KerrieJean.com

Eavesdropping isn’t rude…….it’s a  community service.

If citizens who leave their homes of their own free will don’t want me listening in I suggest they adjourn to a confessional or a Commonwealth Bank vault or somesuch…..

And thank God you’ve got me eavesdropping more than an ASIO recruit on Red Bull because I’m able to report trends well before Mr Hugh Mackay can say ‘focus group!’

So it is ladies and gentlemen that I’m able to confidently report that angry-as-all-get-out women of a certain age are quitting dating sites in droves.

This is a conversation I happened on yesterday at my local Free Trade And Free Eavesdropping coffee shop.

I am reporting it because I have overheard many others of an eerily similar ilk…

It’s quite possible that you’ve had such a conversation but failed to let me know (a) where and (b) when.

[Decent fella not on a dating site: cr: Library of Congress: flickr]

The scene:  Two women of a certain age.

Their order? Two large triple-skimmed flat whites/six sachets ‘Equal’ each.

Demeanour?  One upright, even cocky. One slouched over in despair -  ‘hollowed out’ would not be an exaggeration……

 …….And wearing big dark sunglasses, an eavesdropper’s sure sign of a tears before bedtime calamity if ever there was.

Eavesdropping opportunity rating: *10

*A friend-to-friend emergency consultation.

I am never wrong.

The sad, though from my eavesdropping experience, tragically not uncommon disaster was this.

Ms Tears Before Bedtime has been going out for six months with a gentleman she met on a dating site.

Oh yes, he had been wonderful -  particularly for the first four days……….

….French champagne [and that was just to boil the peas in], huge bouquets of artichoke flowers arriving round the clock and adventurous sex – with Birkenstocks on, can you believe it?!!!!…….

…..And when things really hotted up on day three  – intimacies with desert boots on, can you believe it?!!!! - there emerged thrilling plans for the future.

………Which involved, because he was waiting for a colossal cheque to arrive from Nigeria, fitting out a tinnie and floating up the Murray for as far as the water lasted.

Months passed and thoughts of the romantic tinnie adventure filled Ms Tears Before Bedtime’s days.

THEN, Mr Heart Of Darkness suddenly texted Ms Tears Before Bedtime with alarming news…….it was over…..

And she might [if she's lucky] see him around on a dating site.

I’d like to say I was jolted out of my Sudoku stalemate but that would be a lie.

Like I’ve said, I’ve eavesdropped my way into this awful story many times before.

But Ms Cocky was thankfully right on the case:

”Look sweetheart, I ask you: ‘Why would any man who knows his four times tables and has at least seventy cents in his wallet, need to go onto a dating site……..?’

“I mean with the men shortage, all they have to do is stand outside a shop or near a pedestrian crossing with a sign saying I’M ALIVE AND AVAILABLE  and they could be married by dinner time…….

……..”I really think there’s something not quite right with men who need dating sites under the current market conditions….”

 Well, I had to tie myself to my chair and stuff the Sudoku section in my mouth to stop running over to Ms Cocky and yelling.

‘Right on sis!’

The consultation with Ms Cocky went well.

Ms Tears Before Bedtime is taking her ‘I like men with two eyes, a nose and a mouth’ profile down.

 And even though her grieving for Mr Heart Of Darkness will be torture, torture, torture I hope she’ll be okay.

 The truth is hard but so often simple.

….A fella lurking on today’s bullish fella cyber market is probably a penny dreadful.

***If you liked/hated this story you might like/hate this one:

http://www.kerriejean.com.au/2009/06/welcome-to-degenerate-island/

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So stand by – it’ll shortly be confirmed that women are leaving dating sites in their millions.

Am I right or am I right?

Perhaps you disagree……perhaps you’re a man active on dating sites and you have 15 houses, a top job, 34 million dollars in an interest bearing deposit – and you’re also president of your local branch of Amnesty International.

Would love to hear from you……..I really would.

And, of course, any other reports back from your patch would be very nice to receive.

Throw caution to the wind, join in now……..

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

I’m bamboozled…….

I awake to a screaming headline in the Sunday Tele:

JULIA….WILL YOU MARRY ME?

Only to immediately find that the source of the headline, Mousse-Man-In-Lodge, Mr Tim Mathieson, ‘is yet to discuss’ his high hopes with our PM.

Well, Mousse-Man-In-Lodge I have only one thing to say to you:

‘Get a grip.’

Because plainly, running around an already feverish Post-Budget nation telling anyone who’ll listen that you have sensational marriage plans while failing to inform your ‘intended’ is at best, unsettling, at worst, downright loopy.

Mr Mousse-Man-In Lodge, you need urgent help.

Never fear though…….

