Only God Knows Why

Talk to me Harry Zidler, tell me all about it!

This is not one of my better posts.  Apparently there’s nothing more boring than hearing about other people’s dreams.  So, that means that reading about them can’t POSSIBLY be THE MOST boring thing ever! ….Right? 

Alright, alright.  If you know you’re one of those people who really couldn’t care less, feel free to skip this post with my blessings.

I have to say though, just before you leave, that my most interesting dream involved Oprah announcing a fictional politically influential couple’s secret orgies with soldiers they named “The Donut Angels.” Oprah then went crazy and dressed up as Napoleon and audience couldn’t stop applauding.  HAH! Got you hooked now, don’t I! 

 If you’d like to hear more about that dream though, I gave quite the retelling in the 2nd episode of my podcast at back when I was just a baby at podcasting!

Today’s post is about more recent, confusingly meaningless dreams and not cheap Oprah gimmicks! 

To get back on track, I’ve just come back from seeing a movie with my absolutely fantastic good friends Ben and Natasha.  Both of whom sound vaguely Russian, but neither of whom are ACTUALLY Russian.  Also, neither of them are spies.


And I remembered in the kitchen as I was talking to them, the dream that I’d had last night.  It’s one of those dreams that really stuck with me. 

I’ve never been very good at sleeping.  I can’t do one thing for several hours, physically restricted, without a break.  I find it very difficult to be in a situation where I’m only allowed to do one thing, and I’m physically restrained.  

 Things like watching a movie in a cinema can be torture to me because things come up that I’d like to process, talk and think about, but the story moves on.  So while I can study easily for 8 hours straight, that usually involves taking loads of regular breaks to talk to someone or just jump about.  I guess it’s hard to imagine if you don’t know me, but if you do, you’ll be able to remember several times where I’ve leapt up from whatever I’ve been doing with false urgency to get a drink or dance on the spot or talk to you about something irrelevant.  In fact, in the time I’ve been writing this post, I’ve gotten up to walk around a bit twice and hopped on one leg to the kitchen to see what my brother was up to.

On the other hand, if I can keep myself occupied by doing two things at once, being physically contained isn’t so bad.  For example, lectures are okay because I can listen and take notes at the same time.  Savvy?

So anyway, the point is this whole convoluted introduction is to say that, at times, I find it hard to keep my mind in the moment.  So in times when I’m feeling stressed out, I often find myself waking up every two or three hours or so and have to either get up and do something or tell myself to chill the fuck out, it’s 6am.

For this reason, I tend to remember a fair few of the dreams that I have at some periods in my life.  And this dream, in particular, is amazingly vivid.  It struck me as really…something.  (Be MORE vague).  It was just weird, and not even sad.  Just quite odd.

For starters, it was strange because I dreamt that I was laying on my bed, half asleep.  Usually when you dream about ‘your house’ you’re actually in some other weird structure but somehow you just KNOW it’s where you’re living in this scenario.  But in this dream, I was actually in my own real-life room, half asleep on my very own white four poster bed, on top of the flowery duvet I woke up under when the dream was done.

So in the dream, when I opened my eyes slowly, there was a beautiful, cheerful, singing bird flying around the room.  It was a bluebird, like the kind that features in old school sailors’ tattoos.  I’ve always said that if I was to get a tattoo, it would be a retro-swallow on the arch of my foot because it would be exquisitely painful to get and because it symbolizes safe passage for those who travel across the sea.  Apparently if you die at sea, the bluebirds come down and lift you out of the murky depths and take you to heaven.

So anyway, this bluebird was flying around my room and he was trapped.  It was really, really sad in that way.  He couldn’t leave my room. 

Except, he wasn’t like a bird you usually imagine trapped in a room.  He was really calm.  He wasn’t flying into anything, he was just flew in these really organised little circles around the room, above me.  He seemed quite content in a way.

And basically, the reason why he couldn’t leave my room was because he was in love with me.

But following him around, on his path, were a moth and a blowfly.  AND THEY WERE FUCKING EVIL!! They didn’t DO anything evil, in fact, they just followed him like smoke behind a skywriter, but I was really, really fucking frightened of them and I knew they were up to something awful.

But the worst thing is, I was really in love with the bird too.

Even though he was a bluebird, and I was a person.  Get it?

