Tuesday, November 28, 2006

The Hotel Of Horrors

There were several things that I should've paid more attention to as I ambled my way to the Kingsgate Hotel.

First, its name.

Why the King's gate, and not the king's room, or his palace, or something more grand? I pondered.

And then there was the cheap accommodation.

Unfortunately such thoughts weren't audible enough for me to notice as I raced across the Melbourne streets heaving my luggage trying to find... King Street.

Hmm, maybe that's why it has King in its name - it's on King street!

Surprisingly, the place wasn't too much of a walk from the station where I was dropped off.

Cool, now I can have a shower and get changed.

Before entering the complex I noticed an award plaqued on their entrance proudly showing an award they won back in 2002 for "Best Budget Hotel".


As I walked up the stairs to the foyer I saw my mate Chris waiting. When he saw me approach he put down the pamphlet he was browsing and beamed a big smile.

Is he smiling because the rooms are good? Or because he's just happy to see me?

"Ew, what's that smell?" he remarked after shaking hands.

"I need to get changed," I said and as we made our way to our room I told him the story of what had happened during the flight.

When I entered our room my initial reaction was a strange one. The room had two single beds, an old closet with a couple of drawers underneath... and a sink right in the middle between the two beds.

This is it??

"Whaddya think?" Chris asked.

Oh please don't tell me we bathe in the basin??

"Umm, where are the showers?" I asked more concerned about getting into some warmer gear.

"You just go down the hall, turn right, turn right again, go to the end, turn right again, turn left and then turn left again," he answered giving appropriate hand signals to each "left" and "right" like a policeman directing traffic.

"No worries."

Famous last words.

After grabbing my toiletries bag, a change of clothes, a towel and bar of soap provided by the hotel my body screaming for a shower.

Okay, right, right, left, right, left, left, right... easy.

Upon making my first two or three turns I thought I would've been there by now, but I found myself at a dead end!?


I walked back the way I came... or so I thought... and heard voices with what sounded like water lapping down from a shower.


Upon getting as close as I could to the noise I had successfully found the showers... the women's showers.

Ok, the men's changeroom HAS to be nearby.

And do you think they were??


I walked up and down the hall, looked around the corners at both ends and couldn't see any indication of a men's changeroom.

What to do, what to do?

Do I just walk into the women's changeroom and ask? I joked.

That'd be nice, but no doubt would more than likely see me thrown out of the hotel (unless they were Dutch tourists)!

What if I wait, and then ask.

It sounded like a good plan.

So I waited at a fair distance away from the door - at the end of the hall.

(Well I didn't want to look like I was keen or anything!)

And boy did those women shower.

Far out.

What could they possibly be doing? I thought, waiting for what seemed like an hour, I could've found the men's changeroom by now, have finished AND eaten dinner!

Admittedly I was too far away to hear whether they were still showering, so after waiting an eternity I decided to walk past and sense whether they were still alive and maybe hadn't drowned.

The closer I approached to the door the more certain I became that they were no longer in the shower - there was no shower lapping noises.

They're gone!

I couldn't hear anything!?

How could I have missed them? I wondered, they would've either walked passed me, or I would've heard them walking up the hall in the opposite direction when I wasn't looking at the door!?

It didn't make sense, so to make certain that no one was in there I decided to put my ear to the door (no I wasn't going to go in... although it was tempting! ;op... Well, hey, by going in at least I knew I could get a shower if no one was in there, right?).

And then no sooner had I began edging my head closer to the door did I hear...

"Ok, ready?"

Followed by a sudden push of the door ajar...


Aw, my head!

The chic handling the door gasped and as I was rubbing my head she apologised profusely.

"Oh I'm so sorry, so so sorry, I'm really sorry..."

If there were a million different ways of saying sorry this chic said it.

"I'm fine I'm fine," I said rubbing the side of my head thankful that the damage wasn't that bad and that my reflexes were still sharp.

Now making use of their attention I asked, "Do you ladies know where the men's changeroom is?"

"Oh yes," said the overly apologetic woman, "you just go down the hallway, turn left, go to the end, turn left again, and then left again, and it should be on your right."

Okay, left, left, left, right.

"Thanks," I said as I began walking away with my new set of directions.

"Ew, what's that smell?" said the other chic, "Fiona, what soap did you use?"

"The one they gave us, which one did you use?"

I hurriedly walked to the end of the hallway and chucked a lefty.

