Looking for a man? This is just what you need. Or not.

I am usually the first person to admit to being a bit of a slow idiot, often missing cues, and therefore opportunities, because I’m busy looking in the wrong direction, because I tend to be clueless.  Thing is, I get hit on the head quite often, as tends to happen when your eyes are averted, by buggers I thought were harmlessly walking on by, when in reality they had intentions towards me, or my body parts.  As fate would have it, despite my best attempts to figure out just what the hell is going on, most days I still can’t figure men out.  Ah, lovely, lovely men…  You were put on this earth to make my life just that much harder, weren’t you?  That’s why we don’t speak the same language.  And why you insist on scratching your balls every so often.  The other half of the species is just plain peculiar, and not in a good way…

You can see where this is going, no?  That’s right people, I’m back on the hunt and looking for all the drama that comes with dealing with a rib-giver.  Oh joy!  Yes, I’m being sarcastic.  I’ve been down this path before, with less than sterling results to show for my efforts (see archive), but this time I’m going to be a bit smarter in my quest, and by that I mean I shall subject all my foolish ideas to rigorous vetting, via the wonderful internet (that would be you, my lovelies).  Brilliant plan, no?  It’s alright, you can say it…  No.  Ah well, when has that ever stopped me?

The 2013 Kai Ni Kii? Guide To Finally Getting A Man (Funky Soundtrack Included).

I trust you can tell from that most eloquent title that this will not be, a. useful, b. intelligent, or c. useful.  Consider yourself warned.  Now because this story is so very complicated, and because I must milk it for all its worth (because all you evil buggers care about is my lack of a love life), I’m going to break it down into several handy tomes.  That’s right folks, this year I’m going all series on your behinds…


Stop laughing, at one point or another in your dating life you have pondered this very same question, and if you tell me you haven’t then I will call you a shameless, shameless liar.  I don’t care what the married types tell me, this, the very beginning, this is the hardest part of any relationship, hands down.  Screw all that talk of learning to live with someone, finding someone you could possibly live with is much more complicated, if only because it involves stepping into the great unknown.

Now if I was feeling generous, I’d usually proceed to go online and get you a magnificent list of things to look for, but given that I am a female of somewhat significant age, I choose to draw upon my extensive experience instead.  Having dated, or attempted to date, several troubled individuals, I have googled the peculiar mating behaviour of men enough times to make me a pseudo expert.  What?  You think the experts have more knowledge than me, ati because they’ve studied human behaviour and what not?  Ptuh!  I’m a graduate of the University of Hard Knocks, with a PhD in cheap arm-chair psychology, so there!  Ahem…  Press play and proceed.

Hey pretty baby with the high heels on,
You give me fever like I’ve never, ever known,
You’re just a product of loveliness,
I like the groove of your walk, your talk, your dress… 


If the object of your obsession keeps staring at you, then that’s usually a pretty good sign of interest.  Men are like children, fascinated by new, bright, shiny objects, they can’t help but stare.  Have I lied, gentlemen?

Problem is, if all he keeps staring at is your ample bosom, or bottom, then I warn you his interest may, just may, be purely physical, but not to worry, that may not be such a bad thing, depending on where your interests lie.  The men just jumped up, shouting in protest.  Yes gentlemen, I know you like to stare at women’s body parts all the time, but there’s a difference between lustfully gazing at my heaving chest, and staring into my face like you’re trying to read my mind.  As unlikely as it sounds, women can tell the difference, because unlike you buggers, we can actually read minds.  Or not (see archive).  And now every man you meet will spend hours staring into your eyes, because some idiot online (that would be me) told him that that’s what women look for.  Apologies, my brilliance does not discriminate, unfortunately.

And if the man is not looking at you, staring or otherwise, know that he doesn’t want anything from you.  No really, nothing.  Yes, there are those shy buggers who can’t look you in the eye, but they still look, only in a more stalker-esque fashion.  And yes, there are buggers who will look at you for some other reason, perhaps you’re a famous person and they recognise you, or you’re exceedingly beautiful and they can’t help themselves.  Insert hysterical laughter here…


Now listen carefully, I’m about to reveal a closely guarded secret.  If a man talks to you, he’s just talking to you.  I know, profound, isn’t it?  Despite what the experts say, a man talking to you is no more a clue to how he feels than whether your Jupiter is ascending or descending.  Men talk, just like women talk, it’s how we communicate.  That said, if he talks to you a lot, and I mean all day, every day, then perhaps his interest in you is more than a passing cloud, but only if said talking is not part of his routine.  I’m just saying, if he’s in customer care, and you keep calling him to fix your computer, then perhaps it’s not the love you think it is.  He could also be talking to you out of the sheer pleasure of good conversation, and meanwhile your delusional self is busy picturing your happily ever after with the man.  It happens to the best of us, no?  Bottom line, talk is just talk.

