Up to now in the romance world

I had a psychology class about relationships yesterday.

There’s a difference between what men and women want, in that traditional dynamic.

Men want someone nurturing.

Someone they can get along with and who’ll help raise their child.

Women want someone with power, who they believe will support the family and help raise their child.

Generally speaking, and we’re all on a bell curve for everything, that’s what the deal is.

Since I’ve been living long term in singledom, cooking, cleaning, paying bills, darning my own clothes, I have a lot of the nurturing, I guess, and I just want someone to support that.

I don’t show a lot of power.

It’s also never been valued, because in my childhood if I ever showed it I’d get the beating down.

But I have to show power to win relationships, not just with women but society.

To start showing more power, and since I have a date tonight, I been thinking about how I should reframe my life.

To highlight if not pre-existing, but new power.

So here it is, my new life narrative where I don’t talk about the jobs I’ve had or the study I’ve undertaken to get out of menial work.

“What do you do?” she’ll ask, because they always do.

“So I wrote comedy as a kid in school but got told it would not amount to anything and not to waste my time. I kept making little things and writing, got published in a few places, but family and friends kept reminding me it was pointless and to never try stand-up. I moved to Bendigo for work and after a few more people said there was no future in writing anything and it’ll fail, I met some people doing stand-up comedy who saw my act and said, Yes. Three years since I’ve had a successful Melbourne International Comedy Festival show, preformed in England and Iceland, I’m helping to produce a Bendigo Comedy Festival, and I have a 100 seat room booked at the Adelaide Fringe. So things are looking up.”

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Dating Stories: The Spitfire Lady

I was in Chile. I meet this woman and she said, “Australia’s so dangerous with all its animals.”

I said, “Not really. The worst thing that lives near me are spitfires.”

She said, “What’s a spitfire?”

I said, “It’s a caterpillar that shoots venom.”

She said, “You have caterpillars that shoot venom?”

I said, “No. It’s really just a liquid that irritates. People say it burns them.”

She said, “You have caterpillars that burn you?”

I said, “No. It’s not a big deal unless there’s a pack of them.”

She said, “They roam in packs, firing burning venom at you, and they’re caterpillars?”

I said, “Yeah. It sounds worse than it is. I have a bunch that group on a tree at my house.”

She said, “You have death caterpillars outside your house?”

I was telling Mum. She said, “It’s a good thing you’re not Australia’s tourism ambassador.”

I said, “I didn’t mean to mislead her/”

Mum said, “You make it sound like they’re massive pythons carrying flame throwers and hunting humans in murder squads.”

I did realise this that at the time. I thought I’d be funny and say to my date, “Oh don’t worry. The caterpillars don’t kill anyone. A friend of mine lost an arm once, but that’s it. Have a look.” and I googled spitfire injuries on my phone showed her pictures from World War 2 plane crashes. I said, “A spitfire does this.”

My date didn’t want to pursue life in Australia after that. She decided staying in Chile with a guy who hunts spiders for a living would be safer. I guess she’s happy. So that’s good for her.

 

For more on spitfires read here: http://lepidoptera.butterflyhouse.com.au/faqs/spit.html

Dating Stories: The Dead Lady

I went on a date with a woman who worked in a morgue.

I said, “Dead set?”

She said, “What?”

I said, “That’s very interesting.”

She said, “It’s not.”

I said, “It is. How many people work with dead people? Most of us work with dead heads, you know, idiots, but not people who are actually dead.” She didn’t like this. I tried to make a joke. I said, “How many people could have sex with their customers, and the customers wouldn’t even know. Nobody would know. It could be your little secret.”

She said, “I don’t have sex with the bodies.”

I said, “Sure. Do you call them Deadies?”

She said, “No.”

I said, “Ok, but have you ever wanted to slap one on the butt and say ‘Who’s your Deadie? Who’s your Deadie? You’re my Deadie.’ And then before sliding the body into the cabinet, have you slid another one out and rolled one on top of the other so you could have a threesome, or sat and watched them two lie there?”

My date said, “No.”

I told Mum about this. She said, “Is this what you get up to when I’m not around?”

I said, “No. I don’t bring dead bodies back to the house for threesomes.”

Mum said, “You probably should. It’s the only way you’d be able to give a date a stiffy.”

I asked my date if she’s ever used a body as a puppet?

