Archive for November, 2011

Slump: Busted

I’ve found the edge of the desert and there’s a fucking ocean before me, and not before time either. Met up with the girl I’d went on that date with a week or two ago, we went for a drive after midnight, listening to music and talking. Drove around Glasgow for a while then went a bit closer to home, my smoking spot to be precise. Usually there’s a good view to be seen but the constant rain made it look as if I was parked at the top of an abyss. No police, no traffic, and most importantly there’s no doggers there though, which was handy.

Things moved to the back seat fairly quickly and I quickly fell back into the groove of things. She met me when it came to a bit of roughness, which was a pleasant surprise, as I had thought it’d be a nice but gentle shag. That’s alright usually but I was coming off of a months long dry patch, so to say I wanted to Hulk out more than anything is an understatement.  It was good, things felt natural and I realised just how much I’d missed it. I’d left my mp3 player playing through the car stereo, and as a bit of an added epicness, it was the Duke Nukem theme playing during the “liveliest” section.

We lay naked in the back of the car with the rain pouring outside until around five o’clock. I could’ve slept I was that chilled out. Shit felt good man. Maybe as a result of that song, or just general post-coital happy thoughts, I came to the conclusion that I am in fact fucking awesome and the world is my cock-hungry oyster, and I’m just the man for the job. Yeah, I had some sort of fucking epiphany, I’ll admit. I doubt I’ll be seeing this girl next month, but I’ve reminded myself of how easy it is when you strip away all the bullshit and doubt. Just stop worrying about stuff and it’ll fall into your lap. And start bouncing.

I’m back bitches!

Read Full Post »

A letter to yourself. Tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself.

At the risk of ending on a sour note, no. I’ve mentioned all my good points in other posts, and I can’t be arsed going over them again. Especially note in such a self-congratulatory way that reeks of someone trying to buoy themselves up as if they’re listening to a self-help tape. “I am a unique and special person.” Fuck off.

This is the end of the little 30 Days experiment, hope you enjoyed it. It’s been of variable quality I know, some days I was tired or couldn’t be fucked, others there just wasn’t much to say on the matter. It did give a little bit of structure I suppose and got me talking about things I otherwise wouldn’t have. From now on though it’s back to regular blog posts, which I feel I’ve neglected a bit due to not having the time to do both things.

The adventures of Johny continue…

Read Full Post »

Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.

I’ll keep it short, as this has been covered a before. Simply I want to change the situation I’m in just now. Mostly lose more weight and become fitter, for the obvious reasons that I’ll look and feel better. Move out of this house and become self-sufficient is the next big milestone in my life. Even though the housing situation here is a joke, few can afford to live themselves, waiting on a council house will take years, and many normal young guys are still living with their parents, I feel like I’m going to turn into Norman Bates before long. I need out of the cell that I have, I need my own set of keys, my own space basically. There’s also the fact that I’d love to be able to say that “mine” doesn’t also have four other people in it ranging from 15 to 52.

More money, we could all do with it right? A job that I don’t mind going to in the morning, pays more than enough to live in the flat I’ll go back to at night, and has a chance of letting me climb higher for even more money.

I want to change my default setting of procrastination as well, which I am slowly getting over as time goes on.

Read Full Post »

The second interview went not too badly, though it did serve to highlight that even though I use a computer every day for gaming and all the usual stuff I don’t actually know a great deal about the ins and outs of them. Not off the top of my head and in technical language anyway. I was asked ten questions, largely about the likes of diagnosing connection problems with the internet and peripherals like mice and printers etc. It was fairly informal, just sat in a room and rattled through it quickly then back out the door again. The position was apparently “tier 3” technical support, whatever the fuck that means, as opposed to the original one being one lower. No mention of earning more money from it though, and the lazy part of me that doesn’t want to work a job in IT for the rest of my life is yelling to do the least work needed if they’re both minimum wage. I didn’t want to bring it up in the interview for obvious reasons, right now I’ll take what I can get. The interviewer told me again that I’d already got into the job (or training, which better be paid or I’ll cry) I originally applied for, and this was just to see if I’d be suited to another part of the company. They said they’d call me back today but I haven’t gotten one, with any luck it’ll be tomorrow. I wouldn’t mind a bit more of an assurance before I go telling everyone in the off-chance that they change their mind or there’s been a mix-up. And mostly because I don’t want to have to deal with any of those annoying cunts at the work programme.