So anyway, I was really fucking afraid of this evil blowfly and evil moth, so I had to open all the doors in my house in order to get the bird to fly out so that they would leave too.

BECAUSE THEY WERE FUCKING EVIL!  I certainly hope you don’t underestimate how malevolent this blowfly and moth were.  They were very, very evil.  You don’t want them in your house.  I was really, really afraid that they would touch me or something.  I just wanted them OUT of my room.

And so, since I’d opened it, the bird flew out my front door.  I was standing there, watching the bird fly out with the blowfly and moth in tow and I thought to myself,

“I really, really hope that he comes back.”  But I couldn’t tell this stupid fucking bird that I was in love with him too, because I thought that everyone would think it was really strange that I was in love with a bird, since I was a person.  And also, I wanted him to go so I could get rid of the blowfly and the moth.

So I went and sat on the couch in my living room, and my dog started biting me lightly on the nose to try and cheer me up.  God knows why – but I guess that’s what makes it a dream.  Nasal-savaging isn’t usually something that gets a smile back on my dial.

When he saw it wasn’t working, he went behind our heater and started pulling out what I knew was his best friend.  At first, I thought that it was going to be something really cute and furry, but the more he tried to pull his best friend out, the more I realised that whatever it was, it was really disgusting and foul and I didn’t want to see it.   I became more and more frightened that he would pull it out before I had a chance to get away, and I’d have to look at it.

But fortunately, my father told me that I should go next door to see my friends and he would wait until my dog had finished pulling his best friend out from behind the heater and make sure they went outside.

So I went next door, and my friends poured me a cup of tea.  But all the saucers and teacups were chipped so that the edges were all really jagged.

So we were all trying to drink from them, and their hands and faces were getting all cut and bloodied, and the cup was really hurting me too.  So I kept trying to stop drinking from it, but they kept drinking theirs and acting like nothing ever happened. Every time I tried to stop drinking the tea, they’d start asking me what was going on, and encouraging me to keep drinking.  But it was seriously cutting my face to shreds, blood was pouring down my lips and hands. So I said to them, “Don’t you realise, these cups are all broken!  They’re cutting us to shreds!”  But they just acted like I wasn’t even there.

 Then I woke up.

How weird is that!?

It reminds me a bit of this other dream I had, when I was staying with a boy I loved very much. 

So, in this dream, I lived 1000 lives.  Not end to end, but kind of, all at once.  Like, if you imagine a timeline, each life’s line would run exactly underneath each other. And in each life, I would remember that it was really important, though I didn’t know why, that I write down one word.  And it took my entire life to figure out what it should be.  So anyway, at the end of the 1000 lives, I had a 1000 word letter, and I gave it to this boy.  

I felt like I’d really accomplished something.  And I said, “This is what I wanted to say to you.”  And he read it and said, “I’m so sorry, I don’t understand.”  And I suddenly felt really fucking tired, having lived 1000 wasted lives and all.

So I woke up next to this guy, and I told him about the dream I’d just had, where I’d taken 1000 lives to write him this letter, and he was like, “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

Only one other time did I know with certainty that someone wasn’t ever going to understand me at all.  And that time was when I sent an SMS to a guy I was seeing saying, “Ah fuck, I’m really sorry!  I think I’m going to be late – I can’t find my motherfucking shirt.  Actually, that’s an abusive misnomer, I don’t think this shirt has ever fucked my mother.”

And he wrote back, “Huh?”

Huh, indeed.


Kafka’s Metamorphosis
September 13, 2010, 8:26 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

I saw the most beautiful man at the train station the other day.  We were all trapped there, strangers brought together by a freezingly heartbreaking winters morning waiting for the train.  We waited and waited, the air pluming from our mouths like little white flags, waving our surrender to the day.  I don’t want to fight anymore, I just want the train to come,  we all thought at our shuffling, sleet covered boots.  I threw my head back and sighed at the grey sky, the loudest noise on the still platform.

A man’s regretful voice came over the loud-speaker, breaking our silent but shared reverie.  The kind of voice that makes my whole body tense up when it comes over the line in a late night hurried phone call.  You’re half awake, but you know everything is about to change.  All gravel and fear.   A horrible news voice. He told us that a man had committed suicide in front of our train and that they weren’t going to be running any services for some time.