After several minutes I finally found what I was looking for: the men's changerooms.

(Who said women are hopeless with directions? They must've been Dutch!)

And you wouldn't guess what.

The two showers both had occupants in them.


As there were no seats to sit on I decided to sit on one of the toilets and wait.

You should've asked one of the chics to kiss it better, you twit! I joked as I rubbed my head.

I wasn't thinking straight.

Never mind.

Thankfully, I didn't have to wait long for one of the blokes to finish his shower. As soon as he left I entered the vacant shower.

Aah, at last.

Unfortunately, though, I soon discovered that both showers shared a common drain. Even before I had switched my shower on soap and muck from the other bloke's shower was streaming through.

I quickly turned on my shower and began flicking his muck back over to his side.

And then it happened.

The worst possible sound that could be uttered on two showers sharing a common drain... the other bloke let out a deep guttural loogie.



I turned up the shower pressure as much as it could bear and created mini tsunamis towards the drain so that no loogie could ever make its way over to my side.

Soon the second worst sound ripped through the men's shower... he blew his nose.


By now, there was so much water on my side of the shower that I could've easily had a bath. Water eventually lapped over the edge of the shower rim and began spilling into the remainder of the changeroom.

I didn't care.

I didn't want to battle and dance around my shower with loogies.

No doubt the water was spilling over on his side too, and it wasn't long until he turned his shower off, dried and then left.

But I was still fearful of those loogies.

Have they been flushed yet?

I tried my best at showering, but doing so with one leg keeping the tsunami tidal flow was difficult.

Upon jumping out I looked around for my towel.

Oh no.

I couldn't believe it. My towel had fallen off of its hook. Not only that but the clothes I was going to change into I had left on the ground (there were no shelves in the showers) and they were now soaking wet. What was worse was the fact that I only had brought one pair of jeans - thinking that Melbourne was going to be warm this time of year (I know - silly Perth boy).

How the heck was I going to dry myself off with a soaking wet towel?

Don't worry... just dry under the hand dryer.

Good thinking.

Okay, now how was I going to tackle this? Should I go out in the nutty, lock the main door, and then wriggle under the thing until I'm done? Or should I wrap the towel around myself, lock the door, and then dry myself the best I possibly can?

I don't know. I didn't care.

I walked out into the main changeroom area with my soaking wet towel around me and tried my best to lock the door. The wet towel didn't provide much cover, and what was worse was the main door wouldn't lock.

Okay, plan B.

I grabbed the only dry clothes I had left, which were the vomit stenched ones... see, when I went into the shower I put the clean clothes I was going to change into on the ground, took off my dirty clothes and placed them on top of the clean clothes, now the smart person would've probably swapped the two around (putting the dirty clothes on the floor), but remember: I was too busy creating tsunamis to keep Mega Mucuous Man from contaminating my shower space... anyway with my dirty clothes I made my way to the hand dryer.

I wasn't quite sure what I was going to do considering I couldn't lock the stupid door... and I definitely didn't want to get caught in any "strange" positions with the hand dryer while attempting to dry myself, and if things couldn't have got any worse today I soon found that the hand dryer didn't work AT ALL!

No, I lie... it worked, it just needed a hamster that was still ALIVE to run the stupid thing as the noise it was making sounded like whatever was generating the fan and heat had died a long time ago.

So there I was standing with a dripping wet towel around me, a change of good clothes that were also wet under one arm, and a change of dirty smelly clothes that were dry in the hand of the other.

What to do? What to do?

It's late. More later...

Monday, November 27, 2006

R. N. B.

I didn't realise how much I missed the beach when I woke up early Saturday morning and pushed myself to do the ol' beach run and surf.

There have been a few days in November that have breached my "beach weather" limit of 30 degrees, but I've either been in frosty frickin Melbourne or been too busy!


But last Saturday was finally an exception and I pulled myself out of bed and went to a beach I had only been once to previously.

Boy was I ever glad I went.

I can't believe how much I missed the waves, the water and the... women!

Not to mention the burning pain in the calves and thigh muscles, and then the soothing cool sensation of diving into the crystal water whilst entertaining myself catching a wave or two.

Life doesn't get any better than this.

When you start your day with something like that it's extremely difficult to have a bad day.

I just wish I could enjoy the sunshine without its harmful UV rays as as time flies when you're having fun and some idiots just forget to apply sunscreen.

