The Guys I Have Dated Since Moving To Israel

For reasons somewhat outside the remit of this blog, I recently decided to ferociously attack the dating apps that Israel has to offer. Even consulting an ever patient guy friend in the hope of making me look cute, but not cutesy, desirable but not slutty, interesting but not nerdy. You get the story… armed with a brand spanking new dating profile I was ready to take on the Israeli dating world, or so I thought. Land of milk and honey it may be… decent males – I’m less convinced.


  1. Yair

After my date with Yair I was on a high…. why you may ask? Because I genuinely thought I had done it. I had found a good guy who wasn’t boring (*read an accountant at Deloitte*) Smart, speaking perfect English, crazy good looking he even had the baggage I so desperately seek in the form of an absent father. And as if his credentials weren’t enough Yair took me to a view point (which was also Shmuel’s grave and I swear to G-d i davened Ma’ariv) which even with my sem days is a first for me. He was perfect, I was blown away – here was the guy I had been waiting for. 

However, there was a slight glitch in my plan. Whilst we were speaking there was no second date…there were promises, hints and suggestions but 10 days had gone by and I had yet to see my beloved Yair. Eventually I pushed him into a corner (despite numerous warning from every person I asked – and I asked a lot- that he wasn’t just that into me) and eventually he acquiesced and a date was set for that Thursday night (which in Israel is prime time date night.)

I was happy, but also knew, by this point that it shouldn’t really be this hard. It was a bitter victory and one I suspected wouldn’t quite come to fruition…what this means is that I had a number of backup men ready to rock and to roll and we will come onto them shortly. So Thursday comes and goes and it’s 5 pm and I still haven’t heard… so I message (and y’all can stop with the judgement….I want what I can’t have) and ask if he wants to meet. His response was basically akin to Netflix and chill- I.e he was happy to meet this blonde, keen and enthusiastic oleh for a quick boink. I responded that I wasn’t particularly keen to have sex on a second date… still somewhat in control of my dignity. To which he responded that I should probably make other plans. And so marked the death toll for the one I thought was the one. 

  1. Almog 

Happily, I did indeed have some guys on the back-burner and so simply brought Almog front and centre to replace Y on what was a very rainy Jerusalem night. I’m not going to lie the fact he had a car was probably the deciding factor in this decision… he was even kind enough to give my friends a lift to the makolet at the top of the hill. However, Almog’s main issue was pretty apparent from the get go… his breath frikin’ stunk. Which was bad enough when we were sat just a hairs whisper from each other in Waffle Bar, but absolutely unbearable as he kissed me in the Ulpan car parking lot. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to kiss whilst holding your breath.. but hun it ain’t no picnic. I’m not sure my teeth have ever been brushed quite so thoroughly… 

Naturally, given that I couldn’t have been less attracted to him Almog was keen for a second date and I had to let him down nicely and then firmly. I assume he’s fine now… he’s been seen on OkCupid since. 

  1. Tamir

Tamir was 6 foot. Which is tall. And it appealed to me, because I once dated somehow who was also around that height and he made me feel safe. So I chatted to him on WhatsApp… however then he wanted to speak on the phone (very common with Israelis) and I was fucked. Because I don’t really speak to guys on the phone unless it’s like serious… what on earth do I say if I can’t twirl my curls and smile sweetly? So instead my friend answered the phone… trying to hide her thick Joburg accent with the queens English and doing a spectacularly terrible job. Which meant everyone in room 1206 was on the floor and laughing pretty loudly. Things really got interesting when I began to interject first with Hebrew (which ironically and confusingly I speak with a French accent) and particularly hairy when we both answered a question at the same time. The most amazing part of this saga – he was still keen to go on a date. Israelis… eh?

  1. Gal 

We spoke for one day, had great chats, good laughs, even progressed to voice notes. A date was planned for the following day and all was good in the world. Then it didn’t because he was tired. Then the conversation trickled to a few desperate lines and quickly I was ghosted. And so ended my quickest non relationship ever. 


What I’ve learnt from dating

Hmm… so truth be told this blog is a little more tricky than the others, mainly because I feel like I am picking a raw nerve, unpacking and unpicking a history of failures and a sporadic, spotty, dating history that covers the religious spectrum and has seen me develop from a chubby, awkward, nervous 20 year old into a trimmed down, less awkward, less nervous, but still faltering 26 year old. It’s been what you could call a journey….And I must say a lot of it has sucked….some of it hasn’t, some of it’s been great, exciting and exhilarating. But, a lot has been painful and challenging. And for every lesson I have learnt, there has been a new hurdle that came trundling at me so thick and so fast that my head has been left spinning and, sometimes, at the worst moments my world shattered. I have simply been left to pick up the pieces.

