blood. After all, the end concept here is to find a woman, settle down and have a family, and what better person to have said family with than a woman who you could trust; a woman who is like the mother who raised you, and who will do the same to your children. Plus, the man is no longer going to have mummy with him twenty four seven and inevitably needs a woman to replace the empty void in his heart.

But that is just gobbedy gook spawned forth from my mind. I guess the reason why I am writing about this is my general fear about it happening to me. Yes, FEAR ladies and gentleman. Now, why would I fear settling down with a woman who reminds me of my mother? After all, she helped raise me, feed me cloth me, and do hundreds of other things throughout my life. Well, you see, it goes something like this; I kind of want to be rid of her. I don’t mean permanently. I just mean she has been somewhat of a permanent fixture in my life since birth and I do not want a woman who will continue to remind me of her in my life for the rest of time, which it will certainly feel like. I want to be free. Now, some might say that being with a woman for life is like having a ball and chain attached to your ankle. The same could be said in my view about my mother. So why would I leave her to be with a woman who looks like her, acts like her and does the same things as her? I would be taking off that ball and chain for but a second, before reattaching it with a lock far more impossible to pick than the last one.

So, how would I describe my mother? Okay, well my mother is quite tall, which is perhaps where I gain my height because she is taller than my father. She is additionally two years younger than my dad. My mother is thin, has short, light brown colored hair, green eyes, fair skin and is seventh generation Australian. Additionally, she is intelligent to the degree of being pretentiously egotistical about it, believing herself to be the smartest person alive. My mother doesn’t always speak her mind, often handling people and situations with kid gloves, has little sense of humor and tends to complain when there is nothing to become rattled about, and is quite possibly the single most negative woman I have ever associated with.

Now, I am going to be perfectly honest here. As far as I can tell, this specific subject is one that women in particular are more interested in than men, so I’ll quickly provide the answer that you may be interested to hear. Do I personally, want to date a woman who reminds me of my mother. No. What kind of woman am I interested in then? To further strengthen my argument on the subject matter, I am going to explain. The kind of woman I am interested in is as follows; petite, shoulder length (or longer) dark brown hair and brown eyes (any color brown, hazel, et al, not fussy). My dream woman will be intelligent, witty and have a great, healthy sense of humor and sarcasm, and a strong personality. She will have a happy, positive demeanor, and is, moreover, not Australian. You read that last part right. I am Australian, born and bred, but I have not ever in my life gone out on a date with an Australian woman. My last girlfriend was Canadian, born in Montreal. So, on this note, my dream girlfriend can be either American, Canadian or European and speaks more than one language. Of course, the implied stigma is that one of these languages will need to be English because I unfortunately do not have the necessary intellect to learn more than one vernacular. On top of this, my dream woman will be between four to twelve years older than me, not younger. I cannot say that I speak for every guy, but I do hope that provides you, dear reader, with some perspective on this argument. On that  note, I can’t seem to imagine a woman who has all of the qualities I just mentioned growing on trees. Wait, let me go check my backyard.

Five minutes pass…

Another two minutes pass…

No, unfortunately not!I guess the point that I am trying to make here is that although some of the characteristics that I wish to find in a partner of mine may be reminiscent of some traits that my mother may have, most of them are not, and are quite the opposite actually. Again, I cannot speak for the entire male gender when I develop this connotation. In my opinion, if I wanted a woman who reminded me of my mother I would never have moved out of my parent’s home.

Now, I might as well bring up the elephant in the room. I do mean of course figuratively, not the real elephant I have sitting in my corner who I stole last Thursday from Australia Zoo. Fools. Haven’t even realised she’s missing yet! Anyway, I digress, because this topic I will discuss now in relation to this post is quite serious. Although I may have my wants and desires when it comes to my dream woman, as does any guy. Additionally, women have their requirements for their dream boyfriend. However, culture today, as it always has, plays a significant role in our choices, as does our parents backgrounds.

The Australian PM goes on quite regularly about how wonderful it is that this country is founded on the principles of a multi-cultural society. I however would have to disagree on that. Now, I don’t mean to come off like a racist son of a bitch, so please, allow me to explain. It might be a bit of an assumption, an ignorant one at that, but I think many could believe me if I were to say that not all of the countries in the world like each other. If they did, then there’d be one less reason for war. We all come from different walks of life; we all have different religions; different beliefs; different cultures, all of which contradict the other. And it is because of that, that these differences that make us who we are, also prevent us from conforming to the lives of others. So, if you put, oh, I don’t know, a cool hundred thousand people from each and every country in the world into one continent, I don’t think it would be too far a stretch to say that not everyone is going to get along. In fact, I can assure you, it is in my belief that they certainly would not.

On top of this, family’s pass down their culture to their children, which keeps it alive throughout the centuries and preserves that way of life. However, it hinders the advancement of it as well. Supposedly, inter-racial relationships were instigated a few decades or so ago. I would disagree by what I see in Australian society today. Parents tell their children not to affiliate with people who are of a certain culture. Hell, in high school I was looked down upon. I went to a school where I was, I swear to you, one of three Anglo-Saxons in my entire year level, and let me tell you, I was looked down upon by some of my peers because of this. A good many of these specific groups of individuals took an instant loathing to me because of my heritage.

Additionally, parents still to this day arrange marriages for their children, wanting them to marry a person who is one hundred per cent a member of their culture. Greeks marry Greeks. Italians marry Italians. Vietnamese marry Vietnamese. Iranians marry Iranians, and so on and so forth. Perhaps there are a couple of marriages dotted across the landscape that might contradict my theory, but I can assure you, not many would. I myself have personal experience of this. In my last year of high school I began a relationship with a woman who had a Turkish background. The ‘relationship’, if you could call it that lasted less than a week. A friend of the young woman I fancied happened to mention to her parents what was happening, and let me assure you, they were less than impressed. The father of the woman I liked had a quick discussion with me when I went to take his daughter out on a date. Well, ‘discussion’ might be too lax a word, since it was him doing most of the talking. Now, I don’t remember everything he said, but one sentence, his final one in fact, is what stands out foremost in my mind, to this very day even. He said, ‘I will not allow my daughter to have a relationship with some stupid fucking Anglo cunt.’

The end point I am attempting to concoct is that inter-racial relationships are probably not ‘in season’ this year, and probably won’t be for quite a while, if ever, at least in this country. Some people say that stereotypical Australians are racist. Maybe they are right. But I think that other cultures may want to wear that banner too, for I would call preventing people from having relationships with one another based on their cultural background to be racist, even if they do not. It would be hypocritical to call one culture racist, only to antagonise them racially after branding them with such a title.

There is of course one more notation I wish to discuss; the notion that I think some women (at least some of my lady friends) believe that they may become a ‘replacement mummy.’ I remember reading this terrible book my parents were given as a wedding gift which talked about what it meant to be married, and it outlined approximately five different circumstances, one I will discuss with you now. This particular concept explored the man and his mother’s meat loaf, and his want for his wife to cook that which he had been fed time and time again. So, the wife asks the mother for the recipe and cooks it for her man once a week. Later, once a month. And later still once a year, before never cooking it again. Basically, the story went something like this; over time, the woman forces her own cooking, living and general styles onto her man who then forgets all about his mother and instead focuses all thoughts onto the new woman in his life. It may take a short while, but it illuminates how it is indeed a possibility.

I guess the end point could be that even if a man picks out a woman who reminds him of his own mother, that in the end, she will try to change him so that she becomes more of what he wants to be. Wait, is that a daddy complex? Then I guess one could argue that women want a man who might remind them of their father? I certainly hope not, cuz I sincerely doubt I could ever live up to such expectations.

This, as always, is simply my opinion. I hope I did not offend too much. I also apologise if you came here thinking you were going to find GOOD information.

Thank you for reading.

Naughty Nefarious, signing off.

Sometimes the Heart is Stupid

Sometimes the heart is stupid? Well, I think so anyway. Now, I am going to take some time out here and talk about something a little different than the topics I have filed across this desk recently. Wait a minute…I don’t know why I am explaining myself. After all, this is my blog I can talk about what I please!

I know that a stereotypical masculine bloke is not meant to talk about ‘feelings’ and other such romanticised ‘drivel’ as I am sure it is visualised to be. So if you want to read a blog post that contains VIOLENCE, SEX, COARSE LANGUAGE and other such features, well, I’m afraid, this particular post ain’t gonna cut the mustard.

Recently, and by recently I mean today, I lost my opportunity to be with the woman that I have come to really enjoy. Now, I realise ‘enjoy’ isn’t a very powerful word when establishing a woman one likes, but please, allow me to explain myself, and to do that, I have to begin from the start.

The young woman’s name is Elisha. What I will say, not to give away too many details and allow the whole world to know exactly who she is and all, is that she lives in the Northern Territory, in the capital city, which I have forgotten the name of…well, I’m a great Australian. I live in this country and don’t even know the friggin’ capital of one of its eight states. Yeah, eight! Not fifty like America! You would think eight would be easy to remember! Thank God I don’t live in America, otherwise I probably wouldn’t know the city that I was living in, let alone all the rest! You’d think I’d remember. Anyway, she came to Melbourne to study at university and that is how we met.

We were thrown together into groups in two separate classes during our first semester, both of which were PR, the primary study she’s undertaking, whilst mine’s creative writing. I instantly thought she was physically attractive; she has gorgeous dark hair which is shoulder length and shines under the luminescence from the lights above. She has light brown skin, partially from her heritage, and partially from the Northern sun, and a strong Australian accent. She has this amazing smile with these flawlessly bright white teeth, which combined can light up a room, and her laugh. Well, don’t get me started, I mean, I live in this country and I am not a fan of the accent. In fact, I never actually gained an Australian accent and I’m eighth generation Australian! Anyway – her laugh, right? If she was not beautiful, then her laugh alone would certainly make her so. I recently wrote a piece asking if people did laugh out loud anymore or if ‘LOL’ was the only term ever used in response, and I can tell you – her laugh, it is the reason why I wish ‘LOL’ was never used. It’s terrific to listen to, for it never sounds fake and always flows so realistically. And her body? Well, I’m gonna try and keep this PG, so how ‘bout I say it’s pretty good and leave it at that. She has a nice sized chest too, but I’m not saying that I wouldn’t like her if it was small or non apparent. I’m not saying my tongue drops out of my mouth and I start panting uncontrollably, droll rushing out from the corners of my gob every time a hotty with big boobies comes waltzing passed, not at all. I’m just saying it’s a nice plus size, and half of her clothes seem to exaggerate it and make her cleavage look as though an entire army could fit in its centre.

Now, going back to the part where I thought she was physically attractive… well, you see, there’s the rub. I have this rule. I do not date people I work with, or people I go to uni with. So I didn’t do anything for quite a while. We became quite friendly, and nothing more over the weeks, and trusted each other explicitly when it came to the instigation of work and trusting one another to edit and critique it to a professional standard. We laughed at each other’s jokes, and often at the other’s expense as well. Closer towards the end of the semester I did try something though, you know, to see what she thought of me…I placed my hand behind her on the top of her chair where she rested her back. No, I didn’t yawn when I did so, I just threw it there, and she quickly moved position to ensure she was nowhere near the chair immediately after I pulled such a move – not a good sign I do believe.

Okay, so now we move on to the second semester. Still, nothing is happening. Until the sixth week….Elisha comes up to me and asks for assistance. She is to present an oral presentation on PowerPoint the following week and knows I am to do the same thing, and asks me if I can help her. I agree, and we spend the next couple minutes talking, which we had not had much time to do for a little while now, before she leaves me to sit with her friends. So I send her some info that can help her. She never used it, but that’s beside the point. At the end of the message I wrote down this notation; if you use any of the information provided I might need to ask you for something in return. Dinner, maybe?

In semester one I had told Elisha when I helped her that I did not do things for free and that I might ask her for a favor, and I was playfully, and subtlety, calling it in. Well, maybe subtle is putting too fine a point to it. Unsubtle, perhaps?

Come week seven… she takes one look at me as she enters the tutorial where we are to present and whispers to her friend as she comes to sit near me ‘I think he likes me’, indicating towards me, and Elisha quickly steers her friend far away from where I am sitting. Anyway, I manage to do my presentation first, and give away some chocolates for those who answer my questions that I have for them correctly, and when Elisha comes I offer her a chocolate and she’s not interested in the kind I am offering. She makes the note however that she is nervous and hates giving oral presentations. So I put my hand on her shoulder, give it a squeeze and say ‘you’ll be fine gorgeous’ and leave.

Now, two weeks go by and I do not see Elisha in class. Suddenly, she appears, week ten, and as I walk in she says ‘Hello’, rather formally, and looks anxious as she does so. She eventually moves to the front of the class where her friends choose to sit, but for the rest of the class she keeps looking back at me. Actually, I’d say that she spent two thirds of the class looking at me. Not angrily or anything like that, just, plain looking.

Come week eleven, and we are in another class. I had recently asked her if she had wanted to come to a book launch that I had been invited to attend. She says ‘no’, friends birthday she says. The launch is moved two days in advance. I ask Elisha again, and she says ‘no’, her excuse – friends birthday. Again? Twice in one week. How many friends can she have? Are they pouring out of the wood work? I however manage to find two friends of mine willing to come. Elisha in class apologises for being unable to attended, and I reply ‘nah, don’t worry about it. I found two chicks who are able to come with.’ ‘Oh’ says Elisha, her eyes narrowed a little as she looks away, ‘okay’ she continues, the smile that had being plastered on her face having faded as her face seems to drop for but a fraction of a second as she temporarily loses control, before redistributing the smile she had once worn across her face to mask her emotions. Was she jealous? Hard to tell. I asked a friend of mine, a woman at the time, and she had no response for me.

