Monday, July 10, 2006

Someone please call 9/11...

Got this truly terrifying thing the other day on e-mail... I was so freaked out that I did some extra research and wrote my own (below this one)...


1) New York City has 11 letters

2) Afghanistan has 11 letters.

3) Ramsin Yuseb (The terrorist who threatened to destroy the Twin
Towers in1993)has 11 letters.

4) George W Bush has 11 letters.

This could be a mere coincidence, but this gets more interesting:

1) New York is the 11th state.

2) The first plane crashing against the Twin Towers was flight number

3) Flight 11 was carrying 92 passengers, 9 + 2 = 11

4) Flight 77 which also hit the Twin Towers, was carrying 65
passengers, 6+5= 11

5) The tragedy was on September 11, or 9/11 as it is now known. 9 + 1+
1 =11

6) The date is equal to the US emergency services telephone number 911.
9 +1 + 1 = 11.

Sheer coincidence..?! Read on and make up your own mind:

1) The total number of victims inside all the hi-jacked planes was 254.
2 +5 + 4 = 11.

2) September 11 is day number 254 of the calendar year. Again, 2 + 5 +
4 =11.

3) The Madrid bombing took place on 3/11/2004. 3 + 1 + 1 + 2 + 4 = 11.

4) The tragedy of Madrid happened 911 days after the Twin Towers

Now this is where things get totally eerie:
The most recognized symbol for the US, after the Stars & Stripes, is
the Eagle. The following verse is taken from the Quran, the Islamic holy
book: "For it is written that a son of Arabia would awaken a fearsome
The wrath of the Eagle would be felt throughout the lands of Allah and
lo, whilesome of the people trembled in despair still more rejoiced: for
the wrath of the Eagle cleansed the lands of Allah and there was peace."
That verse is number 9.11 of the Quran.
Still unconvinced about all of this..?! Try this and see how you
feel afterwards, it made my hair stand on end:

Open Microsoft Word and do the following:

1. Type in capitals Q33 NY. This is the flight number of the first
plane to hit one of the Twin Towers.

2. Highlight the Q33 NY.

3. Change the font size to 48.

4. Change the actual font to the WEBDINGS



1) New York, New York has 14 letters. (1 + 4 - 1 = 4)

2) Iraq has 4 letters.

3) Abu Abu Garaburabi (Not a known terrorist at all but might be and might have been in 1993) has 16 letters (16 divides by 4)

4) Tony Blair has 9 letters as does Conzeleza Rice if we omit the Rice (4 letters). 9 can be the result of 4 + 5.

This could be a mere coincidence, but this gets more interesting:

1) New York is sometimes known as The Big Apple (I ate 4 apples last week).

2) The first plane crashing against the Twin Towers had 4 small dents on the tail.

3) Flight 11 was carrying 92 passengers, 92 is dividable by 4.

4) Flight 77 which also hit the Twin Towers, was carrying 65
passengers , not dividable by 4.

5) The tragedy was on September 11, or 9/11 as it is now known. 9 + 11 = 20. 20 is dividable by 4.

6) The date is equal to the US emergency services telephone number 911. Wyclef Jean had a chart hit song called 911. Wyclef Jean has 4 letters in his surname.

Sheer coincidence..?! Read on and make up your own mind:

1) The total number of victims inside all the hi-jacked planes was 254. See the 4!?

2) September 11 is day number 254 of the calendar year. Again, 4!!!

3) The Madrid bombing took place on 3/11/2004. Hello!!! 2004!!!

4) The tragedy of Madrid happened 3 days in to November.

Now this is where things get totally eerie:

The most recognized symbol for the US, after the Stars & Stripes, is
the Eagle. The following verse is taken from the Quran, the Islamic holy
book: "For it is written that a son of Arabia would awaken a fearsome
The wrath of the Eagle would be felt throughout the lands of Allah and
lo, while some of the people trembled in despair still more rejoiced: for
the wrath of the Eagle cleansed the lands of Allah and there was peace."
That verse is number 9.11 of the Quran. Some shops have 4 copies of The Quran in them!
Still unconvinced about all of this..?! Try this and see how you
feel afterwards, it made my hair stand on end:

Open Microsoft Word and do the following:

1. Type in NYs. This is the initials of New York City spelt New York Sity. Many people in New York spell City as Sity and either way it has 4 letters.

