I was at a house party last Friday, and got very merry. Feeling empowered to be nice, I sought the nearest unhappy person, who in this case, happened to be a lonely-looking man sat on the kitchen worktop. I asked him to dance, which he did, and continued to dance with him for the rest of the night. He seemed shy, although very nice and polite.
After a drive home and a kiss goodbye, I left him with my number and forgot all about him; then a week later, I received a text asking me out to dinner. I obliged, and was taken to a nice Thai restaurant in town. However…
When sober, HE IS THE RUDEST MAN IN THE WORLD.
He called me a ‘chunky girl, you know, the top end of curvy’ (I’m a size 10), he called our mutual friend a dirty slut, spat food everywhere when he ate, went to the toilet, came back and discussed his ‘fucking…King Kong of a shit. Like one of the faces on mount rushmore. Smelt like a horse’s corpse’.
Then he went on to bitch about our ginger waiter, complain that there was no signal on his iPhone in here to anyone who would listen, laughed at a woman who fell over, was adamant that our two gay friends getting together recently was ‘sick shit’ and then at the end of the night, gave me a soft mint and tried to suck my face off.
He then said he wants to see me again, and invited me to dinner next weekend, ‘With maybe some playtime in the ballpit…’
So, answer me this:
HOW DO I GET RID OF THIS TWAT?! He won’t leave me alone 😦
By ignoring all of his comms? Shouldn’t be too difficult. Then he can bitch to his next victim all about his uptight lardy ex who wouldn’t put out.
(By the way, does anyone else get the impression that he’s so nervous when he’s sober, compounded by the usual nerve-wrack of being on a first date, that he tries to be funny, but is unfortunately terrible at it?)
Girls are sooooooooo confusing, as poor Harry in Luton has lately discovered:
Valentine’s Day seems to have become a day where people who are already in relationships give each other stuff and walk around holding hands and being generally lovey-dovey, but this year I decided to use Valentine’s Day for its original purpose.
Commemorating a martyr who was beheaded for his Christian beliefs? Very retro, Harry.
I decided to give a Valentine’s card to the girl who I’d fancied for a while, and duly bought it and posted it to her house. Having delivered my card, I bought myself a lovely doughnut – with hundreds and thousands, of course – and sat in the park, fairly certain that I was going to get some form of date from this whole arrangement.
Later on that day I received a message from the girl saying how grateful she was for the card, but that we might just be “really good friends”. She also put a load of kisses at the end of the message, and then sent me another message saying, “See you at school, unless you want to meet up?” with a bunch more kisses.
It’s at this point that I become confused…
Answer me this: Does this girl actually want to meet up with me? And if she does, then would it be a date?
Ooof. She’s either undecided, playing hard to get, or deliberately toying with you with no intention to follow through with Romance. Readers, which do you think it is? In the comments, please guide this poor boy.
Elisa sees my John Thaw enrapturement in last week’s episode, and raises:
I think I might win the age gap contest regarding celebrity crushes. I’ve been in love with Michael Caine for years. I first discovered my love for him in 2007 after the movie The Prestige – I was 19, and he was 74.
Eurghhh! Michael Caine at any age….shudder.
Readers, the gauntlet has thrown down. Are you able to beat Elisa’s age gap crush? Moreover, SHOULD you be able to?
Happy 200th birthday, Charles Dickens! We hope you had a super party at the Retirement Home for Victorian Novelists. William Thackeray ordered in the cupcakes, Anthony Trollope bought a keg, and Henry James cooked up a batch of his Special Brownies. We’ll just leave Answer Me This! Episode 204 on the gift table:
Plus: Olly narrowly escapes Death by Chicken Kiev; Helen had peculiar taste in men for a 13-year-old; and Martin the Sound Man compares feminine sexual moisture to Cadbury’s Creme Eggs. Women don’t have YOLKS, Martin!
In this week’s Bit of Crap on the App (available for iDevices or Android), Olly explains that as a teenager, he didn’t get a fake ID: he invented a whole fake identity. Will the real Olly Mann please stand up? OK, sit down, you look exactly like the fake one.
