bruce potter

newcastle, New South Wales, AUSTRALIA


Joined June 6th 2009

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Shouldn't Women do the Proposing?

October 12th 2009 13:32
Women! Propose to your men now!
Awake? Hopefully you are now. Marriage proposals are traditionally the man's area of concern, yet in practically every case I can remember they are hinted at, nudged toward, even prompted by women. As with most every tradition I encounter, they are a crock of shit and only persisted with because of some ridiculous idea that we all realise they're a crock, but we put up with them because that is the way it's always been done.
Maybe you're awake now.
In most cases marriage proposals occur when a couple who've been co-habitating for between 12 months to up to five years decide to “tie the knot”. Yet most men see it more like “tightening the noose.”
Co-habitation is vital for a couple to trully know each other and what they're like. If not for defacto marriages, I could be immersed in less than successful marriages, or more likely, messy divorces.
But co-habitation leads to reluctance and laziness on the man's part, and anxiety and negativity on the woman's part. The man thinks, oh well, everything's fine now, why should we fix what isn't broken. The woman rightfully thinks it's a trial run that should last no longer than twelve months.
And it shouldn't. If you can't get to really know somebody after twelve months of sharing a residence – of sport on the tv; of telephone conversations that never end or a bathroom full of products you've never heard of; or realising that farting terms really means putting up with some awful stink(she was a champion at the art of flatulence) – then it's time to give up. Move on with separate lives.
But if your marriage proposal hasn't arrived after five years of living together, with endless viewing of jewellery shop windows, and many instances of volunteering to baby sit, and even purchasing Modern Bride magazine – well it's time to propose to your man or send him back to live with his retard mates.
I've been asked out on dates twice in my adult life. It doesn't happen to men very often. Both times I was hugely flattered, even if one time the girl had a speech impediment which resulted in a piece of projectile spit hitting my forehead in the middle of dinner.
But we're delighted when a woman is forward and empowered enough to approach us.
As such it is high time the marriage proposal became the woman's area of responsibility.
Screw the tradition. After all, the wedding day and all of it's ritualised grief are all about the bride. There isn't a couple I've ever heard of who have the woman reluctantly being shoved down the aisle, only to be castigated by her groom for forgetting to pay the priest, or not being able to afford the best cars, or something the maid of honour said to the father in law.
Indeed, I've known a number of guys who put off the marriage proposal, not because they didn't want to be married, but because they wanted to put off the six to twelve to eighteen months of wedding planning nightmares.
I've been to over forty weddings in my time, and I've been Best Man three times. I've witnessed so many arguments about everything from seating arrangements, to speech running order, to what type of car, to flower arrangements. I actually think many women are more in love with the idea of being a bride, then with the man they are going to spend their life with.(BTW – two of those three marriages are no more; maybe it's me-one for three is not a good average.)
Don't misunderstand my agenda – I hope to be a husband and a father one day, but like
my hairline, it's getting further and further away.
The dark side of proposals is the reaction that two of my mates received to their popping of the big question – “yes” closely followed by “'Bout bloody time!”
Now that's starting a life together on a positive note. Here's where the traditional line of many husbands begins - “I'm always in the shit, it's only the depth that varies.”
I guarantee I will never enter into a life time commitment with a woman who expects me to assume that insane position, which may just guarantee my bachelorhood.
We also need to rethink this ritual of the man asking the woman's father for permission for her “hand”. Another crock of shit. It demeans the woman and makes her like a possession of her father's to be traded for tracts of land.
But more over as most wives will know, it's never a matter of the father approving of the new son-in-law; in many circumstances I can think of, it's the mother who doesn't get on with the daughter-in-law.
Once again, it's the opposite situation which is far more relevant. The woman should have to ask the mother for her son's hand in marriage. Wow. Now that's a scene loaded with tension. Imagine Xmas dinner if that little scenario doesn't go well.

So please, let's try to evolve a little as a civilisation. If the woman wants to be married more than the man; if she wants to have a trully grand wedding day; if she's eager to be a mother and wants to do so inside wedlock, then let's make it her call when it should start.
Men would love it. Most grooms are reluctant by nature. They're just hoping to get through the day relatively unscathed.
The woman picks both the rings anyway; now she gets to offer it as part of her generous proposal.
It's curious though; I can't imagine women going through any where near the anxiety that men do with the practical part of actually asking. Men would be so happy to be asked, that the woman could ask while she's sitting on the couch scratching her crotch watching the Swans with a mouthful of super supreme and an Extra Dry in her hand. She could even belch mid-sentence and she'd still get a yes.
And I'm quite sure no man would reply with a “Bout bloody time” either.