2. Highlight the NYs

3. Change the font size to 48.

4. Change the actual font to the WEBDINGS


Thursday, February 09, 2006

Lippy Love

“I love your lips and everything attached to them”

It’s been and interesting week this week for news. We’ve had a handful (or two) of people die as a result of cartoons depicting a man who has been long dead in an ironic pose. The cartoons aren’t really funny but they are like most cartoons in the press. You look at them, smile, and turn the page. Not this time buddy. You smile? You die. This is the Islam that presents itself to us. Like Christianity when it got all worked up over 'Jerry Springer: The Opera'. Since the controversy I personally think that a swearing Jesus (in a nappy, ha, ha) has never been funnier. I saw the Springer opera long before the upset and actually it was quite shitty. I may have turned down a ‘date’ with a nice young women to see it and it was not worth the cost in pounds sterling nor the lack of good female company. The religious stuff was merely ludicrous. Once people started taking it seriously it became funny, funny because suddenly Christianity Seemed like a funny thing to poke fun at. So should we poke fun at Islam then? (Because of its over-reaction to the funnies) What we should remember is that it is apparently a minority who are acting in this heinous way because of their ‘upset’ at the comic pictures. Same with Springer. Only some Christians acted badly in response.

The problem is that these people are NOT real believers. Muslims who are acting violently as a result of the cartoons? Not Muslims at all but simple thugs. The Springer hating Christians? They are thugs too. True Muslims and True Christians are so certain of their belief in Muhammad and Jesus, respectively, that they simply don’t care who says what about their ‘icon’.

I respect the Islamic faith but to the dangerous lunatics that are at its forefront…you deserve to be hung by the neck until dead (I can play your game, good huh). To the Christians who threaten those who slander their faith? Is your faith that weak? Can’t take Jesus in a nappy? Pah.

In other news The Animal Liberation Front are so upset about animal experiments soon to take place in a swanky new Oxford University lab that they are going to target Oxford students. Yes, let’s kill the future of humanity…as long as the animals are okay! The ‘slight’ irony is that the experiments are happening NOW but not in the best conditions. Why? Because some yobs keep stopping the 'best conditions' from being built. Please somebody begin a Pro-animal lab campaign. I would wear the t-shirt just because…!

Saw a teenage girl on the news who had a brain tumour…the hospital gave her too much radiation and now? While at worst she will die very soon, at best she will be paralysed. Jesus performed miracles. If he is raised from the dead may he please perform one today. No? Really, Jesus? You look funny in your nappy you big gay baby!

I realise I’ve thrown a few silly words about today, Mohammad, Jesus… Seriously though…yobs; thugs... Thus I’d like to end by calling myself a name or two…Intelligent; Open-minded…How’s that? Oh and perfect (of course).

I do love my lips and everything attached to them.

Monday, January 23, 2006

Responsible and Responsibility

“These things do happen and do you stop these things from happening?...NO”. Opera diva La Carlotta in ‘The Phantom of the Opera’ by Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Last week I was walking home from a night out when I saw a group of young men following two young women. They were shouting things, many of a sexual nature. The women walked behind some buildings. Their pace increased. Their body language altered, fear replacing fun. It was dark. The men followed, still shouting.

What was I to do? The young women had made a rather daft decision by choosing to walk away from the public highway and in to a hidden self designed path.

I felt helpless for a few seconds. When I had walked my drinking partner back to their car (two minutes away) I hastily moved back to my last sight of the two small groups. I was going to use my bicycle to venture around to the void behind the large ‘hanger-style’ buildings. What would I do when I got there? What would I see? Was I over-reacting? Being stupid?

Upon entering the road where I would make my diversion I saw the young men again. There were still 6 of them. They had discovered that the flat
‘Cement bag’ trolley is a great laugh when mounted by a couple of your mates. Up and then down again across the grass mounds at the roadside. Taking an occasional dip on to the busy road, spinning close to oncoming traffic, the group seemed less threatening. I felt relief and headed home.

When I was a much younger person I had a group of friends who were fairly irresponsible. One of their activities was to throw pieces of tree in front of vehicles on a 30 mile an hour stretch of road. I don’t like saying it (but acknowledging mistakes should teach us) but under pressure from my friends, I also had a go or two.

