The opening for Rich Idiot.com 2 The dating game.

A hint of what is to come in Rich Idiot.com 2 - the dating game. As a motivation to finish Rich idiot.com - Dating is on sale for 98p until the below is complete. My intention with the second is to make it more funny, more real with absolutely excruciating moments! What fun - I love it. I hope you do too! Link: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Rich-Idiot-com-Dating-Idiot-ebook/dp/B00ATF8QF2 Rich Idiot.com 2? The dating game. Happy New Year Gracie!!! Welcome back to Winter Wonder England. Did you like my Russian play on words? How many glamorous blonde Russian women do you know who can play with English language and make brilliance with their sentence? I am not showing usual modesty but am feeling very proud! You know I almost said welcome back to Winter Wonder Bra but that would involve up-lift with icicle hanging from nipple. Frozen bosom is not nice image for anyone. Erect nipples often cause embarrassment but large icicles sticking out. People would notice and do strange eye thing at each other. Of course some men would stop and stare – as if they need any excuse! Now I have question – the word icicle... How does that work because you ice a cake don’t you? So would you ice a nipple too? It sounds similar does it not? I am just thinking out loud about strange English sayings. Anyway, I missed you while you were away. Work was boring and there were no decent gossips. Women in office suffer from post-Christmas fattyness and bloated bottoms get stuck in chairs. One woman went to stand up and chair stayed firmly fixed on squidgy behind. No one said anything...We all silently side-glanced as she tried to pretend nothing had happened. I thought such incident would make you raise a newly spa’d eyebrow! Anyway, I want to know about Miami and if you made a new man tick list for this year. It is time for us to focus on finding you the right exciting man. As you say, let’s get the Rocky music on and have you back in the ring. You might have got knocked out in first round by Andreas but you now know how he punches. You know his game but he does not know yours. Oh I did small clap. I am joggling in my seat. You can use your dating ‘game’ knowledge to your advantage and rise again (I looked up ‘dating game’ on Google). You know we need dating entertainment and analysis to get us through boring days. This time of year is when gyms are filled with squidgy shaking bottoms and everyone pretends to eat fruit whilst hiding in toilet cubicles sneaking cake... So I need you here doing dating disaster. We need to discuss analyse and learn new things about men, wealth and life! I can’t bear the bulbus bottom brigade (this is your saying – I wrote it down). I need a distraction. Oh what fun! La, la, laaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I made another small clap. Three grey-knicker women in office jumped at the sound. All three chairs went in air with their fat bottoms. This could be dangerous situation, we might need first aider and goose fat to get them out at home time! Horrible thought – applying goose fat to wobbly grey-knicker bottoms! Eva. If you know anyone who would like to laugh aloud in public and has had shit dates - please share Rich Idiot.com with them: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Rich-Idiot-com-Dating-Idiot-ebook/dp/B00ATF8QF2

Who milks a pig? Rich idiot.com - dating taster.

Richidiot.com dating - The e-book will be 98p to download until I complete Richidiot.com - dating 2. Here is the Link: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00ATF8QF2 Eva, In general, I would advise you to avoid milking pigs. It is just something I learned when I was young – it seems they don’t like it – especially by Russian women with particularly well - manicured nails. You might prefer to start with a goat and work up to a smiling cow. The cow is the one with the hanging udders – do not try and milk any other kind – especially if there is only one appendage hanging down. Incidentally, what is it with this milking mania? We have Andreas sending cow milking in pictorial form and now you pig milking – there has to be something in the air! Farming hobbies? Oh and talking of random, last night I was in the supermarket and saw the ‘ghost of diet hell past’. She was in the chocolate isle and appeared to be arguing with a bar of chocolate. ‘I don’t need you – I can’t eat you, you make me fat!’ she then put the chocolate down, turned around picked it up, then jumped up and down. I hid at the end of the isle watching her going through this conflict. It was terrifying to watch and something I have experienced when I did the original diet. Eventually she picked up four bars and stormed to the checkout. She really seems to be in a state of struggle. After doing that extreme diet I only eat dark chocolate now because then I just have a taste and that is it. My will power is rubbish too but to witness someone argue with chocolate in public... Mad. Gracie. The link to richidiot.com on Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00ATF8QF2

Another Rich Idiot.com - dating taster...

Link: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00ATF8QF2 Rich idiot.com - dating. Oh Eva, why do I always manage to attract complete dicks? At least I have upped my game to the wealthier dick! I suppose the fact that man has a dick is something to do with it. It seems that the weighted difference between the upper brain and the lesser brain is the main cause of all the issues. Gravity and the dick brain... I will reply to the mail with the following: Hi Andreas, I am about to go for a long stroll by the beach with a friend and then to a cafe. Later this evening I will enjoy sitting, writing and editing. We do have an enormous amount in common. I think it will be worth meeting up whether it is romantic or not. That way there is no pressure. I really enjoy the way you articulate and feel that we could find solutions to the work issues – should it work out. Incidentally do you have a car? If so, have you been to Winchester before? I like the idea of meeting up there because that is about half way. Talk soon Gracie. What do you think Eva? I often wonder whether men have any clue about the discussions women have about them. I find it amusing how we spend our working day discussing and analysing their behaviour. At least it passes the mundane working hours. I haven’t fully involved the naughty boys with this Andreas yet either. I can imagine their faces lighting up and all of their opinions, pure carnage. They will train me like Rocky before going into a dating ‘fight’. I think that I want to keep this one quiet. They are still entertained by the date where I climbed out the toilet window and came face to face with the chap who had popped out for a smoke. That was a hideous moment! I still can’t believe I said I was training to be a burglar. He didn’t buy it – so I pointed at the cigarette and said ‘but you said you didn’t smoke! Liar!’ Oh all these dates over the years and look where I am – single! Boooo! Maybe singledom is the best thing. The women here call it singledooooooooom! I call it freedom. Oooops! Gracie. Here is the link:http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00ATF8QF2 The e-book will be on Amazon for 98pence until I complete the second in the series, which I hope to complete in the next month!

Rich idiot.com - dating - a taster...

A little taster of Richidiot.com - dating. Pre-new year resolution plan and tick list: Intention: this year I will meet an educated, respectful man who has dealt with his ‘baggage’. He will be excited about the prospect of meeting an intelligent, tall and inspirational woman (me). He must be/have: o Class / be a gentleman. o Taller than me. o Takes care of himself. o No erroneous smells or bad breath. Must wash his undercarriage. (This is based on the flatulent date I went on). o Good oral and genital hygiene. o No obvious ear or nostril hair. o Has own finances and own home. (Not six hundred thousand in debt like one of the ex’s) o Respectful. This is a biggy! o Passionate. o Not depressed and over his ex. o Available and not married! o About the same age. o Intelligent and can hold good conversation. o Amusing / humorous get my jokes and find them funny. o Good hide the sausage technique. o Not an emotional turd-fest! o NOT AN IDIOT!!!! Honest opinions welcome! Kind regards Gracie. Here is the link: Link: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00ATF8QF2

A rather strange coincidence. Imagine this - I climb on a train to go on a journey and I run into a young lady that I used to work with. She asks me about my office personality types and how it is going... She said she would love to read a book with all the office archetypes and personalities. It was quite a profound moment because these archetypes inspired Richidiot.com - dating... So with this in mind - my news is that I am going to compile the book of office observation and release it in the coming months. I have to admit, it is a fun one to write because all I have to do is sit and watch the 'office zoo!' Happy days. Oh and the e-book for rich idiot is on for 98p until I release the second in the series here is the link:http://www.amazon.co.uk/Rich-Idiot-com-Dating-Idiot-ebook/dp/B00ATF8QF2

Rower's buttock and the bum massage ordeal!