I looked deep into this strangers beautiful, captivating eyes. 

He had this beautiful, burning huge anime eyes that shone out of his face like giant blue beacons.  I decided to forget that I too, have blue eyes.

I wanted to tell him a story about when we were kids.  I decided to forget that it was you that I wanted to be telling this story to, if I thought you were listening.  (You don’t have blue eyes)

I wanted to tell him about how one night, when I was young, my mother got angry with my father.  Not cold morning awful news train station angry; but sweet, safe, domestic, I know I can be angry with you because you’re not leaving me, kind of angry.  Dad said he would come home and take care of us, but instead took up a second shift working at the railways.  So to make it up to her, he took me and my older brother (3 and a half years my senior) to work with him.  (Not my eldest brother incidentally.  I always feel like I am conducting an English exercise when I am describing myself and my two brothers:  Old, older, eldest.)  I must have been about 4 or 5 at the time.

I wanted to tell his beautiful stranger (I wanted to tell this beautiful you) about how we were playing racing cars in the station house on the wheely chairs when Dad got a phone call.  A man had committed suicide by jumping in front of a train at a nearby railway station and, as the senior staff member, he had to attend. 

I wanted to tell him how Dad drove us there solemnly, the tyres of the car swishing the loudest noise as it navigated the curves of the dark road.  We had no idea what was going on, nobody had told us where we were going or why.  But we knew to sit there meekly, that something awful had happened, though not a single word had been exchanged.  I just sat there next to my brother (old, older, eldest), clutching some childhood soft-toy that constituted a best friend and felt childishly soft-toy sad.

I’d tell my ephemeral stranger about how we got to the station and Dad told us not to get out of the car.  And we didn’t.  I swear, we didn’t.   I’d tell him.  I’d deny it furiously so that he’d believe me, because it’s the truth.

 We knew, without knowing, what was going on.  We didn’t even WANT to get out of the car and see.  Dad told us to stay in the car, and we did!

  His manner told us there was something bad out there, and we believed him.  We sat there, in our safe cocoon, knowing that outside there was something awful that no one had named for us.  We might have played a little bit between us.   We sat there, we waited for him to come back, and we didn’t see anything.

I’d say to him (to you), “We didn’t get out of that motherfucking car.  Because he told us not to.  Do you understand?”   How easy it was to know how to protect ourselves from the outside world that night.  How hard it is now.

I’d tell him about how when me and my brother talk about that night, I always seem to have such a fantastic memory of it.  But, then, why when I think back to it, do I also simultaneously remember sitting in that car AND standing on the other side of the tracks, looking back at our car parked on the other side?

He’d say (you’ d say) “Is that why you’re so sad?”

And I’d think about it and say, “No, I don’t think so.”  And continue feeling sad on that winter’s platform nonetheless.

I am so fucking disgustingly sentimental.  Ugh.

Players Only Love You When They’re Playing

One of the best things to come out of this election, in my opinion, is what seems to be a revamped interest in politics amongst the Australian voting public. Like the ending of Sleeping Beauty,  it seems that everyone is waking from a deep, paralysing slumber, cracking their old bones and realising that they have their voice back and how much of a difference they can make.   After getting swept away in a tide of unrealised political idealism in ’07 and being choked to silence with no vision at all in 2010, the country is abuzz with the talk of who is going to govern and under what circumstances.

People are wanting to know how government is formed, how preferencing works, the role of the senate, the role of a single vote in determining an electorate.  People are interested again in what their vote might mean.  In this spirit of agora, I decided that I would share my own wildly un-educated personal views on what I think Australians have ‘said’ with this recent result.  Everyone on television is allowed to speculate, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t.

I lay awake all night last night running figures through my mind.  Like the night before Christmas, visions of marginal seats, informal votes, the allegiances of the 3 independents and the likely outcome if another ballet were called danced in my head. I sat up all night, sick with worry for my country.  The uncertainty is the worst.  I have a clear sympathy for one side, and I don’t feel I can start to plan a way forward without knowing which way the chips are going to fall. 

I have such an odd, notional affection for Australia, I wouldn’t say I ‘love’ Australia was all it’s by-joveist connotations.  I would say I love what we could become.  I feel like we are on the verge of giving birth to a new Australia, and I’m full of sweaty, cold sickness and wide-eyed optimism as to where it might go.

