The David Attenborough’s Approach To Mating Rituals

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David Attenborough has got to be one of England’s national treasures by now. I know he’s a Sir but I feel like there should be a shrine or something in honour of such a prolific human being. Is that too much? I don’t care, it should happen! Over the past 60 years he’s brought countless amounts of documentaries to millions about the planet, animals, insects, birds, sea life, the list goes on and on. Just to add, his voice could lull me into a calming, almost comatose state, where relaxation flows over me like a snugly warm blanket. This man and his documentaries are literally the bomb.com .

Throughout the many that I have watched, there’s one prevalent theme that keeps sticking in my mind. Which is that of the male species trying to woo a female. Their rituals are fascinating in the fact that it’s the males with their bright colours, graceful dancing and distinct callings through song, that break their backs trying to woo the right to mount their potential female suitors.

You see where I might be going with all this now? No? People! I’m calling a big mayday with sirens blasting right now because our human mating rituals gots a whole lotta explaining to do! In fact I will go so far as to say that they suck balls. Now, If you have been reading my posts then you know that sucking balls is not my ideal past time. In fact it’s on my list of cruel tortures along with toe sucking (Yuck).

The art of wooing a lady has disintegrate into a big old black hole, sucked up by the modern world. There was a time (I have been informed, seeing as I’ve never experienced these mating rituals for myself) where the men of the world would go on a courting rampage never ceasing until the woman has been won. Writing love letters, flowers, holding doors, and professing their undying, unyielding love for the woman that has caught their heart; just some of the things that they would do. Where the hell has all that gone? Unlike our little creature friends, it is the females who have to fluff up their feathers so to speak, paint colourful armour on themselves and go through hoops to attract their potential male suitor.

Before I start yapping why don’t you take a look below. Apologies from now because I chose to use the Peacock Spider as an example. So if you’re squeamish then…tough shit. It’s not horrific, so get over it. He’s doing a dance for Christ sake!

The male spider is below left with all the beautiful bright colours on his back which happens to flip up when trying to woo a lady. Hence, why it’s called a Peacock. I suppose I could have just used a normal Peacock, of the bird variation, but why be obvious. The females on the other hand are coloured with boring shades of brown.

And here is the actual dance of this little guy trying to woo his potential female mate.

After seeing this elegant, ninja like dance that this little guy performs, you can start to see just how much effort he goes through to try and woo the ladies.

Here’s the thing fellow females and I’m just throwing this out there as some food for thought. Why couldn’t our society be like our fellow creatures on earth. I would love to see men be the ones to dress up colourfully, to do a dance so to speak, to change their whole appearance to catch our eyes. It should be them fighting for the right to have us. Almost like ‘The Hunger Games of Love’. They should really work for it. But alas, in these modern times so comes the modern woman. And some of these modern ladies have lost all sense of decency when it comes to bagging a man.

I know there are some guys out there that will try and do some sort of courting to woo you over. But y’all get mesmerised by the first nice thing that a man does. After spending hours in the gym and spending most of your hard earned money on facials, hair extensions, mani-pedi’s, self tanners, make-up, perfumes, high heels and so on. Why do we all give in at the first signs of a flower being handed to us? Or the opening of a door? Or the pulling out of a chair? Shouldn’t this still be the standards? I don’t think I am asking for too much. And I don’t think that a woman should give in on the first date or give into everything thereafter. Women, you put in an amazing amount of effort to look good everyday. Sure it might be a façade but damn it, it is a well earned façade! So, if you treat yourself like the goddess that you are, then shouldn’t your potential suitor also treat you that way? He should be wooing you every fucking day!

By the way, I’m saying this after years of fuck ups on my part in this department. I was with someone who gave me breadcrumbs of affection from time to time. As in, it would be months of bullshit and lies and then he would do a gesture of love (a breadcrumb). Then it would be back to all the bullshit and lies. Yet I stayed around. Why? Because of all those stupid little breadcrumbs. I thought that if I stayed the breadcrumbs would eventually grow into a slice of bread. After all the mind games, torturous emotional roller coasters and mental bruises along the way I realised that I wanted an abundance of bread loaves, not measly stale breadcrumbs!

It would be great if we were able to copy and perfect a courting ritual. Ladies seem to sit all stiff at a bar because they are too primped up to even move. Then the men come, buy a drink for the female, say a vomit-worthy one-liner and the dress comes right off. So can we please listen to David Attenborough a bit more. Let’s start taking tips from his documentaries because I’m willing to bet that we as humans need to learn a thing or two about the whole mating thing. Did I mention that we suck balls!? It should be returned whence it came.

Bet you never thought you’d see ‘suck ball’s and a ‘whence it came’ in the same post did you? That’s how I roll people. Giving you some old school, mixed with the new.

Being like Goldilocks – Finding a penis that’s ‘Just right’…

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Where oh where did men get this idea that us women want the length of a football field and the width of the General Sherman? Not quite sure what a General Sherman is? Well, here you go…

The General Sherman

Or even an Adansonia Grandidieri, which looks more like an ugly penis than the General Sherman does….

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Either way, my point still stands that men have this notion that we want a tree trunk inside of us. I can’t imagine anything more visually horrifying and physically painful than the idea of shoving a tree trunk up my va-jay-jay. Just the thought makes me cringe. We are looking for a decent size like Goldilock’s mission to find something that was ‘just right’. Men, it is important to understand that it is most definitely not the quantity but the quality that makes us swoon. We want to be wooed, stimulated and be thought of first. We do not want to do all the work while you get satisfied and us to lay there afterwards, watching you sleep while thinking of ways to get you out the door or more like punching you in the junk ” accidentally”.

