To All The Wannabe Players

A ‘player’ is just a desperate man trying to hide all his personality defects behind the adulation of his peers. They idolise him because he can pull women. They think he’s ‘the man’ because he shags girl after unsuspecting girl, using childish playground techniques to lure them into bed. Or, if he’s really pathetic, he relies on books like ‘The Game’ because he can’t think of how to attract the opposite sex without help.

In Hollywood movies, he starts off being the guy every other man wants to be … He’s the envy of his friends. To them, he has charm, charisma, sex appeal and balls of steel. He punches above his weight and seems to have it all. Fast forward to the end of the movie and he’s the one all his friends have outgrown. He’s the one without a family, trying desperately to hang on to the fringes of his buddies’ lives. The pals who once wanted to be him now find him immature and annoying. He’s suddenly the one his mates are least likely to want to emmulate. Instead, they all have lovely girlfriends or wives and beautiful, endearing kids who give unconditional love – they accept their man / father for all that he truly is and not for what he could be.

A player thinks excessive sex and breaking women’s hearts makes him a real man but real men don’t use women. They don’t treat them as possessions. They don’t lie to them without conscience. They don’t feel the NEED to pull for an ego boost. They don’t fear or disparage committment. They don’t run away from relationships. And they don’t ever abandon their kids.

If you’re one of these sad losers that always idolises the player in the movies and stupidly thinks they’re living a better lifestyle *NEWS FLASH* – NOBODY EVER WANTS TO END UP WITH THESE DUDES. Not even their friends. If that’s a future you want, then carry on gaming. No-one will care because, eventually, everyone around you will start to recognise you for the insecure, fragile guy that you’ve been so desperately trying to hide. Everyone’s true colours show in the end and the picture you paint to all the people you meet along the way will define you forever.

Still think players are cool? Yeah? God, I feel so sorry for you. You’re insecure AND dumb. Wow.

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An Artistic Climb Higher

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Spotted this piece of Art being sold at a local shopping mall. It’s not a great photo of what is actually visually striking. If you can’t make out the detail, those little orange and white specks are carefully crafted 3D figures of miniature rock climbers (or construction workers?). That’s real string used for ropes (not merely painted on) and the rock surface is probably crafted from some kind of latex.

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Can I see this hanging in my living room? No. Can I imagine it hanging in the lobby of a funky construction company or adventure tour group? Yes.

Otherwise, look upon it as a motivational message; never stop aspiring to climb higher. If little orange men can do it, so can we 😉

Why Wearing Spandex Can Be Sexy If You’re A Bloke…

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Let’s face it, every heterosexual girl and every homosexual bloke wants the same thing… a good man who exudes enough chemistry to make you want to rip all your clothes off and sit on his face lap. Add to that a certain charm, bravery and courage, and you’ve suddenly got the perfect guy. Or have you? What if I was to tell you that you need some spandex as well? Confused? Keep reading…

Several years ago, during the course of my work as a PR girl, I came face-to-face with a buff bloke in a red lycra suit, black spankies and a hair-do so quaffed, it wouldn’t move a millimetre in a category five hurricane. I fancied the [shiny] pants off him. Yup, ‘superhero’ Major Victory – his description, not mine – was very delectable indeed. I was so aroused, I spent a full bank holiday weekend locked indoors watching him cavort on the SCI FI channel (as it was then called) in the most bizarre reality TV show – ever. It was the brain child of comic book legend Stan Lee (which explained a lot!).

Suddenly, that old Bonnie Tyler track seemed almost phrophetic: ‘I need a hero / I’m holding out for a hero till the end of the night / he’s gotta be strong / and he’s gotta be fast / and he’s gotta be fresh from the fight.’ ‘Hell yeah’, I thought. ‘That’s what I’m talking about. Bring on the heroes and let them be super. There’s nothing noncy about a man in tights.’ Unless they haven’t been washed first… but that’s a whole other blog.

If you think about it, a superhero kit is nothing more than a uniform, but with a lot more stretch and colour. It’s like looking at your wife in her kinky Ann Summers get up… she puts it on, she takes on a sexy persona and – pow! – a slut is born. It’s the same principle for men wearing lycra. They put it on, do a few stretches, run round the block and a [super] hero emerges. But are we really ready for them?

Superheroes are bold, brave, selfless, sexy, courageous and morally incorruptible. And covered in spandex. Yet, I thought there was nothing remotely attractive about a Fathers For Justice protester clad in a Batman cossie who dominated the news in the same year I met the luscious ‘Major Victory’. So what if he was scaling a building while police helicopters did a loop-the-loop right by his head? In theory, we should have broken out in a hot flush and started gagging for the guy’s number. Instead, most of us frowned sympathetically and thought no more about it.