With all this in mind, I found myself wondering what MY personal take was on what the voters were saying with this result.  A lot of my friends were disappointed that so many people could vote in a direction that we feel is such a poor decision, but I think that this is not simply political apathy or mere stupidity.  There seems to be so much in play in a scenario where neither party can form government. 

Julia Gillard’s quoting Bill Clinton –  “The People have spoken, it’ll just take a while to figure out what they’ve said” seemed particularly lacking in aptness.  With the amount of informal voters being compared to 1984 (the year, not the book.. the figure being around 6% that year) and neither party being able to form a clear government, I think the people have spoken loudly and with great eloquence.

Tony Abbott stepped in to try and settle this question for Julia (how kind of him).  He seemed to be asserting that the vote was a show of no confidence in the current administration.  In his mind, obviously, this seemed to be a ringing endorsement of his party.  I don’t see how being unable to form government is exactly a giant rubber stamp for him either.

In my humble opinion, despite what Julia and Tony have both said, it seems to be like Australian’s have said:  “Neither of you are satisfactory.  We’re too afraid to have either of you in charge.  Neither of display any sort of acceptable social conscience.  You both offer to crush my civil liberties in differing, yet equally gruelling ways.  You’re both awful, and pretty much the same.  I’ve just gotta choose my least favourite value and sacrifice it when I vote.” 

Australians are declaring a show of no-faith in their leaders.  We are tired of having a sickly, under-representative political system.  It asthmatically wheezes with the weight of so much of a political spectrum resting on the backs of 3 parties, two of them being pulled farther and farther right.  In fact, the two major parties are virtually indistinguishable at times.

More than ever before, Australians are not voting – and the results of those that vote is that we aren’t confident that either of you can form a satisfactory parliament to represent how we feel.  With all this talk of the economy, Australians, like the iconic beggar, are saying – keep your money, we want change. 

It has certainly been one of the most interesting elections of late.  It lacked the exhilarating feeling of a turning tide like ’07, or the despondency of  ’04, where we held our palms out like drought-ridden farmers, waiting for a crushing system to be overturned in favour of better social policies.  We’ve never had such an accountable government before as we will now.  Now in both the upper and lower houses (if a minority government is formed), we will have to see a heightened level of diplomacy in order to pass legislation.  What an exciting prospect.

Perhaps this hung parliament is exactly what Australia needs right now.   In a sense, a grand democratic act.  “We want change!”  say the people.  As the song goes, Labor or Liberal – same kind of criminal.  Australians are saying they are tired of the tyranny of the semblance of choice.

 While I argue it is both a right and a responsibility to be politically informed and to use that information to cast your vote, I can also see the point that someone with a social conscience would have difficult voting for either major party without feeling a bit complicit in something dirty and underhanded.   Surely she Julia can hear the voting public gasping for a real option like we’ve sand in our throats?

I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep properly until I see the outcome.  It’s funny, because the people have spoken and told politicians that we want real options – we want real policies – we want action on social issues and the politicians are confused!

 Labor badly misjudged this election.   In my opinion, they ‘lost’ this election on the social issues.  Like the proverbial one trick pony, they tried to trot out the fear of workchoices that was key in 2007.  Unfortunately, it was the same trick, different pony.  What got Australians so low on Labor is that they promised action on climate change and a better system for refugees and have not delivered either.  So what do they do in response?  Become MORE like the party they got voted in for not being like.  It seems like bizarre political suicide to me.  (Then, what do I know?  That’s what I said about appointing Tony Abbott as leader, and he seems rath-er pleased with himself.)  I don’t feel that Liberal have won more of the vote so much as Labor lost it.

We’ve told those in power that we don’t want any of them in control.  We don’t like having a choice between right and even more right.  We want to take the country in a  direction for which there is no option on the ballot paper. 

 The ultimate irony is that it’s now still the decisions of politicians who decide who will form government.   I guess in the cold light of day, the two aren’t as synonymous as they’d have us to believe – political will and political reality.  Now, instead of waking up and realising what this might mean for policy, we are getting further political manoeuvring out of the control of the public to determine which person is least unfit to run the country.

