It’s Saturday morning and I’m gearing up for a session of mammoth proportions tonight. To put things into perspective, I’ve worked every Saturday since JFK was shot and it is a well-known fact that my alcohol consumption of recent weeks has been well below standard. So tonight, I’m going to go out and get absolutely bloody mortal. Just as long as I can squeeze in a power nap beforehand. It’s Saturday night, let’s go and regret something.
It’s Valentine’s Day soon. In more interesting news, I just had a boiled egg.
In all seriousness, Valentine’s is a day to shower your special someone with expensive shiny things. Unfortunately, due to the restraining order, I can’t get my gifts to Aiden Grimshaw, so I’ll have to just treat myself. I could do with a new hoody (in hindsight I shouldn’t have been a cheapskate and bought the cheap imitation Harvard hoody and just plumped for a decent quality one), but knowing me, I’ll treat myself to a Double Steakhouse Angus.
And for the 5 minutes it takes me to eat that, I will be happier than any of these dozey couples.
So travelling is the flavour of the month. We’ve been quoted around £1700 for our flights, and here’s a very brief summary of the latest itinerary:
Sept 15th: London >>> Boston
(Overland to Miami)
Oct 15th : Miami >>> Bangkok (via Los Angeles)
(Overland to Singapore)
Dec 15th: Singapore >>> Sydney
Then it ends. After Christmas and New Years in Sydney. I have absolutely no idea where life will take me. In an ideal world, I’ll meet a beautiful, blonde, bikini-clad Aussie and fall helplessly and hopelessly in love and live in a little beach hut in Australia for the rest of our lives. But I’d settle for a half-decent job in Oz and a good tan.
Or I could pay a cute, impressionable American chick a couple grand for a sham marriage and US Citizenship.
Of course I’m joking…
I don’t want to come back to Medway. Things might change, but right now I have nothing but my wonderfully huge family in Medway. And my Jack’s Mannequin Vinyls. Shit. But with all due respect to my family and the Mannequin, I have to find my own way and I know that Medway isn’t a place I want to grow old and senile in.
I am absolutely buzzing for America. I’ve only ever been to Boston and I bloody loved it. I can’t wait to work my way down that east coast, staying in cheap hostels and motels and going to seedy bars. Originally the plan was to go from East to West but I just don’t think we could do it justice in that short space of time, so we’re sticking to the East, So if any of my American readers have any personal recommendations, tips, warnings, or a spare bed or couch, I’m all ears.
It’s abit gutting that it doesn’t look like we’ll be tackling the west coast. Especially since I found this little beaut.
I even picked out a nice little hostel near Redondo Beach so I could go have Pancakes at the Pier Diner and see the Bait Shop. Absolutely gutted.
So it’s 10am, I’m in an eerily quiet office having a one-man silent rave to The Smiths, contemplating going out for my third cigarette of the day. Today is going to be a good day. For no other reason than I would like it to be a good day.
Welcoming in a new year is a time to reflect. It's also a time to drink a shit ton of alcohol and wake up the next morning with a little filly under your arm who incredibly managed to morph from Katy Perry to Dawn French overnight. But mostly it's a time to reflect. A time to look back at what you have and what you haven't accomplished over the last 365 days and a time to make a heartfelt list of things you want to accomplish in the coming 12 months. Every year I see so many people praying that the next year will be better than the last. Last year I was one of those people.
2010 sucked ass. Big time. I lost my fiancee, I lost my housemate and for the first time in my life, I lost direction. That sounds a little melodramatic, sure, but it's not far off the mark. All the time I was with Annie, I never had to question where life was going or what the next few years would hold. I knew exactly what was going to happen: Marriage, kids (4, Aiden, Evy, Olivia, Noah), moving to Canada, getting a pig and a rottweiler. I had it all up in my head. And unfortunately, that's where it stayed.
2011 should have been a pivotal year for me. If you had told me I would have been single come the end of the year, I would have politely told you to do one. As regular readers will know, I tend to get in over my head with girls. I become infatuated pretty easily, but then get very bored. It's not something I can really prevent either; I'm the type of person who mulls over the tiny insignificant details and reads too much into texts, phonecalls and the like. If somebody isn't perfect for me, I give up. Maybe that's a good thing, maybe it's not.
But yeah, this year should have been about change. Let's take a look at my resolutions I made 12 months ago:
(10) Continue Quest for the perfect Display Picture.
I have a display picture with Roy Walker. If that's not #winning, I don't know what is.
Complete. (9) Decide where my career is going.
