Viva Espania

During my week on holiday I learnt the following; my oldest pal makes a great wingman, free pouring vodka is both a blessing and a danger, a jump in the pool is a lush hangover cure and prescription sunnies are incredible. Oh and I also learnt some Spanish. If you'd like to order a couple of large beers and ask for the bill, I am totally your gal.

It took me a little while to relax in truth, I couldn't help fidgeting on my sun bed, wondering what time it was at home and what I would be doing if I wasn't on my hols. But, helped along by the beating down sun (and a couple of cervessa) all my worries soon melted away. By day three my biggest concern was at which point I should turn over to toast my back.

I kicked off my holiday reading with a bit of a heavy one; Sally Brampton's memoir of her depression, entitled Shoot the Damn Dog. Yea I know, I did think that perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to read such a deep book when I was attempting to escape all that drama, but actually it was insightful and inspiring. I balanced the mood by then reading the obligatory holiday sex book. Pretty filthy to be honest. So filthy in fact that I read it in 24 hours. 

I don't know what it is about the sun but it got me feeling a bit fruity (or was that just the sex book?). I soon found myself dreaming about the cute Spanish waiters at our favourite beach bar and the older man type who sat brooding, looking out to see unwinding with his red wine. It gave me plenty of writing material...

'I have been fantasizing a lot. I think it's a really good thing; my moody thinking time (well most of it) has been replaced by fantasy time. An indication of hope surely? Something I've definitely found difficult these past few months...

Fantasy number 1: the older man. A while ago I set myself the dating challenge of going out with three different guys, two of which I have achieved, the third remains unaccomplished. A date with Mr Older Man needs to happen. I've been finding myself imagining how sexy this could really be. Last night we had dinner in our new favourite bar on the beach and I couldn't help myself perving on this typically delicious older man type. He had longish, sunkissed hair, swept back with a bit of wet look gel. His skin was deeply tanned and weather beaten, his hands adorned with a few chunky gold rings and his wrists wrapped in a few worn leather bracelets. To top it all off, he was wearing a white linen shirt. The only thing missing were the keys to his yaht.

Fantasy number 2: the holiday romance aka sexy senora. You know this favourite beach bar of ours? Well not only are some of the clientele dreamy but the waiters are not too bad either. Spanish, knowing only a little English and dressed in white (probably linen, let's dream) to emphasise their natural tans. We have our favourite, we've nicknamed him the very unsexy name of Diego (desperately trying to think up a sexy Spanish alternative - failing, miserably). Anyway Diego has spotted us. Only on our second night drinking in the place he had remembered our drinks; 'Vodka con toniqua'. There was even a little flirt - he called me beautiful! This guy knows all the good English words...'

Well, to let you into a little gossip, fantasy number two was realised only a few nights later. After some more flirting and broken conversation we bagged ourselves an invite to after hours cocktails on the beach with two of the sexy senoras. We very cooly agreed to hang about the bar for them to finish, passing the time with a couple more vodka con toniqua. Unsurprisingly we got pretty hammered. By the time they had finished we probably shouldn't have started on the cocktails but oh well, we were on holiday! They mixed us whatever we fancied (Mojito - naturally) and the four of us headed to the empty beach.

Cannot remember what the hell we talked about, but I do remember desperately trying to turn the flirt up with Diego. Turns out he speaks little to no English. Tricky I thought, but also pretty fucking hot. After another round of cocktails (and dodging of the invitation for a dip in the bar's pool) we headed back to the beach. This time his (uglier) friend appeared more interested and hell, I went along with it, I was on holiday after all, but to be honest, I have had better snogs in the corner of The Rose at closing on a Saturday night. 

I woke up the next day with a pretty fucking horrendous hangover. I went back to sleep until 2:30pm then sweated the alcohol out of my body around the pool for the rest of the afternoon. By the time the evening came we were ready to return to our favourite joint and face the consequences. As I said to my oldest pal; 'Let's just go for the giggles'. Also I quite like these awkward situations. So we went for a last night dinner and to our relief it was all good. They even asked us to stick around for drinks that night too (yea sure they did, perhaps they thought they would get a little luckier than just a fumble on the beach).

I am determined not to break this holiday aura I seem to be sauntering around with. I'm even seriously thinking about booking another holiday with the girls in October (obviously I am going to have to sell something precious to pay for it; either my body or my car or both). Getting away from the daily grind (sorry for the cliche) has really helped me to see things much clearer. I'm not going to get bogged down by silly life stuff, the most important thing is to enjoy everyday and to do the things I love and to be with my friends and family. Works work, boys are boys; it's not the be all and end all. I plan to do crazy silly things when I get the opportunity to and hell, even live to regret a few things. Think of all the fun stories I will have to tell. 

Our Research into The Game

If you have been hiding under a rock these past couple of months (or perhaps not read any of my previous posts) you might not be aware of the research myself and my fellow FPUAs have been undergoing. Since reading The Game by Neil Strauss we have been putting his tips and tricks into practise. Yes, his book is aimed at men picking up women but we have been exploring which practises can be transferred over to women picking up men and which cannot.

