Monday, August 21, 2006

Where Do I Find These People Part Two, or, "Dating by Counter-Example 101"

This is the tale of my past run-ins with a rather... shall we say... unskilled young man who came into my acquaintance, a Commerce/Engineering student who shall henceforth be known as Tech Support.

Now, I came to know of Tech Support during a night at a housewarming party. He seemed nice enough, rather handsome and potentially dashing. I was, however, uninterested, my heart at the time having been reserved for someone else. The Good Doctor (a crazy fellow and my housemate) had been attempting to seduce the fair Henny Penny (a fun chick, har har) with tales of Strawberry Fields. This while she attempted to flee his company. And so I decided to ask for some help! So I spoke to Tech Support of my quandary (that of housemate versus good female friend), and after a brief discussion, I embarked on a plan of action. At this point The Good Doctor burst in, rather flustered. Tech Support took it upon himself to enquire whether The Good Doctor had acquired the story of Strawberry Fields from a shadowy organisation known only as "mASF" which his friend was a member of. The Good Doctor proceeded to demand to know what mASF was... and whether I had any intentions to let Tech Support within our premises for a good porking. At this point I stormed away, rather insulted. Throughout this, Tech Support acted as a gentleman despite my polite rejection and ended up escorting me home. We exchanged numbers and I thought to myself that I would like to perhaps be friends with this fellow in the future.

A good-looking, nice, single, intelligent man interested in my person? And normal too! Wonders would never cease!

Several weeks later, after I had finished my blasted supplementary examinations, I decided to invited Tech Support to drinks with a few friends. He rejected my offer, but two days later I found myself being contacted at the Witching Hour (or should that beWitching Hour) of a Sunday night by this young gentleman, who was camping out in line for Commerce Ball tickets. This should have been my first warning sign. I said at first that I needed to go to bed soon as I had classes the following day and that I would catch up with him some other time, but was finally persuaded to head out briefly.

It did not take long for the moves to be made, as it were. He suggested that we take a walk, so that he could make an excuse to pick me up, so that he had an excuse to place me in his lap, so that he could make an excuse to try to somehow kiss me. The trail of cause and effect was truly a miraculous thing. My usual tricks of "confusing and distracting the opponent" and "weirding him out" failed miserably in the face of this rather determined plan. It is amazing how, absorbed as he was with the technically challenging art of "seduction by Internet pick-up line", he did not appear to be able to listen to a word I was saying. In fact, he was positively boring and seemed to lack any personality beyond that which was created by his impressive range of tricks designed to entrap me.
"Oh look, the sky is purple!" I exclaimed as he leaned in to kiss me. The sky in Melbourne is often purple at night due to the heavy clouds reflecting the city lights.
"Disguise purple? Huh?"
"The SKY. Is PURPLE" I said, annoyed.
"Disguise purple with what?"
"With pumpkins and tiny little moons. Purple pumpkins no less." I said sarcastically.
"Yes..." said he, unsure, as he made a move to try to kiss me again. I sighed.
I should probably point out at this point that the sprinklers at the University of Melbourne conspired to stop us from sitting upon the various benches near South Lawn (or as I term it, South Swamp) for long. I pointed out that it was "probably a sign". Once again, this did not deter this ardent young gentleman. Finally we ended up sitting in a small garden-like area in which there was a not-particularly-bright light.
"That light is so... annoying," quoth he, attempting to shield my eyes from this flame (and also push my face towards his so he could kiss me).
"The light's over there." I said, pointing to a spot a few inches from where he had placed his hand.
"Oh." He moved his hand.
Then of course he started to kiss me. I sighed inwardly and thought to myself "fine, I'll put up with this just long enough to make up an excuse and LEAVE." I said a couple of times that I really should get going as it was getting rather late. He did not, however, let me go. Finally, he asked if he could come back to my house. I said that as it was rather late and I had a class tomorrow, that the answer was no. He did not get the hint. In fact, he asked me this several times. The answer was the same each time. Finally I got up and decided to leave. He lay pathetically on the bench.
"Are you going to stay there all night?" I asked.
"Well, I don't have anywhere else to go, do I?"
Disgusted, I walked away. I did not need any more neediness in my presence. Oh well, that was the end of my attempt to be friends with this rather pathetic creature. As I walked home I thought to myself of how fortunate I was to have had worthwhile and meaningful relationships and to not be so deprived as to fall for the shallow, superficial and pitiable "charms" of such an individual.