No immediate names come to mind, of course? ;o)

So what's with the title?

Oddly enough, Perth's summer pattern goes a little like this: we have a small heat wave in November which cools down early December all the way to about Christmas where it then really heats up for January and February. Last year our cool December period went a little longer than expected, which proved to be quite painful because going to the beach just wasn't worth it - it was just too damn cold.

So, even though it's not officially summer YET, beaching in November is nothing unusual, and this activity is known by its popular term RNB - Ryan's November Beaching :o)

Hopefully this year summer will be better than last as the surf at Mullaloo beach (the closest beach to where I live) is much better than Leighton and Coogee (previous beaches I lived near).

Can't wait until we have out next bout of hot weather.

(I've heard of rain dances before, but does anyone know the drill for hot-beach-weather dances??)

Friday, November 24, 2006

Bitter Cold Melbourne

I felt it straight away.

It was the equivalent of jumping into a pool or beach of cold water.


8 frickin degrees.

The coldest November day in Melbourne on record... apparently, and I just so happened to rock up in shorts and a colourfully painted shirt.


"Thankyou," said one stewardess as I left, "and have a nice day."

As if, lady. I've got shorts, a stinky shirt, and now I have to wait until this electrical storm blows over before I can even get my luggage.

Nice day.


I wasn't in the best of moods.

Who could be in such a weird place like Melbourne which frequently displays weird bouts of weather - and today was no exception.

As I walked to the carousels I looked outside and saw it hailing.

It's going to be summer in 3 weeks and it looks like we're in the middle of winter here!

I couldn't believe it.

Maybe this was all just some weird dream, and that I'd find myself back in bed waking up to my 6am alarm clock. I tried pinching myself, but even though my fingers were pinching I couldn't feel a thing... it was too cold.

Well, this is no fun, I sighed, as the luggage area built up with more and more people from other flights who similarly had to wait for their luggage.

I suppose I could go and try and find that bus shuttle service and buy myself a ticket.

I had to do something just to keep warm, and walking seemed like a good idea.

Unfortunately, as I walked up and down the terminal, I discovered that the shuttle ticket place had "conveniently" moved outside.


If I thought it was cold inside the terminal, I was soon in for a greater shock when the sliding doors opened and I walked into the REAL cold outside!


Certain male anatomy froze.

Sorry boys.

I quickly folded my arms over my chest, inserted my hands under my armpits to keep them warm, and hobbled over to the shuttle ticketing desk.

"One, please," I said shivering.

I handed her a $20 note and waited for my ticket... and waited... and waited.

After spending what seemed like an eternity cryogenically frozen in the cold Melbourne weather I was eventually handed my ticket. I think the chic behind the counter wanted to see if I would turn blue.

No, lady, I'm not a Christmas tree.

I scurried back into the warmer terminal.

By now the carousel area was getting a little full, which worked well for a bloke that was cold like me. Wherever there was a dense concentration of people I just waddled my way there and bathed in their warmth.

At times I slotted myself between a couple that were cuddling, and at other times I decided that some people just needed a big... long... hug - even if they didn't ask for it.

When I had drained them of all their body heat I simply moved on to the next one - in essence I was a human heat seeking leech!

But most of the time I found it quite difficult to keep the hugged party hugged.

"Ew, what's the smell?" some would say as they'd try to wriggle away from this strange man that had clung to them.

"It's ok," I'd say knowing I'd only have seconds left to sap all heat from my host, "you get used to it after awhile."

Eventually an announcement boomed over the terminal informing everyone that the storm had now passed and that their luggage would now be coming.


As I waited and waited and waited and waited, my luggage finally arrived.

Ok, now I can get changed.

No sooner had that thought popped into my head, did I notice outside the big red shuttle bus.


Scurrying back outside I jumped in line and awaited to get on to what appeared to be an already packed bus.

Am I going to be able to get on?

As the line slowed with each boarding passenger I got closer and closer to the bus' door.

"Sorry mate," said the bus driver when I placed my left foot on the first step, "you'll have to wait for the next bus. It shouldn't be long."


He closed the door and sped away.

More and more people poured out from the terminal after successfully collecting their luggage and filed in the shuttle bus line.

If I go back inside to keep warm, I'm going to miss the red shuttle bus each time.

So I stood there.

At the front of the line like a frozen chicken.

If there was ever a time I needed a hug... now was the time, but no hug came.

The wind picked up, and let down another load of hail.