The unfortunate incident of the bum massage. Have you ever had to ask anyone to massage your bum muscles? If you have I suggest that you do not admit it to anyone. Okay let me give you are ‘brief’ history. As many of you know, I take part in the fantastic sport of rowing. This means getting up early at the weekend, carrying heavy boats, bruising yourself and then competing against other teams of ladies in treacherous tsunami-like conditions. Sometimes the boats sink, other times mothers have to save their children from drowning and fellow team members fart when they shout ‘start’ at the beginning of the race (they said start not fart!). I am still disturbed that I actually inhaled someone else’s intestine at the beginning of a race. After training endlessly for hours, experiencing painful blisters and muscle burn - you endure it all for the rare occasion when you actually win… Yes win. The tingling feeling of winning and the elation that you have conquered the conditions to be number one is a motivator for many. I go for the cake. Please don’t tell my team that… There are loads of Victoria sponges and chocolate brownies – all homemade. I have the domestic capability of a squid with leprosy… So the delight of a light sponge is a dream. Sorry I deviated. There have been many times where we have come second but last week we ‘connected’ and gave it our all in conditions that would extract washing from the washing line and deposit it five miles down the road – usually on a cow’s head! So with all this in mind, for two races we gave it full power, so much so, my bow person, Sally, held back from vomiting on my back. We reached our limits, surpassed them and then pushed again… After, albeit elated, my left buttock was up in arms, it does not have any arms but if it did it would have been waving them! That miserable buttock felt like it was on fire… After a night of celebration, where one of my team nodded off on her pizza, the cox lost her voice and there were some random incidents of knicker borrowing and bra lending… I headed home for a night of grumbling buttock. I decided that I was suffering from a complaint called rower’s buttock. Since the muscles were tight, I thought I would be able to solve the buttock revolt by taking part in hot yoga. Surely a buttock would not feel hot if the surrounding temperature was higher than the buttock – that must be some law of physics… Unfortunately the bottom burn was not solved, so I called my local sports masseuse and requested a massage. I simply said I was a rower and needed a ‘rowing’ massage. That Tuesday I was all concerned at work. I mentioned the situation to the boys at work, they all suddenly experts in the art of bum massage. I suggested that they demonstrate on each other and suddenly their skills were not so refined or vocal. Boys! So that evening I ventured into the Sports massage shop and went up to the rather gorgeous and statuesque looking man and whispered. ‘Hi am here for the bum massage.’ He smiled politely. ‘I came for the personal trainining!’ Bugger! Could I pretend I was a personal trainer? The image of a tortoise retracting into its shell spun through my mind…Why does it always happen to me? I had just confessed that I was having a bum massage to a hot, male stranger. Yes it worked as an opening line but I don’t think such lines result in dates… Hmmm. Anyway, my Dutch masseuse emerged from the massage room. She was petite, blonde and looked quite fragile. I have noticed that this sort of person usually has the most vicious thumbs… ‘Are you the masseuse?’ She nodded. ‘You are the rower…’ I nodded. ‘Follow me…’ We went into the stark brown room that was decorated with wall charts of muscles. Pride of place, at the centre of the wall, was a pair of muscular buttocks. ‘That’s what I have…’ I said pointing. ‘Everyone has those,’ she responded with a straight face. I studied her and noticed she was smirking at her own joke. ‘So lie down then…’ I studied the massage table and removed my trousers. ‘I wore the largest knickers I own so that you do not have to see my bottom,’ I blurted. Admittedly they nearly reached my neck and resembled something that superman might wear over tights… I was being considerate. The expression of confusion washed over her face… ‘I am going to massage your Glutes not admire them…’ It was lucky that I hadn’t decorated them then! I was so embarrassed. I will not go into further details but the massage commenced. At this time I would like to cut to the image of a particularly vicious WWF wrestling match. Followed by Rocky being knocked down in one of his films and finally a milk jelly being hit by a large mallet. Anyway when I suffer from pain, I laugh. I don’t know why but the more painful it is the more I laugh. The woman was elbowing my left posterial cheek - I was laughing hysterically and it became contagious. The more I laughed the more she laughed. We had to call a time out to catch our breaths, that was before she attacked the second cheek. Admittedly the right side was not so painful but I would prefer you to imagine slapping a cheesecake with a table tennis bat, rolling a rolling pin of hard boiled eggs with shells on and finally popping giant bubble wrap with your bare feet… Pop! And then the massage was over. I had tears in my eyes, bruises on my bottom and a masseuse who was studying me whilst coughing through laughter…. We went out to reception to pay and I gave her a tip. ‘One pound for each butt cheek ,’ I said. If I had had a fat bottom, with the equivalent of double chins, I would have given her four pounds… She looked at me again and I noticed that the reception was quiet. ‘I was suffering from rower’s buttock and she has straightened my cheek out.’ I said with a gentle pat to my posterior. There was one of those arid silences. There was no room for a tumble-weed, more of a bit of dust attached to a clump of hair that could be found in the carpet…. Of course, those who were sitting in reception were the beautiful elite. One woman was the type to visit the gym wearing the smallest leopard skin outfits. No doubt shefound apt places to bend over to distract the men while they were grunting. The chap sitting by the door was rather fit and obviously an athlete. He was now staring at my straightened buttock…. Hmm how did I get him from there to my face? So with all this in mind… This is for the young ladies at the rowing club who asked me to write more about the random things that happen in my life… You know who you are… Clue - you speak with odd accents…. Moral of the story: Tight buttocks might sound like a good idea but are not terribly practical. Moral of the story two: when confessing to being in need of a bottom massage make sure you don’t tell the wrong person. Moral of the story three: Take six pairs of spare knickers to every rowing race because someone will at some point either lose, soil or end up with wet knickers….

Dating and the random world of table football.

-
Okay, so I was not going to share this but by popular demand I apparently owe it to female kind to share one of my more random dates...

So I met this one on a fitness website - designed for people who are into exercise... I love rowing so I thought that a man who exercised would appeal to me. Imagine this - the moment I press click to join the website - the hottest bloke you could imagine instantly contacted me. I thought the heavens were smiling on me. He was beautiful, could type a sentence and was taller than me... Wow, wow and triple wow. At this point it is customary for me to look over my shoulder and wonder whether there is some kind of joke involved... Nope... Straight away we began to chat and he actually seemed nice. Again wooooooooooooooooooop! There had to be something.
I don't know about anyone else but I am searching for that chemical attraction and I thought - imagine - this could be it.

So after a heavy session of rowing which resulted in bleeding palms and blisters, I patched myself up with elastoplast and headed for the date. I know I am classy girl but if men can do the Italian shower with the Linx affect a woman can do the same with impulse - true love... Oh yes! So I there I am smelling of true love with a hint of perspiration and there he is... My goodness he was beautiful, tall, and... when he open his mouth well it was apparent that he had been granted the gift of beauty without the gift of intellect. He was such a nice chap but during the conversation he asked me to explain some of the words I was using...

Further into the date he showed me a picture of his newly decorated bedroom - it was decked out in Liverpool football posters, curtains and matching bedspread. To top it off there was a table football table beside his bed. He was so lovely but he did not get the 'so is that how you do foreplay joke?' I then had numerous visions of romantic moments with the Liverpool team gazind down from the wall. Then on top of that I became rather amused about being woken up in the night - 'shall we have a quickie - a game of table football.' Obviously my date was not so amused and the fact I was shaking with laughter probably did not appeal... Oh well t'is life. We all have our own special ways of doing things so I did not show him a picture of my bedroom with the taxidermied squirrels - only joking... But imagine if I had come back with a picture like that - all these stuffed squirrels... Right back to normal life.
Now with my previous blogs I always have a moral of the story and on my useless dates I have a summary. So the summary went like this - I feel that you and I have different tastes and I don't feel any chemistry. I don't think you feel it either. Good luck with finding the right one.
I was surprised to have a summary response from the beautiful man - 'I am glad you said that - I don't think I could go out with a girl with bigger biceps than me who is more intelligent. I liked meeting you though - but I feel stupid now. I always thought I was clever until I met you. Now I know I'm not...' Imagine how bad I felt then.

Moral of the story - dating sites for fit men do have fit men - however they may also have table football beside the bed.

When dating a fit man do not compare biceps especially if yours are bigger.
When dating any man do not make him feel stupid even if he is.



-

Bottom kicking, reviews and a general update...

