I'm Surprised

Birkenstocks are really expensive, considering they're simply glorified sandals.

I Wanna Have Your Babies - Pick Up Lines that Shock and Amuse #2

Where have all the good men gone? I, like most of my female friends, was bought up with the implicit understanding that men were Only After One Thing. This One Thing, it was suggested, would be our downfall and ruin if we didn't guard against it.

But then I left home, and thought 'AWESOME! We're both after the same One Thing! Just imagine - no guilt, no 'Where is our relationship going?' conversations, just a lot of fun between consenting adults. w00t!'

BUT NO. Men went and changed all the rules. Now they want to 'connect emotionally', and pursue 'a future together' (someone more cynical than I might suggest that what they're actually after is lulling you into a false sense of security, before dumping you for some chick who puts out, anyway. Has someone told them that women in relationships are better lays, or something?) Bastards.

In touch with their feminine sides, they turn into blushing Victorians when propositioned. It's a sad state of affairs when you can't find a man for a one night stand.

SUBJECT: Yesterday

Hi Jane,

I am sorry about the way things were left yesterday - I certainly had no intention of things going the way they did, and would most certainly have preferred a different outcome.

My main concern at this point is of the possibility that we may continue the personal relationship that was being developed until things went as they did. I like you on a personal level very much, and although I am sure we could have been electric together on another level, if it interests you at all, I would like for us to continue our friendship.

Certainly, venue not being the obstacle it is, I would have had no hesitation in extending to you my best efforts. Nevertheless, if you wish to, I propose coffee on Thursday at the cafe at the library; I shall be studying out there most of the day, and should you wish to do so, I do believe it is my turn to subsidise YOUR caffeine intake!

Best wishes,
John

Oh you dirty, rotten prick. HOW DOES THIS BECOME OUR PROBLEM?! So, we're forced to reply.

SUBJECT: You have the right to remain silent... I'm begging you, please exercise it!

Dear John,

I'm slowly but surely starting to understand why you currently have no room for a lover in your life - obviously, your ego masturbation is fulfilling all your needs. Why find someone else to make you feel good, when you're obviously managing to do that just fine by yourself?

Obviously, I didn't make myself clear when I said I was making a booty call, not a tell me about your secret pain call. Let me put it clearly and simply: I really don't care! You didn't fancy a shag - not a problem. Please, please just shut up now - this exploration of your feelings is EVERYTHING I WAS TRYING TO AVOID BY ENGAGING IN MEANINGLESS SEX WITH YOU. That's the brilliant thing about secret pain, babe - it's a big ole secret that I don't have to give a flying fig leaf about.

Certainly, there is the possibility of remaining friends, provided that you recognise I'M STILL NOT INTERESTED IN YOUR SECRET PAIN, you dunce. Let's shoot the shit, and leave it there - I promise to keep my hands to myself, as anything else seems to make you all crazy like.

Blah blah blah - no sex, just coffee. I get that. I respect that. Can we all just sit quietly now?

Best wishes,
Jane

p.s. Notice how I didn't even MENTION your 'best efforts'? Have I got the moral highground or what?!

Of course, this was the story that was never told. The real reply?

SUBJECT: Coffee on Thursday

Dear John,

I'd love a coffee on Thursday - I'll catch up with you at the library.

Cheers,
Jane

Christ. We deserve everything we get.

Me Talk Pretty One Day*, pt. III

The motto of the US Treasury: Ah Fuck It, It's Only Money



* A nod to David Sedaris - he comes up with the genius, I merely steal and degrade it.

My Feminine Side

Listen up, lads - a secret look inside Female Culture. Unfortunately, not the baby-oil-and-pillow-fights side of it. More on that next time.

Being a woman, I have an uncanny knack for remembering the minutae of everyday life. Ppl I haven't seen for several months/years will be greeted, and then asked about their wives/children/home renovations. It's just one of those things - if I didn't do it, I'd be stripped of my heels and lipstick.

However, this system of female greeting - because it shows we care, dammit! - has strayed off into strange territory: I was looking in my (lovely!) mother's e-mail inbox, because she'd had an update on the health of our summer retreat (if I'm honest here, a caravan) sent to her, and God bless her, she hasn't quite mastered Forwarding, so I was forced to view her original e-mail. Of course, I had a squizz at what other missives she'd received (What am I, a saint? What if she received something REALLY good, and didn't tell me about it?). There was the usual CHEAP VIAGRA!!! and SHAVED MULES IN 1001 POSITIONS!!! crap, the usual mailing list nonsense, and a succession of e-mails detailing a photographic progression of Jake. The problem, I hear you ask? I didn't recognise this infant, nor his parents. Couldn't even place the name in a context.

Jesus, as women, we're now expected to care about anyone shorter than a foot who can't hold their own head up. Feminism obviously wasn't as successful as we'd all hoped.

Please, Please, Tell Me Now - There's No Such Thing As Bad Weather, Only The Wrong Clothing

In a recent poll* for Arbiter of All That Is Tasteful, I was voted YOUR** number one choice for providing sweeping generalisations on the nature of expressions of humanity in modern society. Jog on, b*tches.

Spring has sprung in the ACT, ladies and gentlemen. That's right - it's sunny blue skies here all the way to Christmas. But unfortunately, the wind has also sprung (yay September), so it's not warm warm yet. Which, cunningly, brings me to my point: what is with the mini-skirt/t-shirt/Ugh boots/scarf look that so many... well, slags really, seem to be rockin'?

If it's cold enough to need wool-lined boots and a scarf, you need to wear pants. 'Nuff said.

P.S. You probably think you look like Jessica Simpson. We think you look like a moll.

* Poll conducted on the responses of one person. If answers were not unanimous, they were rounded up to the nearest one.
* If by 'Your' I mean 'My'

Please, Please, Tell Me Now - Baby, It's Cold Out

Who was Charity? And exactly what led her to be labeled as so damn cold?