"4 Minutes" read the shuttle bus display indicating when the next red bus was going to arrive.

What could I possibly do to keep warm in 4 minutes?

*beep beep* *beep beep*

My phone had just received a text message, from Chris, asking where I was. I hit the reply button and typed,


Which, as most Canadians will easily be able to translate, means:


Replying to Chris was a Godsend. It took my mind off the pain and allowed me to waste those 4 minutes while I texted away.

I scampered onto the bus, threw my luggage into the holding area and sat on the back seat in the foetal position.

Upon arriving at the Southern Cross bus station I was instructed to ask one of the ladies behind the counter as to which shuttle I needed to go on to get to my hotel.

"Which hotel, sir?"

"Ah, the Kingsgate."

"You can actually walk to it from here," the lady instructed pulling out the ubiquitous Melbourne city map and scribbling where we were, and where I needed to go.

"I can do that," I said picking up my luggage and wondering just how to get out of this place.

And so, I set sail to what was to become the hotel of horrors.

The fun was just starting.

Thursday, November 23, 2006


Being one of the last to arrive on the plane finding my seat didn't prove to be too difficult.

16... B.

Right in the middle of two elderly folk.

Great! Now I'm going to get the stories of "the good ol' days" in stereo!

But thankfully I didn't, which may have been due to the fact that I wore headphones during the whole flight! Thank God for Qantas' inflight entertainment!

Unfortunately, breakfast came around after takeoff and I wasn't impressed: sausages, bacon and scrambled eggs.


I think I'm the only person alive who doesn't enjoy eating meat or eggs for breakfast - give me muesli or fruit any day.

"What would you like for breakfast then sir?" asked the stewardess after I had scrunched my face in disgust at the options, no doubt thinking that I was probably some type of tree hugging hippie.

"Just the fruit juice, please."

Not long after the inflight entertainment did we begin experiencing some turbulence, immediately the dinging seat belt sign was turned on followed by the captain over the speaker...

"This is your captain speaking," he started, trying to remain calm, "it's going to get a little bumpy as we pull into Melbourne. If everyone could please move to their seats and fasten their seat belts."

The plane began to shake and wobble as it moved through the dense Victorian clouds. It would've probably been quite therapeutic had it not been that we were 35,000 feet above the ground travelling at several hundred kilometers per hour!

To my left, the old lady at the window, quickly moved her hand to her mouth.

Initially I thought she had spotted something gross, maybe a bird flying through the engine, or maybe even Superman getting changed, but what I soon discovered was her breakfast.

As she fossicked through the pouch in front of her, I looked over and gave the quizzical eye.

(BTW... if doing a quiz is to be quizzical, then doing a test is to be...?? lol)

She turned to look at me, and tried to motion what she was doing, but it was all too late.

The plane was hit with a wind pocket and it dove a couple of meters sending it in a short sudden drop.

All I felt next was a warm sensation on my left arm and chest.

Again, it would've been quite therapeutic if it hadn't been for the fact that it was somebody's half digested breakfast!

And if I had eaten the same I probably would've returned the favour, but all I had was a juice... something that had now proceeded to my bladder and was safe from ever being brought back up, but was busting to get out.

Unfortunately no stewardess came to my immediate attention. The plane was rocking all over the place making it hard to even stay seated, I couldn't imagine how hard it would be to walk.

The old lady eventually found her spew bag and proceeded to let out the remaining 10% of her stomach into it.

Bits of sausage and what looked like carrots (which I thought was weird because they didn't serve carrots??) speckled my red shirt.

After the lady had finished with the remainder of her breakfast she reached for her handbag and pulled out some tissues.

She showered me with apologies as she scaped all the little bits of sausages and eggs off.

"That's ok," I said trying to reassure her by finding something soothing to say, "I... get it all the time."

"You get women vomiting over you all the time?" she asked wiping away.

"Uh... no, I was talking about touching my chest."

We both smiled.

Again the plane rattled through the thick clouds and it wasn't long until we were finally underneath them and on the tarmac.

When the plane slowed to a manageable speed a stewardess saw my predicament and provided a damp cloth to wipe myself down with.

The captain came back over the blower,

"This is your captain speaking. We have now arrived in Melbourne, unfortunately there will be some delays as there is an electrical storm and all ground crew have ceased to work until it clears over. There will be a slight delay in retrieving your luggage."

Great! Nothing to change into.