Okay, okay, I know... Yes I have been crap at keeping this updated but there are only so many plates a person can spin on a stick simultaneously!
The last months have looked like this - train for rowing competitions, work full time, date a dickhead - teach a creative writing course, edit a book, write a book and on top of all that go to work full time... Can you forgive me for not being able to blog too? As much as I wanted to share dickhead details, I have kept it to myself. I still cannot understand men and now my learning had taken a whole new tangent - it is the learning that a man can actually be an emotional black hole and a mental enigma... Fascinating or infuriating - I will leave that to you...



So the reason that I am back is to share my excitement - I have a review on the Resonance from a teen book reviewer who gave it 8/10 - bear in mind I am up against the big boys and girls of publishing... So that has made me very very very happy... I am doing a little dance now - dad dancing with a bit of break dancing with a hint of typing...

The link is as follows: http://www.flamingnet.com/​bookreviews/newreviews/​newbookreview.cfm?title=The Resonance (eBook)

So the teaching has been one of the best things I could do - it made me re-teach myself all the things I had not been doing. Yes - it also coincided with the Resonance edit. I realised that the art of description is paramount. It is something that I had never considered so important. Then there I am guiding a lesson on description and I think - oh shouldn't I be doing this... Oops - shhh don't tell anyone... So with that in mind I am now re-editing Goylegate to the heady heights of my own approval with descriptions that will enable visions of both horror and inspiration. I love it!

CHAPTER 1 The Resonance

The Resonance
by
Michelle Dry

Published by Michelle Dry
Copyright Michelle Dry 2011
This book is shall not be lent, resold or hired out by way of trade or otherwise without the author’s consent. All rights remain with the author: Michelle Dry


Insight:
‘They’re us and we’re them. There will never be a time when the two tribes will not be drawn to one another - that is our curse, our burden and our secret.’

CHAPTER 0
The Resonation
1834
A bizarre humming filled the air and swirled about the remote Scottish village of Gardenstown - she was searching. The villagers purposely avoided discussion, glanced at each other knowingly and scurried to the safety of their grey, stone cottages. Trouble was brewing, she would have her wrath and the culprit would die - it was inevitable.

CHAPTER 1
The fluid motion.
June last year.

The waves that crisp morning peeled elegantly towards the shore. Rainbows danced amongst the salty spray. The undulating motion of the scarlet-tinged ocean drowned out her subtle call. Her new love was unaware he had chosen her and that she had accepted.
Marty, wearing dark jeans and a green hoody, stood at the edge of the cliff top gazing down at the sea with his arms folded. The smell of damp grass and seaweed wafted on the same breeze ruffling his dark, wavy hair. With a quick flick, he swept a few wispy strands behind his ear and continued to dither. Should he go in? The thought of climbing into a damp wetsuit at that time of the morning was enough to turn anyone off! Rubbing his tired eyes, he was consumed in his usual shall I or shan’t I routine. After picking fluff off the arm of his hoody, he shuffled towards Bertha, his camper van, turned back and paused. Was that a woman swimming?
Out to sea an enormous set of waves rose on the horizon. The unsuspecting swimmer maintained her rhythmic crawl. Surely, she would notice. The rolling waves gathered momentum as they pursued her and prepared their weighty descent.
“Bollocks!” he muttered under his breath. With a jolt, he tore down the rickety staircase, navigated the slippery cockle-crunching shoreline and broke into a sprint on the compacted sand.
The first wave towered above the girl.
“You need to come in,” shouted Marty waving frantically from the beach.
With the repetitive crawling rhythm, the swimmer did not break her routine. Instead, she continued oblivious to the rising ocean walls. With a sense of helplessness, Marty watched the wave peak, tumble and crash down. She was gone.
He waited for some indication of her location. Nothing. With a glare at the water, he gritted his teeth. Why did it always happen to him? In aggravation, he kicked off his flip-flops and waded into the shallows. The froth of the first wave roared towards him. He dived and surfaced. Sucking in a lung full of air, he submerged intending to swim beyond the break. As he swam, he urgently searched for even a hint of her presence. There was nothing. Surfacing for another breath, a huge wave rose above him. Marty gazed up at the glistening, fluid wall and ducked back to the churn beneath. Could he see hair or seaweed? The circling ocean motion spun his athletic physique into an area of calm where a peaceful figure was suspended. With a mass of golden hair drifting in all directions and mischievous glint in her eye, she smiled. It was her!
His heart pounded as the air slowly evacuated his lungs. As he sunk, he gazed at the beautiful creature knowing he had to surface. With a strong kick, his survival instincts overrode his desire to stay. Full of curiosity, she followed him, circled and silently peered into his soul. She emitted a gentle hum, which tingled through his veins. What was it and why could he hear her through the water? He had to surface! With an amused expression, she radiated the feeling of love. He experienced her emotional warmth through the icy ocean.
With the expression of confusion, he touched his heart.
She smiled and radiated again.
Butterflies tingled in his gut. He was mesmerised. He desired to stay.

The sound of an elephant laying an egg...

Have you ever considered what the sound of an elephant laying an egg might be like? I just wanted to put an example of a hook as an opener here... Oh yes hooks are wonderful instruments in the art of writing... Why do I mention this? Well this last ten weeks has been wonderful. I have been teaching a creative writing class and I loved it...

For those who know me, as shy as I can be, when it comes to being really passionate about something and having a captive audience, in a confined space with a closed door - something happens. A mental explosion of information all constructed to meet the student's needs.... I didn't just love it... I really loved it!

The thing with teaching for ten weeks is that I had to prepare lessons. At some point I will post them on here... All the time I was doing that made it difficult to go to work, race in my rowing team / train in the rowing team and edit The Resonance... I know ... Excuses... Mine is being human!

I have to admit I am quite excited about being back, previously the blog became a pressure. At times I would walk out of the toilet at work (rather than fall in) and people would point at me.... Not because I had made a smell, but rather because I was the girl who wrote the books and the blog. Again for those of you who really know me - I am a private person - especially in a lavatory. In fact, sometimes I suffer stage fright and am transported back to those years on ships where people would pursue you to ask you about ports. The worst moment was when two passengers actually shoved their head under a cubicle door, whilst I was in midst monster creation and asked me how many steps there were in the Hermitage museum... Imagine. I think I might have actually answered too... Oh God the years on ships and the memories...

Right before I deviate again... I just want to let you know the good news...
The Resonance is already out in digital and the solid form book will be available in the new year.

At the moment I am finishing the draft of my very secret book and then straight into 'Beneath the surface."
Okay just to let you know there has been a vote on what 'Beneath the surface' should be called. Apparently this sounds like a submarine. The other offerings have been Portholes and Poop Deck. Please bear in mind this is a real life diary of a cruise ship... Any opinions will be greatly appreciated... In the meantime, I will keep writing posts... I have quite a lot to catch up on... Especially in terms of escaping mundanity...

Talk soon

MichelleXXX

Okay I admit it...

Okay so I admit it, I have not blogged for quite a while, but I have a perfectly good excuse - summer! Summer is the time to lay on the beach, prance around in shorts too short and stuff your face with icecream right? Nope... Instead I have been soaked in sudden downpours, been splashed by a bus driving past a puddle and have discovered a dark underworld directly on the street below... Yes... An underworld...

In evidnce of the underworld... At four in the morning a number of rather enebriated people thought that they would ring all the door bells on the street and then proceed to swear at the people who actually got up and answered. Who gets up and answers? I have no idea... Asking for trouble! Strangely I never get really offended by this, instead I fantasise about the usage of a catapult, bangers and water bombs... In truth, I was trying to work out the best angle of tradjectory using a water bomb, the opposite building and a catapult to get the drunks in the back of the head without bursting the waterbomb before impact. I considered rebounding off the opposite wall but the pressure would make it burst. After creating a large diagram on a blueprint and plotting my tradjectories with a compass and ruler I came to the conclusion that if I was fast enough I could shoot multiple water-bombs high into the air enabling a pelting which might appear as though God himself was peeved with the drunks. They would not be able to react quikly either. There was something satisfying in that knowledge...