Fingers crossed though, I’ve scrimped enough that I’m keeping a steady £150 or so in my account so if for any reason my dole gets stopped I can survive for a couple of weeks. Other than that I wouldn’t mind getting a few presents for everyone in the house, the car’s exhaust is slowly but surely dying again, and I’d like to update my wardrobe to decent stuff that I don’t need to pretend is shabby chic. Or that I’m such a hardcore ironic hipster that I’m making a statement out of old trackies and battered trainers. Maybe I’m going to stumble my way right into a £22,000 a year job, a professional call centre monkey! I’ve began to have notions of saving every penny for two years then quitting and fucking off somewhere, anywhere. The pan hasn’t progressed further than that rough outline. Getting out of this house is the first priority now though. Save up, find a guy that needs a roommate, and get out of here. Made the mistake of mentioning to my mum that I’d probably gotten a job rather than just leaving the house on monday morning and coming back eight hours later. For some reason this makes it open day for abuse. Everything from using the wrong lights to see with to the dog not having any tinned meat to eat, can’t do anything right. And instead of me getting a job, the complaint is that I should’ve gotten one sooner. Soon it’ll be not handing over enough money, that my work isn’t that hard, when am I going to move out… I might get a well done to start with, but I pay for it over the next few days, as always.

Spent today hanging out with Hans, this may be our last Thursday meet-up unfortunately. I’m starting to dislike this employment malarkey already. Told her that if I did get the job I’d ask around and see if they needed anyone fluent in German. It’s a big company with a lot of contracts, a German native studying English at uni level would walk into a niche job like that. When I left and got in my car to drive home I found a nice present waiting for me on the passenger seat: a tampon. The joys of having women for friends eh? I looked at it like an ape would an iPad, or a soldier in a war film would stare at the grenade that’s landed in front of him right before it goes off. I’m ashamed to admit that my first thought upon seeing it was “That’s an oddly shaped mint.” I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it. Should I give it back? Are they valuable? Personalised? Do I keep it in the glovebox in the unlikely event someone asks me if I have a spare one? What does the inside of it look like? Should I take it home, fill up the sink with water, drop it in and giggle as it expands? In the end I chose to chuck it out of the window, bouncing it off the windscreen of a passing Transit van. Some mysteries are best left unknown.

Read Full Post »

What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?

Do exactly what I did the last couple of times: shit myself. I don’t want a baby, especially not with the kind of girls I’ve been with. Fuck, I was with a girl five years and I still didn’t want her to be the mother of my (sweet Jesus please) firstborn. Right now would be a seriously bad time for it. Living with parents, unemployed and my biggest concern is where I’m going to get my hole from next? That kind of situation does not a good baby make.

The first pregnancy scare I had was back when I was fifteen. Sex was awesome and condoms were the devil, so I went in bare and had to fight against every instinct I had in order to make my arse go in reverse when I wanted to come. Sooner or later it was going to happen: she told me she was late and my heart tried to tear itself out of my chest and sprint for the door. We had the same conversation as the one I had a few years later with Ex. It roughly revolved around what she was thinking, how she felt, and me trying to gently steer the conversation in the direction of “we’re too young, it would be mental if we did it” without ever saying the word abortion, because then all the cards have been laid on the table and it’s a great weapon to be used against you later on. So I listed all the downsides, and there were many, of having a kid. Thankfully in both (or three, I can’t remember) instances it turned out they weren’t pregnant. From then on I was considerably more careful though. When a male pill is developed, I think the human race in the western hemisphere will die out.

However if I did end up getting a girl pregnant, then I would bend over backwards to support her, and make sure that I looked after my kid. I might not want one, but when it comes down to it I’d be there. For all I may joke about running a mile, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Even if it wasn’t a happy little nuclear family, she’d never be a single mum. That’s in the best case scenario of course, which I hope it would be, and that I didn’t knock up some crazy vindictive bitch that would use our kid as a weapon. I’ve seen it happen, doesn’t matter if the guy loves his kid, the woman can’t see beyond herself, or even has the kid tell the dad that they don’t love him any more. Men are prone to acting like cunts as well, never being around or being bastards when they are. Being a dad is off the cards for years to come yet…

…I’ve went and jinxed it haven’t I?

Read Full Post »

What’s the best thing going for you right now?

I suppose there’s a couple of things. I’ve got drive now, not in any certain direction but I’m powering through things like a blind bear on speed. Even got myself a little white lie if anyone asks what it is I do so I don’t need to answer with “lol dunno.” Right now I’m looking for work and planning on doing an access course to Glasgow Uni so that I can do a degree that changes depending on what the lady in question might like most. Saying I’m going to be a brain surgeon isn’t very believable, but stuff like zoology, politics, literature etc, that gets a good reception. Not a complete lie when I don’t know myself right?