Apparently my career is chugging along at a similar pace.
Deferred.
(8) Try a wider variety of Alcoholic Beverages.
I have drunk one new alcoholic beverage every week for 52 weeks. The photo album is pretty special.
Complete.
(7) Find a new hobby.
Erm... does blogging count? Yeah, sure it does.
Complete.
(6) Be more selfish. Stop the whole mantra "If you're happy, I'm happy".
I like to think I've been more selfish. I'm still a drip, but I'm definitely alot more honest albeit temperamental.
Complete.
(5) Clean the cooker. Just once.
The cooker packed up so the landlord bought us a new shiny one.
Deferred.
(4) See more of the world.
Hello Boston!!
Complete.
(3) Wait for Mrs Right, don't go looking for her. Don't settle for second best. Never forget how good a life in love can be, and embrace Idealism (even more so).
I'm still an idealist, but I do tend to still go looking for love in places where deep down I know it isn't there. I still haven't forgotten how good love is, and I don't ever think I will. Have I waited for Mrs Right? Hell no. I've gone looking for her. The one time I didn't go looking, Mrs Almost-right came and found me.
Failed. (2) Put on at least a stone of muscle.
I'm not in bad shape. I've put on a stone and I still feel almost rake-like, so let's assume it's muscle.
Complete.
(1) Give up smoking.
Fuck you Magaluf.
Failed.
Hindsight is a wonderful thing. I can look back on this list and I've accomplished a few things. These pretty much revolve around women, beer and social networking. When you dissect it like that, it's a pretty grim state of affairs; last year's resolutions were wank. So I'm throwing it out there to all my lovely readers who have been with me throughout this year, through thick and thin, to guide me, mock me and whatnot. As flies on the metaphorical wall that is my life, I'd love for you to throw a few meaningful resolutions at me and I'll see if I can mold a much more productive list than last year.
I'll start it off:
Get CERT CII Qualified, finish my driving lessons and complete my TEFL Course,
I genuinely don't remember the last time I enjoyed a night that much. A cosy evening spent with Emma, chatting about anything and everything and watching The OC. We were watching the Season 1 finale, where Ryan leaves to go back to Chino with Teresa and Cohen sets sails on the Summer Breeze, and I genuinely thought she was going to cry. I cannot deal with crying women. I recall Annie bawling her eyes out the first time we watched The Notebook and I don't think I've ever been so uncomfortable, so I'm glad Emma managed to fight back the tears.
It seems the more time I spend with Emma, the more I become completely hooked on her, to the point where she quite literally dominates my thoughts. It's difficult to stop thinking "Oh, how do I look?" or "Is this shirt and tie combination aesthetically pleasing?" when you're in the office knowing you could bump into her at any minute. I know she likes me aswell, which is a great feeling and it fills me with confidence, something I typically struggle with. I'm the kind of guy that will never try pulling a girl unless I'm 100% sure she's into me. I hate rejection like I hate Arctic Roll. And take away the social lubricant that is beer and I couldn't even pull a muscle.
Sponge is good. Ice cream is good. But for the love of God, not together!!
I'm looking forward to taking her out for a proper proper date when I get back from Boston. It's tough timing, but I get to see her Monday evening before the flight on Wednesday morning so I'm buzzing about that. I just need to try and get my Boston head on and get excited. Unfortunately, I'm going to be spending a week with Ella but all week I'll be thinking of Emma. I'm excited to see Ella again after all these years and I know we'll have a right laugh, but that kind of excitement has got nothing over pure, unbridled infatuation. It's nice to have a blog to write in so that I can openly admit this girl has some sort of crazy spell on me without fear of anyone immediate to me knowing that.
So I'm hoping Ella doesn't think anything will happen between us in Boston, because it won't. Although Emma and I haven't technically been on a proper date yet, I am really not interested in anyone else and I plan on keeping it in my trousers next week.
The most entertaining Nicklas Bendtner has ever been.
Did I just buy a Santa toilet seat cover on my lunch break? Why yes, yes I did.
Today I have been in an incredibly festive mood. 92 days until the big day, but more importantly, just 70 short days until the Chrismukkah party! Is this too early to be feeling festive? I'm probably making up for last year when I was the most hackneyed of Scrooges. This year, Mr Christmas returns with a bang.