Anyway I am afraid I did not have a catapult to hand nor water-bombs so no action could be taken, however a couple of nights later we had a rendition of Buffalo soldier at five o'clock in the morning... The drunken chappy was singing his heart out for approximately three hours. It was as if a record was stuck on the same line - Buffalo soldier... In the heart of America... Stolen from Africa... Oh man... what are the other words?

"Shut the **ck up," said one of the neighbours.
"No those aren't the words," he replied thoughtfully...

Buffalo soldier... In the heart of...

"Would you please shut the **ck up!" shouted a neighbour.

"Man... I am just singing a song... We should all sing... And this is a good song... Buffalo soldier... with a dreadlocked rasta stolen from Africa to make an excellent pasta..."

"Those aren't even the F***ing words!" screamed the neighbour.
"Look man I am being creative. You are ruining the flow man."

A loud scream followed by a thud, left a great deal to th imagination. There was silence.

But of course the song was stuck in my mind...

Moral of the story - always have a decent catapult and a stash of waterbombs for drunks who ring door bells.

Moral of the story two. Work on the perfect tradjectory so someone else gets the blame.

Moral of the story three - when singing a song no one wants to hear - sing it in the bath and not the street. Do not entertain the idea of taking a bath into the street for singing!

Dangling a bottom on a stick!

Dangling a bottom on a stick.

It is days like this that I love coming to work. I do not mind sitting at the desk because I am provided with a rare insight into the male mind and how it perceives the world. While I construct the most enormously complex spreadsheet full of formulae, the simplistic nature of the male mind and its motivations are revealed.
I glanced over at the office cheeky, “is everything okay? You haven’t said anything rude today.”
“Oh, sorry... Just busy,” he replied.
Admittedly he did look completely harassed and immersed in numerous complex calculations and charts.
“I want the fun one back,” I replied.
“Okay I will just pop to the loo and then tell you about the perfect gym experience that I had last night,” he said. With that he stood up from the desk and stretched.
When he returned he had one of those cheeky glints in his eye.
“So... I was at the gym last night and running on the treadmill and some kind of planetary alignment must have taken place because the perfect motivation took place. You know what it was?”
I studied him, “naked can-can dancers?”
“Nope three Latino bottoms on the cross trainers in front of me,” he replied smugly.
I frowned, I had an image of dis-embodied bottoms residing on the foot placement pads of the cross-trainer. “I take it they had women attached to them...”
“Yes the most perfect women you could imagine. I don’t know why they even have to go to the gym,” he said entering the fantasy dazed state.
“Well surely that is why they are perfect. They go to the gym daily and maintain their bodies - so therefore are ideal. If they didn’t go and ate pies they would probably look very different,” I replied
“Chicken and egg,” he said.
“So regarding these women’s bottoms... I sense that there is some kind of bottom hierarchy / measure to gauge the perfection of a bottom.”
“There are three types,” he replied.
Surely there had to be more than three types of bottom. Still I did not butt into the bottom flow.
“There is the Latino bottom, which is the ultimate in bottom. It is full, voluptuous and firm. There is plenty of meat on it. There is the Afro-Caribbean bottom. A similar kind of bottom, full, solid and beautiful and then there is the ‘other,’” he said with a smile.
There was a silence while I waited for his bottom measure elaboration / justification.
“The other comprises of all manner of bottom. You have the small Asian, the American cheerleader and many others. Three categories are more than enough for men to determine where something sits in terms of bottom,” he said with a definite nod.

I had honestly never considered a bottom hierarchy before. The office cheeky had changed my perception of the common bottom. “Okay what about men then?”
“There are two types: hairy and non hairy.”
How fair was that? There had to be more bottom categories for men.
“So tell me more about your motivation then,” I said allowing the male bottom hierarchy to churn in the back of my mind.
“Well being mesmerised by the bouncing bottoms, I realised I could divide my run into targets. When I achieved the first couple of kilometres I got the first one. The thought of her and her bottom kept me running. Then when I hit the second goal I was rewarded with the second beautiful bottom.”
I studied him; it was the office cheeky.... “You were rewarded with both weren’t you?”
He smiled a cheeky grin, “yep! Then when I got to the third...”
“Okay... I kind of get it...” I said before a full visual elaboration took place.
“The fantasy was fantastic... It worked really well apart from when I was running for the third posterial reward... Unfortunately the three of them finished training. I was so disappointed,” he said sadly.
“And let me guess an overly sweaty man arrived in a thong.”
“No... But it was a sad case. I ran faster to try and catch them,” he replied.
“You ran faster on a stationary treadmill to try and chase the Latino ladies?” I asked.
“Metaphorically yes. In my mind I ran through the treadmill and caught them all! It was amazing!”
“I think it would have been better if Mr sweaty and his white t-shirt had appeared. Or three flabby bottoms wobbled in front of you,” I said imagining it.
“Who is Mr Sweaty?”
“You have never heard of Mr Sweaty?”
He shook his head with a frown.
“He basically floods the area with sweat whenever he exercises. He is amazing. We once did an abs class and he sweated so hard that he created a sweat puddle. When he walked off he turned to us and said you know you have had a good work out when you have sweated. He often wears a white t-shirt which sticks to his hairy back. The hair sometimes makes patterns according to how he has been laying.”
“That is gross!” replied Office cheeky.
“He seems quite proud of it,” I replied.
Mr cheeky seemed absorbed by something.
“Okay what’s going on? Your eyes are wiggling... “I said.
“I am thinking... So how come some women wear lots of make- up to the gym and others don’t?” he asked seriously. Was there some kind of pattern?
“I have no real clue. Although my friend was saying about two women she saw at the gym. They were dressed in the smallest clothing, had done their hair and wore full evening make-up. They had rather pert parts and displayed braless- lycra-clad breastage. After they had posed around the gym she heard the pair of them in the stretching room saying ‘God men just stare all the time. They are such pervs. It really puts you off going to the gym!’”
The office cheeky looked dumbfounded, “but they are dressed like that – what do they expect? Men are visual! It is their instinct to look!”
He was right.
“As I said before men spend the majority of their time imagining women naked,” he said drifting into the glazed eye look.
“Yes I had a question about that... What even fat ones?” I said.
He shook his head and appeared to have a smell under his nose. “No they are invisible. They become an extension to a wall or a pillar. We just don’t see them. In fact we selectively filter to enable maximum naked fantasy of hottyness,” he said.
I shook my head, “that is not nice.”
“It is reality and truth... If a person wants to be imagined naked – make it nice for the fantasiser – I say!” he replied.
For a moment the pair of us sat in contemplation. I wondered how women perceived men at the gym. They grunted, a few posed but the majority appeared to exercise. In the meantime it was like a mental nudist camp for the men. How could the gym dynamic be sooo different for men and women?
The office hotty trotted past so I waved her over. “Do you go to the gym?”
“No,” she said.
“If you went to the gym would you wear make-up?”
“Probably,” she replied honestly.
“Do you know any women who wear make-up to the gym?” asked the office cheeky.
“Oh yes... One girl I know wears make-up and revealing clothing but that was because she fancied the instructor,” she replied
“Did it work?”
“Yes an escapee nipple resulted in her having a date and a cheeky kiss,” she said matter of factly.
Office cheeky and I gave each other a look. So by flashing your nipples at the gym instructor a person could get a date. I must have been bought up in a different era. It seemed the learnings I had had through my life had missed out that key fact. It was the same as the not running when taking part in a game of kiss chase. Hmmm maybe the gym was another equivalent to kiss chase in the exercise dynamic.
“The gym must attract two types – those who pose and those who actually want to exercise. Gym dating...” she said thinking about the make-up conundrum.
“Actually I was always bemused by a girl who used to come to the gym wearing Lycra with a leopard skin thong over the top. She used to saunter around the gym, stretch and bend over in front of the grunting men lifting weights. Suddenly it makes sense,” I said.
“Did they grunt louder went she bent over?” asked the office hotty.
“Yes much louder. Actually one time, at the same gym, one of the lycra-clad bending-over girls distracted a man on a treadmill who shot off the back and landed on my lap on the bike. It was quite funny really,” I said remembering how embarrassed the poor chap was.
“Really?”
The pair shook their heads.
“So how do you measure a man’s bottom? I mean in terms of pertness in the bottom hierarchy?” I asked the office hotty.
“Well there is peachy and not...”
“There must be more... Men have Latino, Afro-Caribbean and other for women,” I said.
“Other?” said with a bemused look.
“All the other categories,” I said.
“Let me just say there are lots of lovely bottoms in the ‘other’ category,” said the office cheeky.
“I think there are buns of steel, flat bottom and peachy,” I said thoughtfully considering the male bottom hierarchy.
The office hotty agreed. “I am not into the flat bottom. Just the peachy,” she said.
“There must be women who are specifically attracted to the flat bottom kind,” I said.
We all looked at each other. Was a woman attracted to a certain kind of bottom? What would determine that? It seemed the office hotty had developed a selective bottom filtration system. I had a tendency towards buns of steel and the walnut cracking kind. It seemed to tally in with the fact that I was fitness obsessed. She was curvaceous and had an attraction to a peachy bottom. I had never considered bottom hierarchy in the survival psyche. Nor had I realised that dangling a bottom on a stick was a key motivator for the male exerciser. I knew that sex was a motivator but I had one final question.”
“So if we created a man only gym with films of female bottoms playing repetition would the men get fit?”
“No. It isn’t real. You need the bouncing action to be real and close. That way we will fantasise about chasing it. It is all about the display and the potential.... It stops the pain in the limbs. You can ache like hell but you will keep chasing,” he said.
Hmmm. I smiled to myself.
“What happens if you get overly excited?” I asked.
“The treadmill will take care of that and eject you!”
I had never considered this before... I had never considered men running whilst excited... Was that possible? So I wrote on a pad “Can a man with an excited sausage run?” and handed it to the office comedian and the office cheeky.
Answer: ‘yes – when I was at school we had a swimming race. One of the kids had that same problem, jumped in the pool and won the race,’ said the office comedian.
I wonder whether he used it as a propeller....
Although, according to the office cheeky, there was more to it...
“I think I should explain...” he said thoughtfully. “There is a self safety process built in my system, it only needs a starting point where everything is calm before getting on the treadmill.... As a person gets more excited, the hope of getting the incentive grows, so you run faster putting all the extra blood to better use. Until that person thinks some more, gets more excited, runs faster, blood circulates ... And there you go a safety loop which is also the exercise driver ... and whole point behind the theory. Fantasy drives the physical!”
It made perfect sense.
“So what if a person is already het up?”
“Well that could prove sticky... If a person is already excited, then they will never start running until they take care of business manually. Or if they are half man and half amazing they will get the incentive to take care of business for them unfortunately the running becomes redundant.”
I was a little confused.
“So....”
“To answer your question regarding the sausage - no in all possible scenarios ... No running with a live hotdog,” he said.
How come the office comedian believed a person could run with an inflated extra leg and office cheeky was stumped by a hot dog in motion?