Since entering the world of the male PUA (pick up artist) we have learnt to recognise all those little games boys play when trying to get into your pants. It's quite fun because you can spot them anywhere; I can't watch a Hollywood rom-com without witnessing one or more of a PUAs move. Not only do we put into practise these methods but we also hold involuntary focus groups with the many boys we come across. Obviously they are completely unaware of their contribution to our research therefore making our work highly unethical. Oh well.

We have actually learnt a lot by just talking to these boys and everyone sharing their experiences. For instance, last weekend they appeared shocked when myself and KK were discussing our Friday night out, in which I told a story of approaching a guy on the dance floor. KK's Jumper Boy responded 'You actually go up to guys?', myself and KK replied 'Yea, of course. They don't come up to us!'. The boys carried on to explain that they have never had a girl come up to them on a night out. Strange. We now think it normal practise to approach a guy, although sometimes this doesn't really work out to plan... (if you are intrigued you might want to read about my epic fail last Friday evening; but be warned, it's quite a gruesome story).

It was also discussed a few weeks ago that some guys have exceptional high standards when it comes to their ladies now, mainly because of all the glossy images of nudy girls in the media and the perfectly formed private parts of porn stars. Funny, I never thought I would mention the phrase 'high standards' and 'perfect' in the same phrase as porn stars. Anyway, this was why I was a little shocked to come across this article on the Daily Mail today whilst munching on my cheese sandwich at lunchtime.

For those of you who do not know Tracey Cox, she is THE sexpert, appearing on highly intellectual TV programmes such as This Morning and Big Brother. In her latest blog post she explains why she believes men to prefer average looking women as opposed to hot ones, mainly because it makes them feel insecure. How odd? This goes completely against our findings. Perhaps we need to bring this up at our next focus group.

Other things we have learnt through discussing Game tactics with these boys are;
Bums are the new boobs - if the face is alright it goes boobs then bum, bum being the deal breaker
Some boys think about getting their GF's knocked up to keep them - it's true, one of them actually confessed to thinking about this
Sleeping with hookers is actually quite common - ok, so maybe not common but definitely the thing to do in Amsterdam
Nipples are a big issue - their own of course; too big, too small, too camouflaged

Game vs. no game

I meant to post this on Saturday but I think I was too shamed to finish the post, but here goes anyway. Be warned, please do not judge me...

Last night's antics are definitely worth a post. As usual Blondie and KK came and sat at the bar with a bottle of wine whilst I attempted to work at the pub. Whilst starting on their second bottle the idea of a spontaneous night out was discussed. My little brain went into overdrive; what time could I finish work? How would the girls get home? What the hell was I going to wear?

At 1030 I signed off my beer pulling duties and bundled the girls into my car. I sped home, stopping off at KK's and Blondie's to pick up heels and handbags. By 1130 we were in town.

To start with it was quite refreshing to be in town sober. Obviously it was a bit trickier to walk in the gigantic heels but it was quite interesting observing the drunk ones with a little bit of sober-smugness.

After swinging by the bar on our way in we headed to the dance floor. When I say the dance floor in the Rose I mean a tiny postage stamp sized raised area, crammed with drunk perverts and lots of 18 year old girls. Pretty much straight away I spotted DW but being sober I was quite clear headed about the whole situation. After his ignoring-me-but-saying-hello-to-the-girls move I smiled and waved, he responded by sticking his tongue out at me. Later, Blondie said this definitely was a sign that he wanted to do me.

Meanwhile, KK spotted that Jordan guy from last week. He came over at one point and attempted to get her attention by tapping her on the shoulder, KK completely ignored him. KK has great game. We boogied for a bit, KK kept insisting DW couldn't stop staring at my bum, a drunk Blondie completely oblivious to anything that was going on.

I was determined not to go up to him but his game is just too good. After a while I found myself alone on the dance floor so of course I headed over. Now, I think I am pretty quick witted and good with the banter, but oh no, not with him. I actually think he out witted me and that very rarely happens. After some flirty chit chat during which he referred to my knockers he gestured to the bar and said he was off to find his friends. Awkward.

A bit later on and back on the dance floor I found myself talking to a couple of other guys (not at the same time obviously, although that would demonstrate amazing game). The first guy started up convo by telling me I was 'a very confident women', something which I really wasn't feeling last night and the other confessed within the first 3 seconds of meeting him that he was 35 and had two children. Both these guys had no confidence and no game whatsoever, and of course I was just not interested. Thing is both guys were cute but cute just does not cut it, its gotta be hot!

In my vodka fuelled hazed I actually thought how ironic this situation was; I was like these two game-less men when it came to DW. I don't even know what's so great about him anyway, as KK pointed out he has an odd shaped nose. It's his game that I found myself totally attracted to.