As Ambassador or Honorary Consul or Number One Ticketholder or Celebrity Hairdresser or somesuch for the trailblazing DIY therapy cluster, the Men’s Shed Movement, may I suggest you jump the bus to your old home town and avail yourself to the wisdom of the kind fellas in the Shepparton Shed?

They’ll sort you out.

Within 24 hours they’ll have your Wedlock Un-Deadlocked.

['National Stimulus:Cr: Library of Congress: flickr]

There you’ll be in the cosy Shepparaton Men’s Shed…..making a new bedside table, all under the watchful eye of retired master carpenter, Joseph of Shepparton.

‘Just kept goin’ Mousse-Man-In Lodge….it doesn’t have to perfect……life’s not perfect…..just keep goin’ and keep thinkin’ about what you’re gunna say to ya beautiful lady when ya get home…..’

And Joseph of Shepparton is right.

Soon, a composed and clear-minded Mousse-Man-In-Lodge is home.

In the drawing room, he’s standing next to a handcrafted, roughly hewn bedside table which has been covered with a spare Australian Flag.

In walks Julia.

‘I have something to say to you my [and Australia's] numero ono defacteroo…….’

Julia – rejuvenated from her weekly tussle with Bob Brown – smiles…….

Mousse-Man-In-Lodge whisks the flag off his bedside table……

‘Julia will you marry me and accept this roughly hewn bedside table as a sign of my ardour…..’

‘Yes Tim, I will – and while the little table is by no means perfect – I LOVE it…..’

And that ladies and gentlemen and taxpayers of Australia, is how IT will happen.

Stop Press:

The Sunday Tele followed up its Wedlock/Deadlock scoop with an editorial:

Make your move, Tim:

Tim Mathieson looks like a man who wants to ask the most important question of his life but is anxious about how it will turn out…….

But the signs are good Tim.

As a couple, you seem to have been toying with the idea since your stay at the Shepparaton Men’s Shed [sorry my mistake!] since the Royal Wedding, and Julia has indicated she’s old-fashioned enough to wait to be asked.

So go on, Tim.

Just show her the bedside table (sorry my mistake!)….just ask her.

*****Original screaming headline story:

http://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/news/will-you-marry-me-julia/story-e6freuy9-1226055937846

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Gee, relationships are complex……

I’ve never been married but there’s still time. Apparently life on a double pension is much easier than a single one……with the spiralling cost of electricity, bananas and the like.

Anyone out there married?

If you’ve got a poignant (or pathethic) proposal story please proceed to our comments section now……and tell Australia all about it….

And if you think you know the date of the biggest wedding in Australia since Dr Edelsten and the beautiful Brynne, please report in….

By just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

The Duke of  Cambridge’s nuptials have changed me forever…….

I’ve am now very ‘bald aware’.

Surprising, really.

Being the youngest of five reasonably presentable girls, ‘impending’, ‘middle-stage’ or ‘fully-blown’ baldness has never been on our extensive list of personal terrors and existential challenges.

And last time I looked, my three nice brothers-in-law were perhaps Gut Buster candidates, but they all had hair……

….Which, my recent field research confirms, is spine tingling in its exceptionalism.

Yesterday – as excited as Hugh Mackay on crack, I staked out my local Woolies.

[Unravelling of the bald self: cr: William H. Johnson: Smithsonian: flickr]

My mission?

To identify the incidence of ‘impending’, ‘middle-stage’ and ‘fully-blown baldness’ and compare the demeanours of men in these sub-groups as opposed to those with full heads of hair.

The difficulties of my project were immediately clear.

…….All men >20 were obviously in the’ middle’ or ‘fully-blown’ stages.  

And in a sure case of ‘it’s not happening overnight but it’s bloody well happening’, the men in the *’middle-stage’ baldness cohort  presented the most challenges for this researcher.

* ‘Fluffy’ presentation of  follicles, particularly towards the cranial vortex: tendency to obsessively run fingers though areas of  ’fluffy’ presentation: if accompanied by female, no spontaneous gestures of imtimacy [eg, bum pinching] and a morbid avoidance of the ‘hair products’ aisle.

On the other hand, the demeanour of the ‘fully-blown bald’ cohort, was marked by what this researcher terms a ‘distinctive form of bald cavalierism’.

‘Distinctive bald cavalierism’ is marked by a particular brand of middle-class sub-conscious overcompensation.

All ‘fully-blown’ bald men’s wives and girlfriends have exceptionally big hair……

‘Fully-blown’ bald men spend inordinate amounts of time sticking their bald heads into frozen food cabinets,  a la  ’How tough am I?

And they avoid genetically modified products on the basis that they cause baldness……

Which, of course,  is ridiculous but remember that this is a cohort for which ’reality’ has become hopelessly skewed.

Overall conclusion?

Because 99.9 percent of men will end up ‘fully-blown’ bald, God makes sure that the ‘impending’ and ‘middle-stages’ are mercifully short.