“But he says that his friend won a swimming competition whilst in a state of sausage excitement,” I replied.
The office cheeky rolled his eyes, “Water is a completely different medium with ,naturally, its own set of rules and theories ...”
I should have known!
In summary:
It seemed that motivation was more than just excitement. It seemed the simple suggestion that caused the lower regions to twitch could heighten a performance. But what did that mean? Did it mean that a person’s drive was stimulated by the potential physical reward? Was it primeval? Or was there something paramount that I was missing? Why were women so different? A woman would not necessarily run faster on a treadmill if three hot men were in front of her. If they were behind her she might run faster... Or she might slow down if she had been aware of the ideal strategy in kiss chase! Obviously these thoughts have distracted me. If you have answers to this conundrum I would love to know!
So to the morals of the story...
1) Place a large bottom on a stick to motivate a man to get fit.
2) Never be offended if your bottom falls into the other category.
3) Never run with an inflated hotdog unless you have the capability to use it as a propeller to win a swimming race.

Since the discussions Mr Cheeky has since informed that using a male appendage is unwise because it potentially could take the swimmer out of the water - kind of like a helicopter. "It should be more of a fin!" he said.

The mad, the bizarre and the down right wasted.

For the first time in my life I truly understood the expression as mad a hatter. Imagine parking your car opposite three people who are having a garage sale without a garage. Yes. So a number of undesirable items are lined up along the wall. Broken ornaments, an anarchy flag (everyone must have one of those) and a broken badminton bat... There were other items but they did not make a consumative impression on me...

The three people who had originated the idea accompanied their wall display with hardcore music played at full volume. A sales technique which is quite rare revealed highly energeticdancing which could be likened to jerking, spasms and tantrums. Every so often they sat down swigged a beer and then prepared for the next dance.

Subtely trying to park my car in a space that was coincidentally available oppsite the display, I tried to adopt my stealth departure. Unfortunately as I rounded a corner I stumbled upon three child-like drawings. Since I have a mind which feels the need to decode code I stood studying them. In red pen was writtem 'jellyusy is no need' no to discrmatv bevor,' and 4d+7d = somefing' A real puzzle if you ask me. In the centre there was a half drawn anarchy sign with eyelashes. If you can work that out you are a genius.

Since Boscombe has the ability to provide me than just human spectacle, I stood for a moment attempting fathom what it meant. That was my mistake. One of the spasmotic dancers spotted me and ran over. Well when I say ran is was more of a sideways stumble mixed with forward momentum. When she arrived she grinned at me wearing a top hat. Yes - TOP HAT!
'Hello do you like our drawings?'
Being polite I replied, 'I am just trying to work out what it says.'
'I am wasted.'
I studied the paper. I could not decipher those words.
'No I am wasted - been drinking and dancing. We did this to promote our garage sale. But I'm a bit drunk now.'
Okay - they were promoting their garage sale by not actually referencing a garage, having a garage, a sale or anything relating to it. Amazing cryptic clues - maybe they could enact a garage sale through charades too.

'I did that one,' she said pointing.
I nodded and considered my potential escape.
'It says not to be jealous... There is no point you see.'
She was right.
''cause jelousy makes you jealous.'
I could see the logic in that argument.
'I'm wearing a hat.'
'Yes you are... a top hat too.'
'I'm drunk. That bit says not to discrim in discrimin. Discrimin-hate...' she said with a belch. Discriminhate - that was pretty clever...
'That's a good attitude.' I replied.
'That one there was about dimensions and all the different dimensions. That is done by him over there... He likes his dimensions and his drugs.'
Oh brilliant... Lucky me falling into this conversation.
'I will be honest I don't really get it and I need to go and eat my tea.' I said.
She turned and gazed into my eyes, 'do you like it?'
What did a person say?
'I think the jealousy thing is very true. Jealousy does in actual fact make you jealous. Thank you. Right I have to go...'
She smiled, tipped her hat and stumbled back to the non garage sale.
I wandered home bemused and chatted to one of my friends on the phone about it. As much as I thought that was weird it turns out the person in a flat below her set off the fire-alarm with her cooking. When the three fire engines arrived she would not let them in. She then tried to stop the fire alarm by spraying airfreshner into it(at least it would smell nice) and later she was found hiding in a skip. How do you beat that?

I have to admit since moving to Boscombe I have had more writing material than a person could potentially wish for. Although as wonderful as it is, I often wonder about humanity and what the future holds. Then again - if it all goes to pot one can always hold a garage sale without a garage and advise random people not to get jealous. The posibilities are limitless!

Moral of the story jealously makes you jealous!
Moral of the story 2 Never ever stop and read promotional garage sale signs that do not relate to any garage.
Moral of the story 3 never park near to or next to anyone spasmotically dancing wearing a top hat at six in the evening....

Too much thinking about thinking.

This turned up today when I was thinking about updating my status on facebook!

The question what is on your mind is a strange question. If something was on my mind then surely my mind would be like a bench or something solid. I think a better question would be what is wafting / floating or wandering through the 'what is' that is labelled as your mind... I think to much... Thinking too much is on my mind... How does that work. I will stop thinking about thinking - which means I am thinking about thinking!!! Help!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ego learning and the concept of remote control sea gulls!