I got home, then, at 2am, fixed myself a snack and got ready for bed. The phone rang. Unsurprisingly, it was my young dandy.
"Hey! What are you up to?"
"I'm about to go to bed."
"So, if I turned up at your place and rang the doorbell... would you let me in?"
"Um, no. I'm going to bed now."
"Please..."
"No."
Awkward silence ensues
"You know... you know what freaked me... you know I wouldn't..." he began, flustered. Oh no, I thought to myself, one of those 'you can't have rejected me, I must be rejecting you' types.
"I'm sorry, what are you saying? Can you speak up? You don't seem to be making much sense..."
He continued in this rather bewildered vein of "ums" and "ahs" until I received a knock at the door from The Good Doctor's mother who is referred to by my own forebears as the Mother-in-Law (not due to any romantic involvement between myself and The Good Doctor, I might add). At that point, I quickly excused myself.

I was amazed. Such an example of idiocy I had not seen in quite some time.

Now, I may not be the ultimate expert in the fine art of "séduction à l'Internet", but I can tell you this. There are plenty of Fine Ladies who will certainly "admit one free" to their "rollercoaster ride" without so much of this kerfluffle about tricking them into desiring romantic relations with one's person. For, there are in fact, females with sex drives who want nothing better than a one-night stand in the world. In fact, if I, right now, wanted a "good root", I would probably go down the rather simple route of going to a bar, getting drunk, approaching any attractive girls speaking to persons known to me and striking up a flirtatious conversation. After a small amount of time, it would be obvious as to whether this girl was similarly attracted to me, there would be some kissing, further drinking, and a question as to whether this girl would like to go elsewhere with me.

And if said girl did not wish for our intimate relations to proceed further, then surely one must accept such a thing with good grace- there are opportunities in the future for such temporary measures as sexual intercourse, and one has in fact exchanged something of value, that precious, delicate and undervalued act of the kiss. Nothing is worse, in fact, than tricking or coercing or desperately pleading with a young woman only briefly of your acquaintance for sex.

And... none of this super-romantic nonsense should be indulged in. It should be a fairly to-the-point affair, where it was clear that both individuals wish to exchange mutual and temporary physical affections upon each other and nothing more. And in fact, romantic garbage and canned pick-up lines would get in the way of this process, due to its superfluity and, well... the fact that such things make you give off an air of sleazy desperation.

Now, I must apologise, my dear readers, for my detour into that abominable thing known as a moral discourse within the telling of my tale. For this tale is not, indeed, quite at an end. The endgame to this play of "wits" follows.

I had thought my dealings with this caddish fop over and done with for good. Few men would take such a blow to their manly ego lightly, and would generally withdraw, lick their wounds and find a new target for their false affections.

However, less than one week after the aforementioned episode at around 4am, I received the following Text Message:
"Hey hun [sic] i [sic] know its [sic] late but i Havnt [sic] had time to call you, been flat out :( Had a dream about you last night... Tell you about it mon [sic] if your [sic] free after 5?"
Now, spelling, grammar and capitalisation errors (and the fact that he endeavoured to waste his effort on someone who had soundly rejected him) aside, what is wrong with this example, class?

Firstly, there is the matter of "hun". Is this some kind of reference to Attila the Hun? Is he trying to refer to me derogotarily as a German? I have heard of "hey hon" ("hon" here being an abbreviation of "honey") being used as a rather bizarre term of affection by sleazy men towards their targets. However, let us consider that "hon" is up there with "darl" and "love" as a term that old ladies from Quoinslend or Moonee Ponds use to refer to their grandchildren. I fail to see how this is in any way meant to cause me to wish to involve myself in a torrid passionate affair with anyone.