As we waited on the plane to disembark the captain came over the speaker again,

"The current time in Melboune is a quarter to three and the temperature is 8 degrees!"

WHAT!!! 8 degrees????

Oh no.

Just how was a boy in shorts and a wet smelly shirt going to cope in such chilly conditions?

Stay tuned...

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Getting Ready For Take Off


This was the time my flight was due to take off from Perth on Wednesday morning to arrive in Melbourne. Having planned an hour earlier to arrive at the airport I got there with 45 minutes to spare thanks to some crazy driving by my sister and crazy freeway traffic in general.


Or so I thought.

Trying to keep calm under the stressful situation of getting onboard on my flight (and recovering from my sister's lead foot), I played it cool and waltzed on over to the long line where people were having their baggage checked in.


Several minutes passed and as I looked around at the other folk entering the terminal I noticed that they all proceeded to these little touch screens.

Hmm, maybe they're just lost and need directions, I thought.

I progressed further in the line and saw a big red sign that read...

STEP #1 - Collect ticket
STEP #2 - Check baggage in


What kind of an idiot doesn't know the two basic steps to boarding a plane: grab your ticket, load your luggage, and get on the friggin plane.

The baggage line moves at a slow steady pace, but having arrived with 45 minutes under my belt I know I'm all good.

Waddling a little further I eventually get to the counter.

26 minutes to take off my mind notices... plenty of time.

I heave my light luggage bag onto the conveyor belt and force a smile.

"Ticket please?" the bloke asks placing one of his hands out on top of the counter.

"Uh, isn't that what you're meant to give me?" I respond.

"No, you should have got your ticket from the touch screen terminals there," he points in the direction of where all the smart people who can read signs are touching away at their screen and grabbing their ticket.

Eeek! I thought that was an info finding thing.

"Thanks," I said as I quickly grabbed my luggage and walked over to the new fangle dangle ticket touch screens.

It's okay, you've got plenty of time my mind coaches, trying it's best to calm my body.


It reads.

I touch it, but nothing happens.

I touch it again, but still nothing happens.

I try the other hand, and yet again... nothing happens.

Damn, maybe my hands have gone all clammy and cold? Just calm down, you've got 23 minutes... plenty of time says the strange, and now becoming a little annoying, coaching voice inside my head.

I need to use a warmer part of my body.

I try touching the screen with my elbow, but... nothing happens.


I touch my chest and face hoping to find a warm spot, but nothing immediately comes to mind.

What about your tongue? says the coach.

Come on! You've only got 20 minutes, you'd better hurry!

I slowly bend over and crouch down to the screen.

With my tongue I quickly prod the screen.


I receive a little jolt of static and quickly pull back.


Reads the screen.

Okay, be quick and hit Melbourne...

In one quick motion I bend down, stick my tongue out, get zapped, and hit "Melbourne" - if I had feathers I'd probably look like a chicken on a farm pecking away at the grass.


I wonder why computers are always so nice? I think, rubbing my tongue.

As the computer whirrs away it asks me to select which flight to Melbourne I was taking - the early morning one, or the later in the afternoon one.

*Zzzzzt*... the early morning one.


Aw, come on! I don't have all day... 17 minutes.



The screen flashes a keyboard that has the tiniest keys I've ever seen.

Ok, give me a pointy tongue. Now go... the inner coach encourages.

*Zzzzt*... R... *Zzzzzt*... U... crap!... *Zzzzt*... [backspace]... *Zzzzt*... *Zzzzt*... GHY... CRAP!!! "Give me a pointy tongue," I said. "Sorry coach."... *Zzzzt* *Zzzt* *Zt* [backspace] [backspace] [backspace]... *Zzzzt*... Y... Yes!... *Zzzt*... A... Eww, gross, someone didn't wash their hands... *Zzzzt*... N...

By now my tongue was beginning to get a little swollen with all the static shots it was taking. I didn't want to drink anything cold less I drain the heat away from my tongue and need some other warm part of my body to touch the screen... and I really didn't want to use my bum as a pointer - well I've heard that your bum is the warmest part of your body, but maybe it's like that because we sit on it all day?!

I quickly zapped my surname into the terminal and began cleaning the screen after the computer displayed another...


I then zapped confirmation of my seat and within a minute finally had my ticket.


"This is the first boarding call for people flying to Melbourne on flight QF481."

CRAP!!! I've only just got my ticket!!