By the time ‘fully-blown’ stage has been achieved,  most men deny they’re bald.

To acknowledge it would be unbearable.

The small percentage of men who DO realise they’re bald are furious……

Shaving all their hair off which makes things even worse, particularly for those subject to forceps deliveries….

 [I ask you, what's attractive about a big bald head which looks like a touring map of the Great Ocean Road?]

Summary of research findings:

Baldness is a nightmare and it’s very hard to come to terms with if you’re not the Duke of Cambridge/Baron Carrickfergus.

*********************************************

Well, well, well………

Are you bald?

Has your life changed since you achieved ‘fully-blown’ bald status?

Is there anything good [at all] about being bald?

Is your partner in the ‘impending’ or ‘mid-stage’ of baldness? Are you thinking of leaving him?

……Perhaps you’ve even found your fella to be nicer since he went bald. I don’t believe this is possible but still……..

So, a warm invitation to join in Australia’s big bald forum. If you’ve got a story from Australia’s secret ‘Bald History’ be brave, come out now. By……………..

Just by clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

Like you I’m fully aware that the Kooky Colt from Kooyong, stepped out - and in - with celebrity UFO spotter and veteran starlette, Shirley Maclaine.

[Aus Office National Assessment documents: Cr: Nat Archives, UK:  flickr]

But I doubt whether anyone realises, until now, just how kooky things got…..

I’m flabbergasted……

A report in my Sunday paper says – among other kooky things – that one of  Miss Maclaine’s dates with the Kooky Colt from Kooyong comprised a ‘UFO Stakeout’ in Popocatepetl, Mexico.   Aussie politician’s UFO hunt

I don’t usually care what consenting adults do in private [except bad mouth me] but Mr Andrew Peacock was, at the time of the apocalyptic Popocatepetl stakeout, our Foreign Affairs Minister.

And things at Popocatepetl got pretty hot.

Only when pressed did Miss Maclaine report that the Kooky Colt refused to be drawn on whether American spooks at Pine Gap had indeed tracked extra-terrestrial activities.

Think about it, though……

A lesser man, a Kookier Colt would have buckled under the pressure.

And the resulting national security threat posed by a breathless Miss Maclaine telling anyone who’d listen that ‘Downunder is full of unidentified flying objects’ doesn’t bear thinking about.

* Declaration of interest under the ABC Editorial Guidelines.

For four years – between 1988 and 92 – [I think that's right] I shared a bed and premises with a creative soul who would have very much enjoyed a trip to Popocatepetl.

So convinced he was that UFOs (a) existed and (b) scooped up unsuspecting Earthlings, he was a respected member of something called the UFO Support Group [I think that's right] 

Oh God, I’d like to tell you this wasn’t true…….

I’d like to tell you that deadline pressure has finally taken a terrible toll.

But that would be a lie……

Yes, I did live with an executive member of the UFO Support Group.

…….But we split up when he was taken.

As it turned out, by an Earthling.

********************************************

Your sweetest memories of Andrew Peacock, please…….?

If you’ve seen a UFO, I’d like to hear about it…….no pictures of photo-shopped paper plates, thank you.

………I seem to remember there were a couple of sightings in the mysterious Brobenah Hills, near my cherished hometown of Leeton [Everyone hung around the hills for weeks hoping to be taken - no luck]

And, as I always say, anything else?

Throw caution – and dignity – to the wind…….

Report in by:

Just by clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

The fear that I’m right out of my league has always marked my chaotic inner life……

….Throwing myself at an HSC Maths Level 3 paper in a stinking hot cell at Leeton High, withdrawing as a candidate for local Showgirl in 1976 [citing cold sore pressures], grappling with crippling blood phobia as a crime scene reporter in the early eighties……

But miraculously, the patron of out of leaguers everywhere, St Try Too Bloody Hard, has always been at my side….and I thank Him for that.

……Now - as everybody knows – Mr Bob Dylan is about to tour Australia.

I don’t care….

Why should I?

Afterall,  Mr Dylan was the springboard for perhaps my most alarming episode of  ‘out of leaguedness’.

Dylan concert: the old Sydney Showground, April, 1977.

My Hipster boyfriend [who'd spent the previous six months telling his daggy though 'cute on a good day' girlfriend] who exactly Bob Dylan was took me there.

For a gal whose biggest arts ticket thus far had been for the Leeton Musical & Dramatic Society’s ground breaking interpretation of Gilbert & Sullivan’s ‘Yeoman Of The Guard’ in 1969, this was huge.

I was desperate to please The Hipster.

So I opted for a long billowing cheese cloth dress with striking [handprinted] flowers of the field dotting the hem..

……Topped off by one of those Himalayan embroidered suede coats with that trademark moose hair lining hanging out just about everywhere…….