Today has been a bit of a learning... I had never really understood how a person's ego could inflate to the size of a walrus... Yes it is possible for an ego to become that huge!

So after careful consideration I believe I should share my findings... So how many people are actually aware of how they come across? How many people are actually aware of why they do things? How many people are aware of how huge their ego is? Not me!

Yesterday I was in a rowing race and had a strange moment where I realised as much as we rowed as a team, during the race we all resided in our own personal reality. One girl was feeling not good enough and feared letting the team down. One had to lead and had the responsibility of setting the pace, another was angry because she was not reaching her full potential. I was enjoying the view - young hot men lugging boats around. What more could a woman in her thirties want?

During the race the girl who felt inadequate kept saying sorry... She seemed to be living her own personal hell until her arm ceased up... There it was - bang - an excuse... A way out.

All the while, I was enjoying the view. Obviously we did not win the race but it was interesting how the team dynamic developed once we stepped ashore. I thought the race was great - there was a nice view, I had raced and had been out on the water and survived. The lady who felt bad was justifying why it had not gone well, another sulked whilst another was angry... In the meantime, I trundled around wondering what goes on in people's minds and why it matters so much to win...

While I was thinking deeply I was asked to spend an hour on the rescue boat. "what do you want me to do?" I asked.
"Rescue people and stop them dying," was the reply.
So I set about stopping people from dying. In doing so I climbed into the rescue boat with a chap who, not being rude, seemed to have no clue how to drive it. A few moments later the engine cut out in the middle of the race. There we floated with six racing boats hammering at us at full speed. How does one react to that?

The boat driver frantically tried to start the engine... I noticed some paddles and watched the chap panic. In the end I just thought - the worst that can happen is a collision and I get to fish hot men out of the water. I also had an excuse to practice mouth to mouth under the excuse of 'I am trying to stop you dying - that is my job you know!'

The collision did not happen but our rescue boat was rescued and the boat driver's ego was bruised. He also kept apologising and told me how out of control he felt. Surely life is out of control and any form of control in chaos is an illusion... What I did notice was how the ego was hurt with failiure or perceived failiure... A bit later I climbed the pontoon and strolled back to the picturesque site of athletic bodies and burgers.

Later that day, after dwelling on egos, the egosaurus appeared on the scene. The person who told us how great they were, how everyone else was lesser than them and how they were at a higher level... In truth it was hideous - but if life is a reflection of ourselves I had to consider where my own ego sat in a boat and how egotistical rantings affected others... In truth, unless we are aware of ourselves we often do not catch our behaviour... I often behave as though I can save the world, am a gold medal winner in the olympics and am an internationally renown author... Unfortunately, after witnessing the egosaurus, something dawned on me - we only see these things because that is part of ourselves... So with great reluctance one needs to face the ego monster and face the reality - one can save the world one tree at a time. Winning an olympic gold medal in chatting about random things is probably not likely. Being an internationally renown author may happen one day but it has not happened yet. So I will re-focus my energies on what is and what is actually possible!
So I just invented something amazing: a remote control seagull that you can use to shit on those whose egos are huge - it could be a best seller. What do you think?

Here is a link to RETINA BLUE AND GOYLEGATE - You could help me become an internationally renown author so I do not have to have the remote control seagull put into production!!!!

The Goyles are coming!

This is how we get things to the world!
http://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=Goylegate

More access to Retina Blue!

Make it easy, make it accessible and the world will find it!
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/60637

Men are from Pen-us and women eat Mars.