She said, “No,” and then she decided to end the date. She said, “This is why I like to work with dead people.”

Which is good. It sounds like she works with people she gets along with. They might be dead but, that’s good for her. So that’s a happy ending?

Dating Stories: The Misogynist Lady

For my niece’s birthday I bought her a book called The Man Who Mistook His Wife For a Hat.

My date said, “That doesn’t sound like a very appropriate book for someone who should be raised a future feminist.”

I didn’t understand. The book’s by Oliver Sacks, and is about brain dysfunctions. He got permission retell his patients stories of diagnosis. The title character is a guy who couldn’t identify faces, and made decisions based on shapes. He thought his wife was a hat stand, not because she was thin, pointy, and made of wood, but because his brain couldn’t identify the difference. They’re lovingly told anecdotes that have inspired many writers and neuroscientists.

The thing that got me about the feminist line is that I’m potentially misogynist enough to promote the idea of women being equal to hats. Women, hats, same thing. During summer you may need to slip on a shirt, slap on some sunscreen and slop on a woman, or a hat, either way, just take whatever is nearby. Careful you don’t pull too tight and split the seems.

I wonder if someone reading that would visualise the wearing-of-a-woman-as-a-hat as made by using the arse or vagina as a suction point. Either way, be careful! If it was me stuck to someone’s head I’d wiggle a lot. I’d probably try to get off.

In my defence to misogyny claims, one day at work I was told to divide the stock of sunglasses into men’s and women’s styles. That was a very daunting afternoon. I had to assign gender to sunglasses, and I still don’t know if I did it right. There’s a good chance that 50% of people who bought sunglasses there are wearing inappropriate eye-wear for their gender. Some sunglasses designer in Monaco could be watching via Google Earth and going crazy, seeing all these people with gender confused glasses.

We were walking, and after explaining the book to my date she stopped and said, “Oh, I’ve got something in my shoe.”

I thought of everything it could be, and said, “Is it an old lady?”

She said, “What?”

I said, “Old ladies sometimes live in shoes. She might be moving in.”

My date said, “No. It’s a rock.”

I said, “She might have a pebble driveway, or could be throwing rocks at you, trying to get you to move out. If I was you I’d push into the shoe and squeeze her out.”

My date put her hand on a railing, removed the shoe, and tipped it over. Nothing seemed to be coming out, so she shook it.

“Yeah,” I said. “Shake the old lady loose.”

My date looked at me like I was an idiot. Which was fair. I was a grown man encouraging her to step on and violently shake an old lady in a shoe.

Maybe I am a misogynist.

Mum said I can’t be misogynist because that implies I have a perceived power over women, and I struggle to have power over a light switch. Sometimes I get confused which way to flick the switch. Like, if I can’t see the light and I’ll flick the switch, I’ll ask Mum, “Is it on?” and she won’t reply, but when I flick the switch the other way she’ll shout out, “Hey, why’d you turn the light off?”

Anyway, my date didn’t think we were getting along. She wished me good luck and said she’d met someone who’s views more aligned with her own. Which I assume means she’s found a guy who has a firmer concept on what the difference is between a women and a hat. For one, a hat doesn’t have legs, and they do have a brim. Anyway, that’s good for them.

Not Dating Advice (part 1)

When I was a kid, not saying I’m much more than that now but you know, many years ago there were movies, and like today, they showed the guidelines for dating and human behaviour.

In these old movies there’d be some woman, some upstart woman, and the guy would come along and say, “Hello beautiful,” and the woman would be all like, “Go away I’m busy,” and the guy would go away, but he’d soon be back.

“Hello beautiful,” he’d say, this time with flowers.

She’d be all like, “Go away. I’m busy. I’m working the family oil farm all by myself, and getting a doctorate, which means I’m planning to become a doctor, and I’m doing something else, something, rule of three, because I’m a strong independent woman.”

And the guy would go away, and then come back, all smiles, holding a wrench to fix something, something rule of three, saying “Hello beautiful,” and this would be alright. He’d fix her problem, because after all he’s a man and he can fix women’s issues. Not all women’s issues. Some of them are aided by tampons. You don’t actually need a man with a wrench or spanner or some cleaving equipment in that situation. I’m not saying men are needed to fix any issue. That’s just what happens in these movies. You know?

I’m looking at the audience (that’s you) and I think I’m okay with that point. Am I okay? I’m getting a head nod from the woman in the front row but I’m not sure if that’s an “okay” signal or a “We’ll talk about this later”.