Modern society just isn’t ready for any superheroes… If I was standing at the bus stop and a man clad head-to-toe in blue lycra suddenly offered me a ‘lift’ with his miraculous power of flight, what would I do? Threaten to headbutt the deviant freak and tell him to clear off, thinking all the while of how ashamed his mother must be. Perverted loser. Harsh, I know, but in this day and age, we’re surrounded by nutters and weirdos… even if the aforementioned freak turned out to be truthful and suddenly shot up into the sky, I’d still be looking around for David Blaine and a camera crew. Worse still, I might run like an Olympic athlete towards the nearest police station, sounding certifiable with my tales of a flying man in Spandex. And then I’d be the one labelled as ‘Loser’.

Really, the only way it’d be cool to fancy a man in fancy dress is if the media embrace him, build him up into the nation’s saviour and he becomes a celebrity. After all, it’s acceptable to lust after an icon – even one in spandex – without people thinking you’re some twisted cow who needs to get out more. Even his mother suddenly feels proud. He sells his story in a multi-million pound book deal, a film is made about his life, he bags a supermodel girlfriend with more bones jutting out than a mass grave genocide pit and he’s completely unattainable to an average girl like me. Yes! That’s the key. It’s the fantasy that’s alluring, not the reality. I like the idea of being with a superhero. I’m just not sure I’d like the reality. It’s the dream of having someone kind and brave and gifted and über-strong for a lover that triggers the tingling session in my spine and other areas.

By remaining a dream, I’ll never be disappointed. There’s no real-life hero who turns out to be a twat when you meet him. There’s just imagination, hope and desire. You can hear it in Bonnie Tyler’s voice as she wistfully belts out: “Where have all good men gone? / And where are all the gods? / Where’s the street-wise Hercules / To fight the rising odds?” He’s probably around here somewhere, but too scared of aggressive female bloggers to ever make himself known…

Am I Too Fussy? – 13th January, 2007

 Last week, my mate’s mum told me that I was too fussy and that I’d never meet a suitable bloke unless I changed my criteria.

I’ve thought about this and, I ask you, is it really too much to want to meet someone that I have chemistry with in the first 5 seconds? Is it really my fault that I like the quick-witted, sarky ones? I mean, I meet guys all the time, but I don’t fancy them… there’s always something wrong.

Take the super good-looking guy that asked me out a hip hop club night… he was wearing a clown suit. Seriously. I could just about see his face under the outrageous wig, and don’t even get me started on the loud shirt, over-sized shoes and braces holding up his trousers. Call me prejudiced, but I really don’t like clowns.

Then there was the cute man I met on holiday – his chat up line was “I like to lick it before I stick it” which he followed with a child-like giggle and a cocked eyebrow. Hell, no. That was just too friendly. Then there was the tall, dark and handsome bloke I met at a bar – he told me that he makes every woman reach orgasm because he likes to stick his finger up their bum during love-making. I didn’t even finish my drink before I ran for the nearest exit.

Then there was the ‘wonderful’ religious geezer who told me that if he wasn’t marrying his fiance he’d marry me instead but I shouldn’t let that stand in the way of us getting it together.  I told him to naff off and headed to the nearest chipie to buy a pork kebab.

Am I fussy?

Well, really, am I?

Thought not.

Romance & Relationships – 10th January, 2007

Your man says that you’re getting fat. What do you say? I say, “Oh yeah, I’ve been meaning to weigh myself. I’m just waiting for the right man’s face to sit on.” Offensive? So I’ve been told…

Your man takes you out to dinner (great, he’s over the whole weight gain worry) but he orders a vegetarian salad for you (strike the previous thought). Do you politely eat the salad and feel tearful cuz it doesn’t even have any croutons? I say: “Honey, no-one gained energy by eating a few lettuce leaves decorated with a tomato. How do you expect me to go home with you, strip seductively to my undies, suck you off like a hydraulic doll, bend my body like a contortionist and then bounce on your lap like an Olympic Athlete?”  Fact: men getting women to eat salad only provides sufficient energy for a man to have to use his own hand when he takes his missus home from the restaurant.

Your man buys you a surprise gift… Diet pills. And they were expensive. Do you seethe silently cuz he didn’t spend the money on shoes or jewellery instead? No. You graciously accept and then grind several laxatives into his daily breakfast. If you give shit, you should get shit.

Why Do Men Always Pat Me on The Head? – 3rd October, 2006

Why do tall men feel the urge to pat short women on the head? Other than making me feel like an extra from a ‘Lassie Come Home’ flick, there’s absolutely no need for it. Do I look like a Chiuaua? (Sarcastic people back off!). That said, it doesn’t stop me from turning into a Rottweiler everytime I see a tall man’s hand coming down towards my scalp. So that’s why hospitals invented stitches…