Other things… um, a car? A lot of people not driving, whereas I own mine outright, it’s a five door and has yet to completely break down on me. I’m tall, nothing to dry up a clunge than being a short fat guy after all. I’m not shy, find it easy to talk to people, like animals, only scare children deliberately, have no STDs… Fuck knows. I’m not daft, not ugly to the point of deformation, have enough money to a buy a girl a drink, the usual shit. Over and out.

Read Full Post »

Saturday night turned out alright, had a good time and as far as I know she did too. Picked her up at hers and we got talking easily enough even with it being the first we’d seen each other in so long. Went to a pub, had a couple of drinks and caught up with what we’d been doing for all this time. I made it sound as if I’d skipped from one job to another then on to college, trying to bring a more sabbatical air to things rather than plain old unemployment. She’s currently looking for work(™) but was doing photography beforehand. It’d be nice to date a photographer, so that when I’m middle-aged I’d have a shoebox of artful nudes from back in my glory days. There were no awkward silences thank christ, though the standby of old school stories was there just in case. The film afterwards wasn’t half bad, nothing to pass the time while you’re getting to know someone like sitting in a darkened room for a couple of hours. She got points for saying she didn’t like Breaking Dawn, I was slightly worried beforehand that we might end up seeing that instead, but no, dystopian sci-fi it was. Got a bite to eat later, a drive and I dropped her back at her’s in the wee hours with a kiss on the doorstep to end the night. She’s a nice girl, we’ve got things in common like the odd piece of music, films, and a similar sense of humour. She’s quite bubbly too, but there’s a little bit of sharpness underneath which I rather like. It’s not love at first sight, I’m not head over heels, but she’s cool. I wasn’t bored to tears or trying to drag out a conversation, it was just a fun night that I wouldn’t say no to having again.

I was tempted to call her the next day and ask if she wanted to come along and see the local junkie tower block getting torn down, make a joke of it and call it a hillbilly date or something, but I decided against it. One, I figured I’d leave it more than twelve hours before texting her, and two, some things in life are better enjoyed alone. Explosions are one of them I think. The building in question was one of the raft that were built back in the fifties and sixties when the dream was that the common man would be living in the sky. Instead it put people twenty floors up with their own little box and an effective fitness regime should the lifts ever break and you’ve got three kids or a dodgy hip to contend with. Like a lot of those places people soon wanted to move out, and more undesirable people were moved in to replace them. As junkies aren’t too fussy where they live, and people aren’t too keen to keep the places they reside in looking spick and span, the tower fell into disrepair and became more or less deserving of the moniker Heroin Heights. The little news segment that was on TV managed to skillfully dodge around that fact though.

I stood there in the drizzle with a couple of hundred other people and my dog loving the attention she gets from anyone walking by. Not so bad when it’s a girl in lycra jogging in the park, but when it’s half-cut guys and kids inching closer and closer unsure of if she’s nice or not I could do without it. She did something completely unforgivable though, and this is a dog that’s stolen the shoes off of children’s feet, rusks from their hands and nearly got knocked down chasing a fox when she was younger. Now, I like to think I’ve raised a confident dog. She doesn’t mind big crowds or traffic, she’s fine with horses and bigger dogs, even the likes of rotties and staffies. So when I’m standing in the middle of a crowd with a few people looking at her and subsequently me, what kind of dog do you think she’d be terrified of? A pug. In a pink harness. A pug in a fucking pink harness that didn’t make a sound and hardly showed any interest yet she was shying away as if it was Cerberus bearing down on her. People noticed and burst out laughing seeing this big dog dodging around the little one. I’m sorely tempted to just have her put down now.

As for the demolition itself, it was epic, if fleeting. There were four klaxon calls and then it basically imploded in no time. I had a fraction of a second to brace myself for the sound of it when I seen the first charge go off, never felt anything like it before. Not too bad for my first time seeing one. I hope that someone who lived in the flats nearby set up a camera on a tripod before they had to leave the house so that there’s a close-up view of it coming down. More demolitions please.

Had an interview today as well, round two of a possible three just for a job in a fucking call centre. I heard that in the olden days you used to go and sit in a room with someone and you’d talk to each other, then they’d call you back and tell you if you had a job or not. How archaic and simple! I’ve had a phone interview, now a group assessment, then maybe another phone interview to top it all off. It went alright, don’t think I could have done anything better than I did, other than find a parking space quicker so I was there early rather than just on time. I don’t know how many people overall they’re interviewing for it, but there were six of us there, all guys. I was the only one that didn’t have some sort of degree to do with computing, and I can’t figure out who that’s more depressing for. Me, if I don’t get this minimum wage job because you unofficially need a degree, or them, who’ve spent years working hard and still being on the shit pile with monkeys like yours truly. So I embellished my previous work to focus on all the wonderful and not at all cunt-faced customers I dealt with and how I can indeed use a phone. All said in a nice clear confident voice of course.

