Well it seems it may be time for the MEN in this world to stand up and be counted once more instead of letting our dicks lay sadly limp on the ground to be tromped on (ok so its an exaggeration). Now its not a natural trait of mine to be sexist in my ways and this is not an exception.
What my ramble concerns is something more over-looked and sadly has made its way to an un-noticeable but acceptable norm.
Heres how the story goes.......
Saturday night I was invited to a 'bar', after spending lots of hours in deliberation i managed to finally come up with an outfit suitable for the night, a true achievement in itself (Yeah I'm metro.........bite it shut up).
So off I head to this 'bar', its a fair travel, about 45 minutes, aprrox $7 in tolls with getting lost a little... one way, this was no big deal as i had been told the bar would be worth it!
BULL.......... whilst waiting in the line to get into the 'bar' an intelligent and suitably qualified .........bouncer, indicated to me that i would not be getting into said 'bar' as i was not wearing a collared shirt, and defiantly not in those shoes......OK fair enough you say rules are rules and I should of known better.... I can accept that a little risk taken on my behalf by not wearing a collared shirt and leather shoes and that didn't pay off..... WRONG......my ramble today is how you have been groomed to think like this!
How is it logical ?
Why is it so ?
Now besides rules are rules how did this come to be?
Answer I have no idea.
First thing I thought was OH & S fair enough if i was to wear leather shoes, maybe that could potentially protect my feet from injury and as for the OH & S requirements and a collar will provide some wind resistance to a high speed bloke and prevent an injury by bumping into someone?????????
Well no, this would directly suggest only boys have accidents in bars as girls can get into the bars wearing thongs and a singlet shirt
Hmmmm
So what about the thug factor?
Once upon a time it may of been slightly more expensive and impracticable to buy collared shirts purely for going out, and I guess leather shoes still can be regarded as expensive, but come on.....Is it really possible that a person slightly inclined to get into a punch up will be slightly less inclined to rumble because he is wearing a collared shirt and leather shoes?? I don't think so especially since those leather shoes provide protection from injury when kicking someones head in.....wouldn't want those toes to get hurt....and least there is a handy collar about to wipe up that excess blood..
Which brings me to my conclusion gone are the days where a collar will limit trouble, and leather shoes will only attract the higher classes to your bar. Give the bounces some thinking power (may require an operation in some instances) and let blokes be judged case by case instead of using a blanket rule that is in our now modern times 'out-dated')
Thugs will be thugs no matter what they wear
Accidents still happen to both sexes
Good night,
Friday, July 27, 2007
A new relationship can be like checking your luggage in
As a single male rapidly approaching my thirties I glance upon my trail of destruction and start questioning what has caused all this. Answer? Old undies and zippers.
I have since come up with a metaphor that has given me a new prospective on the way I have conducted myself in the past. Turbulent comes to mind, but I'm sure ex-girlfriends would be able to better describe my actions in only four letters, love not being one of them. And heres why I feel a new relationship can be like checking your luggage in at the airport.
Upon reaching that crucial point of taking on the relationship journey, I begin my preparation and pull my wardrobe apart, taking enough necessaries and just in cases to get me through the journey. I try to keep in mind, which of those other things are really in fact necessaries, and question which baggage is only ever going to be a just in case. Things such as ex-girlfriends phone numbers (I need them in case I left something behind) and the odd hang up are like an old pair of undies.
Me? Well I took a different approach; I jammed it into one bag, pushed down until it appeared to be a well presented neat little bundle and forced the zipper up.
Now I'm waiting at the counter and have discovered my baggage is a little bit heavier than I was anticipating and that zipper doesn't seem so strong now and I really didn't want that old pair of well used undies exposed, Too late it's already been spotted, my dignity is now ruined! What to do now? Could change my ticket to First Class, they seem to have an extra allowance for baggage. Alas I'm not First Class material and whilst I'm still me, that's the way it's going to be.