I quickly jumped back into the now even longer baggage line.


Every second felt like a minute. My palms began to sweat (oh, so now you're hot!) and I had to keep tapping my foot as an outlet for releasing all the nervous energy that was welling up inside.

10 minutes to go.

A separate line opened up for late passengers to the Melbourne line and I quickly scurried into the shorter line.

"Ticket please," asked the lady behind the counter.

I handed over my ticket and tried to feign a happy face. I didn't want to talk. I didn't want to say anything that would otherwise make her work slower in getting my luggage on board that plane.

I just clammed up and tried to smile.

"Thank you Ryan, your leaving from gate number 2."

Phew! The hardest part is now over!

I quickly made my way to the departure gate. First though, I had to go through the scanner.

Oh please please please don't let anything beep.

I nervously placed all my stuff into the open container and fed it to the guy standing near the xray machine. I started scratching my forearms and my head as I waited to go through the arches. I just wanted to be on the plane ALREADY!

COME ON!! yelled the coach.

As I walked through the scanner I held my breath and closed my eyes.

Phew, no beep.

I collected my things from the successfully scanned box and as I was about to make my way to the gate a security lady walked up to me.

"Excuse me sir, could you please step aside."

"Why? What for? I'm going to miss my flight."

"You've been randomly selected for a drug test."


"Do I look like I'm on drugs to you, lady?" I yelled.

Although, I suppose in the nervous state I was in I probably did.

"It will only take a moment of your time."

Oh please don't let it be a touch screen, was the only thing I was worried about. I didn't care if I had to get probed, just so long as I didn't have to fry my tongue on another touch screen.

And with that I was taken to a desk and asked a myriad of questions on whether I had taken any drugs within the last 7 days, whether I had ever taken drugs at all (etc etc)...

"Does Panadol count?"

What seemed like an eternity soon finished and I was able to quickly get to my departure gate with a minute to spare.

Whoever invented the last minute should've won the Nobel prize... because if it weren't for the last minute I think we'd all miss a lot of things.

I was now onboard and setting sail (probably the wrong word considering I was flying?) for Melbourne.

And you'll never guess what happened when I landed in Melbourne.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

Just A Quickie...


I've got so much to tell, so much to show, so much work to get through, and so many friggin emails that I think my Outlook program is going to explode any minute.

Besides sore legs, feet, throat, and back (all will be explained later) I'm in one piece.

I'm also dog tired and will hopefully detail everything in bits and pieces during the week when I can spare a few minutes.

Watch this space!!

Friday, November 10, 2006

A Cruel God?

"Everyone will be going to heaven."

Mentioned one bloke to my father yesterday (I think he was Bahai).

(Unfortunately he wouldn't let us get a word in edge wise, being extremely loud with his belief and us only standing a few feet away from him, so I'm letting out here what we tried to tell him yesterday.)

But doesn't it sound nice?

EVERYONE goes to heaven.

In fact, it wouldn't really matter what you do here on earth, whether it be good or bad, because in the end we'll all be partying in heaven, right?

So we can rape, pillage and loot throughout this life and regardless of what happens here it wont matter because everything will be good in the end.

Wait, a minute... rape... pillage... loot... now???

Hmm, maybe this everyone-going-to-heaven business doesn't sound so crash hot now, huh?

Well, you can believe what you want dude, but if you're going to start throwing Scripture around to back up your belief you better be prepared (2 Timothy 2:15).

So, dude, if what you say is true and it's backed up by the bible, then why did God give Moses the Ten Commandments? Why did God even let His Son die on the cross? And what about the rich man in hell (Luke 16) - if we're all going to heaven then He's obviously forgotten someone and needs to correct that mistake!

"And you believe in the Trinity. There is only one God. It says in John 1:1 'In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God' - see there is only one God, the "Word" and "God" are the same."

Again, dude, if you want to believe there's only God, then that's your prerogative, but don't start using Scripture to back your argument up, because using that verse you've just disproven your own belief. Just read 14 more verses down and you've got your answer... "And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth."

"So you believe that if a murderer were to confess Christ as their Saviour on their deathbed they would be saved and go to heaven. As opposed to someone who throughout their entire life does something good for the benefit of mankind and doesn't accept Christ, and therefore goes to hell."