Anyway, I think I’m okay, what the movies would do next was show the guy with flowers, or chocolate, or something, fix things, because he was wooing her.

Wooing.

I have a speech impediment but “wooing”, you understand that? Basically modern day stalking. The guy would stalk her, wear her down, break her will, Audrey Hepburn used to try to balk this trend in movies but it would happen, the woman would submit, give up her silly dreams, plan to make a nice kitchen, and they’d end the film with a wedding, bing-bong bing-bong, happy ending.

Can’t do that today. I say hello to someone, they tell me to rack off, and I go home to masturbate into a pillow. I can’t come back with a wrench. No. That would not be okay. I can’t stand underneath a window with a boom-box playing her favourite love song.

First of all, I don’t know how romantic Beyonce’s “if you like it you should have put a ring on it” is at one in the morning, played by some guy standing in shrub next to the clothes line. Mostly I know that the neighbours would call the cops. Or she would call the cops. Or a passer-by would call the cops. The cops would be called, I’d have to explain myself and saying “I’m wooing her” would not be good enough.

No. Times have changed. That’s all I’m saying. Times have changed.

Dating Stories: The Vegan Lady

I took a vegan to KFC. Not on purpose, it was just near the car park where we planned to meet.

Mum said KFC was appropriate for a vegan, “Because they can’t fucking cook.”

I said, “Immanuel Kant, the famous philosopher, his name is spelt with a K, so the acronym could work there, but it’s unfair to say he can’t cook.”

Mum said, “Couldn’t fucking care.”

My date didn’t like the situation either. She said she had to go. She didn’t have a good vibe about the date and she was hungry and had to go home.

I said, “You can eat here. They have peas.”

My date said, “I don’t like peas.”

I said, “Sure, I don’t like peas either. I don’t like baby peas. I’m the youngest in my family I’d hate it someone ate me. I wonder if baby peas have older brother peas that would beat up their younger brother peas and that how you get mushy peas? And I wonder if they have older sister peas that would use their brother’s face as a test site for make-up designs, and take photos, and then post those photos on Facebook, fifteen years later, three times?”

My date didn’t answer.

I said, “And minted peas. They sound rich. Like they’ve got all the green backs.”

I smiled.

She didn’t.

I said, “I actually do like peas.”

My date said she didn’t want to continue the date. She had to go home to eat.

I said, “No. You can eat the mash potato here. There’s no meat in the gravy.” We checked. It is true. My date ate the mash potato and gravy and she loved it.

She said, “Thank you,” and she said she would see me again. She’d found a junk food indulgence that she could secretly have with me.

But I couldn’t see her again, because I googled more and it turned out that the gravy is ok, that is vegan, but the mash potato, it isn’t. The potato has chicken fat in it. The gravy is safe, but not the potato. It’s not vegan.

I had to tell my date. I told her about the chicken fat. She wasn’t so happy then. Vegans can swear a lot. They appear wholesome but they can sweat. But it’s better she knows the truth. And she’s now dating a guy who only eats chick peas. So that’s good for her. That’s a happy ending.

Dating Stories: The Birthday Lady

It was my birthday last week. At 4:30 in the morning Mum poked me awake with a stick.

She said, “Where’s my present?”

I said, “Oh, yeah, ah, Mum, last night I went on a date, and it was her birthday soon, and she told me her mum was buying her something. She said, ‘That’s normal’. She said, ‘Nobody does it the other way around’.”

Mum said, “Don’t believe what dates tell you. Remember, ‘You’re such as nice guy’ means ‘You’re dead-shit boring’, and ‘I’ll be in touch’ means ‘I don’t want to hear from you again’.”

I said to Mum, “But, you’ve never bought me a present in your birthday.”

Mum said, “I gave you the greatest gift of all. Life. What have you given me?”

I said, “Last year I gave you a bottle of gin.”

Mum said, “The year before that?”

I said, “It’s not all my fault. Vodka and gin are in the same aisle. They’re both clear. I’m sorry.”

Mum said, “I had to choke down that vodka with a bottle of Coke. Gin doesn’t even need Coke.”

I gave Mum a handbag with a bottle of gin in it. She gave me back the handbag. I keep socks in it.

I texted my date. She said I was really nice and that she’ll be in touch.