Tales of Woe….and candy!
August 16, 2010, 7:35 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

I had an experience today, that despite my early post on being a Subway floozy, made me realise why I’ve never been much of a cheater. 

I was walking through Melbourne Central Station thinking about nothing in particular when out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of something delicious.  Something intoxicatingly seductive.  Something I wanted.  Badly.  It looked good.  It looked so good.  I couldn’t look away.  I turned my head to look at it, licking my lips.

The lolly stand.

ahhhhhhhhhh yeah.

And went through a thought pattern something like this.

Notices Tasty Stuff Brain (NTSB):  LOLLIESSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wise brain (WB):  Come on, you’re meant to be on your way home from wo—


WB:  No, you’re not allowed.

NTSB: :*((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((

WB:  NO!

NTSB: :****(  Plz?

WB:  NO!

NTSB: Hmph!

WB:  You have lollies at home.

NTSB:  But these lollies are right herrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeee!

WB:  But you’ve already got lollies at home, and you’re already on your way there.  You can have the lollies you’ve got at home.

NTSB:  Nooooooooooooooooo – want!!  I could have one lot of lollies now, and another lot of lollies later.

WB:  NO!


WB:  DOUBBLLE LOLLIESSSSSSSSS!!  (Both brains high five at this point.)

WB:  Wait! You tricked me!  No, because if you have lollies NOW you won’t be hungry for the lollies at home and you promised them you’d eat them.

NTSB:  I never!

WB:  You did! This morning you said, “Ohh lollies.  I really want you soooooooo much but I can’t eat you now.  Don’t feel bad, I’m just full of oats 🙂  I promise we’ll be together when I get home later.”

NTSB:  That does sound like something I would say…

WB:  You did.  You’ve made a promise to those lollies. 

NTSB:  But these lollies are probably betterrrrrrrrrrrr……!  Look, they’re all shiny and different.    Mmmmm, sweet foreign lollies.

WB:  No, you’ve never eaten these lollies before.  You’ve eaten the lollies at home.  You already know they’re good.  You know how satisfying they are.  You could be disappointed by these lollies, and just be wishing the whole time you had the lollies that are waiting for you at home but then it’ll be toooo lateeeee…

NTSB:  Hmm…that is true.  Ah,  Unknown lollies!  Better the lollies you know.

WB:  And you’ve already put in all the effort to get those other lollies.  You had to pick them, go all the way to shop, work to get money for them, pay for them.  You should eat the lollies at home, why put in double the work for the same pay off?  You’ve already convinced the other lollies you should be together.  They are the far superior lollies anyway.  These lollies are way overpriced  and flashy.

NTSB:  Home lollies! Yaaaaaaaay!  Let’s go home!

*Half an hour later*

Brain:  :3 lollies 🙂

The end.

Culinary Infidelity
August 5, 2010, 10:34 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

Dear Subway Glenferrie Road,

                             This is the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write.   I don’t want to tell you this, but I feel like our relationship can’t continue with this secret between us.   It’s been growing inside me for some time: the cold, hard lump of shame.  I feel dirty and guilty every time I’m inside you.   The automatic doors close behind me with a knowing swish every time I enter your fluorescent heaven.  We can’t go on together with suspicious minds.  God, I don’t know how to say this.  I’ve eaten at another Subway.  I’m so, so sorry.

I know that we’ve had a special relationship.  You weren’t my first Subway —  (I went to Thomastown Subway once as a child.  I know you don’t want to hear that.  I was out with my mother buying a new fridge and I saw it shining before me like an invincible beacon of youth in the shimmering heat of the day.  It was something new, something I’d never tried before.  It called to me with the voice of new experiences, adventure, youth.  It was beautiful.   I wanted freedom.  I wanted a sandwich!  God,  I was so young!  I didn’t know what I was doing!  It was awkward and uncomfortable and I didn’t get the outcome I wanted.  The salad was all wrong and I felt responsible.  I only had a six inch and at the end of I was left unsatisfied – wanting more.  Not at all what it’s been like with you, Glenferrie Road Subway.)  — but you were the best.  I hadn’t been with another Subway since I met you.  I see them around all the time, but nothing has ever happened.  I’ve never even been tempted.  Until now.