Armed with a very false sense of confidence I marched straight up to DW, grabbed his arm and spun him round and said... nothing. He looked at me blankly and quite politely gestured that he hadn't heard me. Still I stood there and said nothing. Oh the shame. After about 3/4 minutes of this very awkward encounter (in front of all of his friends may I add) he said; "I'm just going for a piss, is this alright?". Oh it just got worse. I gestured something along the lines of "Oh yea, that's fine" and slunk off red faced back to the girls.

I tired telling my by now very drunk FPUA all about what had just happened but it wasn't really sinking in, so for dramatic effect I finished my story to them with "I just want to kill myself". Give me some credit though, I had the balls to stay until the end of the night and I avoided the drunk trip to the takeaway.

Saturday, I got to thinking about this game malarkey. It is so interesting. DW pulled many a Neil Straus move on me. Firstly he negged me; talking to both the girls but not me, then he did the trick of walking away for me to follow and quite obviously his best move was to completely ignore me to the point of which I think it is a fantastic idea to approach him first. Thing is, myself and my fellow FPUAs are unsure what now to do with our new fountain of knowledge. Do we play into the hands of these guys and their PUA skills, after all we are all after the same outcome or do we do the complete opposite and throw them off their game but risk missing out on an opportunity with this guy. The jury is still out. Perhaps we need to road test our options next weekend.

I am not going to lie. My game confidence took a little bit of a knock on Friday night and I was feeling a little battered. I had said to the girls that I was going to lay off it for a while whilst I restored my ego, but I found myself displaying amazing game at the pub yesterday. Don't they say your supposed to get right back on the horse?

Super Saturday

My Saturday evening usually goes like this; wine, Strictly, shower, tan, wine, The Rose, vodka, dance floor, boys, Jager, boys, probably a bit more Jager, pizza shop, pjs, drunken chit chat with the girls with a lot of belly laughing. This weekend did not disappoint.

Saturday night we dressed up as Superhero's, not just to look fit in skin tight spandex and super long eyelashes, but to also celebrate a friends birthday. After all the obvious characters got shotgunned on the event's Facebook wall, I decided on the Black Widow, aka Scarlett Johanson. I know what your thinking, clearly an obvious choice. 

By 8 on Friday I was looking hot, or so my fellow FPUAs lead me to believe. I had squeezed myself into my Primark skin tight wet look leggings, teamed with matching peplum top and shiny red wig. I am not going to lie, kinda felt a bit like a Kardashian. Again, I blame the girls for this false confidence, oh and vodka.

I actually bumped into DW whilst at our favourite bar. I didn't physically bump into him, in fact I actually played it cool, that was until aloof looked kinda rude and I had to say hi. After the usual 'Hello, how are you...blah blah blah' he proceeded to tell me was involved in a dance off with a blonde girl. As one of the girls said; he was always a bit wierd.

During our Sunday morning de-brief over my now infamous breakfast baps, one of the girls added a new boy to our already extensive repertoire of nicknames. 'Jabber' joined the likes of 'Ticktac Teeth', 'Italian Chris', 'Rose Boy' and 'TT'. Good work girls :)

Xx

For all abbreviations see my cheat list

Wowsa.

So much has happened over the last few months...
My bestest single friend (aka the Wifey) met a man, turned a little odd and swiftly moved out of my spare room. My saviours came in the shape off two newly single gal pals; old school friends whom I have rekindled friendships, with over lots of wine and Dissarano cranberries. These girls have been amazing, encouraging me to be just a little bit naughty with the boys and have joined me in getting drunk every Saturday night since May. That might explain my absence in writing - it's just too painful staring at a computer screen with a Jagerbomb hangover.

I am of course still selling bras and booze, but I think my focus has been elsewhere; either re-living the previous weekend's embarrassing Saturday night, or looking forward to the weekend's to come.

Myself and my new found gal pals have been pretty much focused on one thing: boys. Since reading Neil Straus' The Game we have been obsessed with a female equivilant, determined to translate some of his theories over to the blokes. We have experimented with opening lines; it turns out guys are pretty crap at being the forward ones, observed the numerous ways of peacocking, looked out for IOIs (indicators of interest) and have become self-proclaimed experts at negging*. We have turned into femail PUAs (pick up artists). The boys of Bedford had better watch out.

So I guess you could say I have been meeting quite a few guys, but the quality of these finds may have to be questioned. The latest boy was quite literally a boy; he was 20, at collage and worked behind the popcorn counter at Cineworld. What can I say? The possibility of cheap cinema tickets and an endless supply of pick and mix lured me to him across the dance floor of Hi Fi. That and his height. I can't really remember too much more about him.

Tomorrow's Wednesday - Hump Day. Too early to start thinking about this Saturday's shinanigans?

Shel x


*Negging - a term used by Neil Straus, and all Pick Up Artists in his book, referring to the technique of ignoring and then slightly insulting the lady they are interested in, only to compliment her and lure her in at the point she thinks he is not interested. Seems complicated but guys seem to love it. The more you take the piss out of them the more they love you.