I hear she’s dating a fishmonger. Fish is really healthy. A good source of omega-3.

So that’s good for her.

Dating Stories: The Sweety Names Lady

I’ve never had a girlfriend, or partner. I think if I do I’ll use some sort of nickname for her. I’m not an overly formal guy. I’m not one who’d say, “Hello this is my friend, Margaret.”

“This is my partner, Margaret.”

“This is my fiancé, Margret.”

“This is my wife, Margaret.”

“Dearly beloved, we are here to mourn the passing of Margaret.”

Never Maggie.

I’d be Maggie straight away.

I couldn’t use a standard nickname though.

I’m not a “Babe,” kind of guy.

“Hey Babe.”

Yuck.

“I’ll just run it past the Ministry of War and Finance. He, he, he.”

No. I don’t want to be that kind of fuck wit.

“Savings account? More like spendings. He, he, he, he.”

Fuck wit.

No. I’ll come up with some name. Not Snook’ems.

I don’t know what. I haven’t meet her yet.

Mum said, “You’re never going to meet someone if you’re not going to call them by their name.”

I said, “I will at first. I just assume our relationship will evolve.”

She said, “Yeah, eventually you’ll put her off. Why don’t you just say ‘Hello Francis, nice to meet you, do you mind if I call you Francis?’”

I said, “I knew someone named Francis. We called him Franger.“

Mum said, “No-one should be called Franger. It sounds like I’m calling them Condom-head.”

Franger was okay with it. He meet a nice lady. She was named Dolorous. I can’t remember what nickname she had.

Anyway, they’re happily married and I never see them again. So that’s good for them. A happy ending.

Dating Stories: The HR Lady

I had to tell Doug at work not to flick me in the nuts.

He said, “We do it all the time at the cricket club.”

I said, “I don’t care.”

He said, “You can flick me in the…”

I said, “I don’t want to. It’s not on my to do list.”

Somebody heard and we had to see HR.

She said, “It’s lucky it’s not sexual harassment.”

Doug said, “I don’t want to fuck him.”

Which hurt my feelings. Just the part of my brain that wonders if I would succeed being homosexual.

Doug said he wouldn’t flick my nuts again, but he didn’t mean it. He thought that was political correctness gone mad. He did it again when we got downstairs.

His girlfriend came into work and I said, “Hey, mate, what if I offered to flick Christine in the vag?”

I got sent to HR for that. Apparently suggesting to a staff member that I should touch up their partner’s vaginal area is not company policy.

Mum said, “I’m surprised you know where a vagina is.”

I said, “I do read books.”

She said, “You’d learn a lot more from watching porn.”

I did have to watch a video online. It was a three hour tutorial about what parts of the body it’s okay to touch while in the work place. It’s mostly the hands. And head if something is stuck here.

Doug broke up with Christine. So she’s not touching his nutsack anymore.

He’s now going out with Suzan the HR lady. So that’s good for them.

Dating Stories: The Have Kids Lady

My date said, “I want to have kids,” which was off-putting because the waiter had arrived and I was about to order a steak sandwich.

I said, “You could try the veal.”

She didn’t find that funny.

I ordered and she said she wasn’t hungry but would have a pot of tea.

The waiter left and she said, “Are you ready for kids?” It sounded like they were about to shoot out from under the table.

I cupped my hands, bent over, and said, “Let them rip.”

She didn’t laugh.

Mum said I couldn’t raise children. She said, “You’d be horrible at it.”

I said, “There’s not much to it. Feed them, clean them, cloth them. Teach them to do those things until they can do them themselves.”

Mum said, “There’s more to it than that.”

I said, “How?”

She said, “Gin.”

I said, “Okay. What else?”

She said, “Hmmmmm, I forget the rest.”

My date drank her tea. I ate. The imbalance felt odd. I ate as quickly as I could.

She said, “Maybe you’re not there yet.”

I coughed on a section of rump.

She said, “I need someone who’s in the same place I am.”

I coughed again and gestured to the room we were in.

She didn’t laugh.

She said, “My boyfriend,” I coughed. She said, “My boyfriend doesn’t think he’s ready, but I think he is.”

I spat out a portion of steak onto the table.

She said, “Maybe I should talk to him again.”

So that’s good.

Anyway, I still haven’t gotten the handle of first dates. Do you order food or not?

Well, there’s a romance reunited. So that’s good for them. A happy ending.