You deserve all the details.  It happened last Saturday morning.  I know you thought I’d gone for a guitar lesson, and I want you to know I wasn’t lying about that, it happened on the way.  I’d been out drinking the night before and I was feeling seedy and hungry, I could barely grip the steering wheel for appetitious desire. 

I was just satisfying a physical need!  Nothing more.  It didn’t mean anything.  Not like it does with you, Glenferrie Road Subway.  They didn’t know how to tessellate the cheese so that there’s no unneccessary cheese overlap while leaving space uncheesed, like you do.  I didn’t have Subway Sam to make my sandwich exactly as I like it —

Oh god, Subway Sam.  This is going to kill him.  I don’t know how he’s going to take it if our relationship doesn’t continue.  He’d never understand.  Please don’t let this hurt our Sandwich Artist.

I just want you to know that it was awful.  I had a bacon and egg sandwich and it was greasy and horrible.  Afterwards I felt queasy and full of regret. 

This is so difficult.  Oh god.  I guess I just have to tell you.  It was Lower Plenty Subway.  Please don’t blame her, it was all my fault.  It’s not that she’s got anything you don’t have.  You were just so far away!   It was just the distance. I needed something to keep me going right then, and you weren’t there.  Not that I’m blaming you.  This is all my fault.

But I didn’t get what I wanted, and I just wished that I was with you the whole time.  It was meaningless, dirty and not at all satisfying.  I didn’t even order the extra avocado or pineapple – that’s something that’s still between us.

I hope you can forgive me.  Please – think of Subway Sam…think of the pineapple.  I just wanted a sandwich that day, but with you it’s so much more.  Sometimes I get smoothies. 

I can’t say anything else but that I’m sorry and it won’t happen again.

Regretfully yours,


The Anatomy of Hitting Your Elbow
July 24, 2010, 4:40 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

Part 1. Pre-hitting stage You’re unaware you’re about to hit your elbow on anything.  You’re smiling, the birds are singing, the trees are…existing..  Everything is as it should be.  You might be thinking about your girlfriend or what you’re going to do on the weekend.   You might not be thinking about anything at all.  You’re in a stage of blissful ignorance. You have no idea of the fate that about to befall you.  How your world will never be quite the same.  You believe that the world is a beautiful place, full of happiness and light.  You idiot!

You’re so relaxed, you have your arms stretched out as you walk through that doorway.  Bam!  It’s too’ve hit your elbow on something.

Part 2.  The second before it starts hurting. The worst part.  The anticipation.  You didn’t come down in the last shower.  You’re no two-bit nobody.  Oh no.  You’ve hit your elbow before.  You know what this means.  You know what’s about to happen.  You try desperately to somehow avoid what you’ve started. NOOOOOOOOOOOO! You might start pleading with God.  GOOD LORD, ANYTHING BUT THIS! You might scream.  But deep down, you know that it’s too late.  The damage has been done.  It’s about to be a rollercoaster ride of emotions, after which, you’ll never be the same.

Part 3.  The Bit Where it Goes all Cold. God! You think to yourself.  This is the worst thing ever.  It’s all cold and hurty.  Your arm is freezing!!  The rest of your body is in a stage of bahamas-like temperature rise to adapt to the shock but your arm is in Antarctica.  Come back, arm!  Come back!  You truly believe this is the worst thing that could ever happen.  You weep, because you feel that seperated from the rest of humanity.  How could anyone ever understand the pain!  You arm continues to freeze, and you lament your fate.

Part 4.  The Bit Where it Goes all Hot. You’ve never been so wrong in your life.  The cold bit wasn’t that bad at all.  The pain accompained by the hot bit makes you nostalgic for the bit where it went all cold.  “Remember when you were all cold?”  You say to your elbow, “Those were some good times.  Heady days, heady days.”  And you weep, because you wished them away.  How could you know what was coming?  You wish for the simple days when your arm was just freezing cold and painful.

Part 5.  The Bit Where it Throbs. Now it’s no temperature at all.  You’ve been through the worst part.  It’s just throbbing.  You and your little buddy are going to be okay.  You think about that time you saw a girl in an exam hit her elbow and have to silently go mental.  That was funny at the time, but now you know that elbow-karma has been waiting to get you for laughing at her. You decide to never laugh at anyone again…just in case.