So the other day, I was thinking about dating and I thought "Where do I take Emma?". Sean recently took his Sarah to a fancy hotel in London and to see a show, and I know it cost him an absolute fortune. I don't have this kind of money, so I need to be a little more creative. Plus I always think big gestures like that lack individuality; you can be alot cuter and more personal than that when it comes to dating and spend a fraction of the cost. So completely randomly, my friend posted a photo of her Boyce Avenue tickets on her Facebook. Turns out Boyce Avenue are playing in London on Nov 3rd. Now, not many people have heard of Boyce Avenue on these shores (which is both shocking and appalling) so there were still tickets available. Then I remembered one of the first conversations I ever had with Emma about how much we had in common and how we liked the same music and lo and behold she mentioned she also loves abit of the Boyce.
See where I'm going with this...?
So I ordered two tickets to see them in the hope that when Nov 3rd comes round, we'll either be a couple or at least still be dating. Possibly quite optimistic, but at £23 a ticket it's not breaking the bank and I know that if things are going well, she will absolutely LOVE it. I'm a fan of the 'gig date' particularly if you're seeing someone like Boyce, Death Cab, Paolo Nutini...
Tonight I'll be heading to the pub for a hard-earned cold one with Martin, Chris and a few others. My '52 Beers in 52 Weeks' challenge is still going strong, although I think I'm a few behind so I need to pick up the pace. I also have my next CII Insurance exam to study for; a problem when you're working 6-day weeks and finding just enough time between gym and football to catch up with Mr Schuester and the gang, let alone study. I left school 5 years ago but these damn textbooks will not bloody jog on.
My Saturday night was spent parading around a gay bar in a sailor hat. No joke. I have just about recovered. It's Tuesday evening. Fuck.
My beer of the week: Amigos.
L to R: Me, Terry, Martin.
"Who's Your Daddy?"
Me and Stu.
Unfortunately Erin wanted the hat back at the end of the night.
Goose and Maverick - Wingmen in Action.
To clarify (and hopefully save some face) It wasn't my sailor hat and we didn't intentionally end up in a gay bar. These things happen. I also didn't intend to smoke three cigarettes. Or drink that Black Sambuca. But somehow, I managed to stay off the poles, which is more than I can say for Martin. I must say, I do love a completely messed-up night out once in a while, and I have learnt to expect the unexpected when out with Tel and Stuart.
So I'm feeling good. I have my Echocardiogram at the end of the month and although the palpitations have come back the last day or two (they always do after heavy drinking) I am looking forward to getting the all-clear from the Doctors. Fingers crossed. Unfortunately I still have the elephant that is Annie in my room.
It's funny what a break-up can do. One minute you're completely and utterly madly 'in love' with someone, and then the next minute you just want to rip their head off. Of course, I would never harm a girl unless she could bench-press more than me and she hit me first. The point is, this happens all too often (the bad break-up, not the hitting women thing). It's as if you have to experience the full spectrum of feelings. How is it possible to go from absolutely adoring somebody to then not wanting to spend another minute in the same room as them. Why is it so difficult to remain friends after a break-up?
I'm worried that it's getting to this point with Annie. I don't enjoy her company, despite spending four years glued to her every action. How can things change so drastically? She hasn't spoken to me since I told her about Boston last week. To get a better idea of the situation, here's a brief history lesson:
Ella was my summer romance from 5 years ago. She was my first ever 'romance' (in more ways than one if you catch my drift). She came over from the US to spend the summer with her cousin and we met in a local club, and then spent the whole Summer together. Unfortunately, we both knew she had to go back to the US at the end of the summers so we stayed relatively at arm's length emotionally. After she left, we would talk all the time on webcam and there were plans for her to save up and come over to see me again while I was at University in Liverpool, but then I met Annie over the Christmas period and fell for her big time. Naturally, Annie didn't like me talking to Ella and eventually gave me the ultimatum - Her or Ella. I chose Annie. I shouldn't have had to choose, and in hindsight it was unreasonable for her to say that, but that was the kind of person Annie was. Perhaps I was abit spineless in my young age, or perhaps I was just in far too deep. Either way, I cut Ella out of my life completely to save my relationship. It's what you do when you're in love and in the 'bubble' so to speak.
When I say Annie hates Ella, I mean Annie REALLY despises Ella. Ella is everything that Annie resents and everything she envies. Ella is incredibly intelligent, cultural, she is stunning and she liked me. A few months ago Annie found out I had been talking to Ella again and she wasn't happy. And now, I've just had to tell her I am going to Boston to see Ella for a week. No wonder the shit hit the fan.
Subtle, much?