Secondly, how is inattention (in the form of having been too "flat out" to call) and callous disregard (in the form of being contact at an unreasonable hour) to a potential lover meant to be in any way appealling? Especially considering that the wording of the message implies a quite calculated attempt to play "hard to get".

Thirdly, after all of what transpired, what on earth would possess me to care about the contents of his clearly fictitious dream? In fact, who would ever believe that someone would be so pathetic to have dreamt about someone they had met twice? And of course the clever phrasing to imply that he was in fact doing me a great favour by spilling his guts in such a way, and that I would like nothing better than to hear his prattle on a Monday evening.

I ignored this missive. It was not altogether surprising that I later found out that he is apparently spreading the word that I was "all over" him and texted him "all the time". Sad.

Tech Support. A shoulder to lean on.
All our Lines are Open for Service.
We're here to help.

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Why To I Am Crying Last Night

Last night, while I for whatever dumb reason browsed the "Spread Firefox" site- a particular highlight of my day, I tell you- I stumbled across this little effort from a young man who may or may not be from Thailand. As any Thai person in their right mind will tell you, for whatever reason Thailand is not exactly a hotbed of Firefox usage. This brave young man, rebel striving against adversity as it were, has created a website which chronicles the bold reasons why we should all dump Internet Explorer and its sorry Tartarean code for the bright Elysian Fields of Firefox.

The result is here.

What can I say, the guy gets an "A" for effort. This is a boy who clearly loves Firefox. He wakes in the morning with a big smile on his face thinking about how Firefox will help millions. He goes to school/work/jail/church/marae/home with a spark in his eyes and a spring in his step. He knows that he is working for the common good, for the benefit in humanity. So much love has gone into this website. So much love.

So, it broke my heart to see the spelling errors, the endless grammatical flaws. The facts aren't exactly... factual none neither. There's a big ugly ad across its metaphorical forehead which is almost akin to when a big bully writes "loser" on you in permanent marker and you have to walk around with it all day, or when your mother dresses you for your first day of high school and you happen to be wearing orange bike pants. The example of a pleasing "firefox theme" is actually the most godawful example of poor taste I have seen- it looks like an underage disco, all black with neon lights and maybe all with the illicit kissing with way too much tongue and braces and pimples in the corner away from the teachers. Reading this website and almost chortling to myself I felt that deep guilt that you sort of get when you see this defenceless lower-than-average-intelligence kid with her shirt on backwards get picked on and you sort of don't do anything and just sort of giggle nervously.

This website is truly the retarded puppy of Firefox advertising websites.

CUTE like a retarded puppy.

LIKE A RETARDED PUPPY WITH A WONKY LEG AND BUTTS FOR EYES.

SO CUTE THAT IT KILLED THE DARK PRINCE'S HARD-ON FOR AN ENTIRE MONTH.

SO UNBELIEVABLY FUCKING CUTE THAT IT CAUSED THE WORLD TO ALMOST DESTROY ITSELF IN A NUCLEAR EXPLOSION OF SELF-PITY AT HAVING CREATED SUCH A PATHETIC CREATURE BUT THEN STOPPED ITSELF AT THE LAST MINUTE BECAUSE IT STARTED CRYING UNCONTROLLABLY AND THEN HAD TO TAKE THE REST OF THE WEEK OFF FOR "GIRLS' PROBLEMS".

Anyway, that's why I'm turning up late to class tomorrow.

Menstruation.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

In reference to past events

Inspired by a singular quality of men that I appear to attract... here are the following inappropriate puns:
"I'm not letting that male anywhere NEAR my P.O. Box."
"Well, you should start using Hotmale instead!"
"See the problem with young technologies is that they come too fast..."
I hang my head in shame, awaiting the fair princess who will lift me from this den of boredom.

Good Knight!

Sunday, August 06, 2006

Pun of the day

Saint Vitus's Dance sounds evil. Possibly medi-evil.

Roffle. Mayo.