And think a lot. So, given that I am on a five hour flight instead of keeping my disjointed and confused thoughts inside, I thought I would offer my thoughts on the lessons I have learnt from my encounters with the opposite sex.

  1. Trust your gut

I am told that when you know, you know. Now, I have known a handful of times, except, of course, someone forgot to pass the memo to the gentlemen in my life. And my gut was proven wrong. Suggesting, it does, indeed have defined limits. However, that being said there are certain obvious points that should be considered. Take for example exhibit A: if a guy can’t get through the day without peppering his activity with weed (and particularly if said guy is over the age of 25) then when your gut tells you to run, ladies and gentlemen you run for the fucking hills. Now obviously, this is a fairly straightforward example. However there are more subtle suggestions that often see us continue on a clear downward trajectory even whilst our gut screams and begs us to stop. Sadly I’m unable to offer them as they’d be too obvious, and this blog has got me in trouble quite a lot recently (all the subtlity of a flippin’ hippo me), but y’all know what I’m talking about.

  1. Actions speak louder than words

You may remember eight hour date from a blog I wrote a number of months ago….now his words told me he was interested, engaged and saw a future. But, I was wrong. I should not have listened to his words, but his actions – which as he groped me later in the car told a rather different story. Coincidently I recently ran into 8 hour date, who was frankly, still stuck up his own ass, but drunkenly he did confirm that, indeed, his intentions had been far more physical than my own. See….I listened to his words when I should have been watching where he put his hands. Recently, a rather similar event occurred, where boy K professed to “care” and “to want to be friends” even as his hands worked their way up and down my back…again, his actions spoke far far louder than his words. Lads do us a favour. If you simply want sex can you just let us girls know….at least then we can make an informed decision, instead of this emotional torment.

  1. Honesty

As a teenager I was also embarrassed to admit I liked someone. Mainly because I assumed, not incorrectly (I was a very late bloomer…think like two years ago,) that they wouldn’t return my feelings. And as a teenager this was indeed the end of the world. As an adult this is just an average week. If you like someone tell them. If they don’t like you back (which I’m not going to lie they probably won’t….if you’ve got to tell them it’s not a great sign)….then thank you, next. Seriously though…this may cause some short term pain. But, them not reciprocating your feelings doesn’t make you any less special or beautiful (she says whilst she wears makeup every day and recently lost a tonne of weight…?) It does make the situation clear and honest, which should help alleviate any potential for pain.

  1. You’re going to do it anyway

In truth, I wanted to entitle this slightly differently, but felt I would be accused of being sexist. But, nevertheless this option could also be known as “girls are psycho.” I’m sorry we just are. Now I should parenthesis this with saying that this is ONLY true when we really like a guy, and nine times out of ten the guy has probably done something dickish (as men are wont to do) to poke the bear. But, once that switch has shifted, we are going to do utterly ludicrous and stupid shit. We’re going to send stupid texts we know we shouldn’t, or shout obscenities or whatever we can pull out of our hat….Personally, when I fall down this rabbit hole I see so much red, I’m a little like the hulk. Except instead of morphing into a green giant (which would be frickin’ awesome) I transform into a character on the Hills replete with overly dramatic monologues and hair flicking in abundance. I do like to think that this also works into the guy favour….as that same green glow of hatred can also, when harnessed appropriately, present as a glow of something truly beautiful that sees us women care and love our men unconditionally. Which is the part that is far more fun and satisfying for everyone involved. So….basically it’s all on you boys.

  1. Reading minds

You never ever know what’s going on in a boy’s head. Not ever. I really couldn’t be clearer about this. Whilst you are busy analysing and debating….unpicking every conversation had and decision made, he’s probably taking a dump. This was recently highlighted to me when I asked a certain guy why he did a certain thing (a number of times) – his answer with genuine confusion in his voice, “I honestly don’t know.” And if he doesn’t know, how the fuck am I meant to have a clue? It was a real life lesson….you really just don’t know what’s going on his head (mainly because I don’t think they do half the time,) so just don’t even try. Easier said than done….I know. Trust me….I do. But, ultimately we really can only control our own actions.