On any given day, I estimate I spend at least 2 or 3 hours thinking, planning, researching or writing about travelling. My latest gripe: Why is it so difficult to get into other countries? Europe is fine, and that's an avenue I haven't really explored yet, but my ideal locations are mainly rock-hard to get into. Despite Mum having a Canadian Passport and that whole side of the family living in Canada, it's still not a formality that I can get in. Not at all. USA I will come to later. Actually emigrating to Australia is alot more difficult than anticipated and the prospect of working out there permanently is looking bleaker the more I research. I need to get out of the UK though, I don't think Scotland, Wales or even Ireland will be enough. This change in my life needs to be bigger than that.
Reasons why I want to leave the UK
Foreigners - I'm not a racist person. If foreign people are prepared to come into the UK and speak our language and have skills that we need then I am all for immigration. But I kid you not, the South East of England has become 'Spot the Englishman'. It is a disgrace. My taxes pay for these spongers.
Eonomy - My gas and electric prices have doubled in the last 6 months. My wages have stayed the same. You do the Math.
Political Correctness - Self-explanatory. Where's the fun at?!
Weather - I want snow!! I want sunshine!! I want extremes! I don't want sleet in the winter and muggy heat in the summer. Give me some proper weather!
Chav Culture - To the point where you can't talk to a girl in a club without being punched or bottled. Nearly. Maybe. Something like that.
1 degree of seperation - Having lived in this town for the duration of my teenage and adult life, I have grown tired of the same faces in the same clubs. Everyone knows everyone.
Women - Because foreign women are so much more attractive than British women. And ALOT more interesting. Right now I'm big on the Scandinavian girls.
America - Because I want to be a blonde 6ft 4 water polo-playing college jock who goes to Summer Camp to be surrounded by hundreds of bikini-clad American women with fantastic American accents. I can't see that happening in the UK. This would DEFINITELY happen in the US. Definitely.
I have an American friend who has an American friend who charged a foreigner £15,000 for US citizenship (i.e. marriage). Tel, Stuart and myself were discussing this last night, and that doesn't sound like a bad price at all to be fair, considering it is nigh-on impossible to get in any other way. Is this something that happens regularly in the US?
I have £3.57 and a packet of Monster Munch, any takers?
I could probably stretch to an Um-Bongo aswell.
In all seriousness, it's not something I would do. Call me old-fashioned but I don't think I could ever marry someone I didn't love. I don't think my parents would let me go through with it either. Marriage is a big thing for me. I'm talking 'taking ballroom dance classes' big. I want a big white wedding because I am a complete sop. My band will be Boyce Avenue and my best man will be Adam Brody. And there will be crab cakes. PROPER crab cakes. And lots of them. Oh, and my wife will be Zooey Deschanel.
"To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die."
To end, I have (literally this minute) just discovered Jack's Mannequin will be releasing 'My Racing Thoughts' as the first single off the new album 'People and Things' due out this Autumn. They are in my humble opinion the greatest band in the world and Andrew McMahon is a real inspiration to me. I have said before that for every mood and every scenario in life, there is a JM song which you can relate to. The music is beautiful, the lyrics are stirring and the hooks are addictive like hell, so I highly recommend checking out 'Mixed Tape', 'Swim' and 'Spinning' to name just a few. I can't liiterally imagine a better way of ending a post / day.
So I just wanted to make something clear. I love reading people's blogs. Really I do. There are some really talented writers and photographers out there and I feel inspired when I see/read a great post. I'm no writer, I can't compete with most Bloggers. This is my diary. I'm not writing this because I think I can write, or because I aspire to be a writer. I call it straight down the middle, and I tell it exactly how it is. I'm writing this blog for me, to help me deconstruct my thoughts and to make sense of the rollercoaster that is my life. This is a completely uncensored snapshot of my life and I'm not pulling any punches, so just a warning. if you're offended by talk of women, sex and drugs, this is not the place to be.
So last night I finally told Annie I was going to Boston to see Ella. Whoa. She did not take it well at all. She stormed out and I have not heard from her since. Bad times. But hey, it's done now. Just like ripping off a plaster. I hate upsetting people but she would have found out one way or another. I'm hoping she comes round soon and realises that she no longer has any say in what I can or can't do. I feel like it's a weight off my chest, although now there's this horrible storm cloud hovering over us, so hopefully we can patch that up soon.
Last night, Annie mentioned in semi-jest that I need a fuck-buddy. The concept of having a friend with 'benefits' is, in theory, perfect for me. No commitments, no expenditure, and a chance to relieve some stress. In reality, and in my experience, it just doesn't work. You see, here is where I think I am different to 95% of the British Public. I cannot bring myself to kicking a girl out of bed. Regardless of who is round, I always offer them a brew, or I cook them breakfast in the morning. And after sex, I always like to lie there and chat. I can't help it. I guess being in a relationship for 4 years definitely changes you amd you get used to doing 'coupley' things. Sean on the other hand has absolutely no remorse and will happily kick a girl out of bed at 4am after the deed is done. He won't even walk her to her car.