Part 6.  The Bit Where It’s Better Again.  You’ve laughed, you’ve cried.  You’ve shared a moment with your doorframe.  But you’ll never truly be the same.  You know that at any moment, it could all just happen again.  A dark cloud forms over you, and you wonder how you’ll go on with that kind of threat looming.

My Father’s Dating Advice
July 20, 2010, 6:18 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

As most of you will know, I haven’t been in a serous relationship for about 5 years.  I’ve been pretty happy just having fun and travelling.   So in that time, I have obviously dated a few people and had a few ‘crushes’ (love that word).  My father and I get on like a very jovial house on fire, quite happily burning away, so here is some of the best advice my father has given me over the years when it comes to dating and rejection. 

1.   “He’s an asshat.”

In fact, my father refers to every guy I ever talk about as “the asshat.”

eg.  “How’s the asshat?”  “Is that the asshat?”  “Oh god, we’re not having the asshat over for dinner, are we?”

2.  Dad:  Maybe he fell down a crevasse.

Me:  No, I think I would have heard about it if he’d fallen down a crevasse.

Dad:  Maybe just a well then.


Dad:  You’re convicting him before you even know what happened!  Isn’t it innocent until proven guilty?!

Me:  I’m employing the inquisitorial system!

Dad: (Under his breath, eyeing me suspiciously) Indonesian!


Well, he probably didn’t think that you were asking him out, he probably just thought you were a loser with nobody else to hang out with.


Maybe he’s with a prostitute and can’t get away.  (Terrified look) Poor bastard.


Dad: Maybe he fell into the Jenolan Caves looking for his hat.

Me:  How did you know about the hat?

Dad: That’s how the bloke found them, climbed down to look for his hat.

Me:  Oh no, I thought you knew about this guy’s hat.  He has this stupid hat that I hate.

Dad: Oh.


Dad: I think he probably heard what you were thinking about his hat, and got really hurt feelings.  Nobody wants a girlfriend who doesn’t like their hat.


Dad: Maybe you should ask him out then.

Me: God, no.  I don’t do that anymore.  I’m a total babe, he knows where to find me.

Dad:  That’s the spirit! (muttering) Idiot.


Dad:  Maybe you should ask him out.

Me: Ugh…nah…

Dad:  It’s easy! All you have to do is ride in there and say (Adopts toughguy voice)  ‘Listen, Asshat!  Do you want to go out with me or not?! It’s your loss not mine and there’s plenty more men like you!’


Dad:  Just drop a few hints!  Tell him that you’ve got nothing to do on the weekend.  Tell him your girlfriends have abandoned you.

Me:  Well, that ought to make me look popular.


Dad:  Maybe his leg is broken, and he couldn’t come see you.

Me:  …Yeah.

Dad:  Nah, that can’t be it.  He’d still have one good leg.  He could have hopped in.

Me:  Maybe both legs?

Dad: Army crawl.


Try not to worry about it, he might just be handcuffed and in prison.  That, or he’s met someone else better than you.


Dad: He’s an asshat.

Me:  Noooo….he seems like a really nice guy.

Dad:  Ah, that’s the game of the asshat!  You wouldn’t like them if they just started off being arses.  So they have the hat to cover it up.  And then off comes the hat!  And you’re just left with –

Me: Ass.

Dad:  That’s right.  Ass.


Maybe he’s from the past and had to go back there but didn’t have time to tell you.


Me:  Well, I rang him and his friend answered and said he was in the bathroom.

Dad:  Do you really want a guy who’s so bad at peeing he has to give his phone to his friends when he goes to the bathroom, just in case?

Me:  Well, I don’t really think that he’d really gone to the bathroom.  I –

Dad:  Uh, uh, uh. 

Me:  No, no.  You’ve got a point there.


He’s probably a realistic robot that is unable to feel emotion.


Me: Well, which one should I go out with?

Dad:  Whichever one asks you out first!

Me:  Really?

Dad:  Yes…(scheming voice) Or…you could ring up the second one and say ‘This other bloke has asked me out, but I’d rather go out with you.”

Me:  So I should go out with the SECOND one?

Dad:  Oh no, you could keep that going on for days.


Me:  Which one should I go out with?

Dad:  Whoever you like best.

Me:  But he might not ask me out!

Dad:  Well, neither of them might ask you out.