I'm going to Hell

I recently read this article. In it the female author complains how men aren't growing up like they used to, how they're underachieving. Men should be less adolescent and do more mature activities, instead of playing Halo 3 with your buddies you should be 'packing leisure hours' with the following grown up pursuits:

1. Shopping
2. Traveling
3. Dining with friends
4. Getting your hair done
5. Having sleepovers

Of course these pastimes seem like infinitely more mature activities than 'playing basketball with your buddies, downloading music, playing on your xbox360, then going out to bars and parties', after all it's not like I haven't been doing her list of activities since I was 7 myself. Well except for the sleepovers, but I did use to have house mates. The list she's deriding is pretty much the same as hers, just a male equivalent, none of these activities are 'mature', surely by that she means something like visiting museums and art galleries, reading dusty books and wine tasting.

I suspect what she's really upset about is that men just don't want to get married and have children. Oh no, what a disaster, she can't find a man. This doesn't make them immature or in need of growing up. What are the advantages to getting married? Companionship? Men have friends, as she pointed out. Sex? Also as she herself said, men are capable of finding this without being married. A family? Men can have children later in life, so what's the rush. Basically men have no incentive to get married. Unless you call getting divorced, losing your kids, money, car and house like over 50% of marriages an incentive.

By the way I'm getting married in just under 8 months, I'm 25, I have a job, an apartment and four games consoles, how immature am I?

Update: Looks like this is becoming a trend, get some more gamer hate here.

Labels: assholes, family, friends, horror, rant, stupidity, wedding, women

It's been about 3 weeks since I last posted. I do have an excuse for a large part of that time, as I was away on holiday in Spain, visiting some of the Wench's family (she's not Spanish, they just live there). Since returning we've had a bank holiday in the UK, so that's even more time off. In fact I've only worked a few days in 3 weeks, and been pretty busy while at work.

Anyway, I'm back now (for a few days at least) and ready to tell you the truth about Spain. I'd gathered that the Spanish are fairly lazy, what with their siestas and the building site that is their country. There's also a lot that I'd been told that had misled me about Spain, but on the other hand some of what I'd been told was totally correct:

1. It's not as cheap as I previously assumed.
2. Young Spaniards have a death wish when driving bikes or quads.
3. The food is as good as you've heard.
4. It's not as warm as everyone says.
5. It's an entertaining drive back to the airport.

During my time in Spain the Wench's parents paid for most of it. Put it this way, we spent £36 for the whole trip. And I'm glad we weren't paying, because it's not as cheap as everyone says! But the food is worth what you pay for it. I loved everything I ate on that holiday, even the lead paint had a nice tang. The weather however, was supposed to be excruciatingly hot. During our time there, the UK had much better weather than we did. The six hour storm on the final night was impressive, but not quite what I was expecting.

I was designated driver on the trip, with the Wench, her brother and step-brother sharing the car. I nearly killed 3 Spaniards over the holiday, all on dirt bikes or quads, driving at ridiculous speeds in the middle of the road. After listening to the kids of the village roar up and down the main street all night I decided if I did actually hit one of them coming round a corner, I'd probably just laugh at his broken skull poking through my windscreen.

On the final night the four of us that had been sharing the car went on a mission to get wasted. We succeeded admirably, with the Wench's step brother throwing up over the balcony before bed and again the next morning. As we were up in the mountains it was a 45 minute drive to the motorway through winding roads up and down steep inclines, ideal for any hangover. It took 5 minutes till the first passenger was sick (the Wench's step-brother), followed by another (the Wench's brother). The two of them then went into full puke overload, going continuously till we hit the coast. This meant I couldn't use my wing mirrors or else I'd be sick, getting a prime view of them hurling from the windows. It was like they were egging each other on, setting each other off again and again. I had puking in surround sound. 'Vodka' became a magic word, capable of inducing vomiting even by whispering it. The outside of the car was in quite a state by the time we reached the airport, so we threw the key to the hire car across the desk and ran. Luckily it wasn't in our name.

Labels: drinking, driving, family, hangover, holiday, stupidity, teenagers, wench