There's beauty in the ugly truth.
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Greg Inglis and the Arresting Love

August 21st 2009 12:16
I'm having another moment of wondering if I woke up in some weird dimension where the rules of common diplomacy are non-existent and moral compasses are smashed, their needles dangling like hanged men.

Greg Inglis joins the conga-line of professional sportsmen who have been charged rightly or wrongly with having done something awful to a woman.
Of course leading the conga is Greg Bird who is about to start his jail term for driving a broken glass into the face of his partner and then blaming the act on his mate.
This “glassing” is a trully horrendous practise that has now entered darkly into the zeitgeist. Glassing came out of the pubs of Northern England in the early nineties when some impeccably evil football hooligans realised they had a weapon at arm's reach that was just perfect for maiming opposition scum for life. It's not like stabbing someone in order to kill them; glassing is about slashing some-one's identity leaving a permanent reminder of the evils of football fanaticism.

Everything about Bird's actions was repellant and he is being justly punished.

But the astonishing revelation about Bird and many of his conga line mates, is that their victims- sorry – partners are standing by them. At least five of the recent defendants in acts against women have had their women proclaim their undying love for their men. These men who abuse them, beat them, and glass them.

Greg Inglis' partner has now changed her statement to soften the fall from grace of Inglis and show that once again being a footballer's WAG may just be worth dying for.
Now I have no qualm with the dignity and perhaps nobility of an act of genuine love, and if that's the case in all of these stories, then I understand. But if that's the case in any of these stories then I will be astonished. And I believe any of these girls should seriously consider their life path if staying with a man who abuses you is the best choice.
Yes, we all should practise forgiveness, but that is for small stuff. If your man borrows your car and wrecks it accidently, then perhaps he should be forgiven. If he breaks a glass and attempts to drive it through your ocular cavities- not so much. You should be a speck on the horizon.

Imagine if a professional sportswoman got drunk and smashed their husband in the face with a fist or a glass – I can't really picture the man standing by their woman because he was so looking forward to being on the Red Carpet beside her at this year's Logies.
I do really hope that that isn't the motivation. That being on the arm of Greg Inglis or Greg Bird or Brett Stewart on the Red Carpet is worth forgiving the most heinous of sins for. If living in a house overlooking the sea with a Porsche Boxster in the garage and not having to work because your man makes $400,000 a year, is worth tolerating the fact that he occasionally gets drunk and has State of Origin flashbacks.

But then again maybe I have woken up in some bizarre new world. My moral compass seems perfectly fine, but it casts an increasingly weak shadow when this kind of dark behaviour is around.
Can you help me find the beauty in this truth?
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I hate supermarkets. I understand they are a necessary evil, and I do feel sorry for supermarket staff for the soulcrushing task it must be to have to work there, and also for the atrocious manner in which their customers behave. But if I could live this and the next life over and never visit a supermarket again, it would be too soon.
Couples should never go to the supermarket together. A life shared is hard enough in modern times, but taking on the task of doing the regular weekly shop and avoiding the myriad opportunities for conflict is too much to ask.
The aisles may be wider then ever, but they’re littered with the detritus and fallout from many “happy” couples shopping adventures.
First there’s the parking issue; most men park in the first spot they see. Most women like to be reasonably close to the supermarket/lift door. Why a person who spends eight hours a week at the gym, loses their freakin’ mind at having to push the trolley an extra thirty metres is beyond me, but there you go. My preferred parking spot is not in the car park at all – I park in the street. Maybe that’s why I’m single.
Then you have the woollworths/coles/franklins/a ldi issue. I try to use them all; be a grocery slut; show no loyalty at all. Make them work for my business. But most women will have a personal favourite, for entirely honest reasons. Most men will have a personal favourite – which ever one you can get out of the quickest.
Then comes the perishable/non-perishable debate. I absolutely understand that fresh food always tastes better and is better for you. But in this bankrupt age, many of us don’t have a choice. If it comes out of a box or can, it will cost half as much, last twice as long, and take half as long as to prepare as fresh food.
Then you have the individual choice issues; nobody has exactly the same diet as you. Expecting your partner to eat exactly what you do is a fool’s errand. Expecting a man to completely willingly change his diet for the rest of his life is a greater joke. (See previous “Men are not projects” post.)
So there has to be compromise; maybe you both like different flavours of fruit juice; you may like different breads; you may like different meats.
Finding middle ground here is always difficult. Find it as soon you can, as there’ve been too many political scandals over petty things. Meat-Gate; Fruit-Gate; Butter-Gate; Sauce-Gate, et al.
Then there’s sizeable dramas over smaller things – friends of mine had an argument over the way the items were placed on the conveyer belt and then packed into the trolley. Another couple used to battle over the way the groceries were packed away at home. So much heated discussion over something that is entirely unworthy of you and your partner’s energy.
I do believe that this pettiness is brought out by the supermarket. For some reason when you walk through that turnstyle, there’s a very good chance you’ll have an argument with your loved one over something you wouldn’t care about beyond those evil confines. Suddenly desecated coconut or wholemeal breadcrumbs or seafood cocktail sauce become like Bush’s WMD’s; something worth sacrificing human life for, despite clear evidence to the contrary.
My solution – An adult crèche at the supermarket. I’ve often thought with the tantrums being thrown by children in the supermarkets a crèche at the supermarket might be something parents would like. An extension of that would be an adult crèche; one for men and one for women.
The men’s would feature a big arse plasma (because to us plasmas are like penises – they can never really be big enough) with a playstation and a foxtel decoder with a platinum package. No bar but though; a bar would only result in the men leaving the crèche to hit on the checkout operators. Then you’ve got Checkout-Gate.
The women’s would have a coffee shop, bookshop, handicraft stall and a smaller plasma with a rotating DVD loop of Grease, Dirty Dancing, Pretty Woman and Mama Mia.
Each couple would take turns in their respective crèches, whilst the other one shopped, half-hour on/half-hour off and then they would go home.
Everyone’s happy.
Then you get home and find that four of the dozen eggs that the man was sure he checked, are broken.
Egg-Gate.
Oh well.

