I have a Uni podcast playing and it’s boring me. I thought I would continue to let it run in the background while I did something that made me less likely to punch myself in the face.
So I will probably learn no more than I already know (which is nothing) about the Semantic Library…but you lovely people will get another blog post. Because clearly I love you all more than I love my education.
Not a hard thing to achieve. Sorry.
I’ll talk instead about Jane Austen. Unless a guy wants tips on how to get laid by knowing shit about Jane Austen, all men should probably not continue to read.
Unless they love J.A. In which case, high fives all round!
I have a theory that it is ingrained into a woman’s subconscious to love stories of romance and happy endings.
Not those happy endings. Jeez, perv.
Although I enjoy a good trashy romance novel just as much as the next person.
Yeah this was the most sexually explicit gif I was gonna post about that
Anyway, Jane Austen.
I used to be a member – don’t judge – of the Jane Austen Society of Australia – don’t judge – and I would attend seminars and lectures and meet lots of old ladies who shared my love of wet men in white shirts.
Anyway, I was a member for a year and then I started uni and other things got in the way. Things like the Austen society at my University. I spent more than $100 on my first day of orientation week during freshman year of Uni on joining clubs, thinking I’d do so many amazing things.
I ended up never attending a single society – except the Austen events. Tea parties and whatnot. Needless to say I did not make many friends that way. In fact, everyone was damn boring and not a single person added alcohol to their tea. So civilized. I didn’t really fit in that well.
So I started attending engineering parties. If you’ve ever gone to Uni, you’ll know what the engineering department is renowned for…
Especially that last one.
So despite not having much luck with Austen at University, my love for her and her works still grew over time. Now I pretty much keep that love to myself and fan its flames by rereading her books and re-watching the adaptations on occasion (on occasion being every week).
I own at least two different adaptations of each book in DVD format and have 6 copies of each original text. The former is due to me, the latter is not. Whenever family doesn’t know what to buy me to a present, they get me a different edition of her works. It’s a fail-safe. Obviously I’m not that competent at disguising my Janeite tendencies…
So now we come to the present. hahaha. Get what I did there?
Yup. So the reason I’m making my ballgown (as I wrote about in yesterday’s post) is for the Jane Austen Festival of Australia.
Sorry, got a little carried away with that last one…
Mmhmmm, that’s a thing. And I’m attending that thing. Not only that but I am paying hundreds of dollars to be attending that thing. I will be doing regency dance classes from 9am to 5pm and then going to nap before intending to get absolutely shit faced that evening at the ball.
I know that I will have the opportunity to make a total twat of myself without guilt or fear because I can basically guarantee that there will be no eligible men to try an impress. Just old women and poor, blackmailed husbands and boyfriends.
Why am I even going, do you ask? Well, because despite knowing that I will never really find a Darcy, Tilney, Knightley or Wentworth, I can’t help but continue to stubbornly believe that Austen knew something that I didn’t: that men like hers really exist somewhere in the world. So I read and reread and dream that true love is more than just a concept that sells movie and theatre tickets to gullible female customers.
hahahahaha these women are so stupid! I can’t believe they thought Titanic in 3D would be any different. Fools!
I know I am not alone in this disease. It is a genetic sickness that almost all women suffer from. They’re lying if they say they don’t feel the same way. Just like they’re lying when they say they wouldn’t turn lesbian if they had the right offer.
You know it’s true ladies.
So there you have it men, the secret to women’s hearts is Jane Austen. Just put on a wet white shirt and you’ll have her at your mercy. Or you could go to a Jane Austen festival yourself. Just think about it: you would be one of a small handful of emotionally entangled men. Women would be THROWING themselves at you to dance.
You could be a total asshole and they’d just imagine you were Darcy and stick their tongues down your throat.
I know, I give the best advice. You’re welcome.
This was totally not how I had intended this post to turn out but hey, I guess that’s life.