Thursday, September 29, 2005

The Female-Furniture-Fit Test

I dunno what it is with big corporate bodies these days, but finding good ol' fashioned help is hard to find.

Picture this...

Here I was walking through Freedom Furniture store browsing away at the assortment of lounge suites available (not that I was ever in the hunt to actually buy one... unless I sold my left kidney), and as I sat down on some of the expensive loungeware I figured I needed some help:

"Excuse me, could I get some help here," I asked seated at one of the couches looking at a petite blonde woman behind the counter.
She noticed my call for help and approached with a casual smile.
"Yes sir, how may I help?" she asked.
"I need to do a female-furniture-fit test," I replied matter-of-factly.
"A what??"
"You know, a FFF test," I answered as spit flew from my mouth (I sure wish they'd abbreviated the female-furniture-fit test better!)
"What is a... a... F test?" the lady asked puzzled.
"It's easy," I said with a beaming smile knowing all too well that I *finally* had a female to do my FFF test on, "all you need do is sit down next to me."

She shook her head, rolled her eyes and no doubt thought that this was the lamest pick up line she had ever heard! As I patted the seat next me she came over and sat down.

"Good, now just relax," I said teaching her the basics of the FFF test, "all you need to do is just sit there and tell me whether you feel comfortable or not."

So there I was sitting at one end of a 3 seater couch while she sat in the middle. I done some basic testing such as:
  • extending my arm to see how far I could get to her without leaving the corner;

  • calculating how far my legs extended over the couch part from the corner;

  • calculating how comfortable it was for me lying down, and how comfortable it was for her (etc)

All these important real-life scenario tests needed to be conducted so that I could arrive safely at an informed and proper purchase decision... as couches aren't cheap these days!

At each change I asked "How do you feel?" getting her response at each turn.

And this went on for quite some time.

As the day wore on she loosened up more and told me what she *really* felt about certain couches:
"I'm sitting on the crack of this couch and it's making me feel uncomfortable"
"The cushioning of this couch is too hard and makes me feel uncomfortable"
"The way you place your arm around me makes me feel uncomfortable!"

But I thought we were doing quite well... kind of like Adam & Eve in the garden of Eden really: just as Adam and Eve tested all the good food Eden had to offer, here we were testing out everything Freedom Furniture had to offer.

As we reached the end of the furniture section I turned around and looked at her:
"I don't think I'm really in the hunt for a lounge suite, but..." I paused looking into the next section, "I may need some help finding a good king-sized bed!"

She stood up from the last lounge suite clicked her back back into place and said, "Unfortunately bedding isn't my department, I'll have to go and get Janice."

Well, let's just say that after seeing Janice I had a sudden change of heart... and the time... I had totally forgot about a prior engagement. What a shame.

Good help is so hard to find these days.


Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Step Away With From The Kitchen

Have you ever felt on some nights that you'd rather a QUANTITY-type dinner instead of a QUALITY-type dinner? Both have distinct differences: quantity is the pizza and pasta variety, quality is pretty much everything else! Males prefer quantity (so long as it does the job who cares), women prefer quality (variety is the spice of life).

Tonight I felt a little strange and was preferring a quality dinner.

See, I came across some of my mother's old cook books and as I fanned through it I really began to like some of the meals that presented themselves... it was difficult trying to find just one meal, so what did I do?

I decided that I was going to mix-n-match.

But then I reflected on the LAST time I mixed-n-matched...

I was 13 years old and one of only two boys in an all-girls class called "Cooking & Clothing". [No, we weren't gay - we did it for the chics, and boy did we have a blast (all those poor sorry sweaty sods doing woodwork! Pffft!).]

As the name of the class suggests there were two components to the class: cooking and clothing. Cooking was where the unit started and our first task was to cook some fried rice.


Who can't cook fried rice: just throw in some rice, add a little bit of chopped capsicum, maybe some pineapple to sweeten the deal, and possibly some sliced sausage for "variety".

Even *I* could cook fried rice at the tender age of 13 and probably with my eyes closed too!

Nope, if I was going to impress the women with this class EARLY I was going to do something outrageous... I was going to cook Fried Rice Soup!


My plan was to have the fried rice floating in a miso-like soup. The plan was BRILLIANT! Even Jamie Oliver would've been proud.