Now clearly I am still very much single, so this list is by no means exhaustive. However, I think the thing that is most obvious to me is that this shit is going to play out whichever way it does and there really is no right or wrong move in terms of moving the relationship forward. Either you’re both feeling it, or one of you is going to pull away.

However, there are wrong moves when it comes to self-preservation, and this whole better to have loved bullshit is getting pretty old. I guess the problem is that when we, as women, like a man we really walk to the ends of the earth and back. Even whilst they’re far more interested in what’s in between in our legs than the distance our feet can cover.

More than that, the majority of relationships are born out of still water and incredibly undramatic developments which is, frankly, a state of being I can only aspire to. So all this drama is not only immensely painful, but statistically unlikely to yield the desired results.

That being said, I am clearly still learning, but now at least I have a whole new country of eligible men in which I can continue my struggle, hope and journey. And you know…fuck the next one up.

Aaliyah life continues

I sit writing this blog in the extremely cold ulpan grounds, but happily more or less, completely alone. This is because I decided to skive the “mandatory” excursion to Jerusalem today,  for two main reasons. The first, and slightly less, important is because I was reliably informed that these trips are akin to a “shit show” and frankly ain’t no-one got time for that. However, what swung it for me was the insistence that I must go. Which included the head of the ulpan chase us around the ulpan screaming “mandatory trip.” And, maybe it’s because I’m an Ashkenazi Jew or maybe it’s because I’m a pain in the ass, but when someone screams at me and then uses loudspeakers to tell me to get on a bus, I’m gonna run and I’m gonna hide.

Hopefully, this decision won’t impact too much on my social life as it’s such early days I do still feel the constant pressure to be on, present and entertaining at all times. Which, frankly is just incredibly exhausting. It also feels a little like I am at a boarding school with cliques already forming and the surprising appearance of a mean girl This means my present time alone is rather rejuvenating and well the worth the shitty excuse I will have to offer tomorrow to explain my absence, “period pain” in Hebrew anyone?

Anyway, apart from my non-attendance at various Ulpan events the dust has somewhat settled since my first day. I did, happily, manage to open a bank account and even made jokes with my account manager who it seems had once visited Oxford. This was, of course, after I shouted at her for mocking my accent. I mean…Israelis mocking my accent? Jog on love. I also managed to sign up to medical insurance and deposit money in the post office (again, achieved during the skiving of yet more activities.) Suffice to say, if ulpan read this blog I am screwed.

For those of you who are concerned I was placed in the set below top set for Hebrew which, it goes without saying, is unacceptable. I have yet to be moved up despite beseeching both in Hebrew and English. My current tactic is to simply do the top set work until they are forced to move up, but at least this way I won’t miss out. And for those of you who will call me a nerd, or worse – frankly I have five months to get my language up to scratch and like my doubters in the bank – you can all jog on.

In truth, I do still feel rather discombobulated, and whilst I am doing “stuff” as it were, I still feel as if half the time I am sat scratching my head wondering where the fuck I go from here. I’m neither happy nor unhappy, just unsure – which I suppose is normal for an immigrant. How on earth our grandparents did it all those years ago from the haim I will never know – I have madrichim, (very) basic language skills and free rent and food and still, I feel a cloud of confusion and unease follow me around. My latest challenge is an urgent need to add data to my mobile phone plan, which is one of the few things that is much much cheaper ba’eretz, but struggling to deal with phone companies in the UK, I will be seeking assistance with this one. If great-grandpa Haim didn’t have to deal with this nonsense, no reason I should unnecessarily upset myself.

However, despite Wi-Fi drama what I have found to be truly amazing is the number of family members that are crawling their way out of the woodwork. Failing to have a family Whatsapp group because they’re simply aren’t enough of us, I am amazed at the second and third cousins that are offering me places to stay, bringing me food and generally just making me feel at home. Which I guess…it is.



Yom Aaliyah

Today I bought a pillow….

This is, essentially, all I accomplished. Which I guarantee you was not the plan when I woke up.

In fact, despite being rather exhausted after an incredibly draining day landing ba’eretz. Which was uninspirational (the Yemenites get a far nicer arrival from what I can see) and, frankly, a painful symbol of how little Israelis care that you have chosen to move to their country.

Sadly, instead of balloons and singing, we spent  hours in the absorption centre (and surely the absorption centre in Israel must be the only one to boast Louis Vuitton luggage – my guess is the French.) And then spent even more time wandering around Ben Gurion Airport sheparded by members of staff who, amazingly, seemed even more clueless than ourselves. Before finally finally arriving at a taxi tired, hungry and cold (more on that later) to be berated by the taxi driver for trying to shtup eight individuals’ wordly possession in his taxi. Let’s put it this way he did not handle with care.