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How do jockeys get dates? (3)

July 7th 2009 15:03
The only times I’ve ever felt remotely tall in my life were when I used to work at the horse races and had reason to walk through the jockeys room. Maybe that was what life was like for Shaquille O’Neal.

Imagine if you were picturing the ideal man; I’m not sure, but I tend to think that being four-feet-ten, having to diet like a crazy person, and having to be in bed by 8pm probably aren’t going to be qualities a woman would cherish


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How do jockeys get dates? (2)

July 7th 2009 14:32
Now you’re awake...
I played basketball for twenty years and so asked for all the torment I suffered as a result-
The Angry Ant; The Grumpy Dwarf; Webster; Mini-me; Spud; Elmer and my favourite – the Oompah Loompah – these were all nick-names I wore on various basketball teams and in some work environments. I had no trouble with this, because being called a nickname is far better than having one that is only used behind your back


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How do jockeys get dates? (1)

July 7th 2009 13:06
Awake?
A question for the ladies – A good sense of humour; a steady career; a loving approach to children; a patient attitude with in-laws; a sense of culture and a lack of interest in binge drinking – are all qualities women search for in a man. With that being the case, how many of you have been out with men shorter than you? Surely at least six foot tall should be the first of your priorities, as it’s fairly difficult to train men to be tall.
Or is it


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Barry vs Sonny Bill - it's on!

July 7th 2009 12:25
Welcome to Sport Outside The Box
Unnamed sources have it that with Barry Hall being lured by Danny Green's management team, Mundine's camp are making offers to have Hall fight Sonny Bill Williams in January in a $1million winner take all showcase in Sydney.
Possible venues are Parramatta Stadium, Acer Arena and the Sydney Football Stadium. The teams are hoping for early January, maybe even New Year's Day which would delight the marketers


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Spoiler Alert! Only read on if you’ve seen Revenge of the Fallen.
Michael Bay and his team of flare wranglers and low angle slo-mo artists return with a film I’d been looking forward to for some time. I’m so disappointed.
Revenge of the Fallen or Revenge of the Unfunny is a jumbled mass of explosions, chase scenes and slo-mos of hot looking women. It’s too long, under written, and seems to have completely forgotten what made the first film so good


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WHAT TO BUY?
So I said don’t buy her anything she wants or needs; so what do you get her?

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1) Remember the date! My mate passed this test and many do, but there is just as many stories out there of guys deservedly getting the silent treatment for a week after forgetting again.
My tip – at the beginning of the year spend $5 on a pocket diary. In the diary mark it with the birthdays for the women in your life – your mother, your sister, but especially your wife/girlfriend. Now mark a day the week before her birthday, which is when phase one of your operation will begin. Then mark the day before her birthday, when you should be well into final preparations. If you only mark her birthday, you may only check on that day, and then you’re into the last minute dash, which leads to almost as much pain as forgetting altogether. You should also mark it with yours/hers anniversary.

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