Well dude let's say that in order to be saved you have to be "good". Define good. How do we know what is good, or what is bad? Murder might be bad in our society, but what of the lost trides in Papua New Guinea that still practice cannabilism? And do I have to do more "good" than "bad" to go to heaven? Does each "good" act carry a certain amount of points, and each "bad" act similarly carry a certain amount of points? Where can this "point system" be found? Who determined which act carried what amount of points?

And what now of the murderer who lying on their deathbed now discovers this "good-bad point system" and wants to do the right thing? It'll be too late.

The message of salvation is a simple one and yet what we do with it in this short space of time will carry eternal consequences - it's the dichotomy of life. Which is why Jesus' closing words to his disciples were very important "Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature." (Mark 16:15)

Where will you spend eternity?

Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me. (Rev 3:20)

Hope Restored

I had a a fantastic time on Tuesday night at Dan & Melissa's place.

For the last couple of months (especially after attending a few weddings) I strongly considered the fact that I was more than likely going to die single because of the difficulty I had in finding someone compatible.

I mean, to be honest, it had been extremely difficult finding a single woman that...
  • Is a committed Christian (she doesn't just give Christianity lip service, but lives it)

  • Has a beautiful smile, gorgeous laugh and good sense of humour (a woman that has neither of these REALLY scares me half to death!)

  • Is proactive (likes doing stuff, such as walking, cycling, beaching... etc etc)

If a woman possesses those three qualities then we're more than 90% of the way there, but if she lacks any of those three it's like the Trinity... it'll be a difficult relationship (if she's not a Christian my spirit is saddened, if she doesn't laugh my soul is tormented, and if she doesn't enjoy doing stuff my body is weakened).

But all that changed Tuesday night... hope in the female species was retored!

The three other chics that were invited for dinner all had those three qualities, and what's more two of them were single!

We all hit it off pretty much straight away, but unfortunately, as I soon found out, these women hadn't caught up with Dan & Melissa for quite some time (one of them had just got off a plane from the UK!) and the majority of the evening was spent playing "catch up".

But hey, that's okay.

I was still able to join in on their conversation... it was just difficult trying to speak the single ladies individually throughout the night.

But I really had a good time (have I mentioned that?). And you never know, maybe something will eventuate in the future, or maybe it wont.

In any case, at the least, my hope in finding a partner is restored and I don't need to compromise on my ever-so-highly-set standards.

Sunday, November 05, 2006

Co Inki Dink?

SETTING: Early Sunday morning... after church service. Thunder strikes above (no really there was thunder).

RYAN: G'day Dan.
DAN: Hey, how are ya man? (handshakes)

*...fast forward a bit...*

D: Hey are you interested in coming over Tuesday night?

R: (thinks) Yeah, should be fine.

(Ryan pauses, making sure there really is nothing is on that night and wishes he had a woman because they're always great at remembering anniversaries, birthdays and all that other small stuff)

R: Just text me so I don't forget.
D: No worries.

RYAN leaves church and goes home. An hour or so later his mobile beeps with a text message. It's from DAN, and reads...

Dont 4get Tuesday nite! Of coarse that is if you dont mind having four other women there as well. I need some back up.

RYAN replies...

Hey Dan. Na havin 4 other women wont bother me - thats why God gave me 4 limbs.


Or am I just being set up again?

(Dan's married BTW)

Saturday, November 04, 2006

U2 Soon

My mate Chris left yesterday for Melbourne.

I can't believe that it's now here... well, almost here.


Two weeks and I'm outta here.


Women Are Like Onions

Ladies, please spare a moment for us poor blokes.

Consider the following...

1. Breast enlargements
2. Hair dyes
3. Foundation/make-up
4. Spray-on tans

Shrek once said that ogres are like onions. I'd like too that women are like onions too... there's so many layers you just don't know what's underneath!

Upon complaining about this last time, one woman once replied tongue-in-cheek with...

It's hard work keeping the natural look.

Yeah, but spray-on tans??

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

The Age Gap

Women are a little different than men when it comes the age difference.

For me personally I'm probably not likely to date any more than a year or two older than me (unless Livinia Nixon makes her available then this rule can be broken), but I've noticed that women on the other hand are willing to date guys twice their age!

Which I find odd, but then again, I *am* a bloke and anything women do I consider "odd"!

But why is that I wonder?

Are women who search for men two to three times their age search for a man that age because he is likely to be...
> experienced?
> mature?
> wealthy?
> all the above??

I don't know. I can't answer that... I'm not a woman, and I'm not looking for a 60 year old man!