Men are from Pen-us and women will eat Mars.
It is a known fact that men and women approach life from very different angles. Men prefer a 45 degree trajectory and women prefer to think of things in relation to chocolate or how things feel. When a man travels on a road it will be a motorway whereas a woman has a tendency to meander and curve. When a man discusses his car he talks in terms of speed and power. A woman generally is concerned about colour. Men design things that are hard and rigid. Women prefer soft, silky and squidgy. A lap top designed by a woman would be pink, soft and smell nice. A man on the other hand has to create a rigid and erect item. You may have never considered this before but I do not think that a woman invented the canon. I would guess that whoever created that explosive device was inspired by his nether regions. Maybe he had some below the belt issues that had to be compensated by a large penile replica to threaten and kill other men with!
Anyway, I have femininely meandered. So why is it that I reference the above? Well the beginnings of these thoughts emerged on Saturday night. I was in a bar with two of my single friends who are in their mid-forties and single. During our conversations both confessed that they have not actually learned how men work. Admittedly nor have I. So with the above in mind I put the male/female conundrum to the male office comedian and the male office cheeky. One is married and the other is in a long-term relationship, so therefore they are well equipped in providing male insight into the acquisition of the ideal woman and how certain women appeal to men.
Question – so what do you have to do to get a man to talk to a woman in a bar?
Answer, “nothing.”
“What?”
“A man will not go and talk to a woman in a bar anymore,” replied the office cheeky.
Both the office cheeky and the office comedian gave each other that knowing nod. They were definitely in male agreement.
“What never?”
The office cheeky looked me in the eyes, “there are two exceptions to this rule. Unless you are obviously drunk, rather ugly, desperate or extremely good looking a man will not approach you. There is absolutely no way that a man will talk to you unless it is really easy and usually he will not actually talk. Things have changed… You are living in the wrong century…”
“So you are saying that women who are average looking – to pretty good looking are going to just be looked at and not talked to…”
The pair nodded.
“Why is that?”
“The rejection syndrome…”
“What?”
“Men are fed up with being rejected… It is as simple as that!” said the office cheeky!
“But surely they just need to get some balls…”
“It isn’t about balls and it isn’t men who have made men like that…” said office cheeky sadly.
“It is all those empowered women who have told all those men to sod off or just walked off. REJECTION IS THE ULTIMATE FEAR! In the end men decided in unison to say bollocks to it! There are easier ways to meet women who will not simply blow them out. Take the internet for example…”
I shook my head sadly, what had happened to the world of liaising. Why couldn’t a man and a woman who were attracted to each other have a nice chat, gaze into each other’s eye, have a canoodle and then date… I had been out of the dating world for a year and it appeared I was too far removed from the realities of dating! Rubbish!
“This dynamic has been created by both sexes. The man is fed up of being rejected and woman has rejected one too many times!” said the office comedian.
If this continues the way it is man and woman will never meet. There had to be an answer.
“So how do we change this?”
“Stop rejecting men… “
“But surely the men still like the hunt…”
The pair shook their heads.
“It is a simple truth that men are just lazy… Average to beautiful are not worth the risk! The hunt has also changed… Hunting can be found in fishing, acquisition of items from the internet or playing football where you technically hunt the ball,” said office cheeky.
He couldn’t be right could he? Twenty two hair men chasing an inflated sack up and down a field could not be the only thing a man could hunt!
“Take sex for example… If a woman is on top it is still rumpy pumpy. He gets to lay there and enjoy the show. Ultimately he does not have to do a thing… Easy – like a take away! Take television as an example - man has evolved to the remote control. He has learned to be energy efficient and use as little effort as possible and that includes women. The hunt has been replaced by the Xbox, play station or wii.”
There had to be a flaw to what he was saying…
“Okay you said there were exceptions to the rule. What happens there?”
“We call it rejection override. This is where the risk of rejection is offset by potential gain.”
“So how does that work…”
“The ugly, the drunk and the desperate are unable to reject. No conversation is necessary either… The drunk cannot string a rejection sentence. The ugly are just grateful to be near someone and the desperate will apparently take anyone… That way there is no rejection and hardly any conversation.”
If he was right what did that mean for the progression of humanity? Did only the ugly, desperate or drunk stand a chance in increasing the world population?
“Okay so something is going on with you… What has made you ask these questions,” said the office comedian. “Come on tell us…”
“Okay… So… This is what happened on Saturday night. I was dressed womanly, was aware of numerous men smiling at me and I was appearing friendly. There was no body slamming potential, or defensiveness… I was simply being relaxed and nice.”
The pair folded their arms and raised their eyebrows.
“I was being nice! So I walked through the crowd and many of them touched me. When I turned to look at them they just smiled and said nothing. The stagnant ‘fart’ silence hung in the air. I was confused and they sipped their drinks… More silence! Later on I was in the toilet and a girl who would be considered very attractive had been in conversation with a chap. He told her that the problem was that the women in Bournemouth all look like models. She looked like a model. So how was that a problem?”
“Essentially the chap was informing her of the final exception to the rule. And telling her that he was holding out for this… She was probably beautiful but not override beautiful! He was holding out for the dazzler!”
“Right…”
“So did you chat to any blokes?”
“Yes quite a few… I was introduced to them…”
“See that makes it easy – no rejection,” said office cheeky.
“What did they say to you?”
“That I was refreshing, unique and looked like a princess.”
The pair glanced at each other and smiled.
“That means that you can hold a conversation and that they like you. It also means that they have not yet decided if you are out of their league. You are an intelligent woman who has a sense of humour. Unfortunately that does not often compute!”
Maybe I should have simply fluttered my eyelashes, flicked my hair and let them talk…
“I really don’t get it…” I said.
“Okay so this is how it goes. There is a male mental override where the prize is worth the sacrifice of dignity and pride. This is when a woman displays and mesmerises the potential male victim. He does not stand a chance. She flashes flesh, flicks her lustrous locks and wears either a really short skirt or a breast revealing top… Whichever she uses to display is purposeful to cause the override of the male rejection fear. Men will literally climb over themselves and risk complete humiliation because if she says yes all the other men will worship him. He will be the alpha male.”
“So how is this exception determined?” I asked.
“She just exists – something about her dazzles. It is like moths to a flame…”
“Like the beam from the death star that pulls in the millennium falcon?” I asked.
“Worse… A black hole – you have no control of. Every sense in your body is overridden and the dark matter beneath the belt is initiated. Once the first step is taken – there is no turning back!”
“Back to two brains and not enough blood. The blood drops below the belt and propels the legs which would have otherwise been dormant!”
“Exactly!”
The pair sat back in their chairs and gazed into space in male fantasy.
“So what is your advice then?”
“You have a choice – either get ugly, drunk or desperate or evolve into the dazzler.”
The choice was not that great.
“So how do I become the dazzler?”
The pair grinned; they had ideas that I was not going to like…
“Step one – small dress lots of flesh – legs or chest – not both… If you display both you might completely override the male brain and cause an explosion! A man has two eyes and one gaze. Flipping up and down between two flesh revealing locations is too much and they are likely to pass out.”
“So just wear a short dress,” I said.
“Nope! There is more to it.”
“Okay – smell really nice. Be inviting. Constantly smile and set it up for the man to come to you. Clearly gaze into his eyes and draw his attention to the bare flesh. Stroke it or rest your hand on it… Then you simply become hot and out of their league – they will love it.”
I sighed and unconsciously shook my head. It was like Olivia Newton John in Grease. She was the same woman but simply wore skin-tight clothing and suddenly the men were climbing over themselves and singing… Yes singing! Was it really the case that women had to simply dazzle, initiate conversation and be available? What had happened to the world? What had happened to match makers and the teenage years where you practically smiled at a chap and the next thing he was your boyfriend? Had the rejection issue really become that bad that men just simply could not be bothered to chat to women anymore?
“What’s wrong?”
“I want a man with balls!” I replied.
“Men with balls are sold out!” said office cheeky.
“You have a choice –either become amazingly attractive or a lot less attractive and you will see!”
Apparently a look of complete an utter dismay graced my face.
“It is pathetic.”
“All men are pathetic. It is no secret. Make it easy like kiss chase. The women who did not run fast got kissed.”
I stared at him and realised my life long mistake.
“When I was young I was a really fast runner. I just suddenly realised that those other girls were purposely not running. That is not right… The sneaky buggers! They knew! They planned it! Oh God!”
Years of believing I was excelling at kiss chase was destroyed. Some of the girls had already learned the secret of not running too fast at the age of eight. It was not about getting away or being an athlete… They had simply made themselves available! The athletes among us had failed…
In that moment I realised I had to share this information with the world. Maybe women could be kinder to men to lessen the rejection issue.
“There is one more thing you should know…” said the office cheeky.
“It is a primeval thing that completely overrides all senses of the majority of chaps…”
“Oh here we go…”
“When a man finally approaches the woman of his dreams - the dazzler – he will still not have an actual conversation. His brain will override and a series of non-descript sounds will plop from his mouth. He will believe he is making perfect sense and being witty but all those around him will witness tongue-twisted tremors. Planet Pen-us will have overridden any sense that he had. And ultimately the dream woman will appear horrified, flick her hair and walk away. This will destroy the chap, the other men will consolidate him but such incidents continue to increase the rejection syndrome. So just be nice if a chap does not string a sentence and only manages to make a series of grunts at you. In fact just smile sweetly. You need to understand that he is not in actual fact wasted – it is just that your assets have dazzled him and overridden his brain. He views you as a goddess and is simply happy in your presence!”
“I will consider that in the future.”
After work I went round to my best friend’s house and told her what I had learned. She sat me down and shook her head.
“My brother realised that men were being rejected and that women were frustrated. He and his friend went to a bar and played a game called slap or number. Basically they watched women who were in pairs – when one went to the loo he went over drank her drink and then said ‘can I buy you a drink!’ Every single woman he did that to gave him her number.”
“Is he really good looking?”
“He is okay…”
I sat in silence and had a sudden jolt of understanding… Men without balls were losing out. They would keep losing out. The men who realised the other men were fed up with being rejected could use this to their advantage… Whether women wanted to admit it or not – they still wanted to be approached by a man. It made them feel feminine. The more clever the approach the more likely they were going to be impressed. In that day I had learned more about the dynamics of interaction and came up with some morals of the story…
Moral of the story – fear of rejection is simply an excuse not to take an action.
Moral of the story two – women could be kinder when a man approaches.
Moral of the story three – get ugly or get pretty but it is not possible to do both.
Moral of the story four – drop things… Apparently the act of dropping things can start a conversation. Invest in a pack of knickers and randomly throw them around the bar. If that does not start a conversation then nothing will… Make sure those pants are clean!