It’s odd that I was able to control my consumption of alcohol to a safe level when with them. I never took drugs or even smoked with them. I never worshipped the ‘God’ of our group despite valuing his friendship more than anyone else’s (one of my other friends would give this kid milk and a carrot when we went to his house and give the rest of us nothing– yes that’s funny in hindsight). I never ‘snogged’ the girl who was ‘available’ or apparently ‘up for anything’ because my mate said I should do. I always followed my own mind and my own heart. I NEVER did anything because of so-called peer pressure and never did anything in a futile attempt to fit in.

How dare I suddenly use this ridiculous excuse then for a really irresponsible thing that I did. To hurt someone knowingly takes a certain sort of person that I am certainly not. To act irresponsibly? How do you judge that? What I did was potentially far more serious than hitting someone in the face (even with a crunched up fist). How many people could my one, maybe two ‘logs’ have killed?

How many people could the 20, 30 maybe, logs that others threw while I watched have killed?

It is odd then that even knowing how wrong this type of irresponsible behaviour is, that I still fail to link it to its worst full potential.

Yet any hint of an attack with intent sends me in to some bizarre ‘Clark Kent as Superman’ moment. Why is fear, anyone’s fear, so unnerving? Terrifying? Upsetting?

The unknown is the thrill of life. But forcing the unknown on to anyone with or without pre-meditated consideration is wrong.

In the future I, for one, will really try to view aggressive or threatening behaviour and reckless disrespect for others with the same eyes, the eyes given to me by those ‘things’ that I love…

Friday, January 20, 2006

Living for the day...

“My life got cold, it happened many years ago”. Popular music group Girls Allowed sang (but did not write that). Every Winter we turn on the heaters; dust the bicycle lights; wonder how we will fit all of our fruit and vegetable portions in when we have no desire for cold salads and our healthy lunchtime sandwiches have been replaced by a piping hot greasy cheese pasty. Somehow I imagine though that the song probably has nothing to do with the cold of the winter season. Life got cold because of its contents. What life offered got cold.

A friend of mine had an on-off relationship with a boy loser for more than a year. He was unpredictable; dangerous; unreliable; untrustworthy; a cheat; a coward.

Most significantly, though, he was a victim. I’m not excusing him. Rather I’m saying that our past shapes our future and our present. He was a victim of bullying; of vicious mind-games played on him by a group of his peers each with their own mental weaknesses. The path was long and winding.

“My life got cold, it happened many years ago”. I was bullied for many years myself. If I’m honest the depth of mental torture I suffered every day does not get much deeper. But I’m still here, alive, in one perfectly functioning piece. I‘m blooming lucky. I’ve undeniably been shaped by my past. I take seeing others in suffering as a personal tragedy. If someone seems distressed or worried I automatically enter some strange gear of honest ‘self help’ textbook guru. The honesty is a problem. When someone said to me “You just don’t like me” the other week I said nothing. I do not like them. If I like you I’ll bore you to death with my over poetic verse regarding your most appealing traits (though only when I feel that something unfair has been said or done). My friend with the ex-loser boyfriend thinks of him every day. She misses the physical stuff mostly. She also thinks of him because she’s not convinced that he won’t come back. It makes her angry that he probably never thinks of her. It is self-inflicted mind games. I suggested that she meet with him on neutral ground just to ‘catch up’ over coffee (to show that the spark was never there in this new honest light). She can’t do that because she is repulsed by him. I felt stupid warning her but I said “you need to move on and reach that point where he is fully gone”; “Otherwise before you know what has happened your life will seem pointless, you can’t shake that feeling, that emotion easily”. “Everything that you do, or even achieve will be a bitter reminder of what he did to you”.

I know the importance of letting things go. Sometimes dealing with them, closing them off can be very difficult but doing something new because of something old can be devastating. The past can shape the future and the present but in doing that you should remain at the controlling helm.

My life got cold…Yes it did but it happened many years ago.

January is Year

January is never ending huh?! It’s an odd time of year actually. What with Xmas, all the Xpectation and pressure of getting everything ready; the presents; food; drink; family. Then you realise that you have no wrapping paper; that the sticky tape is yellowed or the Turkey didn’t want to be eaten and has eloped with the Mince pies (yes all of them) and gone on it’s honeymoon to Lapland (where Santa is actually waiting with a pickaxe and pre-heated oven). Poor Turkey. The mince pies are okay. Apparently Santa gave those to his reindeer. The reindeer heard that working season was upon them so they dug a tunnel under the ice and died whilst trying to reach some sunny paradise that is undiscovered by human life-forms and by the pro-life/anti vivisection posses. Poor things. The kids stockings are empty and the man that you thought loved you and his/your offspring (so would happily play Santa Claus in real Santa’s absence) is actually playing with department store Santa Claus’s second cousin, twice removed, in the attic, not yours, his.