…..And my freshly permed locks stuck out straight from my forehead, providing a patio for my simmering kohled eyes.

The Hipster appeared surprised but stoked.

At the Showground, with Bob Dylan belting out a couple of songs which The Hipster had based his tutorials on, a hard rain was falling……and falling and falling…….

['Peace Brother'. Cr erjkprunczyk: flickr]

I was was increasingly concerned about my moose hair coat because it was starting to smell very bad.

The Hipster seemed not to care at all.

Instead, he was sharing reefers with folk obviously out of their leagues but by choice - and ignoring Moose Babe.

…Then The Hipster et al were throwing themselves in the mud, rolling around with the same look on their faces I get when I have a Splice…….

And Moose Babe found it – to say the least - disconcerting.

While Bob sang on….. good heavens, ’she makes love just like a woman’……….the Showground was rendered one big  seething mudbath.

The Hipster suddenly appeared: ‘Come on babe, come on babe…..’

So the Moose Babe, used to playing outside of her league, did.

At night’s end, two double dipped choc-coated cookies boarded the kombi for the journey back to the prestigious tertiary education centre of Bathurst, NSW.

But when the cookies got half way, The Hipster [always responsible] reported to his mud-encrusted cookie cum smelly Moose Babe:

‘Babe, I can’t drive any more. Nooooo can do. I’m too hyped up…..’

In the back of the Kombi on the side of the highway, The Hipster and his Moose Babe fell into fitful sleep.

At sunrise, Moose Babe kicked The Hipster awake with terrible news:

 ‘My mud’s set ……I’ve turned into a human tandoori oven…..’

‘Chill Babe….just chill……’

And I knew that - once again - I was definitely playing outside of my league……..

Gee, the Moose Babe is gettin’ old – it’s terrible but you’ll be pleased to know that I’m still playing outside of my league……..

What about you…?

I suspect there’s millions of real Hipster readers to kerriejean.com - and I’d love to know whether you think you were born with The Hipster gene or it’s a case of nature and Hipster Nurture……

Anything else…?

Keep cool  – and do report in by:

Just by clicking on the ‘comment’ TINGo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

Loyal readers are well aware that my romantic history is best described as a romp through terrain both sublime – and ridiculous.

I’m proud of it……

Over the decades I’ve supped and danced and frolicked and done crosswords…….and fought and had perverse dealings with…..well, quite a few men.

However, there’s one category of Man of which I have little intimate knowledge  -  something I’ve decided to remedy as a matter of urgency in the interests of a well rounded Mid- Romantic-Career.

My next target group?

That of the historically significant but largely forgotton Self Made Men…….

Glory Days: Self Made Men [Cr: Swedish National Heritage Board: flickr]

Decades ago – when my love trajectory was still firmly on the launch pad – Self Made Men were much admired.

It was as if they had not emerged via the time tested means of sexual embrace.

Being Self Made, they just popped on Leeton’s main street…..

But the process of becoming a fully formed Self-Made Man was complex – and not always pretty……

For Self Made Men saw opportunites where mere mortals did not.

Self Made Men made big money in commodities like sewage, gravel and stone fruit stones.

They said they were ‘gunna buy up half of Wagga’ with the profits – and they did.

Self Made Men were often [dare I say it?] on the plain or short side.

But that didn’t matter.

Their wives were always ‘the best sorts’ in town: resplendent in tropical jumpsuits purchased in Sydney enroute to the P &O passenger terminal.

…….Tales circulated about Self-Made Men and their wives and obnoxious offspring sailing to exotic locales in the South Pacific…..

…..Arriving back in Leeton with never before seen five-metre high decorative village totems, glorious muumuus and 25.4 gallon bottles of duty free Tia Maria.

Not that Self-Made Men didn’t have a social conscience.

Quite the opposite.

They sponsored…….

….New goals posts, new goal posts unveiling ceremony barbeques, cardiac arrest gizmos, cardiac arrest gizmo acquisition barbeques……

It was good to know that Self-Made Men never forgot where they came from – themselves.

So…..I’m looking for a Self-Made Man.

A Self-Made Man who’d feel privileged to sponsor me……

HOWEVER, if you’re a Self-Made Man who’s managed to make an unmitigated mess of yourself, please do not apply…..

…………………………….

So, how are we all. Just quietly, my search for a viable Self-Made Man has really put a spring in my step.

Isn’t it always the same?

….You feel a little jaded – and then, zippity do da, a new project emerges!

I’d be very interested to know whether you have experiences of Self-Made Men…….even voting for Mark Latham counts!

…Or – even better – maybe you’re the real deal yourself……oh boy……

As per usual, I’d like [very much] to hear news from your fertile [or hopelessly barren] patch…..

Do it by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.