It's too late, sorry to say I can't leave any of my worldly possessions behind at the airport, they will think it's a bomb and blow up my undies. I can't let myself turn around and go home as I've already committed myself to the journey, to cancel and delay the trip will cost me more! And besides why would I want to part with anything, would I not feel incomplete. After all I need everything is in that bag because it's still a part of me, so I agree to pay that unexpected little joy of an additional fee knowing that means one less thing for me to enjoy on my journey.
I accept the extra charges whilst wondering why that fat business man who actually weighs more seems to get away with bigger undies and not having to pay for it.
So I have had a journey filled with some blissful highs but not without comments about those scraggly undies. Along the way collecting little souvenirs of this and that to add to my poor overweight and under zippered baggage, not forgetting I'm still lugging around those seemingly not-so-necessaries, just in case's. They turned out to be just that, providing no use what-so-ever, the problem is I have them, I didn't leave them at home and now they are weighing me down. Embarrassingly enough, everybody else has seen it too through my now busted zipper.
It's now that I find myself home from the journey, dumped, abandoned in a mountain of souvenirs that have no other purpose other than to remind me that I'm suffering post travel depression and when that seems all too much to handle, the dreaded credit card statement comes along just to remind me of the fact that I had to pay for that blessed excess baggage and with interest the debt seems larger.
At the end of the day it's like this, most people I know have some baggage, it's just how much I choose to take with me. It's not fun and it's not fair but it's the way it is. If I am to hold onto those old undies for just in case, they will eventually bit me on the bum with their cotton frayed teeth. So now I will throw away those old undies and take only hand luggage next time I travel, as it doesn't have to get checked in. Keep it carry on is my new motto
Anger Un-management
The golf ball theory
This little metaphor came about years ago whilst i was trying to explain to my mate how he expressed anger, he was probably angry at some shit that wasn't really important in the end, but my theory remained.
Some people might be able to relate to this theory and some will no doubt disagree with me about it, who cares? Not me....... Entirely anyways
So let me set the scene, young boy...stole one of Dad's golf balls because i wanted to see what was on the inside...... no tools (didn't know how to use them at most)so I set to work utillizing nothing but the concrete of Mum and Dad's porch to scrape.
Take the golf ball, small unassuming, sometimes white and also available in a wide range of metro colors, it has dimples, it is smooth to the touch and can be pretty fun to play with.
Anyway.....
Take this cute little golf ball and scrape it against concrete
Scrape scape scrape
the plastic begins to wear away, whats beneath it? I need to know!
So scrape scrape scape some more, the calm little shell is now giving away a little of its secrets, rubber, scrape a little more EUREKA! Rubber bands! Gold for a small boy, the most rarest of household commodities for making sling shots peg guns and other eye removing projectile devices.
But caution should have been taken by this little boy as the golf ball as unassuming and cute as it was really didn't want to give away these secrets
Stuff that!...........Scrape scrape scrape!
A glimpse of its insides became an entire section of missing shell......
Scrape scrape scra...... shit.....
The golf ball was pissed! A large crack appeared suddenly and it flicked off its shell with such disregard and exposed all its rubber muscle glory, tense and taught bands had been packed under high tension for many years (Dad didn't play good enough to loose this old veteran) and was now ready to show me what its really made of.
As it approached Mach 1 whilst spewing out all its rubber delight the cast away shell fair plonked me on the head.... it hurt........REALLY hurt!
After the tantrum had finished all over my parents porch, it came to a rest, calm again, what was left was a tiny black smooth calm little ball
Now, if my experience with the high velocity shell wasn't enough to warn me off I don't know what was. However what was inside?
Squeeze Squeeze Squeeze
POP!
In it's final warning a white chemical of some sort came out and onto my hands,it burnt, oh it burnt, chemical style too! Try explaining this one to Mum!
Moral of the story?
Shit I don't know, how about don't make things angry just to see whats on the inside.
And if you do wear protection..... lots of protection
Women is to wine as cheese is to man
Yes its another metaphor. This one brought about due to the recent onslaught of breakups around me. It seems to be a seasonal thing, I wonder if anybody has done a study into when couples are most likely to break up??