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Pelfies or Delfies, how about neither…

 

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Taking photos has become like second nature to us all. We take so many photos that they have all turned in to one big ball of blurry colours. It’s obviously easier nowadays due to this phenomenon of what they call the smartphone. I sometimes want to smash mine, which for me, is like an annoying family member you can’t get rid of. A few words come to mind in association with my phone. Glued, attached, fastened, just to name a few. One time I forgot ‘my precious’ at home and not only was I paranoid, nervous, incomplete, but I also got an overwhelming sense of uncertainty that, even though I am a human being who can think on my own without the aid of any electronic devices, has now suddenly been rendered useless. A defective blubbering moron; all because in my head I thought I lost contact with the outside world and most importantly that I missed out on important calls and texts. Here’s the thing. Hardly no one ever calls me because I’m not so important. It would seem I’m only a queen within my own mind and nowhere else. Yet here I was, phoneless and lifeless, the world as I knew it was caving in all around me. Now, do you know how many people got in contact with me for the whole 11 hours I was away from my phone? One! Yes, one person. And do you know who that person was? My mom. Need I say more.

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The Notebook – The reality is love is not like the movies…

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The only movie I cried like a baby to is The Notebook. I’m pretty secure with myself to admit that in writing. There you have it, I’m not a complete cold-hearted bitch (which my ex-boyfriend so kindly labelled me on several occasions…I’m secure to put that in writing as well).

This movie for some reason makes me want to believe in the fairy tale of love as well as making me look at my life and wanting to kill myself all at the same time. How can one movie do that to you? Sometimes I used to put it on when my then boyfriend and I were going through a rough patch. Or when I would end a relationship, or even when I was on the verge of killing men. I would find solace in putting it on relaxing and re-energising my love for romance. It was that or me going on a murdering rampage directed towards all the douchebags of the world. Since I did not want to lead a life of criminal mischief I always decided to watch the movie. Here’s the thing though, putting this movie on every time is not really doing any favours for me. It literally drives me crazy. I sit there and wish I could find a man who would love me like Noah. To wish for something like that and then have a glimmer of hope that it might be out there is let’s face it, bullshit. No wonder women have such a warped sense of love and on top of that have the highest expectations on the planet. It’s ridiculous. And yet, on top of my negativity, I still have that hope for a fairytale romance. How is that even possible?

I am pretty sure that women relate to movies on a much higher unrealistic level more so than men. Men just want to be James Bond and envision themselves with all the gadgets and women for that matter. We are the ones that watch the rom-coms, romantic dramas or more accurately put, the mushy mush of lovey-dovey rainbows and unicorns. We then look at our partners with a sideways glance of annoyance because while we are watching the love fest on our screens we are running a list off in our head of our partners not doing what the leading man in the movie is doing. I know, it’s ridiculous, but it’s true. How many times have you sat down and watched a lovey-dovey movie sighing because your life has not come even close to that level of intense love? Here’s the thing people, it is a movie. Yes, after the countless of times I have sat my ass down to see it and to wish upon every holy wishable thing on this earth that one day it would eventually come true, it won’t. Maybe some form of liveable love exists. But to put all your hopes into such a perfect form of love is unattainable and most definitely unrealistic.

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The Unicorn and The Black Swan…

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I have only ever heard stories of this mythical creature they call The Unicorn. It is whispered in huddled gatherings amongst the ladies of my generation. The oohh-ing and aahh-ing becomes ever more paramount after having several cocktails swirling and swooshing around in their system. Once the high levels of this potent elixir wrecks it’s havoc, you can safely bet that some tears of yearning are emphatically whirled about for all to see. The “Why’s?, How’s and Where’s” are sung in unison as they listen tentatively to the magical stories of years gone by. Of a time where all was right with the world, where too much choice was unheard of and social media had not yet grasped it’s claws into their unsuspecting preys, leaving bloodied bodies in it’s wake. I know, that was a bit melodramatic, but I’m just trying to paint a colourful picture for you.  And what you may ask, is all the fuss about? Well, the mythical Unicorn that these ladies have been hearing about is, The Man of Unadulterated Virtue. I gave him capital letters because of the highly important value us women have placed on this man. Apparently they used to exist and lived peacefully out in the open, preening and puffing out their chests for all the world to see, proud to be of a good hearted nature. I mean that’s insane right? But alas, their numbers have dwindled. The Unicorns who do still exist, have crept back into the deepest depths of the untamed forests, hiding due to the sheer number of women who are scouring the four corners of the earth for them; only surfacing from time to time by stories that start off with “A friend of a friend of a friend…” And ending with “…Happily ever after.”

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Becoming Jessica Fletcher

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Ah, Jessica Fletcher from Murder She Wrote. What a gal, what a phenomenal lady. I can’t tell you how many hours I would watch back to back re-runs of that show. Not only that, I must have started watching it back when I was 6-7 years old. That right there is a whole lotta years under my belt to spend with someone. So I guess you could say that Jessica and I have a pretty solid relationship; which gives me justification to say, murder mysteries are the bomb! Yes I threw in a 90’s word! That show believe it or not has taught me quite a bit in life and it’s safe to say that I carry a varied, yet reliable arsenal to deal with any situation at hand. Don’t scough when you read that, I speak only the truth!

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