The competition was a Martin Freeman lookalike, ironically he was sat next to someone not too dissimilar to Gareth from The Office. The pair of them seemed like normal enough guys, over-qualified and quite quiet. Next was a ginger guy who started off by telling everyone how he left uni as he didn’t like the way the course was run, and then carried on in much the same vein, with a load of stuttering for good measure. The next guy was probably the most qualified for call centre work, talked easily, plenty of experience, I can see him getting it long before me. Naturally he’s my sworn enemy. Last but not least was an Indian guy with good but fairly heavily accented English that didn’t seem to talk confidently enough. Nobody struck me as a complete nutter or pain in the arse, wouldn’t mind working with any of them.

There were a couple of tasks along the lines of why you think you should get the job, what you have to bring to the table, where you see yourself in a years time, that kind of thing. I think I done alright at, was conscious not to have “um” as every third word and mostly had it planned out in my head as it was. Lastly was a short test with relatively basic tech question which I think I won’t have had too much trouble passing. We were told we’d hear back within a week about whether or not we’ve got the job. There might or might not be a phone interview, if not then it’s four weeks training followed by a six month probationary period. Feels like I’m trying to join the fucking Men in Black, not explain to old ladies the difference between wireless radio and wireless internet.

GREAT BIG HOOR OF AN EDIT: Just as I was spell checking this my phone went, turns out I’ve got through for the tech role I applied for, and they want me to come in tomorrow to try out for a different position in another part of the company. There was talk of “based on the answers I provided” on the test and the role being a bit more technical than the one I originally applied for, but I reckon that it might have been just spiel to get me to come along so they can quickly fill a gap. I didn’t go into a lot of detail filling in the answers and considering that I was in a room full scholars I can see it being the case. So tomorrow I’ve to go in for a more informal meeting to see how I get on. I think it’s less on my current knowledge and more on how it looks like I’ll learn. With a bit of luck it might pay a bit more as well.

Read Full Post »

Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?

Surprisingly enough no. Sure, I’ve felt like complete and utter shite at times, with long periods of being a miserable bastard, but suicide has never been on the cards. I think I’m too stubborn if nothing else, and suicide seems so pointless when you think about it. Think about our relationship, me and you, whoever you are. We’re strangers, I don’t know you and you only know me through the things I choose to put on this blog. You could be twenty, thirty, forty years old and you’ve went decades without knowing who the hell I am. You don’t think of me beyond the times you read this blog and if I stopped posting tomorrow I’d soon vanish out of your mind until two years from now when you decide to tidy up all your bookmarks, because obviously this site is amongst your favourites, sandwiched between an interesting Wikipedia article and a porn video with the girl that looks a lot like the one that was way out of your league in school. It’s the most tenuous of links, go back to the seventies and I’m the second cousin of a friend of a friend’s uncle they haven’t seen since they were five. We’re not very close is what I’m saying, and all my drama doesn’t much matter.

It’s all about perspective. Sure, every day might be painful for me, and all I want to do is go back to sleep so another day can pass without being tortured by my own messed up mind, but do you care? Course not, you monster! But still, I decide to go throw myself off of a bridge. That’s me dead. You only live an hour’s drive away, you don’t give a fuck. You don’t even hear about it unless I say I’m going to do it beforehand (it’ll be off of somewhere high, I want to enjoy the trip down at least, seriously) and it makes the news, with you bothering to connect the dots. A handful of people are truly distraught, a few more really rather upset, couple dozen maybe quite sad, another couple dozen say it’s a shame, the rest don’t care. Each and every one of them will wake up the next day and go about their business, I fade from memory and the world moves on. Is it fucked up that I don’t kill myself because my life is insignificant?

I see it as accepting defeat and giving in, at least concerning myself anyway. If things are a fight, then there’s no fucking way I’m going to lose. Plus there’s that macho aspect to it, that others are weaker for doing it, whereas I’m stronger and therefore superior. I sound as if I’ve given a lot of thought to it, but never honestly considered it. Self-harm on the other hand… well, it depends on who you ask.