So Xmas was a flop but no worries because though we spend 9 months and a bit getting ready for it we can’t wait for it to be over because then we have the New Year. That’s the main event. No baby in a manger. No three kings. No wise men (because they are all brain dead by 10am New Year’s Eve). But hang on… a problem. If the New Year is the main event…then why did I lose my husband; my turkey and my favourite apron - (I wrapped it up and gave it to granny, she wouldn’t know it was second hand, I simply told her that the gravy stains were evidence of the hard work that had gone in to making it…making it dirty that is, but she will never know) - before it?

Actually my Xmas was alright. The tree stayed up. The lights worked when they were meant to and all the fights and stuff? Well, nobody got killed (though before he ran away my Turkey lost one of his tail feathers). Oh and I got the present I’ve always felt I should have received by now. What you ask? Socks. 3 pairs of them. Thank you Sock Fairy.

New Year was a riot. Literally. I went round my town chewing on a large piece of decaying grass and kicking people’s walls whilst singing “feed the birds, tuppence a bag”. Somebody offered me a bag of birds for 1 pence but think they kinda missed the point somewhat. By the end of the night I had some bloody toes and a sore tongue but calmed my nerves by feeding all of the birds myself. It was a New Year that I shall never forget and though it was a little strange…Yes, it is also completely made up. Think I have that illness where I habitually lie a lot…I’m kidding.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

Abhorrent Movie/Abhorrent Move

'The Brown Bunny' is not only one of the most tedious films that I have seen but also one of the most crazy. Star, director and all-round 'entertainer' Vincent Gallo moves around in a weird drugged up style haze, as he ponders, and wonders all about the desolate highways, picking up women, reflecting on a rape he witnessed, Imagining getting it on himself with the victim of said assault (at least I think so). Vincent Gallo is the actor who got mad with Christina Ricci after shooting 'Buffalo 66'. Weirdly he was not mad because she can act and is attractive but because she was not as 'all over the film' as he was in pre-release press gigs. In his latest movie he gets a less attractive actress than Ricci (though still an immensely talented one, Chloe Sevigny from one of the greatest films ever made 'The Last Days of Disco') to perform a tongue caress on his erect penis. All is shown in full glory before the camera instead chooses to focus on a violated looking Chloe as she moves back and forth on Gallo's candy.

Sorry but sucking cock is a weird thing. In fairness I've never actually done it so perhaps can't judge? But, well, it always seems so easy and kind of crude. To give a women a true oral experience it takes a lot of work and can actually be quite sensual. A bloke's juice dribbling across your chin on to your breast (if the time has actually been taken to remove clothes) is really not particularly erotic. 'Mysterious Skin' was a thought provoking and brutal film dealing with sexuality in an abrupt and difficult manner. Watch that if it falls on your lap. 'The Brown Bunny'? Keep well away.

In Derby a teenager was banned from wearing a crucifix at a school. Why? Because Christians are not obliged to wear Crucifixes. Sikhs are allowed to carry ceremonial daggers (in bracelet form I must admit). Ultimately the issue is not whether Sikhs wear this and Christians that, but anyone's right to wear anything that is not dangerous. If I were in a 'end of the world' cult I should not be allowed to carry my mini bombs to school (nor should I if I were in no such cult).

However I wear a necklace that tells everyone that I am a Spiritual Warrior. It goes everywhere that my neck goes (except bed). Sounds kind of silly when I say it out loud but it is part of me (and boy can I justify it). Interpret it how you like but I am a Spiritual Warrior. Likewise GCSE student Sam is a Christian and proud of it. Sam had worn the necklace for three years. I have worn mine for longer. I honesty expect that if any establishment banned me from wearing my symbol of hope that all of my colleagues would refuse to work until sense was installed. Please wear your daggers but respect others rights to wear what they like too. Refuse to go to school, all of you, it could be you next.