This metaphor might seem to be quite complicated but bear with me. I'm sure you will see where I am coming from by the end of it and maybe pass it on to someone seeking your help in breakup-itist. Hopefully it will give them a bit of a much needed laugh when all they have is questions as to "why the breakup?"
Assume Women are Wine and Men are cheese and there is a heterosexual relationship
Ok, so first thing to note is there are many varieties and qualities of wine and cheese, I won't try to be an expert in either so please please PLEASE purists let me get away with my generalisations just this once.
Also assume that variety and quality is not fixed, eg. if you see someone being a Merlot in one relationship it does not at all suggest that they wont be a cask wine the next.
Starting to see where this is going?
Now if you haven't already guessed, this metaphor is actually about compatibility
Here are the facts,
Merlot will go very well with a Brie.. but a cheese single? Hmmm NO!
Now what are the differences of cheese or wine personalities?
Cask wines are popular, convenient and reliable. However it is very unlikely you are going to take them to your parents
Merlot's they can require a very refined taste, but be careful when they spill they stain badly and the effects on a single spillage can remain for years!
Chardonnays they are also popular. They are sweet and you can safetly take them to your parents. They are way to easy to drink, but be aware your parents may like the chardonnay more than you do
As for the cheeses
The sandwich single, to be honest in my opinion if there is a trait of the sandwich single it is that it has no business being mixed with wine at all.
Blue vein is much like the Merlot. Its mature, tasty and can melt in your mouth, however its not for everybody.
Brie is smooth and popular and everybody wants a bit. Which happens to be its biggest problem, sometimes there is none left!
Now from that I can see in my past where I have been a Brie and then rapidly plummeted to a Sandwich Single and the become a Blue vein, its all relative to what is going on in your life and what your choosing to pair up with. It will determine the taste that is left if you mouth.
Matter over Man
Matter over Man
A wise man once said "A man with an empty mind and many tools will cause an expensive disaster" A wise man didn't exactly say this.... but he should of!
The story starts here; a couple of SUNDAYS ago I got frustrated with my girlies 'water hammer.'
Now for you who don't know what 'water hammer' is here is a brief description.
Water hammer is when you turn tap on and your house's skeleton water piping rattles to the point it is just plain scary. How have I come to knowledge of water hammer? I watched a segment how some very clever Australian PLUMBER invented a device to cure this problem.
So with this in mind I saw the PROBLEM, I could name the PROBLEM and I knew of a device to fix the PROBLEM. An important fact here is to remember that I called the rattling of pipes a PROBLEM, not the girly.....
Now I realise I could end the story here as you can most likely guess the ending, but where would the fun be in that?
So after a particularly handy weekend (I also fixed the cat's scratching pole), I decided it was well within my best interests of ego building and CHEST pounding to go to the hardware store and purchase the device invented by the very clever Australian PLUMBER to fix the above named self proclaimed PROBLEM.
So off to the hardware store we went, after finding the elusive plumbing section (the girlie found it) I set to find the device (which the girlie found)....
Now that I saw it, I noticed immediately that this device would require a PLUMBER to install it. In most circumstances I would gladly pay to have it installed. Most circumstances being if it were my apartment I would have hired someone to install it as I am obviously to busy fixing the problem for others.
But no, before I had the chance to complete that thought, I, much against my male instinct I asked for some advice from the stores assistant. Describing the current situation in detail (whilst not trying to sound like someone who defiantly didn't know what he was talking about), I was directed to an ALTERNATIVE product. Great I thought. Not only is this product cheaper, but it also seems not to require a PLUMBER.I promptly bought the alternative product with a regained confidence that I will be able to install this device myself.......
After all how hard can it be?
So with product in hand I consumed a sausage on bread out the front of the hardware store, courtesy of a local school fund raising for a netball trip. The entire time smiling inwardly at the pure simplicity of how easy it was going to be to look like the Alpha Male by solving my girlies PROBLEM.