So there I was, on my lonesome (my dear friend abandoned ship) cooking like a soup nazi. Chopping the capsicum, boiling the water, cutting up the tofu, dicing the spring onions.

I was a machine.

Heck, I even began feeling proud of myself - I had found a hidden innate talent! Everyone else was meticulousy following instructions, but no not me I was going to pass this class with FLYING colours!

And then my teacher walked over...

TEACHER: Making yourself some green tea?
ME: No.
TEACHER: Making *someone* else some green tea?
ME: No.
TEACHER: Then what are you doing?
ME: (by now she's beginning to cramp my style, I would either have to let her in on my secret or bury it and surprise her later... women love a little suspense so I thought the latter) It's a surprise.
TEACHER: Oooo I like surprises.

It worked: she left me alone.

About 15 minutes into the task everybody was just about done. Some of the more talented girls were done in about 10 minutes, others took longer: mainly the boys.

"Are we just about done, Ryan?" asked the teacher from her cooking pedestal.

"Yep, nearly done," I replied working at a frenetic pace to try and get the miso *just* right.

Another 5 minutes passed and my fried rice was well and truly done. My miso was done and I placed both dishes onto my finished table.

Everybody was waiting for me... and all looked quizzically at just what the hell I had done!

I was confident: this was going to be a STUNNING dish.

"Okay, well considering you finished last why not bring your food up the front Ryan and see how you did."

This was my moment. This was going to be my glorious moment. The time where my cooking career was going to be defined!

I stood up, carried both dishes over and told her what my dish was...

"Allow me to show you... Fried Rice Soup!"

As the words came out of my mouth I slowly poured the fried rice into the miso soup. The smooth silk-like waterfall of fried rice spilled effortlessly into my welcoming miso soup dish... it was divine.

But my teacher wasn't impressed.

Her face went from a curious happy smiling face to one of shock horror.

I beamed away with a big smile and as the process ended raised my hands and made the sound affect of, "Tadaa!"

All that was heard were crickets chirping out in the grassy quadrangle and I looked at my dear friend to see him shaking his head with a cut throat finger movement across his neck.

You're dead, his lips mimed.

What happened next was all a blur... all I remember was the teacher's tight grip on my arm, followed by my Fried Rice Soup being emptied into the sink, my now empty dishes being thrown onto my section of the classroom, and a lengthy walk to the principal's office. She didn't even SAMPLE my creation! On our walk to the principals office she yelled at how I just wasted a *whole* bunch of food, how there's people starving in Africa that would've appreciated it more than I did and how I am just going to make a mockery of this unit.

It was a loooong day from that point on.

In fact, the "Cooking and Clothing" class had more moments like this... such as the time when we made something using tomatoes and I used really underripe ones!

Heck, I didn't know they were underripe... I'M COLOURBLIND!

They all looked the same to me!?

Thankfully *that* "moment" wasn't met with another interrogation by the school principal!

One other infamous "moment" was met when I nearly burnt the entire school down!! See, I was running behind on one of my cooking lessons, so I thought, if I can increase the oven temperature by 50% that means I can halve the time taken!


I didn't know why other meals were created like this... but I guess that's what microwaves are for, right?

So there I was, making good time, cleaning up my stuff with the oven on at a tad below 300 degrees Celsius. I was making GOOD time... until smoke began to emanate from my oven no more than 10 minutes into baking.

I opened the oven door and as my teacher came running over screaming just-what-in-the-frickin'-hell-do-you-think-you're-doing-this-time-smart-ass I felt the fury of 300 degrees pound my face and singe all facial hair. I fell back trying to blink furiously so as to re-moisten my eyeballs and in the process kicked the oven door shut with my foot.

My cooking teacher was having kittens as the smoke alarms went into ultra-terrorist alert and all kids in the school evacuated their classes.

It wasn't until the smoke dissipated that order in our class, and our entire school, resumed. Everybody wondered what was going on, but didn't complain with the small break.

In a way I was a hero to the world for disrupting classes, but was scathed by my cooking teacher as being the "worst student" she ever had.

But... as fate would have it at the end of the year I was given a pass mark along with the following comments on my report card which said: "Good luck!"

So as I sat there looking at all the good food pictures from these wonderful cook books, I began to feel more and more for QUANTITY rather than QUALITY.

And boy did pizza hit the spot.

Stuff quality.

