Archive for the ‘insensitive male bastard’ Category

So, you’ve seen my previous posts showcasing some of the tat and nonsense Chinese Amazon sellers send me in exchange for reviews. (HERE and HERE)

Well, it seems Germany has got into the game, and they don’t have random pieces of technology or fancy housewares to send. No, they have DIFFERENT THINGS. DIFFERENT.



Anyway, in an effort to make my Tuesday evening fun, I did a bit of an unboxing and er… test live on Twitter.
Forgive any poorly embedded tweets, I’m not the best at internettery.


Previously on Fudgecrumpet
“Let’s go shopping”
“Let’s get the chuffachoo to Leeds”
“Dairy Free Chocolate Mousse”

And now, the conclusion…

When last we saw our curmudgeonly hero, he had been firmly planted on an uncomfortable seat outside the Next changing room, buried underneath infinite clothing, waiting for the missus to try on whatever nonsense she wants to buy that blatantly isn’t Christmas presents.


“How does this look on me?” She shouts from one of the cubicles.
“It looks lovely, dear.” You reply, instinctively, having made the mistake of actually thinking about the answer in the past.
“No, really. How does it look? Come and see.”

You pause for a moment, aware that this is probably some kind of trap to destroy you, but seeing no tripwires, landmines or spring-loaded boxing gloves, you venture into the changing room corridor.

So, imagine if you will, in the act of entertaining your loyal readers, you inadvertently watch Transformers The Movie in the presence of your lovely missus, but she asks one too many questions about the movie and you attempt to murder her with the nearest thing to hand, namely a tupperware box half full (optimist) of mini marshmallows and she gets inexplicably furious and throws you out for the night and you have to go and live in the woods across the road. Now, this hypothetical situation would be all well and good, but in the act of attempted murder using said half empty (pessimist) tub of mini marshmallows you accidentally get all sweaty and filthy from all the ruckus and you’ve basically got no chance of being let in the house without having a wash. You need a wash, but you can’t get in the house to access the shower, the kitchen sink or even the toilet overflow pipe which you fixed last week by adjusting the ballcock adjustment nut inside the cistern. What do you do, hot shot, WHAT DO YOU DO? (more…)

So… in a change to our regular Movie Night shenanigans, I’m gonna do a live chunter while watching (for the first time), found-footage Rosemary’s Baby-ish horror film Devil’s Due. Expect me to go off on one at some point, if the movie annoys or bores me or if I get distracted by something. I get distracted by stuff easily. Spoiler Alert. Probably.

Devil's Due

So… without futher ado… DEVIL’S DUE

0:00:00 – Movie Starts with police interview framing sequence. Meh.
0:08:47 – “Hey! Why don’t I write a live blog movie night post?”
0:08:48 – So…. it’s all camcordery. The main couple just got married, filmed all that, didn’t film the honeymoon night. Feel conned.
0:11:00 – Nothing much has happened yet. Nothing Devilly anyway. (more…)

Here’s a good old venting blog I’ve been building up for a month or so in my brain, about the wonders of being the male half of a pregnant couple.
Now, don’t go shouting ‘oh you poor man not having to carry a child or push it out of your bumbum’, because I’m in full agreement with the female side of the argument, how it’s all painful and all effort and pushing and uncontrollable urination and such, I just feel that us blokes either get no sympathy at all (why we should get some is below) or get turned into insensitive, heartless idiots when we offer the slightest word of complaint.
Why we deserve a modicum of sympathy? Well, for starters, there’s the morning sick creature that carries your future child. This is no longer the woman you wanted to spend all night with, watching episodes of American Idol with, because she is just so lovely that you’ll put up with any old crap. No, this is a creature of endless vomiting and complaining (both come out of the mouth, both of which now render her completely inable of doing anything else. Thus the man is left doing every single household chore (not easy when there’s a 4 year old undoing the chores shortly after you’ve done them) whilst still being all sensitive and loving and sympathetic and not falling asleep when she needs you. For all the gratitude you recieve…
And then when it comes to morning sickness, and whatever other ailments that she ends up getting during the pregnancy. Turns out the only things that pregnant girls can do if they get poorly is bugger all towards getting better. The only ‘cure’ offered by NHS Direct for Morning Sickness (which is a lie. It should really be called Any Time You’re Awake Sickness) were those ridiculous sea-sickness wristbands that have no effect, eating little and often (i.e. eating something in between throwing up bouts and hoping it stays down) and for some bizarre reason getting her to lie on her left hand side (improves circulation or some such nonsense), this last one is obviously impossible as the telly is on the wrong side of the room.
For some reason it’s impossible to buy these sea-sickness wristbands over the counter at Tescos, even though they are on the shelf next to the Rennies, and since they are a Pharmacy item, they cost twice as much as anything else in the store. For an elastic band with a plastic lump stuck in the middle, and no apparent effect I can heartily unrecommend wasting your money on such crap.
Cravings next, and the reason my house smells like a dodgy burger van. She’s gone mad for fried onions, and general unhealthy deep fried stuff and stodge. So, anything like Yorkshire Puddings is good. Anything that requires little effort to cook, tastes nice or helps with my efforts to reduce my gut size is out. And yes, I know that there’s the option of cooking separate meals, but then that means eating in separate rooms as the nice looking, nice tasting food that I would want to eat also happens to be the food that triggers off her gipping fits. And by now I’ve emptied enough buckets to know that everything I can do to prevent a gipping fit is worth doing. (no carrots in pregancy vomit though, unusually – even when she eats carrots).
As for the length of the morning sickness, I think if her last pregnancy is anything to go by, we’ve got about a week or so left until she stops chucking and enters the so tired she can’t do anything stage. I swear none of the above ranting will be found in Myleene’s book. Grrr.
Anyway, that’s enough ranting for now. Will try and get some more splurging done sometime later in the week.
Happy Humping!