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Showing posts with label theory. Show all posts
Showing posts with label theory. Show all posts

Tuesday, 19 November 2013

Ponderation...


So, I went to a RPM class today. It’s where you join a class of people all on stationary  bikes, that have gears, and you torture yourself by changing gears to make the ride harder, faster, more painful as you pedal like mad, stand and pedal, sit and pedal and sweat profusely as loud, fast paced music pounds away in a room that is darkened but for those black lights that make your white socks glow and the instructor yells at you to go harder and faster and daring you to give up. As if. Anyway, as I was doing the pedal, stand, sit, sweat, looking at my glowing white socks, it occurred to me that my arse was on fire with pain. Why? Those bike seats are small. Fat arse + small seat = youch and bloody hell.  

This made me ponder the scientifics of arses. Surely a larger arse would make the ride easier?  You know more padding, less bone exposure on a teeny, weeny seat. But it doesn’t and I was thrilled at the standing up and pedalling like mad parts. Sitting? Not so thrilled. So, if a larger arse doesn’t cushion pain, what happens to people with small bums? Is it a case, as I tried to explain my theory to a good friend who always looks at me with that indulgent you’re-mad-look-but-being-a-friend-I-will-listen-to-your-latest-theory, that smaller bottoms some how mystically fit the seat better because there’s no overflow and therefore less pressure on sensitive areas of derriere and lady bits?


It’s a ponderation…bums…always with us…always causing problems.      

Thursday, 4 October 2012

Nipples....


....just testing a theory...

Sunday, 2 September 2012

An early Sunday morning thought...



I’ve been thinking about stuff writers think about – love, romance, finding the one – all that stuff and in theory I believe is most likely correct yet when I look around me at the people in relationships who aren’t happy – and no, I don’t expect everyone to be deliriously happy - I wonder, after talking to them, how many are at least content and not just staying together through habit? This makes me wonder if romance books are modelled on real life or are they made to be a ideal of what people want to feel they need so women read them thinking  ‘if only’ or 'I will hunt me down a man and I will be happy damn it.'  Are writers then perpetuating an unrealistic myth and does romance really exist or if it something that can be bought for $3.99 and is used in lieu of taking happy pills?
 
Just a thought...