What the man says, however, well that’s a whole other ball game.  If a man likes you (like that), or lusts after you (like…wait, there’s only one way to lust, no?), he will find a way to say it, one way or another, because these buggers have the subtlety of a sledgehammer.  I’ve learnt that when a man feels the need to talk about sex with you, all the time, then he’s mostly interested in sexing you, either that or he’s a youngling who thinks talking about sex all the time is ‘cool’ (its not, by the way, and coming from my deviant behind, that’s saying something, no?).  I’ve learnt when a man goes out of his way not to talk about sex, even when you give him the opening, then the man is completely smitten, and he’s trying desperately not to scare you away.  Its either that or he has no interest in your ass, and by ass I mean ass.  Stop frowning, I know this is confusing, but I warned you this would not be useful.  Moving right along.  I’ve also learnt that when a man says nothing to you, despite your best attempts at drawing him into conversation with your sexy voice and witty banter, then that bugger doesn’t know you exist, or wishes you didn’t.

I like the feelin’ you’re givin’ me,
Just hold me baby and I’m in ecstasy,
Oh I’ll be workin’ from nine to five,
To buy you things to keep you by my side…


It should go without saying that if there’s absolutely no touching, then there’s absolutely no interest.  Look at the prim and proper types getting all hot and bothered…  Touching here does not refer to fondling, you idiots, this is about physical comfort, and intimacy.  Despite all our claims to have evolved past our primal ancestors, at the end of the day we’re still animals, and human beings don’t let other human beings come closer unless they have been judged safe, i.e. not a threat to their existence.  It’s basic instinct, allowing someone to breach our personal space is the physical equivalent of letting your guard down, and touch is simply the next step, pulling someone even closer into your orbit.  It’s part curiosity (read exploration), but mostly it’s the desire to create intimacy.  Put differently, by reaching out to touch someone, we’re saying, ‘come closer’.  Now do you understand why I say no touching means no interest?

As for which touch means what, well, I haven’t the foggiest.  Logic would dictate that the more he touches you, the more sexual his interest is, but some people are overly touchy feely, they’ll caress a stone if it looks at them nicely (you know the type, they feel the need to hold hands all the time, muchos creepy…), while some of us are averse to touching other people, because we don’t like our space being invaded, especially in public (yes, I’m slightly touch-phobic, but only because I am, was, Presbyterian).  And before you go tripping fantastic because that boy you like hugged you two weeks ago, keep in mind that touch is not necessarily sexual in its intent, because if that was the case then we would all have Oedipus complexes, shagging our mothers and fathers with reckless abandon, such like nonsense.  Unfortunately, ladies, sometimes a hug is just a hug.  A hand on the small of your back, however, that’s intent, a man doesn’t put his hand there unless he’s planning on sliding it lower, eventually.  How do you figure out his touch?  Touch him, and if he touches you back, well, touch him again.  Repeat as many times as necessary until you’re convinced.

I’m starting to realise why my career as a therapist has never quite taken off…


Ignore 1 through 3, this is the only one that matters.  What?  It’s not like I can have a list of one, I must make you wade through the nonsense before you strike gold, no?  This is, after all, the internet, home to all manner of useless information.  Insert evil laughter here…

Ladies, when a man meets a woman he likes, like that, he will immediately puff up his chest and go into alpha male mode (despite the fact that he may not be all that alpha to begin with).  Again, its human nature, competition for scarce resources and what not.  Back in the day, when they were roaming the badlands trying to kill antelopes with stone-tipped spears, it was survival for the fittest, he that brought home the largest animal got the most women in his cave.  These days, all evolved and shit, it’s the man who looks like he could bring home the largest animal who takes the prize, but because we live in the age of meat bought from a butchery, this no longer means the man who looks fittest.  These days, men get to prove their alpha-ness in all manner of varied, and occasionally absurd, ways, like using their wallets to woo you, or their shiny trinkets and gadgets to entice you, or their silky words to entrance you, or (if I’m lucky, and I rarely am) their big brains to lull you into submission.  Whatever it is the man thinks he has that makes him the king of the jungle, it will be put on display for the sole purpose of getting you to succumb to his will, forthwith.

And if he isn’t putting on a show for you, and by you I mean you specifically, not the entire room?  Then my friend you are not in the running, so stop flashing your weave at him and move on, my dear, there are other fish in your sea.  Promise.

The way you make me feel,
You really turn me on,
You knock me off of my feet,
My lonely days are gone…

The King is finally on the playlist, and because I have great shame for not having him here sooner, the man will be the soundtrack for this entire series, because who knows more about looking for love in all the wrong places than Mr Jackson?  As much as I want to write an elaborate story about what MJ’s music does to me, I think I’ll leave that to Bwana Mahe, he that loves this man more than he loves me.

Go on girl,
Go on…
Hee hee!

I just did the ‘flick leg, grab crotch, point to the sky’ move, because I’m old school like that…