Friday, September 23, 2005

Just Make It Up

I can recall back in my final high school years having an unenviable crush on a younger high school blonde-hair hazel-eyed chic.

We travelled on the same bus that took us to and from school everyday, and to be honest, it was pretty much the ONLY highlight of school back then (bar lunch and phys-ed).

Come to think of it I reckon I would've died if I attended an all boys school... but I would've been in heaven if it had of been all girls school!!!


Our relationship was always that of just friends and being the shy guy I was I never contemplated going any further than that. I was happy, and I thought she was happy too.

It wasn't until I left high school at the end of the year that I began to miss the fun times we had... and boy did we have some laughs!

Two years after I had graduated that high school I was fortunate enough to see her again but as she was at school we never had the chance to talk much... so I did what any other bloke would do and used my younger brother as a carrier pigeon and made him deliver a message to her.

It worked like a charm!

I was able to communicate in a way that I felt comfortable in doing, and she was able to read it whenever she had the time.

This ended up occurring more than once... and the carrier pigeon didn't mind as I think he had a crush on her too!!

We continued corresponding for about a year, but then things began to change when I started receiving shorter messages.

Weeks would go by without anything and even when it did I began to resent reading what she had written - as it would be the same old hash as last week.

Eventually I began to feel bitterness on the way she closed her letters:

Anyway, there's not much else to tell.

Out of all the closing lines this one I hated the most. I wanted to scream. I wanted to delete those words and wish they never existed. I didn't care if she had nothing else to say, heck, JUST MAKE IT UP... I wouldn't care!

But, alas, our friendship waned.

I moved on.

It wasn't until several months has passed since our last correspondence that I soon learned her father had passed away. I felt terrible. Here I was worrying about my own stupid selfish self (!) and she was going through a hard time with whatever condition her father had been in prior to his death.

By now my carrier pigeon had graduated high school and the only avenue I had was an old address she gave me many many years ago.

I wrote to her, but received nothing in reply.

She had moved on.

The last I heard of her was that she had married and had two kids. I envisioned that she would live a great life, and I didn't want anyone telling me any different... yes ignorance IS bliss.

Kristy had a wonderful laugh, with a gorgeous smile to match, one that I will never ever forget.

So I'd like to end by saying...

To all the women of the world: you'll probably never know how much your laughter and smiles do for simple men like me.

Keep smiling,


Wednesday, September 21, 2005

The Wheels On The Bus Go Round And...

It's been a long time since I've been on a bus, but with petrol prices going through the roof down here in Australia (and no doubt the rest of the world) I thought it smart to take a bus into town where I'm currently doing some night courses.

And boy have things changed since I went on a bus last time!

In fact I can't even remember the last time I rode on a bus!! It would've been maybe 10 or so years ago as I've had the luxury of driving around in my car since that time... boy does time fly.

Anyway, as I was saying, buses have changed heaps. What was once the norm of paying for your ticket now has changed to what is termed a "multi-rider card". My brother was fortunate enough to inform me that I best buy one of these babies before I hopped on a bus, so... I did.

Here's how the conversation went when I walked in to my local friendly newsagency store to buy one of these multi-thingamagigies...

ME: Hi, do you sell 'multi-riders'?
HIM: Yes.
ME: Ummm... I've run out of questions.
HIM: What sort would you like?
ME: What sorts do you have?
HIM: We have adult, student or pensioner.
ME: Ok, I'll take ONE adult mult-rider please.
HIM: Well how many zones will you be travelling?
ME: Err, what's a zone?
HIM: Whereabouts are you travelling to?
ME: To and from town, from here.
HIM: Okay, you'll need a two zone multi-rider adult pass.
ME: Great! Can I please have a two zone multi-rider adult pass.
HIM: How many rides do you want?
ME: How many rides can I have?
HIM: 10 or 40.
ME: I'll go for 40.
HIM: Are you sure?
ME: Yep, I'll have 40 multi-zoned adults to ride please.

I didn't quite understand why he just stood there and stared, but I didn't think he appreciated the humour... a line was building behind me.

After he mentioned the price and after I picked myself from up off the floor I went on my merry way to catch my first bus ride in 10 years.

The anticipation was killing me. Stuff the new DisneyWorld in Hong Kong... I've got 40 rides on a BUS!


Yeah, I know, you're *all* soooOOooo jealous.

