I’ve always been told that you shouldn’t discuss money, sex or politics in polite conversation. However, a new political party in the great brown land of Australian is preposing to talk about sex and politics in the classroom.
How awesome is this…I wonder if they’ll get any votes?
Puss wouldn’t leave the house. He sat on the doorstep and looked out. I think he’s got used to being an indoor cat. I had to leave him and pop down to the shopping centre, when I got I took the shopping into the kitchen and there was a business card from the real estate agent on the sink. It hadn’t been there when I left. So I called them, they had brought someone up while I was out. Was that OK?
I looked around, the dirty t-shirt and knickers from the previous day were in the middle of the lounge floor next to my pile of bags. D’oh!
I apologised for the state of the place and we had a laugh about the fact that I was there to clean but the bed wasn’t made and my bags where still in the lounge. The agent laughed and said, ‘really we didn’t even notice the bed wasn’t made.’
I went into the bedroom to check on Puss. The bedcovers were piled high, cushions where scattered around the room and on the bedside table, face up and proud was The Ultimate Guide to Fellatio*.
Kill me Now!
* How to go down on a man and give him mind blowing pleasure (ISBN 1-57344-151-1).
UPDATE : 11.4.07 - 10.55 Deleted content due to unsubstantianted and possibly offensive claims
Edna and I went ‘belly-dancing’ last night, as we always do on a Wednesday night. It became a bit of a regular thing a few months ago when we stopped working together. Wednesdays are Sushi, Belly-Dancing (aka a pint or maybe, two), Over Analysis and a Swim night. We only make it to the pool about a 3rd of the time;-)
Last night we had a major weekend debrief to do plus she had to dump Steps (see entry for Friday night). After a fairly fun, but intense weekend she had told him on Monday morning that she would call him on Thursday evening ‘cause she was busy until then. So he texted her…30odd times and when she didn’t return the texts, he called her and left messages. It had got to the point by Wednesday afternoon where she couldn’t pick up the phone and had a face like thunder because of the stress of it all.
After much consultation with other friends at work (yes, she does have other buddies) it was decided that he had to go. So after a ‘courtship’ of just 4 days, she was going to dump him. The general consensus was that due to the lengthy duration of the ‘relationship’ a phone dumping was acceptable.
So after Sushi, that’s what she did while I popped into the supermarket. It was all over…a weight was lifted.
We were wrong…as we sat and drank the first Strongbow of the evening he texted saying that ‘cause of all the bulls*it he’d never have a relationship again. She ignored it. Twenty minutes later he texted again, this time asking if they could still be friends. This went on …and on…and on. As far as I’m aware there have been no texts today.
All the drama, laughter and cider inspired us to come up with the 4P’s of dating. A joint effort that rates the following of each potential boyfriend. Each of the following is scored out of 10 with a maximum rating of 40.
Personality – Does he make me laugh? Does he make weird sweeping statements about things he knows nothing about? Does have similar interests? Is he safe to air to your friends?
Performance – Does he make my toes curl? Does he do things you never knew you could do? Does he do the hokey pokey? Is he aware that hickies are totally unacceptable after the age of 12?
Presentation – Does he have holes in his socks? How does he smell? Does he give a pash rash that rivals a radiation accident scrub down? Does the six pack on his stomach rival the six pack in his fridge?
Post-Coital – How does he behave after the deed? Is he still exhibiting the niceness of before or does he just say ‘OK, let’s get you home sweetie?’ Can he remember your name?
Needless to say, this was a two-thirds night. But we did get to be groupies for the acoustic guitar player that is always on, on a Wednesday!
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Credit where credit's due : Thanks to Edna for the contributions in purple and for allowing me to share her story ;-)
I had to stop and look in a shop window I was laughing so hard, I didn’t hear the response, but I’m fairly sure it would have fitted into the TMI category.
Once I had recovered I got to thinking, why would a man pick a gherkin as a metaphor for his penis? (In grand tradition I’m going to over-analyse now) I mean, gherkins are normally about three or four centimeters long and about one wide. Now dill cucumbers tend to be bigger, maybe he meant that, but still not the most impressive of pickled food stuffs. Surely none pickled, a cucumber would be better Even a horse carrot, white radish or zucchini might be a better choice, but the smallest of elongated vegetables. Why?
Maybe it was the first thing that popped into his head, but again Why? Is he trying to underplay the size of his massive member or purely being truthful. We will never know, but I for one will wonder for quite some time.
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