Despite all this, and my aching arms from schlepping suitcases up and down stairs, I decided to wake up early this morning to get shit done. Because if there’s one thing I am good at – it’s ticking points off my to do list (obviously metaphorically, I’m not really the list type.) So bright and early I arrived in the moadon ready to be whisked through all the administration that needed to be filled in at ulpan. Of course, whilst I was bright eyed and bushy tailed (or at least my makeup hid most of my sheer exhaustion,) the ulpan staff were not really on board. Instead, I trawled through boring bureaucracy slowly, which included failing my Hebrew test – I have yet to be told of my set, but it sure as hell ain’t Solomon stream. And for those of you who keep telling me you can’t “fail” the test, honestly, you just don’t get “it.”

However, finally I had done all that needed to be done and seemingly signed my life away so I was ready to rock and to roll. So at midday, I left ulpan to go to central Jerusalem – terra firma if you will – starving (I had yet to buy food), but determined and proud.

I had two jobs

  1. To get a SIM with a UK landline
  2. To open a UK bank account

Obviously, I did neither.

I did shout at an Israeli and cry, but more of that later.

As I arrived in central Jerusalem a friend informed me that the banks close at 1pm and don’t reopen till 4pm. Why on earth they do this, I couldn’t even begin to fathom. But, ultimately it meant my whole rush was redundant. I could have slept, but I didn’t. I persevered, how wrong I was.

Firstly, the phone:

This is a very boring story so I won’t go into it at depth, but it involved me basically deciding to use the SIM I had originally been given at the airport, and wasting a huge amount of time (and money on roaming) in my pursuit of other, ultimately irrelevant options.

However, it was on my search for a workable SIM tailormade for my unique requirements that I learnt two useful things.

  1. Literally, no-one gives a shit that you’re an oleh hadashah. I had, mistakenly, thought that when I said those words doors would magically open, people would be nicer, more open, more forgiving of my dodgy Hebrew. I was wrong.
  2. No-one speaks English (or certainly not to me), I suspect this is part of a mass ploy to make my life harder than it needs to be, but this is yet to be confirmed. The irony is I had at one point joked I was going to pretend to be French forcing people to speak to me only in Hebrew so I could improve….be very careful what you wish for.

Then I dragged myself around town, as my mother would say, dreycoking before arriving at one bank at 3.25 ready for its doors to open at 3.30. Of course, what I didn’t realise was that you needed a ticket which meant I wasn’t even first. I was brusquely waved vaguely in the direction of a manager who thrust a number in my face and seemed to think I would be able to make heads or tails out of an Israeli switboard.
I could not.

But, then it got really interesting.

I went to Bank Hapoal’im ready to book a meeting for tomorrow. However, the signs were ominous as  in the huge queeue that formed outside I got screamed at first in Hebrew (and then when I pretended suddenly not to understand) in English for stealing some nuttas place. I was also balancing this drama with a client phone call, whilst offering retorts and trying to save my spot at the head of the queue in Hebrew. Finally, we were let in after a 20-minute wait. I was one of the first to be seen, and all was good.

However, the teller was very upset I had come to her branch and not one closer to me, despite my protestations that I had arrived but a day ago and didn’t know Talpiot (which I later realised isn’t even the right area) from my left foot. She also refused to book me an appointment. Legitimately refused, even though I know of others who had booked appoitments.

Then I lost it, and in my anger became a sem girl and questioned her ahava Yisroel, dramatically gathered my belongings, stormed out and cried. 

Looking back I may have overreacted.

However, whilst I did get very little done today. I must say that was has amazed me is the kindness of olim who have gone before me. Every single oleh has messaged to help with advice, counsel or simply words of empathy – which is really what I needed. And, thanks to them, I not only got through the day, but feel ready for tomorrow. Which is, thankfully, another day.


What it’s actually like to be on a diet

Oh I know….you’re not meant to say it. It’s become like this taboo word, instead, I should preach that I’m on a healthy lifestyle kick or some other delightful bullshit that makes the dieting package look prettier. But, that’s garbage. And, frankly I am tired of defending myself for wanting to lose those extra pounds. So, instead here are the hard and ugly truths about losing weight.