So there I sat, at the bus stand, waiting for the 4:21pm 940 bus on Jackson Ave. I was early, and if buses haven't changed, I was probably waaay too early. But, oddly enough the bus arrived earlier than the allotted 4:21pm time (according to my time) and I stepped on board.

As I stepped up onto the bus there were several slots available to me to insert my multi-thingamagig. I didn't know where to start so I went for the closest. Forcing my card in what looked like a bin slot didn't seemed to do anything... to remain "cool" I quickly moved onto the next. The next was a little moist and the muffling bus driver didn't appreciate being force fed a multi-rider ticket so he forcefully pointed in the direction of where my card had to go.

"Oh... right... sorry."

Now I was set.

As I sat in the disabled zone (obviously seating for those who don't know where to put their multi-things in when boarding a bus) I relaxed all the way into town.

Although it was great it kinda felt real weird - especially considering the fact that I brought some reading material along with me - here I was reading and moving and not even watching where I was going: this is a strange feeling if the only other thing you've done is drive yourself around all the time.

But it was great, I was doing two things at once (and who said guys can't do two things at once??).

However, the trip back home wasn't as nice as the arrival there.

First, it saw me *just* miss my bus. As I bounded over seats, people, children and anything else that stuck in the way the 940 bus home sailed off into the distance without a care in the world.

I think I even saw the driver smiling in his side view mirror.

"Yea, that's right, laugh it up now bus man, wait until I get on board and shove my multi-rider in a slot you really wont enjoy... then we'll see who's laughing!"

So I wasn't happy, but even more so because of the condition I was in when I arrived at the bus port.

Unfortunately I *assumed* that everything was going to be okay weatherwise on the day, so I didn't bring any rain covering jacket, or for that matter an umbrella. I thought that if it *were* going to rain I'd be able to dodge the wet spots and make it home dry as a bone... this wasn't the case.

At the ONLY open 50 meter stretch on my journey from the lecture room to the bus port the heavens opened.

I don't think it even rained as heavy in NOAH'S DAY!!!

It was as if the cloud was waiting all night, deliberately holding in, sitting there perched in the sky waiting for an unsuspecting victim... and of course, it just had to be me.

And I was not happy.

And when I missed my bus... I was *really* not happy.

Fortunately some old navigational skills that I garnered when I used buses regularly saw me find a bus that left within a minute or two and would arrive at a similar connecting point to my 940 bus.

"All going well," I thought, "I might be able to catch the sucker."

So I jumped on the 104 and rode it all the way to the connecting point. And what would you know...

I got there, on time, and again the 940 had just set sail and again, I swear, I saw a smile in that darn side view mirror. I wasn't going to bother raising my hand to hail him, but I sure felt like raising a certain finger!

Well... the next bus was going to take another 40 minutes to arrive.


It would only take me about 30 minutes to walk home, so I set out walking home in my soaking pants and jacket not giving a care in the world if it downpoured again... and it didn't.

But it did continue to rain.

Now, I know I mentioned before that I enjoy jogging in the rain. When I'm decked out with pants, jacket, shoes and a carry bag I no longer enjoy the rain. The difference between the two clearly is that with jogging I hardly have anything on! A rough t-shirt, jogging shorts and joggers - all are expendable, all can be soaked and I wouldn't give a rats about any of them. BUT anything other item of clothing that gets wet *really* gets on my nerve.

So, you can no doubt imagine the state I was in when I arrived home.

Not happy, wet and tired.

Are you still all jealous about riding on the bus?

Well I hope so... it makes me feel a little better.


Monday, September 19, 2005

Anorexic Women

Something on 60 Minutes last night troubled me a little: anorexia. While I've known of this condition before I thought I'd spray my blog with my thoughts on the matter... but I'd be equally interested in any female thoughts.

Women who have anorexia (or bulimia) completely puzzles me as to why they do this tortorous thing to themselves, and even though I know the basic reason why ("to stay thin") I don't think women really appreciate the fact that most REAL MEN hate thin women.


Simply because men like to be able to squeeze their women without having to break anything in the process!

But then it got me thinking: could there possibly be a more sinister reason as to why women do this to themselves? Surely us blokes can't be the ONLY reason to why women choose to starve themselves to death?? We can't take all the blame!

And I think there is.

Now, before I go on, I'm no shrink. I'm no doctor. I've never starved myself to death although I do on the rare occasion fast. I have never been anorexic and I pray to God that I never do.