As every week, we want your QUESTIONS: deliver them as voicemails to the Question Line (dial 0208 123 5877 or Skype answermethis) or as emails to answermethispodcast@googlemail.com.
See you next Thursday,
Helen & Olly
PS: for all of you who, like our final questioneer of the day, have ever mis-sent a text or email:
You might think towels are boring, but a little theatre can make them fun! As this email from Toby demonstrates:
Further to your discussion in AMT202 about the use of heated handtowels in Indian restaurants, I have a tepid towel-related question that I am sure will blow your minds…
Eating in an Indian restaurant recently, a bowl of what I thought were mints was placed on our table at the end of the meal. Just as I was about to gleefully pop one into my mouth (an action which would have, unbeknownst to me, surely led to a slow, suffocating death), a waiter appeared and poured hot water into the bowl. The small, white, spheres which were NOT mints suddenly expanded and revealed themselves to be rolled-up handtowels.
Answer Me This: what the Heston Blumenthal was going on?! Was this magic?
ENCROYABLE! Is that restaurant staffed by waiters, or SORCERERS? It’s the greatest towel-based show on Earth!
That restaurant is very smart for choosing this towel showmanship, though: firstly, because it’s an impressive thing to do right before you hand somebody the bill; secondly, they can fit the entire evening’s towels in a shoebox; thirdly, it gives the diner the reassurance that their towel is virgin, freshly hatched in front of their eyes, never to have frotted the crevices of another curry fan.
The downside is, as you hint, the trail of death. Being suffocated by a towel you mistook for a Mint Imperial is not a noble exit from this plane.
My friend has asked me to do a reading at her wedding in April. It’s a church wedding, but as I am a massive atheist she has said I can do the non-religious one; however she would like me to choose something myself. In the past, I have been required to say the words ‘fondle’, ‘fart’ and ‘arse’ in wedding readings, but am not sure this sort of thing is appropriate in a house of God.
I have a degree in English Literature, but managed to get through two poetry courses without going to a single lecture and passed by writing 9000 words on nonsense verse, so I am not very well qualified and everything I have found online is twee and nauseating, or has been done to death. Help!
I CAN’T! The poems that are good for the purpose have indeed been done to death; you know why? Because most poets are
a) miserable
b) lovelorn
c) death-obsessed
d) fanatically religious
e) all of the above.
Any of these traits are incompatible with the majority of wedding ceremonies. At least with the nauseating twee poems, there’s little danger of you realising only as you clear your throat at the lectern that you’re about to read a graphic metaphor for erections and death in iambic pentameter.
I wonder why your friend is insisting you choose the reading yourself. Is it a test for you, to see how much you understand her? Is it so that she has some reason to freak out at you? Is it because she just can’t be arsed to search for one herself? (Fair enough.) At one recent wedding, the groom asked me to read a page of a biography of Bobby Fischer. Being a passage about children’s chess clubs in New York, it was in no way relevant to weddings or romance; the congregation was baffled; but my friend was happy, which of course was the primary objective.
But, if your friend indeed insists upon putting you through the literary wringer, consider recourse to prose – preferably of a more romantic, less esoteric nature than biographies of chess prodigies, but a touch of non-bawdy humour might be welcome. Alternatively, perhaps you could read the lyrics of a song that they both like? Hey, if Kylie can do it, so can you.
Readers, help Jo out: in the comments, either suggest failsafe poems that HAVEN’T been done at all the weddings, or ideas for a different sort of reading entirely. NB: the phone book, Roger’s Profanisaurus, or Penthouse Readers’ Wives are not acceptable sources.
Whatever you choose, though, choose something SHORT. There have been weddings where I’ve actually been hoping for the Oscars band to strike up just so that I could stop orating.
Hot on the heels of last episode’s wedding-attending dilemma, here’s another from Jane in Wellington, New Zealand:
I’ve been invited to the wedding of my ex-partner (and father to my child) – should I go?
We split when my son was very young and I’ve done such a good job of being friendly and civil that he just expected that I’d be going… hence the invite to the reception.
I still get on well with the rest of the family, I even quite like the bride (although my ex is still a cock). Do I go and have a laugh and it be a bit weird, or steer well clear and disappoint my son?