My mid-teens were a bit of a shit time all round. I was fighting at home, fighting on the street, not doing well in school, had a fucked up girl in the shape of Rose, and generally living the srs-bsns bit of Skins. A significant number of the girls and a few boys were into self-harming. They did the usual cutting on the arms, a few on the legs, all hidden up with a sour demeanour and long sleeves. I could relate. Still can. Pain is a cleansing thing for me, I don’t go out of my way to seek it, but I don’t suffer a great deal from it either. When your mind feels muddled, hazy, disorganised, pain strips all that away. It gives things clarity and something to focus on other than whatever it is that’s getting you down. I didn’t cut myself, I had rugby instead. It let me blow off steam, and the angrier I got the harder I hit, the better I played. Afterwards in the showers the cuts from having studs dragged down me or rucked on the ground would sting, then once I got home the bruises would start to appear. The next morning I could enjoy waking up with the usual muscular aches and pains like there always was. I didn’t need razor blades or MCR, I got a pat on the back with my pain relief. I didn’t play just for the masochistic side of things, I enjoyed the competition and being part of a team too, the injuries were just an addition to all of that. It got me out of the house a few times a week as well.

I understand how some people do want to just end all of their pain, after years with Ex I get that more than most, but I’ve never thought that it’d be a better option to living. So if you’re down, go get some help you moody cunt!

Read Full Post »

The reason you believe you’re still alive today.

Dumb luck I suppose. I’ve not really had to overcome a huge number of trials to get here and I’ve never exactly been destitute. Where I live it’s the people that’ll kill you rather than the environment, and they’re relatively easy to avoid. We killed all the wolves centuries ago and the most dangerous species of snake hasn’t killed anyone in decades. No malaria or mosquitoes, just incredibly annoying midges, and the insects are shit. There wasn’t much of a circle of poverty to fall into so while I’ve got next to fuck all money myself, I have at least got a roof over my head and a pillow under it.

How I grew up without any broken bones I’ll never know. Kids at school used to come in plaster more than they did shoes from falling off of bikes or ruining an ankle with a mis-timed jump from a garage roof. I was encouraged to go and climb trees and the steep hills in the countryside. The only thing I ever heard about safety at rugby was to make sure I wore my gumshield. The pinkies on either hand are a bit fucked, and I did get kicked in the nose which I think broke it, plus I had the lobe of my ear torn a little bit, and obviously my lip split open and arse crack excavated, but other than that I’ve been fit as a fiddle. Nothing really life threatening.

Only been in one car crash, that was a bit rubbish and a lot less exciting than I thought it would be. To think my first car was a write-off with a gay collision when there was a lovely big embankment that I could’ve rolled it down instead. Might as well have done it in style after all. As I mentioned it’ll be people that land you in the hospital rather than dirty water or hippos, but as long as you don’t go looking for a fight or that you’d shy away from one it’s easy to lead a peaceful life.

What I’m trying to say is that Scotland isn’t the most dangerous place in the world, that’s how I’ve trundled on this long. I’ll ask for Burma in my next life for a little bit of variety.

Read Full Post »

Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs.

Fuck that, this isn’t a chick flick. Here’s a few quick songs that various people you don’t know will get, with a little message to them that they won’t read…

This was our soundtrack to last winter when we both practically lived in my car. To date the only song like this that I’ve ever sang along to while acting like Thelma and Louise. I turn it off whenever I hear the opening few bars now partly because I’ve listened to it so many times, and partly because it reminds me of a specific time that I don’t want the memory of tarnished by ruining it with today’s thoughts.

Alright yeah, I admit it, not all of The Beatles songs are shite and they do have some redeeming qualities. The lot of us blaring it out while breaking my speakers was nice. And ruining my voice for a few days after it, cheers.

The old ice skating we used to go to back when we were kids and all those hormones first started kicking in with the lot of us. The big circle round the outside and the middle section where the DJ. I got thrown out once because one of the teenagers tried to kick me with his skates on so I reached up as high as I could to smack him for it and got caught. 

Coming through your really shitty tinny phone speakers while we both lay in the scud on your bed because your CD player was fucked and having the TV on annoyed. How in the hell did this become our post-coital soundtrack?

Starting from around a minute in when the vocals begin, this was playing on my stereo and as my ringtone when I waited with bated breath for you to text or reply online. Didn’t realise the Freudian lyrics until much later on. You were the first of a new era, and a harsh lesson I’m glad I learned early on.

Just… what the hell was I doing? What were we doing? We weren’t exactly friendly or intimate, yet there we were spending a fuckton of time together when there was absolutely no reason to. Christ am I glad that’s over. You’re fucked up brain spread hen.

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »