Why Are You Still Single?


It must be me. It was always me, I am needy, clingy, I have daddy issues, and I want to be literally handcuffed to the other person all the time. I know. That’s why I am single, that’s why men leg it so fast, they leave skid marks on the pavement and that’s the price every woman must pay in order to keep her marbles together in London. In the past month I was asked in total ¬†of three times, the same age old question – Why are you still single? and again and again I find myself making up reasons why I haven’t got that special one (as opposed to other ‘normal’ people). It’s a short leap from mental illness and unlike in medicine there is no pill from singleness, there isn’t a pill which would whisk all your flaws, ¬†they won’t prescribe you lobotomy and especially, they won’t hypnotise another person to love you.

There could be an algorithm to happiness, which is called online dating, but then can it calculate the divorce rate? Here’s the perfect match for you, you have 99% matches in music wine preferences, travels and books, however we strategically chose to not include points for neurosis, seasonal depression, bipolar tendencies, AADD, pathological lies, infidelity, fetiches and god knows what else that may come with the ¬†package. I have always believed¬†the universe prepared a surprise for me in a form of digital prince charming until he failed to turn up to the date. That was a sign impossible to ignore.

People ask me, are my standards too high? Well, define standards. Surely nobody starts a relationship with an attitude: she/he is a 6 after 5 beers. Of course, there is certain expectation in the significant other, unless you have no expectations of yourself and you will go down with pretty much anything anyone throws your way. Is fitness, intelligence, income, and good looks classify as unattainable standards? Is attentiveness, generosity, honesty and respect a high standard? We set standards according to our own, so shouldn’t people be asking me instead if I have such high standards for myself? Live a bit, stop learning that fourth language, ¬†cancel your gym membership, take a pay cut, get fat. Can I have a relationship now? Probably not because numbers game is not an answer when searching for ‘the one’.

Is it me? Probably. Is that a problem? Probably not. Am I happy? Definitely yes. Thank you, stop asking why I am single.


Why Are You Still Single?

The Parisian Sensuality

e8357271cd0cc6adfbea61ce1caea9ffAfter yet another long break,¬†I am back with a new post about Paris. So yes, I am obsessed with this city! Paris is the city of my dreams and I take it in with all it’s poverty and flamboyance, arrogance and sensuality, and let’s just throw in a dash sleaziness for the good measure.

Couple of weekends ago my friends and I, yet again, jumped on the train and traveled to the city of love. We had 4 fabulous days ahead of us, full of great events and lots and lots of wine. Although I have been making little Paris trips every few months, I never really experienced Parisian night life.  Except may be that one time when I tried to go home with a Belgian equivalent of Spartacus, which happened to be a total fiasco on my part as he decided not to get involved in a dysfunctional ménage à trois with me and my friend, calling it the act respect to my male friend as opposed to blinding rejection. Anyway, new year Рnew me. This time I finally got to go out in a chat friendly environment where I felt my french was strong enough to introduce myself at the very least.

7433e3597a6294b9d124a2fa99a18fb8Saturday night was the opening of the club night season at the l’ Opera Garner restaurant La Boumette. Hello glam of my life! The event itself was organised through a french version of the meet up. To this day I still don’t know whether we walked into a mingling event or was it a pure coincidence we were mobbed by four parisian guys within minutes. The event was held sur le ciel du Paris in a fashionable L’Opera area.

Parisian events are slightly different to London. You still have your mixture of rich arabs and their blond bombshells girlfriends, but you also get creme de la creme of the parisian style front runners who look like they have just stepped down from¬†the Montblanc ad campaign – perfectly groomed, sleek looking and of course, the look wouldn’t be complete without vintage tortoise shell frames. They all look equally nonchalant and self aware at the same time, which was incredibly pretentious¬†and sexy.¬†Perhaps parisian social scene hasn’t moved far from 19th century Dandyism which has always put image ahead of morals, the scene inspired¬†Baudelaire himself.


Of course, I didn’t get to meet any of these classy guys that night. As it usually happens, there was another type of men who prefer to overcompensate their absence of creativity¬†with pushy enthusiasm and sleazy confidence which cannot be combated with anything except for a change of location. Efficient yet very impractical. These guys don’t wait around bombarding you with subtle hints, they go straight in for the kill, latching onto any possible flare of interest or mere politeness to spark the proverbial flame of passion. It was like a romancing the stone on my part. Despite my best efforts of assuming the role of cock block¬†in vain hope I may have a chance to have a great night with the girls, I lost the battle to the latter group.

Despite all that drama, what is refreshing about parisian men, however, is you can have a pretty decent conversation, which can be both a fun banter and an existential debate. I got relatively lucky with one of guys at the party. Ryan was a half french half Arabic blue eyed blond hair mec who had quality flirting skills, who also¬†introduced himself as a stripper for Chippendale. It wasn’t hard to believe because he certainly had the body for it. After 10 minutes of conversation and vivid x rated fantasies (taking¬†place exclusively in my head!), he finally announced he works in marketing which left me both aroused and furious, but I didn’t mind to be played like this at all. As the night was getting busier, I found myself talking to new men who were all equally interested in me. If it wasn’t the dating event after all, ¬†I would definitely say, in Paris, we were more popular than a kebab place on Saturday night. I was on fire! Trailblazing across the room, feeling fabulous. All a gal need to shine is a guys attention.

This may as f6a8641fcb42540d6881c9669306699cwell be a parisian thing. And just as other parisian things I like, I like the straight forwardness and confidence which parisian guys have. British guys may have a great sense of humor (which is a truly great advantage), but when it comes to making a move, it’s usually so subtle, almost like a metaphorical dog whistle perceived only by a certain type of women, if any at all.

Parisian sensuality felt like a breath of fresh air. In a modern world, plagued by extreme feminism, seduction has become closeted¬†part of romantic interaction to the point where men decided to skip it all together. Of course, french guys don’t linger too long on platonic chit chat either and they don’t call if french banter after all.¬†It wasn’t really my intention to meet anyone that night because I only had 2 days left in Paris and I wanted to spend them wandering the streets, drinking wine and daydreaming about how one day I book my one way ticket to Paris.



The Parisian Sensuality

The Time When I Fell For The Fictional Character


Writing about dating when, in fact, you haven‚Äôt met anyone in a while can be a very tedious task. However, when you eventually meet somebody of interest, special attention must be paid. If you really like the person it‚Äôs even more exciting. If you know you like the person for all the wrong reasons, expect a blog post. Normally I would write about the negative aspect of the experience, i.e. bitter lessons, eye opening realizations and cautionary tale confirmations etc. This time it’s not an exception, even though I kind of wish it was.


Couple of weekends ago my friend and I decided to take a time tunnel and treat ourselves to a night of classical salon performance and poetry. As it turned out, 19th century Parisian salon experience was just as dramatic as Hollyoaks. Despite the unusualness of the event, I was very touched by the beautiful classical piano pieces and delicateness of the violinist’s performance. Slowly my mind carried me into the time when sensuality was so delicately hidden, even an accidental touch of hand could send your heart racing through the roof.


Charles Baudelaire

The Vampire’s Metamorphoses

The woman meanwhile, twisting like a snake 
On hot coals and kneading her breasts against the steel 
Of her corset, from her mouth red as strawberries 
Let flow these words impregnated with musk:
‚ÄĒ “I, I have moist lips, and I know the art¬†
Of losing old Conscience in the depths of a bed. 
I dry all tears on my triumphant breasts 
And make old men laugh with the laughter of children. 
I replace, for him who sees me nude, without veils, 
The moon, the sun, the stars and the heavens! 
I am, my dear scholar, so learned in pleasure 
That when I smother a man in my fearful arms, 
Or when, timid and licentious, frail and robust, 
I yield my bosom to biting kisses 
On those two soft cushions which swoon with emotion, 
The powerless angels would damn themselves for me!”

When she had sucked out all the marrow from my bones 
And I languidly turned toward her 
To give back an amorous kiss, I saw no more 
Than a wine-skin with gluey sides, all full of pus! 
Frozen with terror, I closed both my eyes, 
And when I opened them to the bright light, 
At my side, instead of the robust manikin 
Who seemed to have laid in a store of blood, 
There quivered confusedly a heap of old bones, 
Which of themselves gave forth the cry of a weather-cock 
Or of a sign on the end of an iron rod 
That the wind swings to and fro on a winter night.

‚ÄĒ William Aggeler,¬†The Flowers of Evil¬†(Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)


In the middle of the show, I spied with my little eye, a very handsome chevalier impersonating my every fantasy: good manners, eloquent speech, period dressing and ability to recite Baudelaire. Of course, I was well aware I am lusting after a fictional character, yet, I couldn’t help but gasping for air under my imaginary corset. Long after he finished his poem reading, I came to my senses and realized the only rational thing to do was to leave the venue before I was unwillingly and against my better judgement drawn into a conversation with Mr. Rake. But of course, leaving the party early is not my style so I went out on a limb, looking for trouble.


The Rake is an expert of seducing. For anyone interested, The Rake comes from a book by Robert Greene, called¬†The Art Of Seduction. He loves the idea of the women, he‚Äôs extremely charming, he has a ‚Äúdevil may care‚ÄĚ attitude towards life, he never apologises, and is extremely persistent. To put the rake in the modern world contexts means to depict a male which every woman fantasizes about and fears with the same intensity. Mr. Rake is¬†a prevalent breed of men who identify themselves as the modern age romantic martyrs looking for love which they are unable to sustain because their life is too tragic to share it with another human being. This explained my overpowering gravitational pull towards this guy. On some subconscious level I picked up a rampant vibe ¬†of unavailability and all he had to do was to give me couple of dirty looks before I let my imagination floating light years away.


I was excited and infuriated at the same time. Despite my very modern and mature attitude towards dating and partner selection, I was still drawn by the allure of the romanticism of the 19th century. I am hopeless romantic. After being the only single cat amongst coupled up pigeons for literally ¬†years , I decided it would be a great idea to be seduced by Mr. Rake, have few glasses of wine, get to know this flamboyant character, and have a snog if the date doesn’t go too terribly. Of course I went on a date with him. To my surprise, my Shakespearean Romeo wasn‚Äôt delicate in displaying affection, soon enough he moved on from serenading to whispering sexual innuendos with a subtle hint of upgrading this date to a more intimate level. Speaking of dangerous liaisons. Under normal circumstances I would suggest of his inappropriateness and cut the date short, but provided my circumstances, I brushed it off as part of his character. The things good looking men get away with right? ¬†After few glasses of wine who the hell cares anymore, the Rake, Shakespeare, Mr. Darcy ‚Äď the man can recite Baudelaire. Fourth hundredth time lucky…


Unfavourable. After 3 weeks of intensely fulfilling conversations on the Facebook, without even the hint of meeting again,¬†I recognised myself as a victim of my self fulfilling prophecy. To my surprise, I wasn’t surprised. I made two errors in judgement. First of them was thinking that getting involved with a jobless actor who lives with his mother was actually a good idea, second, giving him proverbial space to avoid being labeled as needy. Anyone who is rational enough would say that 3 weeks of space giving is like trying to order a drink after the last order which was half an hour ago. I would say, it’s symptomatic of my disastrous dating experience as well as my infantile romanticism which evidently in the 21st century is just as good as writing a letter to Santa. I was put off classical music and victorian poetry for next couple of months.¬†I recovered from it swiftly, thankfully, without any significant bruises to my ego. Next time I see a handsome actor wearing a waistcoat and a shirt with a high stiff collar reciting Baudelaire, I’ll know what to do.




The Time When I Fell For The Fictional Character

Life On The Singles’ Island Is a Life Worth Exploring

I like writing and reading satyrical articles, especially the ones which focus on dating and romance. When you read of someones unfulfilling experience, you gain¬†a feeling of solidarity towards your fellow comrades in the battle called “happily ever after” . After being single for the first 3 years, you gain the new perspective on when to stop taking life too seriously. While each of us are perpetually wrestling our egos about whether we should take rejection personally or how many texts does one deserve in a week, life goes on and going out solo seems not such a bad idea after all.

After being single for the first 3 years, you gain the new perspective on when to stop taking life too seriously.

It might not be adaptable for everyone. Being single is an interesting concept. Many women choose abusive relationships rather than venturing out out on their own in search for something more fulfilling. It’s a risk everybody has to take, yet most of us don’t commit to taking this step because of the fear of unknown. I had a choice.

When my last serious boyfriend sheepishly announced that he wants to sleep with other girls, I was heart broken. I could have stayed in this casual “see where it takes us” tug of war, or I could move on and have a real shot at my happiness. Ironically 3 years later, he ended up in a committed relationships and I ended up dateless on the Saturday night. Lesson learned: if a guy suggests he doesn’t want exclusivity – it means he doesn’t want exclusivity with you. No amount of time or conquests will change this. But there were also other things.

With time I grew more comfortable and essentially happier being single than having to sacrifice my dignity to facilitate the need for companionship. In spirituality it’s called talking control of your own life. Did I manage ok? Absolutely not.

In my previous post I would explore different mini stories of my chance encounters with guys and how well it didn’t go. In the process of analysis, one thing became more evident than ever – in dating you take the leap of faith and no matter what, the joke is always on you and you may as well laugh at it. I fell for a street photographer who was rude to me once. I went out with a guy who called himself prince on the night I met him and who tricked me into paying for the whole dinner. For some it may sound tragic, for me it’s just a moment in time like everything else.

We must work on our inner conflicts if we wish for anything good for us to happen. How can we have successful relationships if we expect never to be hurt or have any arguments? What’s a good make up without a good fight right?

By making conscious observations after each failed relationship, I began noticing certain patterns, moments when it all went downhill, times when I fell for the wrong guy, moments when I let my ego overshadow my personality, moments when I knew it’s time to stop fighting, yet I continued. You can read all the books on dating in the world, when it comes to real life,¬†it’s all about staying true to yourself, and if you don’t know who you are and what you want from your relationships, you can’t be fulfilled. Those who can’t do – teach, those who can – do.

Being single isn’t a curse, being single is really a blessing in disguise, because in the long run, the best relationship you can ever have is the relationship with yourself.¬†

Life On The Singles’ Island Is a Life Worth Exploring

When Benefit Of The Doubt Has a Lifespan

A young woman is standing in the street and is using her phone

The reason why dating is sometimes terrifying is the risk of getting rejected. In reality ¬†– it isn’t a big deal, in your head – it’s a catastrophe. Being rejected by somebody you like sucks. Being rejected first before you rejected them is fatal – I promise your ego won’t let you be¬†unless you get a revenge. While some people get luckier than others in¬†their choice of mate, rest of us singles are left with a lingering question – as number of potential candidates decreasing with age, should I give them the benefit of the doubt?

With time, living in London can make you very cynical and if you don’t take certain precautions it can come back to bite you in the arse. Picky singletons in London are no longer settling for anything less than perfect. Problem is, you end up competing with the rest of the population and unless you are “a full package” you can be running a very unlucky streak. When someone asks me out on a date, I can’t help but question their motives. Sometimes I think my cautiousness can be verging on paranoia, however 9 out of 10 times, I’m right, don’t ask me how I know it. Years of bad luck and experience perhaps.

But sometimes, when you sense an adventure, you decide to give the benefit of the doubt to a person who stood you up, canceled 3 dates in a row, forgot to text you for a week and so on, just because you are so intrigued with the potential they might bring Рis it a nice dinner or great sex, you are prepared to put up with any poop that comes along just to satisfy the curiosity. On the top of insatiable curiosity, there is also a small chance of letting the right person go. We are spoiled with choice, we begin to create impossible standards for people, forgetting we live in the world where everything is deceiving Рstarting with fake eyelashes ending with fake accent. We all run the risk of judging a person too quickly and losing a great opportunity.

So last week I went on a drink date with Prince Charming. The same fella I met in the bar and wrote a post on. When I thought it couldn’t get any more pathetic on my side, I found out this guy actually called himself – prince. After multiple attempts to find out what’s with the obsession with royal title, I gave up, allowing him to maintain his mysterious origins. Who knows, may be he was a prince of some country in never never land, because he never never replies on the same day. After 3 days of excruciating silence (nice touch), he texted me with a pretty standard excuse – telephone company blocked his number. Of course I didn’t believe it. What happened yet to be written.

When I thought he was blowing me off, he actually three day ruled me and just when I thought these things have become urban myths, here come the RULES. This is the one thing I didn’t miss about dating, but according to some old fashioned dating coaches we always have to maintain cat ‘n mouse chase, otherwise you’ll be eating dinner alone. What surprises me however, regardless of¬†being an absolutely decent,¬†legitimately¬†attractive and intelligent human, there is one thing apparently I should be learning – dating rules. I taught myself code, I speak 3 languages and taking up on the 4th, I have a degree, I have read through pretty much every self development book available beginning from¬†neuroscience essays (yes) ending with Napoleon Hill, I attended Tony Robbins gig, and I walked on fire. One thing I suck at is securing a date.

In times like this, when you are looking at very lonely summer, you have to resort to extraordinary measures (and horror of horrors) ¬†-dating education.¬†After all, wisdom doesn’t com from knowing it all, it comes from acceptance of not knowing. Little did I know that by the tender age of 28, I will be contemplating dating advise from a self help book, however I didn’t know I will be writing one day either. Ignorance is a bliss up to the certain age, after that it’s all about information. Now where is that glass of Ros√©?

When Benefit Of The Doubt Has a Lifespan

Are We Bulls**t Shoppers Or Just Optimists

tumblr Dating in London is never dull, even if you don‚Äôt get any dates, time to time you get the reality confirmation that being single isn‚Äôt actually so bad. Being single is always going on a date with destiny. You never know who, where or when falls into your lap and give you a minute thrill, or at least a promise of the possibility of potential happy ending. Unfortunately, being single in London has its down sides too. Sometimes, instead of being all-you-can-eat buffet, it turned into a fast food joint where you take a bite and spit it out without chewing. It has zero value and zero satisfaction. It’s official – dating in London is now box ticking exercise.

Dating scene¬†in big city¬†is not for sensitive souls. It‚Äôs brutal and unpredictable. It doesn‚Äôt follow any common sense or logic. In the absence of sound advice, sometimes I resort to the only thing I do best – generalisations: everyone is taken. Playing the game turned into full on battle, and I found myself right in the middle of it without any clue. What I grew to understand is that romance does not sustain itself. Unless you feed it with hope and idealism, it will slowly turn into cynicism and bitterness. It‚Äôs easy to swear of men and engage to yourself over a bottle of wine, but it takes optimism to shake off yet another dating disaster without effectively doubling in size. Lot’s and lot’s of it.

How do you stay positive? Do you play numbers game searching for the one, or the one next to him/her? Or do you patiently sit and wait hoping for the best? Neither is the right way. Women‚Äôs and Men‚Äôs magazines are bursting with pop-scientist and pseudo ‚Äď intellectuals giving advice on how to find and sustain successful relationships, but that means fuck all if we have no self-respect, or confidence or integrity. People don‚Äôt approach love by cold calculations and detailed plan of seduction ‚Äď if only in bad fiction and seduction seminars. Embracing my inner coach I would only say one thing – to have optimism is to have¬†confidence about the future or the success of something. If going on dates raises your confidence about finding a right partner, then it’s the only way to go. Dating out of fear of ending up forever alone can dart you right into the arms of bullshit sellers, effectively have your heart broken and a casual STI. Not a great idea. And by dating I don’t mean going on dates with only one goal of getting laid.

Regardless, for majority people in London getting a date isn‚Äôt difficult, majority but me. I‚Äôm not online dating and I rarely go out, but even when I do, meeting a worthy candidate becomes a sales skills building exercise: appear too desperate and you’ll end up with a sausage roll, play hard to get – you could end up hungry. If you play the whole program right, you could end up with a phone number. I would jump the gun and mention the actually date, but this is another level of sales negotiations supported solely on a question – What’s in it for me? Last weekend I got to thinking. We play games with each other because it’s fun. If you actually forget your ticking time bomb and go out on a limb to a bar on Saturday night, you could actually have lot’s of fun. So last week I did just that (not that I actually apply “ticking time bomb” to myself) and met a guy who relentlessly tried to get my number for about an hour, must say he did intrigue me a little bit, but sometimes you get that gut feeling they are in it for all the wrong reasons. Despite long negotiations about nothing between me and him, my friend (with sort of my approval) gave the guy my number.

Cutting long story short, I never heard from him. I was dumb folded. First thought – why bother in a first place? Second thought was – I’ll write a blog about it. Whatever the reason for not getting in touch was, I derived an invaluable lesson (like you always must do) – count your losses and move on. Of course, I don’t exclude some preposterous circumstance like a stolen phone by a gang of savage raccoon, ¬†but realistically, in this scenario i’ll just adopt an idea he was married. From my personal experience, finding anything worthwhile on Saturday night in town has a chance 1/10 , finding yet another bullshit seller is guaranteed. I don’t believe in virtues,¬†but whatever happened to sincerity and integrity? Am I in the wrong of being optimist that may be, just may be, one of these midnight rendez-vous would end up with at least a date?

Two words come to mind: Cruel Intentions. Seducers are rainbow sellers – victims are bullshit buyers, or may be they are just optimists who sometimes get a bad nut. Love them of hate them, can’t live without them. p.s. I did get a text message with an excuse he was busy – a week later which is as good as never.

Are We Bulls**t Shoppers Or Just Optimists


Neil Strauss – THE GAME: Penetrating the secret society of pick up artist. (Regan Books, 2005)

For the past couple of weeks I was actively engaged in a certain piece of literature that not every men would willingly admit to have read. It was a book about a life of couple of pick up artist (PUA) building a community for men to master the art of seduction of women, or at least that’s how the story has started.

The first time I came across this mythical book was rather unexciting – it was sitting on my ex boyfriends bed side table. It was a statement book – BIG (insert she said joke here). Was it an omen that this relationship was doomed to fail? I didn’t need a book to tell me that. My ex casually explained that this book was lent to him by his flatmate and he hadn’t read it or intended to read it. I believed it because a) he said so b) he was a model and from what I learned later, he had no problem with getting laid. Not by me.

What do men want? The answer came to me in a form of joke, that sounded something like Women want everything – from one man, Men – want one thing from all women. And that’s true but¬†before I get accused of feminism, allow me to elaborate.

Basically if any curious human being has ever browsed through a section of self help books, on purpose or wandered in by accident, doesn’t matter, they’s see rows and rows of books for women with enigmatic titles such as¬†He’s Just Not That Into You¬†or Why Men Love Bitches for example. Wait, they do?

By picking up on one of the books, I’ve discovered that there is a secret society of improved women, with perfect hair and manicures, in seductive lingerie giving fantastic blow jobs, at the same time they are mentally rational, intellectual, but not too smart, hard working, but finding enough time (on the top of round the clock beauty appointments) to please their men and refuse under no circumstance to be treated like hoes (except for when in bedroom because that’s where she really stands a chance of attaching a man to her).

No joke these books will awaken your new improved inner Stepford wife with guaranteed marriage proposal within max two years. And just when you think you’ve finally got your happy ending, if you wish to find out how keep your man interested in you for longer than a year and not running off to your younger colleague, please read my new book called “You Can’t”.

Women (and men,) I apologise, but it’s true, we all want to get married, and men want to have sex with as many women as possible. We can’t battle hundreds of thousands of years of biological evolution. We all want to sleep with each other. Yes, sometimes women, too, want only one thing from a guy. Morality you may ask? Morality is simply an attitude towards¬†people whom we personally dislike (O. Wilde) so here you go.

However that wasn’t the daunting part. As I was secretly reading a book on how to seduce a man using carrot and a stick method and contemplating the trap for the next guy who speaks to me on Tinder, it suddenly hit me – there is a book out there that teaches men how to seduce a woman an get her into her panties. On the spot!¬†Shocking.

How will I ever possibly leave the house and interact with a guy while simultaneously trying to guess whether he’s actuality into me or is he just playing routines?¬†Now I was really afraid.¬†Dating in this age is bad enough when a guy blows you off for not putting out on the second date (what happened to the 3rd date rule y’all! ), leave alone waiting for the whole week! This was almost like an insult to an injury. So I decided I will read the GAME and learn to spot warning signs before I was made into a social experiment.

I completely forgot that with good marketing you can sell ice to eskimos. Anything that sounds too good to be true, probably is. Had reading a clever book landed me a husband? Not that I’m aware of. ¬†One major thing that every self help junky forgets – no amount of books will help you to fill that gaping hole inside. So if you are insecure neurotic single girl, a book written by self proclaimed expert won’t undo years of daddy issues. The urban advise would be – get your shit together first.

Having that little detail in mind, I knew I was partially protected from an army of casanovas trying to seduce and lure me into their love den with these ingenious pick up lines, as the author calls them, OPENERS. As I was digging my teeth into this 500 page holy script I became aware that in fact, rather few openers were used on me in the past. All unsuccessfully. Since then I came up with my own ingenious saying – you can’t open an bottle of Romanee Conti with a shit opener.¬†Or something like that.

Why did these great guys fail? I’m not a psychic so I have no idea but I am a firm believer that being yourself still counts in this world, and being a woman in this world I would say that a guy stands a better chance of getting girls number simply by being nice guy instead of NEGing her and making her feel self conscious. True story.

So it’s not entirely a self help book. PHEW.

The more I was getting into the book, the less threatening it appeared to me. It was becoming obvious¬†that it was just a great story, picked up by an author to ponder over the impossible question – what women want. And I’ve answered that earlier in the post. ¬†I figured, unless I get hypnotised, I have no threat of being “seduced” by an amateur pick up robot who uses manipulation, intimidation and deception. But if you consider your self a nice guy who believes that women only give it up to bad boys, you are instantly doomed to fail as a pick up artist because “the douchebag”, unless you are¬†natural at the GAME.¬†And we’ve all dated these men.

I wasn’t dissapointed with the fact that this book didn’t become my secret weapon to beat guys at their own game or become an expert in men, not that I thought it was possible anyway! I breathe a sigh of relief that although media wants us to believe that there is a secret war between genders called who gets the power,¬†¬†it’s not really a power unless you have win/win on your hands. Any other than that would mean loneliness and broken heart. Even pursuit of sex will become dull one day and all you will really want will be a person to have a great pillow talk (after great sex, obviously).

The key takeaways from the book.

1. Men like sex 

2. Men will go great lengths to get woman to have sex with them 

3. Somebody is making thousands of dollars on teaching how to pick up women

4. Nobody wins the GAME. But consolation prizes can be very erotic. 

Above all that, it’s a fun and easy read.

WARNING: Don’t keep it on your bedside table. Just in case.