So, with that said, take my personal view on this matter as a "spectator-only" opinion.

Okay, we cool on that?


My view is that anorexic women do it because they're...


Yep, that's right: they're selfish.

So slap me, hit me, punch me, spit on me, kick me in the face, do what you want, but I reckon women who do it because all they think about is themselves.

They're whole world revolves around what the world thinks about them! It's as if by being ultra-thin they might be something.

Anorexic women, if you're doing what you're doing to gain the attention of a bloke, let me bring it home for you:
  • Guys like women they can squeeze, not break.

  • The ol' saying that the only way to a man's heart is through his stomach is SOOOOO TRUE. My kryptonite is lemon cheesecake and I love a chicken sweet and sour stir-fry. If anorexic women don't eat how on earth are they expected to impress a man?

The diversity of life should start with the diversity of food you eat.


Friday, September 16, 2005

A Walkies To Remember

I thought I'd be a little adventurous today and take the ol' maingy mut for a walkies.

Well, heck, it was a beautiful day and I couldn't resist but take the camera and show you the sights of good ol' Piney Lakes.

So with an old dawg bringing up the rear and a camera at the front we begin our expedition...

Piney Lakes' lake isn't really what I would classify as a "lake". If I were given the naming rights to this... this... pond I would have changed the "P" in "Piney Lakes" to "T" transforming it "Tiney Lakes".

But hey, the water fountain keeps the masses entertained...

... and spews out this great looking water into the air so that the whole neighbourhood get's to enjoy the "flavour" of Piney Lakes, and not just those that walk around it...

But... we press on. Into the deep dark jungle we go...

Now you don't need to be a world-renowned botanist to realise that Piney Lakes doesn't really have the most fascinating walk trails in the world. There are no tourist runs that go through this stretch of the earth, nor are their any professional scenic guides to lead anyone through... in fact, even though nobody really likes to admit around this neck of the woods it really is... come closer, I'm going to need to whisper it... I don't want to be held responsible for a local war...

Piney Lakes is a swamp!


Yep - it's a conspiracy.

It ain't a lake. Nor is it an "up market" pond. It's a smelly stinky swamp no matter what the local council would have you believe... and speaking of local councils... would you believe that this local council has decided to beautify the area by displaying local "art" along the walk trail?

I don't know how you can beautify a swamp, but dammit this council's going to try. Heck, I don't know why they don't charge for the privilege! My eyes have never been so blessed, and no doubt your's will too...

Here we have the first item which can easily be distinguished as a stork... a big stork... the block thing under its feet is what I think is supposed to resemble a house of some sort. Hmmm... not quite sure what medication the artist was on while creating this fine piece... could it be that the local coucil resembles the bid ugly bird and we the people the tiny house?? Or maybe this is an Australian rendition of Sesame Street with our very own Australian big bird... a big stork!? Aaaarrgh, I'm standing still too long and the mozzies are starting to nose dive...

Next, on the left of the Piney Lakes walk we have... ummm... gee I don't know... are they stools for little people!? Or ash trays for the smoker that perhaps doesn't know how to dispose of their cigarette butt in a fashionable manner?? Or, wait a minute... they're beer can holders!

Even the dog wasn't impressed (obviously too many of the darn things to individually pee on)...

Back to the right we have the council helping the local bat population by creating all these BATchelor pads (ok I'll admit it... that was pretty lame). And I'm sure the women of Winthrop would LOOOVE *more* rat-like critters with wings in the area!

And then back on the left we come across another fantastic piece of art... another friggin bird?? Ooooo wait let me guess... it's a... a... a pelican! Great! This is probably the only piece that makes complete sense.

So there we have it! There are a couple of other pieces but the old dog is beginning to waver and looks completely buggered.

Lastly, we come across this odd piece of art that looks like a standard warning sign... Boy those local artists are getting good at imitating real life.

"But what the hell's ashphalt?"

Dog... lead... ashphalt... can't quite understand what the artist is trying to portray there???

Dog doesn't mind.

So, on the trek back home the old dawg continues to bring up the rear...

... or should I say the FAR rear...

I gotta admit though, I envy dogs... the world is their urinal, anything that protrudes out from this earth is a legitimate peeing target (just don't stand still for too long!!)...