Of course we could just rewrite Christianity. Hell that's easier. From now on ALL true Christians must wear crucifixes. My Spiritual Warrior necklace? Nope, no good, I will burn in the pits of anti-Christianity.

Monday, December 05, 2005

Sort of...

62,000 American soldiers injured in Iraq. 2,100 dead. 86,400 seconds in a day.

I was 'unfortunate' enough to see an issue of Marie Claire UK this week. As a man, though if I were a women I still don't think I'd be overly stimulated... But, as a man, I found the thing frequently bland. The free samples of perfume and cream stuck to pages?...they were exciting! The adverts for things I can't afford, or can but would not want?...Not worth paying for. The articles? Mainly dull. Something rather insipid about the whole adventure.
Then...or should I say and then...

Page 224. My fingers limp and tired from the rapid turning of pages (I know fans might tell me that I did not pay the magazine enough attention); my eyes closing from boredom and browsing in an artificial, yellowed light; my mind's energy wept away like tears in a stream..."and then THERE were 3...sort of".

Page 224, November issue. Marie Claire Column. Katy Regan.

What an amazing piece of writing. Imagine TV's 'Sex and the City' with people you admire. Different show?, yes. Better?, yes.

The best bit is the bit where it says "Dating when you've got a baby, I was finding, was an oxymoron". Not that I like to pick out specific bits (you really should read the piece yourself) but this conflict of interests... Here called "Two worlds colliding"; this barrier of being happy; searching for some kind of happiness whilst retaining that which is pivotal to your current existence. Here it is a loved child. I have no child.

It made me wonder...why do we use certain things as excuses for not succeeding in life's mini-missions. Here the author uses her child; the fact that she does not look like Kate Moss; the fact that men are not reliable; are hedonistic; are commitment phobic...the obsession of men with sex (though in fairness this comes from the baby's father); lack of flexibility; lack of consideration; cowardice... Perhaps I'm reading between the lines? Perhaps I'm now writing the lines?

I'm thinking now that maybe I only liked the article because it seemed so real? Maybe I liked it because of the ... (dots) in the title...I'm a big fan of dots in my own writing as you may have discovered...

I liked the article because of a few things. The way that it deals with human responsibility. The author has real dependents. The child comes first. The man comes second.

The honesty of this predicament. The child's father being so 'close' still. The 'discussion' between himself and our 'heroine'. Yes, our heroine. No inverted-commas this time.

The fact that suddenly I am questioning myself. So what? I always am. This time I am questioning what my excuse is...I said I have no child. This is true. Kind of. Perhaps my child is some sense of responsibility to myself. Refusal to accept the past as separate from the future. The "If someone said I smelt when I showered every day when I was 10 years old then I must still smell now at 26" syndrome.

It is never completely certain what the heroine is questioning? What she feels insecure about? It is certainly multi-faceted.

I suspect that the questioning is a well-established understanding of common-sense. The insecurity? That stems from being secure. Here is another oxymoron. Secure insecurity. Expressing oneself is a skill. Not one taught, but one learnt.

Expressing oneself in a fresh, diverse way? Analysing? Revealing? Knowing what you want? Perhaps we all takes our 'Grandmother's' words to heart? "I want...never gets".

The article ends with a sobering thought on this 'partner predicament': "It'll take someone special." Perhaps the real closer should be "I need someone special"? The latter? Yes please, me too.

Incidentally...our heroine says her date "never ever called me". I know why. Somebody stole his phone.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Hi, Great Profile

You may remember that yesterday I wrote about the delightful ' Wall-Flower'? I am currently drafting a letter to David Attenborough as I am intrigued at his feelings on this colourful yet neglected variety.

Anyway once a single heterosexual male has discovered that bars are not the place to meet interesting women what is he to do? Bingo?

The favoured answer to this question seems to be "Join an evening class". This is non-sense. Sure, join an evening class if it is in something you want to do. As a means of a 'Wall-Flower' meeting people? Even Jesus would not talk to anyone at an evening class - okay it's because all he would 'make' was bread and wine and the class wanted chocolate and vodka - but even then no-one would say more than a polite thank you.

Internet 'dating' seems the place to go then. Meet new people parties? Speed-dating?. All these things require some sense of 'desperation' or turn into a mates night out. Try them. Just don't rely (on) them.