Back at the girlies place; I pulled out the tools I had brought over to fix the scratching pole and set about fixing the now not so seemingly easy PROBLEM.
The girlie asks, "Are you sure you know what you are doing?"
I say confidently "Yeah sure babe. Now where do you turn the water off?"
With the water off and shifter in hand, I had the tap apart in minutes ready to install the ALTERNATIVE product that the stores assistant through HIS HELP, had recommended.
I then installed the ALTERNATIVE product and asked the girlie to remain near the tap in case something went wrong.
Quick as a flash, nothing went wrong, no leaks, I thought to myself "No leaks that's a good start"
WRONG
I then turned on the tap, to my utter amazement no water came out, not even a drop. So I turn the tap on a little more…. water! I'm saved!
B U L L S H I T
No sooner as I'd started basking in my glory, the pipes began to rattle
I @$% $^ _)(* @$%^ $%^ @% CAN'T ^& @$%^& @$%^ BELIEVE $%^ @$% THIS ^$%^& !!!!
In all their defiant glory they rattled, worse yet they rattled more so as if to mock me and purposely deny me of my chest beating accomplishment.
Now to say panic hadn't entered my mind would be a lie
Calculating the cost of my error had begun. New tap bits times PLUMBER times SUNDAY equals I'm broke
"Don't worry babe" I said "This ALTERNATIVE part didn't work. I will just put the old bits back in"
Needless to say the look on the girlies face was plain to see......... the pressure was on. So rapidly I put the tap back together using only the old parts and asked that the water be restored once more.
Now no water was coming out at all, not a drip…. Nothing!
My brained searched for answers, rapidly. As I really didn't need a qualified PLUMBER to come in on a SUNDAY to beat his CHEST in front of me and make the task look EASY and make me look incompetent. .
By the time I had completed this thought the girlie said "What's that part on the floor? Is this meant to be in there?"
"Yesssssssss" I said
So once more, off went the tap. I disassembled the pipes again, put the bit that was meant to be there back in, re-assemble, turned the tap back on.... the water returned. The PROBLEM also returned, happy as can be, and shaking in Morse code "FUCK YOU".
Needless to say the girlie was relieved, her tap was working and that's all she wanted. I had restored to it's full rattling reliable glory.
Conclusion: Well this time I will divide my conclusion into one for GIRLS and one for BOYS
Boys
This story enforces the "don't ask for a store assistant for HIS HELP", as he will most likely set you in the wrong direction, with what he believes is a suitable ALTERNATIVE product. I would have been fine without HIS HELP. And we all know that sometimes girls don't know there is a PROBLEM until it is pointed out to them.
Girls:
Boys have the need to CHEST beat. If its a tap call a PLUMBER they will know exactly what the PROBLEM is and know exactly know what to do with their years of experience. And for god's sake, especially don't let your boy take on a tradies job on a SUNDAY, especially if they say it is EASY.
With that story in mind, its time for me to follow up on an idea i have had to save the world
Take care all
A wise man once said "A man with an empty mind and many tools will cause an expensive disaster" A wise man didn't exactly say this.... but he should of!
The story starts here; a couple of SUNDAYS ago I got frustrated with my girlies 'water hammer.'
Now for you who don't know what 'water hammer' is here is a brief description.
Water hammer is when you turn tap on and your house's skeleton water piping rattles to the point it is just plain scary. How have I come to knowledge of water hammer? I watched a segment how some very clever Australian PLUMBER invented a device to cure this problem.
So with this in mind I saw the PROBLEM, I could name the PROBLEM and I knew of a device to fix the PROBLEM. An important fact here is to remember that I called the rattling of pipes a PROBLEM, not the girly.....
Now I realise I could end the story here as you can most likely guess the ending, but where would the fun be in that?
So after a particularly handy weekend (I also fixed the cat's scratching pole), I decided it was well within my best interests of ego building and CHEST pounding to go to the hardware store and purchase the device invented by the very clever Australian PLUMBER to fix the above named self proclaimed PROBLEM.
