The Irritable Man Remade

I was cruising around the net and came across something that made me laugh and go Oh Yeah at the same time: IMS – Irritable Man Syndrome.

Did you hear that?

It was the noise of female eyes rolling combined with a little to the ceiling head movement. Probably there is a faction that opines IMS is a condition not unlike ADD. Sure, it has a name now, but in the old days it was just “fidgety”. Irritable man? Redundant.

Now, I THINK the article was sincere, but I just snickered and headed over here with a thought to write about it. I didn’t read the whole thing. If you want to, Go here.

I’m sure there are lots of scientific and medical justification. I don’t know any of that. I’m just a man, I’m irritated, and while some problems are caused by things like socks that are too constricting, stores inconveniently closed when I want to shop and cable television in general, nothing stirs the hornet’s nest like attributing all irritations to women, and so, reaching into the bottomless grab bag that is my life, I will now describe for you why everything that makes me remotely annoyed to insanely angry originates with women.

Now, if you are reading this, are in or have been in my life, and feel you recognize yourself in something I’ve written here, I assure you, it’s not you. It’s someone else.

• • Symptom: Chronic Fatigue – I used to sleep well. Very well. Late on Saturdays. Then I dated The Sleep Jackal. Settling down for the night, she’d listen for the tell-tale signs of my breath slowing and then just as I passed over into the Land of Nod, she’d ask me something. The first 40 or 50 times each evening I’d be polite and do my best to answer. After that I’d get irritable.
  • Symptom: Confusion – “Men are such pigs.” We hear that a lot. For those of us who aren’t, we hear it anyway, feel it imposed upon us like a toppling cinderblock wall and we become more piggish in a Can’t Beat ‘Em So May As Well Join ‘Em kind of reaction. And the next time a woman in a low cut top bends over to ask me a special favour in a little girl voice, if she has issue with my visual appreciation of her décolletage, I will get irritable.
  • Symptom: Depression – Nothing is worse than checking the balance of your joint account and finding it leaner than the Leaf’s playoff chances. Well, maybe it’s a little worse when you listen to boasts of restraint, of not spending more than $50, then seeing 10 separate purchases of $49.99. Irritating.
  • Symptom: Uncommunicative – I have never been literally blue in the face, but I frequently get there in a figurative manner. It doesn’t help that I have a compulsion to be clearly understood. That only makes the end result more frustrating. I take Great Pains to be clear. My ability to put it into writing probably stems from just this. So any time something diametrically opposed to my words and intent is presented starting with “Oh, I thought you meant…” I know, deeply and purely in my heart, that I was never listened to in the first place. Me? Not communicating? If I don’t, it’s because there is no point. And that is incredibly irritating.

With all the tribulations that women have rained down upon me it’s probably no wonder I’m single. Of more wonder is my dissatisfaction with being single, so there is likely a flip side to this story that I am conveniently ignoring here.

And true, if women get on my nerves so much, I could just hang out with men more often.

But you know what? They’re irritating.

Out From Under

…the covers. Still haven’t ventured into the snow since Sunday. This morning broke sunny though there are some pillowy clouds that the weather boys infer are troublemakers. Bring it on. I have groceries.

The early results are in, and there is ARE some startling data. I am seeking to attach statistics to my recent Wardrobe Rescue. To recap, a previous foray into online dating indicated that I appealed to a demographic approximately ten years older with a decidedly two-wheeled preference for locomotion.

Motorcycles. Not wheelchairs. Sheesh.

After 24 hours, raw data is as follows:

• Median Age: 48.8
• HOG Preference: 0%

Admittedly, as criteria for dating, this is somewhat limited, but as you can see, some headway has been made in making me an amorphous platypusian (I had to coin it)(rhymes with “cushion” not… never mind) blob that is more accurately placed both chronologically and visually by interests. The study continues.

Kathryn has requested my presence at the Katalyst Studio, tomorrow, 1 p.m. I have no idea what’s up, unless she needs her sidewalk shoveled. I’ll keep you posted.

@shpak60 on Twitter

Blizzardian Research

Oh. The weather outside is frightful. Blahblahblah. The city is being dumped on, still, and it’s supposed to continue into tomorrow. From my window, the snow appears to be falling up at about a 15 to 20 degree angle to the south. I’m reasonably sure this is an illusion of some sort. Having spent some time in banishment in Winnipeg, I’m neither overly impressed at the scope of the storm, nor of the reaction of the locals. At best this is a “reasonable flurry” by Manitoba standards.

The ‘research’ of the title is not about the blizzard itself, but rather following a thought that occurred to me as I stared into the snowy evening gloom. I was thinking about the changes to my appearance and how the reactions to same have been predominately from people who know me as an amorphous blob. So, in terms of comparison, sure, easy to see improvement, but does this mean I’m just now a formally dressed platypus, or have I really elevated my Superficial Status in life?

Some time ago I had a rather curious experience when I was part of an online dating site. Initially, I posted photos of myself, as part of my profile and, to generalize, the response demographic I received could be described “60 year old motorcycle mamas”. I exaggerate for the sake of humour. But not much.

Taking another tack, I killed the pics on the profile and presented myself strictly through the written word. That led to some interesting conversations that led up to a point where photos were exchanged and then… nothing. I failed the Beauty portion of the competition.

Ultimately I was driven away from the site by a crazed stalker who would not stay blocked. While it was somewhat flattering to rate my own stalker, it was tiresome after a while and the lack of satisfactory result led me to cancel that membership.

However, this evening I posited that perhaps here was a way to see if real change has been effected, particularly upon the unsuspecting population who have no idea what my “Before” photo looks like. To that end, I created a profile that is me, with photos taken on Man-Over Day.

Now comes the research. I will track incoming response to this new profile based on three criteria:

1. Median age of responders – While I don’t have hard data from my previous membership, there was definitely an 8 to 12 year seniority on the part of those who made first contact with me.
2. Percentage of motorcycle fans – I’m even more certain of this tendency of previous admirers. Bikes. It was in pretty much every profile.
3. Return of Stalker – this will be the acid test. If the stalker turns up again it will show that I am recognizable and still have psychotic appeal, which is something I’d like to move away from. This point might serve as a tie-breaker in the event of mixed results.

Okay, I admit. Not the most precise of research projects. But looking at the size of flakes pouring down now, I’m going to be inside for a while. And I am open to to your suggestions for further criteria for monitoring. Any ideas?