Now, the year ends, the new one begins, and I find we do not share any classes together. Come week eleven, Elisha says ‘hi’ to me as I leave the campus, out of the blue. She was standing alone in the car park, waiting for her friends, and I am quite surprised, and I am almost certain that my ‘hey!’ reflected it too. Week thirteen arrives, today actually. We are to share  a classroom together. I decide upon a plan. I wish to ask her if I can speak to her for a second and then confess to her that I believe I like her. My chance – what did happen to it? Elisha and her friends take off before I can implement it, and now…where is she you might ask? On a plane back to the Northern Territory and far away from me for the next eight weeks.

So, there is our history. Now, what did I mean about ‘believed I liked her’ and that I ‘enjoyed her company’? Well, like I said, I have this rule, where I don’t date people who I go to uni with. Now however, I would break that rule for her and only her, and I was ready to tell her that today. And for all I know I only like her because I may not be able to have a relationship with her. I mean, one of us would have to permanently move to another state to have a proper relationship. On top of this, it just might be the fact that I liked her as a person and as a friend, and the fact that we don’t share classes anymore makes me feel as though I lost her, and to get her back I concoct wild feelings in order to do just that – get her back. Of course, I would also have kissed her if she had let me. Does that change anything? I would have told her that I liked her, and that I should have told her right from the very moment I ever saw her that those feelings were always with me.

But the thing that bugs me, is that everything I saw could have being a masquerade. I might have believed that her looking at me meant she found me physically appealing. Hell, she could have just so happened to look in my direction a couple times and maybe I exaggerated it in my mind. Or perhaps she was looking at something else instead of me, or someone else. Maybe there was somebody else she found attractive? The fact she interpreted my ‘dinner’ line to mean that I liked her and my belief that she felt the same way and wished that it was true may have been nothing more than a wrongful error of judgment on my behalf. Perhaps her looking jealous was for a completely different reason. Maybe she was just depressed at the time for personal issues that she was having difficulty resolving? Perhaps…perhaps…perhaps…I could go on all day about any and all false misinterpretations that I made to justify the ridiculous idea that she felt something for me which further justified my want, no, my need to tell her how I felt.

That is why the heart is stupid. It wants want IT wants and it will do almost anything to get it. Even lie, the little prick. I mean, what right does the heart have to throw a person’s emotions around willy nilly? To make them fall in love with a beautiful exotic babe from outer state who they have no hope in hell of ever being with? Does the heart get off on hurting its owner? Maybe the heart is just a friggin’ arsehole, and the user is its little bitch being constantly played the fool?

In an un-cruel world, I believe it should be the women who make the first move. I mean, they might toss a signal or two around, and it might all be false interpretation by the bloke. Or they might not pick up on it period. Fact of life – men are idiots. I apologise blokes who might be reading this. I know, I can’t be all that smart if I can’t figure this shit out on my own. It would just be great if the woman would come up to the guy they like and just say it, without making physical gestures or other such nonsense. On top of that, I don’t even know if she’s taken. I realise, you don’t know until you try, but I would rather know before I go in like a shark for the kill. I don’t wanna be left stranded on the beach after the discovery that the woman I have been crushing on is dating the next gen boyfriend and laughs at my insult to be her man.

I also realise that the bigger loser is not the one who tries and fails, but the one who fails to try. I just don’t know what is expected of me in this circumstance. How do I know what is what?

Do I love her? Yes, I would say that I do. I think about her often. I like all of her qualities, except for one or two of her friends, they gimmie the shits.

Do I want to spend my life with her? I don’t know, but I would like to be with her. To hold her in my arms at least once. To sleep with her – not sex, not immediately at least, but to just lie down together in bed and feel her head on my chest and to listen to her breath as I wrap my arms around her and keep her warm at night as the moon hangs in the cover of the darkened night sky outside the window as the moon light drifts across her silly exotic skin. I also long to kiss her crimson lips, and feel the warmth of her face as I gently brush it with my hands as I grab her ever so gently as to pluck her lips once more.

Do I go to the Northern Territory to talk to her? Spend a cool grand flying over to the other side of the country to speak to a woman whom I have feelings for, even though I have no idea where she lives and couldn’t tell the streets of her fair city from Adam. I could get lost, broke, and in all likelihood murdered.

Do I write her an e-mail, confessing my feelings? And if I do so, by what address? One that she would recognise as being my own, or a pseudonym that she would not recognise?

Or do I wait eight weeks for her to return, which she might not do, and confess to her then my feelings, and hope she has not found a lover during her time back home, if she doesn’t have one already? I mean, beautiful women do not stay single forever. A woman who looks that good and who is that amazing to be around must have at least a couple hundred other blokes salivating over her too.

I am, I am just at a loss. And on top of that I am exhausted. If anyone could help me out of this mess, I would be quite appreciative.

This is Naughty Nefarious, signing off ladies and gentleman. Good Night.