So off to the hardware store we went, after finding the elusive plumbing section (the girlie found it) I set to find the device (which the girlie found)....
Now that I saw it, I noticed immediately that this device would require a PLUMBER to install it. In most circumstances I would gladly pay to have it installed. Most circumstances being if it were my apartment I would have hired someone to install it as I am obviously to busy fixing the problem for others.
But no, before I had the chance to complete that thought, I, much against my male instinct I asked for some advice from the stores assistant. Describing the current situation in detail (whilst not trying to sound like someone who defiantly didn't know what he was talking about), I was directed to an ALTERNATIVE product. Great I thought. Not only is this product cheaper, but it also seems not to require a PLUMBER.I promptly bought the alternative product with a regained confidence that I will be able to install this device myself.......
After all how hard can it be?
So with product in hand I consumed a sausage on bread out the front of the hardware store, courtesy of a local school fund raising for a netball trip. The entire time smiling inwardly at the pure simplicity of how easy it was going to be to look like the Alpha Male by solving my girlies PROBLEM.
Back at the girlies place; I pulled out the tools I had brought over to fix the scratching pole and set about fixing the now not so seemingly easy PROBLEM.
The girlie asks, "Are you sure you know what you are doing?"
I say confidently "Yeah sure babe. Now where do you turn the water off?"
With the water off and shifter in hand, I had the tap apart in minutes ready to install the ALTERNATIVE product that the stores assistant through HIS HELP, had recommended.
I then installed the ALTERNATIVE product and asked the girlie to remain near the tap in case something went wrong.
Quick as a flash, nothing went wrong, no leaks, I thought to myself "No leaks that's a good start"
WRONG
I then turned on the tap, to my utter amazement no water came out, not even a drop. So I turn the tap on a little more…. water! I'm saved!
B U L L S H I T
No sooner as I'd started basking in my glory, the pipes began to rattle
I @$% $^ _)(* @$%^ $%^ @% CAN'T ^& @$%^& @$%^ BELIEVE $%^ @$% THIS ^$%^& !!!!
In all their defiant glory they rattled, worse yet they rattled more so as if to mock me and purposely deny me of my chest beating accomplishment.
Now to say panic hadn't entered my mind would be a lie
Calculating the cost of my error had begun. New tap bits times PLUMBER times SUNDAY equals I'm broke
"Don't worry babe" I said "This ALTERNATIVE part didn't work. I will just put the old bits back in"
Needless to say the look on the girlies face was plain to see......... the pressure was on. So rapidly I put the tap back together using only the old parts and asked that the water be restored once more.
Now no water was coming out at all, not a drip…. Nothing!
My brained searched for answers, rapidly. As I really didn't need a qualified PLUMBER to come in on a SUNDAY to beat his CHEST in front of me and make the task look EASY and make me look incompetent. .
By the time I had completed this thought the girlie said "What's that part on the floor? Is this meant to be in there?"
"Yesssssssss" I said
So once more, off went the tap. I disassembled the pipes again, put the bit that was meant to be there back in, re-assemble, turned the tap back on.... the water returned. The PROBLEM also returned, happy as can be, and shaking in Morse code "FUCK YOU".
Needless to say the girlie was relieved, her tap was working and that's all she wanted. I had restored to it's full rattling reliable glory.
Conclusion: Well this time I will divide my conclusion into one for GIRLS and one for BOYS
Boys
This story enforces the "don't ask for a store assistant for HIS HELP", as he will most likely set you in the wrong direction, with what he believes is a suitable ALTERNATIVE product. I would have been fine without HIS HELP. And we all know that sometimes girls don't know there is a PROBLEM until it is pointed out to them.
Girls:
Boys have the need to CHEST beat. If its a tap call a PLUMBER they will know exactly what the PROBLEM is and know exactly know what to do with their years of experience. And for god's sake, especially don't let your boy take on a tradies job on a SUNDAY, especially if they say it is EASY.
With that story in mind, its time for me to follow up on an idea i have had to save the world
Take care all
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