THE ART OF SHOE SNIFFING AND GENERAL OFFICE HYSTERIA

Shoe sniffing and general office hysteria.
When you come to work at eight in the morning to be greeted by a mass of people sniffing a shoe you realise that mass office hysteria has most definitely broken out. Admittedly it was a strange sight but it did demand attention. How often have you witnessed a line of people waiting to sniff a shoe? Shoe sniffing - is that some metaphor or had Cinderella found a new way of identification?
After each person had sniffed the shoe another lined up to sniff it. “Mmmm that is really nice,” said one.
“ I never knew shoes could smell so good,” said another.
The queue grew… I understand that in England we have a tendency to queue but that has to be one of the most ridiculous reasons to join other than to see why everyone is queuing. As much as I was resistant I was also curious. Why was everyone sniffing a shoe and why was everyone coming away smiling?
The office hotty stood proudly waving her fragrant shoe under people’s noses. When I reached the said shoe I studied it – it was pink with a heart on the top – of course it was perfect office attire. Well perfect office attire for male distraction and fantasy.
After studying the shoe, I leant forward and sniffed. My goodness…. What did I discover? It was not a game of sabotage –the office hotty had not trodden in dog mess and being vicious – instead the shoe smelled like bubble gum – yes bubble gum!
“I cannot believe people are lined up to sniff your shoe – no one lines up to sniff my trainers…” Obviously the aroma is not quite so enticing – instead of a smell of bubble gum my trainers smell like dog breath mixed with death and rotten sprouts. Although in a twisted way I would love the same people to sniff those trainers so that they could make the comparison! Of course that is me being a bit ‘dark’.
“Yes it is bubblegum flavour shoes,” said the office hotty.
I glanced down at my trainers, “I have rotten sprout flavour trainers. Does anyone want to sniff?”
The line dispersed but numerous women still clambered to study the beautiful shoe form before them. It was as if the shoe had descended from heaven its self“Vivienne Westwood,” said the office hotty with a coy smile.
The other women oooooed and ahhhhhhhhhhhed – they were grateful to simply have touched an expensive shoe.
In that moment I experienced an epiphany… When people fall at other people’s feet it is because their shoes smell of bubblegum rather or perfume rather than dog’s arse.
After that I went for a coffee to digest the fragrant shoe phenomenon. I studied people’s shoes and wondered whether there was a definitive guide to shoe selection and whether a person could be profiled according to shoe. Did the shoe actually correlate to the office type? The office hotty wore decorative feminine shoes. The office stinker probably wore stinky shoes – oh crap that makes me the office stinker doesn’t it? I am not the office stinker – I promise - I do have office observer shoes too. They have binoculars on the front… Actually that was a joke. The office bore probably has grey dull shoes. The office efficient will probably have clean patent shoes.
Does the office comedian wear clown shoes? Hmmm I feel that a study of shoes in relation to office personality profile might be necessary. Although if a person knew a shoe profile could they create decoys? Hmmm I wonder if the office strumpet wears leopard skin shoes. Obviously office little and cute wears small shoes because their feet are so small but those shoes will be psychologically selected to exude more cuteness…. There is a whole world of shoe profiling potential that I had never recognised before. How had I missed it?
A whole new study of potential personality profiling has opened up… Shoe spotting could reveal power dynamics… How am I going to cope with this new observatory knowledge? What else will be sniffing in the office next? Shoes today – what tomorrow… Office sniffing hysteria has infected everyone! Pheww… It is too much – I have to focus on metrics and graphs. That way I will not be overwhelmed by the potential of the shoe and shoe aroma in the office dynamic!
Moral of the story when sniffing shoes make sure they smell of perfume before sniffing.
Moral of the story two – never join a queue unless you know what it is for – you may be forced to sniff my trainers!
Moral of the story three – wear good shoes at all times otherwise you may unintentionally fall into the role of the office stinker without even realising it!
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TECHNIQUES TO AVOID PROMOTION!

How to ruin any chance of promotion.
Well it seems that in most offices there are people lined up to nut nuzzle, schmooze or woo the boss to be promoted. I find it interesting how the office back stabber and office nut nuzzler (brown nose) seem to be in allegiance until it comes down to a final show down. In the meantime, the office strumpet is practically shimmying about the office attempting to hypnotise the boss with booosoka shuffling. It can either entice the boss or result in motion sickness – it all depends on rate of motion and angle. Unfortunately, for the office strumpet, she usually misses the position because she is already lying on her back with some other high-ranking, married superior who offers power potential through association.
All the while the office victim is telling stories of how she has been overlooked for promotion ten years in a row and how nothing good ever happens to her. The office efficient is planning her secret efficient strategy. The office bore is telling a three-hour self-amused story of the day he once heard that someone might have been promoted – which was actually him. In that monologue he deviates numerous times and forgets what he was actually trying to tell you. To him it is incredibly amusing but to others they would rather have hair ripped from their private parts. At that point, the rest of the team are standing by the window trying to work out how they can escape through the bombproof glass without actually dying… Why does no one ever bring long ropes and glass cutters to the office for such necessary escape eventuality?
So of course while the majority of the team consider abseiling twenty floors to escape the office bore, the office backstabber and nut nuzzle are freed up to do their thing! When it comes to being under pressure to get promotion both will return to their natural behaviour: the back stabber prepares to backstab the nut nuzzler. However, all animals have survival techniques and the nut nuzzler has cleverly adopted his natural instinct to survive. He has already bent over and has adopted the brown nosing position behind the back stabber. Obviously, the back stabber receives pleasure from this action but the reward for promotion is greater than having your ego massaged internally using a nose. From the observers point of view the pair resemble the snake trying to eat its own tail and a no win situation ensues. The backstabber is unable to backstab the nut nuzzler because he is practically absorbed in her behind. The backstabber has essentially become a living hat. What’s more, you cannot backstab yourself and it is hard to backstab someone standing behind you unless you are a martial artist and can do a good back flip at the perfect time. While all this is taking place I realised that promotion simply means more work. It also means more responsibility, more stress and less time to write blogs about what takes place in the office. What at first seemed to be an unintentional technique to avoid promotion has revealed it is my natural tendency. How can the office observer observe if they are working flat out? So if you do want to be promoted do not do any of the below:
• Do not send pictures of dogs in wigs to your boss, especially if he has no hair or wears a wig himself. If the boss is a woman, she may also be offended because she may interpret that you are likening her to a dog. Admittedly, it was a great idea at the time but a dog in a wig does nothing to convince your boss of leadership skills, other than leadership of dogs in wigs. What’s more, do not sit hysterically laughing at the array of dogs you have found on the internet when you are supposed to be working towards a crucial presentation, which does not involve said dogs in wigs. It could actually suggest that you are evolving into the office I do diddlysquat.

• When disclosing psychological techniques for delivering bad news do not say anything actually offensive directly to you boss. The sandwich technique is a classic technique where you sandwich the bad news between two pieces of good news. Take for example the following delivery, which I gave my boss as an example. “So how you deliver the bad news is like this: that is a nice shirt, yep you’re ugly as sin, but you have nice shoes.”
“Hang on that’s a bit harsh…”
In that moment, I realised my choice of bad news was not terribly thought through. I had essentially told my boss that he was ugly. Oh God!!!!!!!!!!!!! (He isn’t at all. He is actually quite handsome. Oooops!”
And that was when the digging begins… The hole was already deep and was becoming a well.
‘No not you… You are actually good looking – but you know that. You must know that. No, you are definitely not ugly as sin. It was just an example of bad news… It just popped into my head… Oh God! Please do not be offended. Your wife must think you are good looking… She married you didn’t she? See that is more evidence of you not being ugly as sin. Admittedly, she might have really liked your personality. I did not just say that… Oh God… You are a good-looking man… You don’t need me to tell you that…’
Dig, dig, dig.
The hole wasn’t just deep - it was becoming a well.
Silence.
Intensive blushing.
Nervous laughter and time to involve the team and get them away from the window and the office bore.
“He’s good looking isn’t he? He’s not ugly as sin.”
The teammates gazed at me in horror as I continued to justify what I said. Promotion for miss dry… Pahhhh! No chance! Bus trip to work banishment – oh one ticket please! No return!
When you actively involve teammates to justify the horrifying thing you have just said by accident you know it has all gone wrong. In that moment of silence, I realised there was no saving the situation.
“Look over there,” I said pointing. They all looked over there and I hid under the desk. (Actually, I made that up, but thinking about it… That is what I will do in the future). Anyway, from now on I will bring in my own tumbleweed and roll it around the office!

• Alternatively, you can evolve into the role of office stinker and repel everyone on a daily basis. You will definitely not even be called into potential promotion interview through the boss’s fear of being stuck in a confined space with a hideous stench.

• If you really do not want to avoid promotion just make a massive mistake with your name on. When I worked as a temp, I once made a payment of eight hundred dollars to the wrong account. I was beside myself and instantly ran over to my previous boss and apologised profusely. She turned to me and smiled. ‘That is cannon fodder Michelle, I once paid the wrong account eight one million. Strangely, she was a boss… Hmm… Thinking about it – maybe my theory is not perfect! In fact, maybe my antics will keep me in the mind of the boss and get me a promotion that I do not really want. Actually too late – office power-hungry has convinced everyone of her true potential and as always, she has taken no prisoners. The backstabber can never backstab her because she knows that power hungry will lift her by the throat and stare into her eyes like Darth Vader! There will be deep breathing and there will be power surges through the office that no one can actually explain.

So moral of the story: bring long ropes and glasscutters to work. The action of considering escape from the office bores three-hour monologue will endear you to the team and create the perfect teambuilding escape strategy.

Moral of the story two – when laughing hysterically at images of dogs in wigs and fancy dress – go to the bathroom and laugh. Do not share the images with boss or anyone with hair depreciation.

Moral of the story three – when offending a person of a higher title than you – make sure you sandwich it, have and escape route or offer them the office strumpet as a distraction for offense – that is if she is not already being taken by anyone else.