So the internet is crammed with people all looking for something. Guys pick up girls with their half-naked poses; smut talk and willingness to even 'shag' the girls who "need lots of sex" but are not sure how to get a good supply without leaving the kids on their own to go out and find it. These sites are full of single mums. I have no strong views on it. I admire women who deal with families on their own, or who may have made the choice to be alone rather than be with someone 'wrong'. But, it is difficult to know where to start in these scenarios. Potentially many are really interesting women but they are frequently unreliable because of past hurt; current responsibility et cetera. I'll happily make the effort but what is the effort for? I'm not your 'SuperMan' but maybe your 'GenuineMan'? Oh hell, a genuine potential friend who happens to be a man.

It seems that each time the pattern goes like this. 1 in (approx) 20 people is interesting. You 'talk' on the site. Then e-mail. Possibly text message. Then perhaps you should meet?
Here is where it goes wrong. What are you meeting for? I'm of the frame of mind that it's a friendship. If you are meeting then you must have clicked on some level via e-mail so build on that. Most people seem to want their ideal partner and if not that then some clone of Robbie Williams, Jude Law or whoever is 'hot' that week.

So the meeting is pointless. Nice guy has a nice time. Not madly in love but the person is cool. Silence.

The meeting itself is difficult to arrange. What with the kids, work, pets, dusting. "Perhaps we should speak on the phone first?". What for? I like you.

Phones? Horrid. What is the point in developing an emotional bond (in addition to the mental one) with someone you will then meet, think is cool and probably never see again? Lets just do coffee in a public area. I'm no more dangerous than the husband of 17 years. You never really know anyone. Actually I'm harmless. Bland. No personality. Tedious. Irritating. Annoying. Awful.

Have I been let down? No, not at all. I don't really know these people so have little expectation. I suppose the thing is this. Honesty. I'm a man and I can be honest so honest too.

End of the evening. Woman: "That was fun, do you want to do it again?" Man: "Absolutely".

Men: What are we doing wrong? Women: Answers in a text or e-mail please!

You have such honest eyes...

After I titled my column today I have to admit that I froze for a second. It's really cold today. I'm also not sure how I can be humorous and satirical about such a thing. But - to use a television show cliché - "I've started so I'll finish".

What is it with dating in the modern world?

It seems we have 3 categories of people as far as dating is concerned. Of course you have your overly-confident, good-looking (perhaps simply because they are so confident) people. Then you have your completely opposite scale. Inhibited, possibly a little scary, dull. In the middle then is a category of 'ordinary people'. This is where the trouble begins. If we say ordinary (or average which is surely a similar term) then we are implying that this is the largest category? So is it? And where are Category 2 people?

In a bar on a Saturday night I can pick up (decent? I think so) guys quite easily. Okay the choice of bars is limited but the guys (in the right bars) are not. Females are relatively easy to 'pick-up' too. But, they all seem to be in category top or bottom. Where are the 'middle' women? So, I decide, I'll play it gay. Just to see if guys are the same. Result, they are. But it's like this. As a 'gay man' I can see Category 1 (to remind you, the really confident ones); Category 3 (the slightly dull ones); Category 2 is there too. But they are all Wall-Flowers. See I like flowers.

Flowers in pots; Flowers in a vase (though these will soon be dead); Flowers in the garden, Flowers in a park. Wall-Flowers? Yep I like Wall-Flowers too. Or Flowers on a wall as they might be known. So (as I'm not actually gay) I go back to the bars full of man-interested girls. Once again Category 1 and 3 and very well represented. Where is Category 2, the Wall-Flower?.

I get desperate...Start rubbing the walls. Down on my hands and knees. H.E.L.P. I dart around the bar, not because I'm over-confident or because I'm a little scary. Why? Because I'm lost.

In the television series 'Lost' the 'good' guy is actually the guy who doesn't fit in. Know what I mean? He fits in almost everywhere he goes but in this world (a 'world' that he really needs to fit in on) he is 'lost' outside of the obvious fact that they are all lost physically and emotionally. The guy is also 'lost' to the other Islanders. In the end I know my time has come to leave. The bouncers are even confused.

So though I like to think I am a Category 2 guy (I like Flowers okay), in one night of potential 'dating' I have displayed just 'my' Category 1 and 3 attributes. Wall-Flowers do not get noticed by the opposite sex. This temporary 'blindness' needs to stop because I'm good me. I'm the 'perfect guy'. (Damn, Category 1 again).