"Only 7 more poles to go!" *heavy panting*

So there you have it... the long and short of Piney Lakes! I don't think she'll win any awards for being the eighth natural wonder of the world, but hey, not many walks have art, BATchelor pads, old dogs and strange men with digital cameras around do they?


Thursday, September 15, 2005

The Cold Blooded Lizard That I Am

Lately our friendly neighbourhood has been up in arms trying to a catch what is believed to be a "sicko on the loose". Women have locked their doors and windows as well as armed themselves with lethal blunt knives and plastic spoons, while their men have been busy trying to locate this mystery offender.

Reports that have come to light include neighbours hearing strange noises during the day, such as:

"OoOoooooooohhh yessss!"
"Ooooooohhh that feels soooo gooood!"
"AaaaaaAaahhh that's the spot."
"Don't go down on me... please don't go down."

But, hey, with summer coming along can anyone blame me???

Yep, that's right the sun has been beating down on these cold bones of mine and I've finally been able to strip one layer of clothing off (now only 3 more to go!).

So come you northerners, you've had your time... now it's our turn for some sunshine.

I even took a snap of the sun setting today, just so it could help soothe my cold winter blues...

Lastly, I've just been informed by the weird and wonderful web that my wife's name will be...

*drums rolling*

Anna Stevens

If you want to find out what your partner's name will be go here.

I've also found from the same site that...

My Mormon name is: Raystan Chelsey (What the...?!)
My Ghetto name is: Ass Machine Shizzlemah (ROFLMAO!!!)
My Japanese name is: Saruwatari [monkey on a crossing bridge] Kenta [healthy and plump] (kind of sounds like the opening lines for a joke now doesn't it?)
My Kawaii Japanese is: Bunrakuken Shidehara (I prefer the plump bridge-playing monkey Japanese definition)
My Terribly British name is: Terrance Heath (just call me "Terrance the Tiger"... rrrr... down boy!)
And My Trendy Baby name is: Grayson Keegan

Wherefore out thou Anna?


Sunday, September 11, 2005

The Three Letters That Men Fear Most

I can't remember the last time I laughted so hard from reading a newspaper. In this day and age we have a whole heap of negative stuff happening throughout the world that it's difficult to read the paper without having a heavy heart, and maybe that's why newspapers end with the sports section... the team you root for may have won something!

Anyway, in this weekend's paper there was an interesting article written by Michele Phillips, titled "The Scary Thing About Women". Now I personally have never read anything written by this journalist, but as the headline had me hooked I just *had* to read on.

And here's how Michele opened:

I've heard it said that a certain female condition is called PMS because the term mad cow disease was already taken.

It took me about 5 minutes before I could begin reading the second sentence from laughing so hard, and when I did I had to wipe the tears from my eyes.

Unfortunately though, the remainder of the article ended up being a jibe at dumb blokes! *heavy sigh*

So, I thought I'd carry on where Michele left off and continue on the PMS theme by giving my brief synopsis on the topic...

First, I would like to say that my experience has been EXTREMELY LIMITED. I know of blokes that have been with one woman throughout their life and could far better detail cases of this phenomenon than I, BUT this ain't going to stop me!

Lastly, I have not dated any 30-45 year old woman during my life time. And according to what I was taught during human biology class this is the age when PMS goes black-belt. But, again, this ain't going to stop me from writing about it.

So here goes...

For those guys who skipped human biology class and are completely oblivious to PMS allow me to provide you with a brief introduction: PMS is a condition that occurs approximately once a month and brings about a diverse range of varieties in your woman.

That's the mild definition.

The definition as seen from the eyes of most blokes is: PMS is a condition that occurs once every month that turns your angel into a super bitch.

There's no way to soften the REAL definition.

This condition will only see this happen, hopefully, once every 6 months, but if something bad were to happen around the monthly cycle then there's a 99% chance that all hell will break loose.

And even though us blokes KNOW that women use PMS as an excuse to chuck a sissy fit we dear never challenge it... we value our sexual organs too much... just in case the woman IS actually going through it.

I think the strangest thing that shocks most men with PMS is the sudden change in his woman. With the experiences I've had I have to admit that I never saw it coming! One day we'd be talking about a particular topic and then out of nowhere it just explodes...