  1. Hard

Dieting is really really hard. Seriously, properly difficult. Every moment of every day there is temptation and if most of us struggle to say no to friends/family/colleagues, think how hard that is when confronted with the yummy deliciousness that is the Kosher Kingdom Pick ‘n’ Mix aisle *insert your favourite here*. At every moment, of every day you basically have to constantly say no, when your entire body is screaming, craving, desperate for you to acquiesce. And only the feeblest part of your brain, that knows this can spell long-term trouble is able to remain strong. Hopefully. So here’s my first truth about dieting: – it’s a bit like sex, if it ain’t hard, you ain’t doing it right.

  1. People suck

I dare you. I double dare you to tell someone you are on a diet. In general you will find two responses:

  1. “Oh that’s lovely, but please just try some of *insert calorific food of choice here*
  2. “Oooh you’re not getting anorexic are you?”

Both of these are incredibly annoying for rather separate reasons. For the first point I will refer you happily to my original statement. Dieting is fucking hard, and by tempting and teasing me with food I obviously want, but have actively chosen not to eat you are being cruel. The second point is so shockingly insensitive to both the severity of an eating disorder and the psychology that goes behind this tragic issue that it leaves me dumbfounded. Please, I beg of you try something new. When someone announces they are on a diet, simply say nothing. Boom. Ladies and gentleman problem solved.

  1. Calorie deficit

There is a shit tonne of health food stores out there where you can buy any number of delicious items. From rich and creamy peanut butter, to chocolate covered raisins right the way through to protein powder. You will, undoubtedly come out of these stores with the warm glow of self-righteousness and fragrant upper middle-class vibes. However, food that is of a high quality, organic, or “healthy” is not necessarily low calorie. Dare I say it…even an avocado is rather high in calorie…with the average hipster favourite being around 300 calories. And ultimately, to lose weight you have to be in a calorie deficit. That is it. So you can buy dates that were farmed by the spritely virgins in deep India next to the purest Himalayan mountains. Hell, they could come from Gan Eden themselves. But, unless you’re in a calorie deficit. You. Won’t. lose. Weight.

  1. Weekends

The problem with weekends is that they are two days long. And for the more observant amongst us they also contain Shabbat and its plethora of rigidly organised meals rich with fluffy carbohydrates and calorific deliciousness. And so you can be strict all week, take your foot off the pedal on the weekend and before you know it. You’ve lost before you’ve even had a chance. Sadly, on a diet, there really does need to be some sense of control i.e. I currently have a blanket rule that I’m neither eating challah nor am I drinking alcohol. If I’m honest this also has a little something to do with my behaviour on Simchat Torah and the resulting hangover tinged with shame, but that is somewhat aside from the remit of this story. On a diet you really can’t lose control for any lengthy period of time (think cheat meal, rather than a two-day orgy of fattening and calorfic food stuffs.)

  1. Gym

I love exercising. As many of you know, and judge, I pay inordinate amounts of money to attend glorified sheds around North West London. However, that being said you can go to the gym till the cows come home. But, if you’re not in a calorie deficit you can’t lose weight. That is obviously not to say that aren’t a huge number of extremely valid reasons for attending the gym – as it brings a number of health and psychological benefits. But, eating a KitKat and justifying it with time on the treadmill, it ain’t gonna work.

Now obviously I will end this article with the, rather more humble, acknowledgement that I am neither a PT nor am I a nutritionist. So for some properly reliable information go check out Martin McDonald #god on Instagram.

Meanwhile, I shall get cracking with my breakfast of boiled eggs and hope and see y’all on the other side.

The Five friends we all have



It has been noted, mainly by men, that I spend a great deal of time on my blog judging members of the opposite sex. In fact, one delightful gentleman once commented that he would never date me as I would probably write about him, to which my other friend chimed in “only if you’re a dickhead,” which made me happy. Obviously, I did later write about him, but that is absolutely beside the point. In an attempt not to allow for my writing to get stale I thought this week I would take a slightly different tack and write about the five (female) friends we all absolutely have.

  1. The Crazy One

Don’t get me wrong – all girls are crazy, at least a little bit. Particularly when we like a guy. However, there is quite clearly a line that the majority of us won’t cross – we might Facebook stalk going back to 2010 and we would probably work out who his ex-girlfriend was going on the minimal information we have been offered, but we wouldn’t like rummage through his rubbish to find old back statements. That’s the line….for most of us. However, I know a number of girls who have done unspeakable things in the name of boys, their job, their family etc…These are “the crazy ones” – frankly I like to keep on them tap, because they always make you feel a little less nuts when shit hits the fan.