I hope I’m not missing something, but what’s the problem here? Your relationship is cordial, and your ex appears to think well of you even though you don’t return his favour. Your attendance will make your son happy. You’ll see people you like. You don’t appear to harbour a wish to reunite with your ex, so are unlikely to elbow the bride out of the way at the critical point of the vows. So go!
Hey, it’s Groundhog Day! The day where a large rodent prognosticates the weather, and also the day when Answer Me This! Episode 203 enters the world.
Hey, it’s Groundhog Day! The day where a large rodent prognosticates the weather, and also the day when Answer Me This! Episode 203 enters the world.
Hey, it’s Groundhog Day! The day where a large rodent prognosticates the weather, and also the day when Answer Me This! Episode 203 enters the w- OK, I’m bored of this joke now. On with the show:
Today we talk about:
cats up trees
hemp seeds iTunes Ping (anyone? Anyone?)
‘Affirmation‘ vs. Baz Luhrmann vs. ‘If‘
gamekeepers
too much texting
Mark Zuckerberg’s businesswear Cowboys and Aliens
national stereotypes
lessons in love from Sleepless in Seattle
and
the hat that won the West.
Plus: Olly explains the reason for the famous British emotional stuntednessstiff upper lip; Helen says “Nooooooooooo!” to apple eugenics; and Martin the Sound Man generously doles out songwriting tips to Savage Garden. If you want to hear what makes Martin such an authority on the topic, direct yourself to his latest music output HERE.
This week’s Bit of Crap on the App (available for iDevices or Android) is a question from Alex from Northampton about calorie-counting bores. Talking about calorie-counting makes you put ON weight, dullards!
Thankfully you lot are the opposite of dullards, if your QUESTIONS are anything to go by: send those to us as voicemails on the Question Line (dial 0208 123 5877 or Skype answermethis) or as emails to answermethispodcast@googlemail.com. No questions, no show! We’re not too polite to resort to blackmail.
Despite this sort of terrifying story, we still receive the following question fairly often. Today, it came from Mark from London:
As a student, I am constantly strapped for cash and have been looking for ways to make a little extra money.
A friend recommended to me clinical trials. Some of them are pretty well paid!
So answer me this: would it be worth signing up for clinical trials? How risky are they, and is the money worth it?
I feel uncomfortable gambling with Mark’s future health and wellbeing by answering the first question; as for the second, the more money, the riskier the trial, so bear that in mind as you decide which means more to you.
Perhaps you readers can answer the third question in the comments, because for some reason I feel sure that some of you may have been lab rats in your time.
Josh has designed the packaging above, but lacks a product to go in it. He asks:
If there was a real Answer Me This! game, what would you do in it?
Probably just sit on our arses, like in real life. Not exciting enough? Erm, how about extra points for using the least amount of physical movement to make a cup of tea, go to the toilet, find the TV remote then return to the sofa?
Alright then, readers, it’s over to you: go to the comments and describe the ideal AMT game, and we’ll have a word with our friends at Square Enix to see if they can produce it in time for Christmas.
Brave Barry from Newbury is planning to make a clean breast of it (blimey, that’s an unappealing expression when you look at it):
I am a 16-year-old with a big decision to make.
After I finish school this year I am probably going to a college in a nearby town. I have liked a girl for about 8 months and we had (very) brief relationship. Although it didn’t work out, I am convinced she still has feelings for me.
I am going to the college for a fresh start so have decided to tell my friends some of my biggest secrets when I leave in August. I am going to tell this girl everything in the hope that she feels the same and something will happen.
So, answer me this: do you think I should pour out my heart to her and if so, when should I tell her?
We cannot tell you what to tell her, Barry, for we do not know what lies in your heart to be poured out. However, if you’re so convinced she still carries a torch for you, what have you got to lose? And why the hell are you waiting till August to do it, just before you leave? You could be enjoying months of fun before then! Or at least looking into alternative options, if your appraisal of the situation turns out to be erroneous.
Meanwhile, think carefully about the potential repercussions of what you’re planning to say to your friends. If it’s not very complimentary, you might be sensible to keep it to yourself, because your new college is geographically close enough to catch the tail end of a shitstorm.
Answer Me This! Podcast 