ME: "Do you want the entree size again?"
HER: "Are you saying I'm fat??"
"You just said I'm fat. You don't love me."
"Babe, what's wrong?"
"You just said that I'm fat and that you didn't love me anymore. Are you breaking up with me?"
"What are you talking about??"
*sobbing* "Do you still love me?"
"Of course I do, I never said I didn't!?"
"Do you think I'm strange??"
"Women are strange in general." (smiling)
"YOU THINK I'M WEIRD!" (getting angry now)
"It was a joke!"
"Shhhh... I'm just here."
"I what???"

Well, what more can a man do?? I don't think there's a definitive guide given to men during their time of need with PMS (maybe there's a PMS helpline for blokes somewhere around the world... from memory I think it's the same as the ambulance emergency number!), but in case you aren't near a phone here are some of the lessons I learnt:
  • If at all possible... run, don't walk (otherwise she'll catch up);

  • Don't argue with it, don't rationalise with it, don't debate with it;

  • If any railing accusations are brought against thee just say, "Yes, dear";

  • Know your woman's cycles and try to be on your best behaviour during those few days - especially at the end of the cycle;

  • If possible try not to talk;

  • Don't wear red;

  • If she wants a hug, give her a hug, if she wants to rip your nuts off, she probably will and depending upon the severity of the PMS condition the instrument she will use could range anywhere from a blunt knife to a plastic spoon, therefore... RUN!;

  • Whatever you do DON'T LAUGH, DON'T HUMOUR HER, DON'T BE A CLOWN (otherwise you will get a permanent big red nose)... in fact show no emotion whatsoever;

  • Avoid public places. Order takeaways. Go to secluded spots. If she happens to erupt casualties should be minimal... YOU;

  • Hide all sharp instruments from the kitchen, in fact, elect to do the cooking yourself;

  • Do NOT wear ear muffs, or ear plugs, this only heightens the experience, and believe me YOU DO NOT WANT TO HEIGHTEN THE EXPERIENCE - ever heard of human combustion?;

  • Learn to nod and nod at different rates - if she notices a pattern you're gone;

  • Don't offer any medication to her - this is pure insult. In fact YOU should be the one taking the medication;

  • Do not try to solve this enigma, do not try to offer a solution, do not think that she can be fixed, she is NOT broken... this is normal, you are NOT alone;

  • If all else fails: play dead.

As you can see PMS is something that affects the whole world... stuff nuclear bombs, tanks, heavy armoured vehicles and the like, just arm a few women on PMS with blunt knives and plastic spoons and you'll take over an entire country in minutes.

Now I'm beginning to understand why they don't place women in front line combat: the battle wouldn't be fair!


Saturday, September 10, 2005

It Should Only Take 10 Minutes

If there's one thing a man should often challenge his woman with its to be ready in 10 minutes.

I can remember one night I was with a friend who had just been given exclusive tickets to an event. The only problem was that the three tickets he was given were for tonight. I knew my woman at the time longed to attend this event but I wasn't quite sure whether giving her such late notice was enough to get her to the event.

Stuff it, I thought.

If she can't get ready in 10 minutes then there's something wrong with all those makeup commercials that guarantee beautiful this and that in 10 seconds flat.

Well... I was about to put this all to the test.

My friend and I jumped into his car and began to speed towards her house. I dialled from my mobile phone and she picked up her phone.

HER: Hello?
ME: Hey babe, my friend and I have got tickets to that event you wanted to see in Perth.
HER: OH great!!
ME: There's only one small problem.
HER: Oh?
ME: The tickets are for tonight.
HER: Oh...
ME: You'll need to get ready within 10 minutes.
ME: YEP, you've got 10 minutes.
HER: But I'm in my pyjamas???
ME: QUICK! We haven't got long!!
HER: Is this joke?
ME: Woman, I'm telling you we're in the car driving towards your house as we speak and we have three tickets in our hot little hand.
MY FRIEND: (yelling) HURRY!!
ME: You'd better hurry you've just wasted 30 seconds...
HER: I'm not going to be able to get ready in 10 minutes!
ME: Woman, you've got no choice. I'm picking you up whether you're half naked, in PJs, or fully dressed... we're going. So hurry.
HER: Oh my gawd... Okay!
ME: (whispering) What pyjamas are you wearing?

It must have been a miracle, because on that night she did get ready within the allotted 10 minutes, everything went smoothly.

But did my mate's woman and tonight go smoothly?