  1. The bitch

The bitch, in my experience, normally takes a little time to come out of her shell. At first the bitch is effervescent, she is lively, she is the most fun in the room and you genuinely want to spend time with her. However, slowly, slowly, once she has ensnared you in her trap she will unleash the full force of her bitchiness and you will be left reeling and quivering in the corner. Of course, bitch is clever and won’t let you go quite that quickly….ladies in my opinion these leopards will never change their spots. Run far and run fast.

  1. The flaky one

There are friends, I swear to god, who I make plans with and simply wait for them to cancel. They will always have a good reason of course, another excuse to schlep out their back pocket so you don’t feel like an afterthought. Friends like this is quite possibly why most girls have gym memberships – with, now, plenty of time to get out our frustration.

  1. The one who disappears

Literally I have friends I won’t speak with for months, and I mean months. And then suddenly out of the blue they will message me wanting to meet up – this type of friend is then split into two categories. They will either then ignore your follow up message (which is really just the height of rudeness in my opinion) or arrange a meeting for like a month in the future after which time you won’t hear from them for another few months and so the cycle continues.

  1. Your actual friends

To be honest I don’t have a huge number of these, a fact which often makes me a little concerned, but I guess is pretty normal. These are the ones who are properly there for you, which isn’t to say your relationship will be perfect or something out of Sisterhood of the travelling pants – but it will be authentic, genuine, and something worse holding onto as opposed to a slot to fill an empty looking week.

Five signs a guy is into you…maybe?

When I was a kid I pretty much thought relationships were simple. You met a guy, he was into you, you liked him back and then you got married and had little blonde hair and blue eyed babies. Unfortunately, the whole dating game isn’t quite as simple as I had hoped – and whilst I can think of a few couples where that dream scenario really did take place…there are a number of others that bucked, defied and opposed this trend. The couple where the guy was never into him or the girl liked someone else, or they were never single at the same time, or they broke up for years. Whilst He’s just not that into you is a nice premise….sadly in my experience life isn’t quite as simple as that. Relationships are complicated, sticky and can’t be stuck in a mould quite as binary as Holywood would like. That being said, I do now believe they are three (handy that innit…) key pointers that suggest a guy is actually into you. So here goes nothing lasses….


  • He’s there

I mean this is the most obvious, but if he doesn’t text, call or Facebook message you back he’s just not that into you. At all. A guy who likes you will not only respond to your messages, but will message you of his own accord just because he’s thinking of you (n’aww). To test this theory out I wouldn’t message for a while and see what happens; and whilst this may prove painful if home boy doesn’t pick up the phone, it’s probably as us Mancunians are wont to say “nisht.”

  • Drama/emotion

OK so this is a recent revelation I had and so hear me out. Now whilst I am not suggesting that you cry or cause some form of dramatic altercation to coax your man out of his emotionally stunted shell, it is a pretty good test of his feelings for you. Take me for example….today an Instagram star I follow got engaged and I swear to god I cried, genuine tears. Never met her, don’t even know what she looks like because she hides her face, and whilst I know she was considered “old” in the community I don’t actually know her age. And still I cried. Let me tell you right here and right now that no straight man in the history of humanity has ever cried because his favourite football player got engaged. It’s just not a thing. Men, in general, shy from emotion (and in the same sense) drama – they have better things to do like say…scratching their balls, or other such things. And so if you introduce drama or emotion and they stick around, you’re probably good to go. Examples of this would be tears, angry text message. I swear to god I once told a guy I liked him and he simply didn’t reply, such was his desire to put as much distance between himself and any irrelevant emotion or drama. It hurt, but the point was made loud and clear. Just something to consider.

  • Hungry Eyes

This was a term I coined some time ago and basically refers to that look a man gives you when he wants to say….do more than discuss moral philosophy on a Sunday afternoon if you catch my drift. Now obviously men are relatively physical creatures and so may well often have hungry eyes. So as in all things context is king and this doesn’t apply in every setting. For example in a night club at 2 am on a Saturday night, not to be crude, he probably just wants to bang. However, if it’s a normal hour and you’re doing a perfectly mundane activity, such as cooking dinner or watching TV, and he has a hungry eyes; I wouldn’t say it’s a bad sign.

So there are my three component parts that taken together (the crucial part of this little hypotheses) that might, maybe prove you have a shot. But, frankly like I have said men are a complete mystery to me…so let me know your thoughts. God knows this shit is but the contents of my confused brain.