Wednesday, July 27, 2011

How do I get my partner to take out the trash?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,
How do I get my partner to take out the trash?

Let me tell you a story.  I know nothing about skateboards.  But this didn’t stop me having a conversation with my boyfriend about it.  It’s always good to share some word time with your man and I thought, what better way than to talk to an ex homeboy/homosexual/gangster/whatever about skateboarding.  This is the beginning of the end of the conversation:

Him : … Getting air.
Me : What’s that?
Him : You know, when a skater, skates up the half pipe, hangs in the air and comes down again.  Getting air.
Me: What, like ‘flying the rack?’
Him : What?
Me : Flying the rack.
*Silence.* 
Me : Oh, I just made up a new catchphrase.  That’s awesome.
*Silence*
Me : (Westside fingers)
Him : (through gritted teeth and very slowly) What the hell is a rack?
Me : The skateboard silly.  So when you’re in the air, you’re (Westside fingers)
Him : I hate you and I hope you die.
Me : I’m so cool. (Westside fingers) Flying. (Shake the Westside fingers) The. Rack.
Him : You really don’t care about me do you?
Me : My blog.  That’s it, I’ll put it on my blog.  And, and, and, and.  I’ll start a Facebook page to get it introduced as a new term.  Oh yeah, and I’ll register www.flyingtherack.com.  They’re going to write about me in skateboard folk law. 

After that, my boyfriend never spoke to me again, except for that one time when asked me to return his Big Bang Theory DVD’s. 

So, how do you get your partner to take out the trash?  What are you asking me for?  Ask him.  And if that doesn't work, take out the trash yourself, you whinger.

Have a question?  Email me - angryauntis@gmail.com

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Should I have taken the seat?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,
I was on the train the other day and someone gave up their seat for me because they thought I was pregnant.  The thing is that I’m not pregnant, I’m just fat.  Was it wrong to take the seat?

Yes and No.  A bit of a 'Yo'.  Of course it’s wrong to deceive your fellow man.  But as far as you were concerned, a seat space had opened up.  You’d be an idiot to give up an available seat on a packed train so kudos to you for getting that part of the conundrum right.

But for the rest of it, I question your ethics, morals and choice of hair colour.  I mean, you’re fat.  You’ve spent days/months/years sitting down, it’s time for you to start sharing the joy of laziness with others.  So even though not wasting a seat is good, your tuckshop lady arms are bad.  Bad, bad, bad.

But let me be honest.  Your ‘fat’ problem concerns me a lot less than another pressing issue I have with ‘priority seating’.  And my blog isn’t big enough for the both of us.  So move over fatso, I’m going to give another answer.

What happens when you have only one seat available and there’s three people - an old person, a disabled person and a pregnant lady?  Who gets the seat?  Does the disabled person trump an old person, trump a pregnant lady?  Is this how rock, paper, scissors was invented?  And what happens if you have three of a kind getting on the train at the same time?  For example, do all the old people have to get out their seniors cards to prove who’s older and in need of the last seat?  Is it the person who got there first or should it be the person who gets there last?  I mean, if you got there last, doesn’t that mean you’re the one that needs the seat the most?  It’s all very confusing and I’m very confused.

So after all that, I only have one piece of advice for you.  Lose weight.  Fatty.

Thursday, July 7, 2011

How can I win at Monopoly?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

I play Monopoly with my father religiously every Friday night.  For the past year and a half, I’ve never won a game.  I love my Dad but between the hours of every Friday night, he turns into a ruthless property tycoon.  Then after it’s over, he returns to being normal and makes me a conciliatory cup of tea.  Rather than make me tea, wouldn’t it be just as nice to let me win once in a while?

It sounds like you only have one choice.  To cheat.  And I’m not talking about easy cheating.  That’s too easy.  Simple distracting catchphrases like, “Dad, is that Donald Trump behind you?” or “Dad, who’s that guy in the kitchen and why is he kissing Mum?” isn’t going to work.  You need to cheat big time.  You need to think like an intellectual ninja - be swift, silent and accurate right from the first blow.

The first thing to do is visit charity stores and buy as many preloved, manky Monopoly sets as you can.  You’re not looking for good quality boards; you’re looking for in-tact green Monopoly houses and red hotels.  The rest of the set is just collateral damage.  Chuck it out.  Just let it go.  Then when you’re Dad’s at home watering the garden, sneak into your room (I’m guessing you still live at home) and stash them. Then wait.  Come Friday night, it’s elimination time.

At
on Friday, take all the houses and hotels and shoved them in every polite orifice.  Bra/pants/pockets/gstring/the underpart of your man boobs.  Open the game with a polite , "Good evening Dad, ready for another game?" then sit down.  Spend the first ten minutes or so, moving your horsey around the board a couple of times until that glorious moment when you get your first set of properties.  It doesn’t matter if you get crappy Old Kent Road and Whitechapel Road, this is your time to pounce.  

While he’s not looking, get all the houses and hotels off your person and place as many buildings as you can on your newly acquired properties.  Jam fifty on the one spot if you have to.  Don’t even wait for council approval.

Dad will argue.  He’ll protest.  There’ll be spit around his mouth when he yells down your face.  He’ll call you a liar, a cheat and a ball-less bastard.  It’s at this moment he’ll realise that, alas, with all these personality traits, you’re the ultimate property developer.  Believe me, from then on, he’ll let you win a few games in the future.  And let’s never speak of the ‘Incident of 2011’.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

What should I write in the card?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt
My workmates bullied me in to signing a farewell card for someone I hardly know.  They’ve all written monologues of farewell wishes.  I’m afraid if I keep it short and sweet it makes me look like a bastard.  But I can’t conjure up a long winded farewell wish because I don’t have that many feelings about the person. What should I write?

Just see this as another job your boss gets you to do that's outside the scope of your job description.  Sure, you interviewed as the new mailroom boy, but after three weeks on the job, you’re already knee deep in strategy plans and negotiations with Unions – all for no extra pay. 

But you’ll notice it wasn’t just lumped all on you in one go – no, it was done very sneaky like. 

It all started when they gave you a few extra non-lifting tasks – easy - nothing too taxing.  Then after a week, you were given a chair and the use of someone elses end-desk.  This was great – you got to sit down for a bit…  And let’s face it, it’s always great to sit down for a bit... 

But then after a week, you were given a phone, phone extension, a pen, someone else’s notepad and fire wardens hat.  It’s all very suspicious but nothing to panic about at this stage.  After all, the fire alarm isn't going off...

Then before you could say ‘thanks for the seat’, you found out the Receptionist had been fired and all the phones were diverted to you.  It wasn’t until the CEO/Helpdesk/Cleaner (who shares your desk) turned to you and told you there was an expectation that you to turned up on time, worked extra hours, and were nice to people when you talked to them.  This all very contradictory to your brief and very specific job description - deliver the mail.

So just see this card signing business as just another job you have to do with no extra pay.  Who cares what you write in it?  You could write the Star Spangled Banner, Lords Prayer or Jack Nicholson’s monologue from “A Few Good Men”.  It's all the same really. 

But if you still want to write something heartfelt, try this on for size and accuracy ... ‘Please, please, please, take me with you…’.