Firstly, she decides to wash her hair. If any bloke is waiting for a woman and she's in the shower washing her hair sit down grab a coffee, sip it slowly and wait about 30 minutes AT BEST. On average expect her to come out of the shower after about an HOUR!

Secondly, when you go to a restaurant and they specialise in serving a particular type of food order something from their main suite of specialities. If you order something on their menu that is outside their scope (but which they offer for those who don't have a broad palate) then it's your own stupid fault if you get a "lousy" dinner.

Lastly, if you're going to test who has the fastest wit be prepared - you may lose. As we left the restaurant we were all thankfully blessed by a great whiff of smoke from a group of young blondes standing outside the door.

MATE: (coughing) Isn't it terrible when you see an attractive chic sucking on a cigarette.
ME: (coughing) Sure is.
HER: (coughing) Well then, I best give up smoking then. (laughing)
ME: He said "attractive chics".

On that note, I'm outta here.


Don't Do It

Well it's been a busy couple of weeks so far and I couldn't go another day without at least writing something to the dear world... even if it is 1am in the morning (I had too much coffee today)!

But what could I possibly discuss this late at night? Well, firstly, an interesting experience arose with a friend of mine today from something that he done last Sunday night thanks to "boredom".

The conversation started at a nearby cafe over a couple of flat whites. As soon as he mentioned that he done something last Sunday night over the internet I knew this was going to be an intriguing story... especially at the way he cringed whilst wiping his closed eyes.

This was going to be good.

What did you do? I asked with a wry smile.

He looked away as if he was about to make a confession.

"Last Sunday night I was bored."


"So I hopped online and began surfing some web sites"

Yes... each sentence muttered took longer to extract. I wasn't quite sure whether he was trying to soften the blow, or make the whole thing up.

He opened his mouth, closed it, laughed at the thought, and then changed his expression,

"Man! Russian women are hot."

Oh no!

He then looked over to me as if with that piece of the puzzle I could see everything that transpired at his house on the fateful Sunday night.

I didn't.

I didn't know whether he had married someone, or just surfed these sights and then went to bed... I began to think the former at the way he stared at me.

Go on? I prodded... just like a confessional priest.

He looked up towards the ceiling and reflected upon these beauties his eyes had now become open to.

"Did I say that Russian women are hot?"

Yes, you did... now what happened?

Then the flood gates opened.

He began to talk about how he went to this site and paid $50 to email some "hot" Russian women. He discussed what had transpired between the contact of the women he emailed (6 in all) and what he thought about the whole thing - he wanted to bail.

Obviously something more had happened between these emails, but he didn't want to seem as though he wanted to pursue it any further.

It was if he was sending me an indirect signal that if something were to "happen" to him soon check his computer.

I began to lighten things up by laughing.

He joined in the laughter and continued to rub his face.

I then began to inform him of the internet relationship *I* had nearly 10 years ago. He had never heard of the story before but lapped it all up. By the end of the conversation I gave him some pointers that I think everyone should heed with internet relationships.

These pointers were:
  • NEVER EVER EVER believe ANY picture you see on the internet... especially Latvian, Ukranian, Russian or anything else from that neck of the woods. Those pictures are either fake, or do not represent the person you're talking to... and how will you ever know? What? Ask for more photos? Get a live web cam? Come on! All that stuff can be doctored... don't trust your eyes with these things!

  • Don't EVER EVER EVER get emotionally attached to anyone over the net. I did and got burned. No doubt I will not be the last. If you (or the other person) cannot get a reltionship in the REAL world then this will show that either you (or the other person):
    • lives in Antartica with the penguins (God only knows how you get an internet connection??)

    • are extremely shy (which most people grow out of as they age)

    • are a social derelict (a modern day Quasimodo)

    • have no life

    Now is this the type of person you would really want to be with? If society hasn't chosen a mate for them why are they still single? And why are they searching for people that live on the opposite side of the world?
    It just doesn't make sense.

  • Always think of the worst case with meeting people over the net. If they say they're female, assume their male. If they say they're 22, assume they're 42. If they say they're single, assume they've got three kids and an angry spouse.

My advice: don't do it folks - it ain't worth it... not even for fun.

Just set up a blog, like this, rant and rave about your daily struggles/experiences, let people come to you, and if you make good friends so be it. But get a life outside of the net... you'll be glad you did.