The girls I sleep with generally get too attached. Take Emma for instance. Lovely Emma. She was my rebound after I broke up with Annie and within 2 weeks of seeing each other, she was declaring her undying love for me. Looking back at it, I definitely treated her much more like a girlfriend (like I had treated Annie) than a fuck-buddy. Playfighting, cooking dinner, baking cakes, going for long walks and copious amounts of cuddles. I guess despite being 23 and a half years old, I still can't master this 'being single' malarchy. It's like I am engineered to think and act like a boyfriend. It's all I know. Sometimes I wish I could just be like everyone else round here and sleep around without a care in the world. Or hook up with a girl and then not reply to her texts. Or sleep with someone and then have no qualms about later sleeping with one of her friends.
I'm just being myself though. I guess my parents raised me to have ridiculous strong morals. I've only ever slept with a girl and not text or rung her the next day once, and that's because I was stoned, drunk and at University, as was she. To this day, I have no idea what her name was. Apart from that, I have been raised to be a romantic fuck. Flowers, chocolates, songs, all that rubbish.
Startling Realisation of the Week
Maybe I need to find myself a fuck-buddy.
So I think one of my major problems right now is a lack of self-confidence with regards to the opposite sex. I don't think the anxiety thing has helped at all. I really don't like the way I look and I don't feel comfortable enough to go out and talk to girls. I was watching an episode of The Glee Project yesterday (I do not hide the fact that I watch awful awful TV) and they were given the task of writing a word on their boards which they then had to wear around a busy shopping centre. The word had to represent what they were most insecure about. We had 'anorexic', 'fat', 'used' and 'numb' amongst others. It got me thinking, what would my word have been? Let's brainstorm:
'Numb' - I feel pretty numb. I feel like my past relationship sapped every last bit of energy out of me. It's hard to get motivated to do all of that again.
'Inferior' - I can't help but think "Why would that girl go for me when that guy over there is much better looking?". I am my own worst critic. I don't think I'm bad looking but then again, I don't think I'm a catch. Pulling a girl in a club is usually about looks, so I have to rely on making her laugh or being sweet, which is difficult when I'm lacking self-confidence.
'Different' - I feel like I don't really fit in. As I said above, I'm not only after sex, I'm not going to drink Stella and get into fights and I'm not going to wear Lyle and Scott polo shirts.
'Afro' - Because I have the most unmanageable afro hair in the world. It is my curse and the bane of my existence. Fact.
I guess this all boils down to a lack of self-confidence, and I need to try and boost this. I need to get on a hot streak.
Best Thing To Happen To Me This Week:
Yep, my ticker. It's been great this week. Hardly any palpitations and the breathlessness seems to be going away. I'm feeling flipping awesome and I'm looking forward to an intense gym session this weekend with Papa and Martin.
I'd really like to go to a Roller Disco. There's definitely not enough of them around these days.
So despite the ramblings above, I'm actually in a great mood this evening. I'm looking forward to getting out of the house/office and throwing down some crazy shapes on the dancefloor tomorrow night. I guess I just sometimes feel like everyone has somebody except me. Chris has Katie. Sean has Sarah. Si has Laura/Rach/Claire. Brad has Helen. Martin has Cheryl. Mark has Carlie. Fuck. There is an appalling lack of wingmen right now. But then again, none of them can say they have been in a four-year engagement. It's tough getting back in the game after that, and this is the longest I've ever been single since I was 13.
So I should wrap this up. I wanted to end on a song which has really grown on me this week. Hmm... let's think up an imaginative intro...
This Week's Most Stupendously Awesome Song That Helped Get Me Through A Week Of Monotonous Insurance Work
Luke
Also, if somebody could let me know when I should use capital letters for titles, I'd really appreciate it. This has caused me many a sleepless night. To my knowledge, you don't use a capital if its a little word, like 'a', 'of' or 'the'. But then again, I may have just made that up. I noticed the name of my Blog is 'I Swim For Brighter Days'. Should the 'For' be 'for'? No wonder I haven't become a glorified legendary Blogger yet, I can't even get my title right!
An acronym I've used before in this blog, and something I have been using all too much recently. It's come to the point now that I pretty much live my life according to the Snip religion. Why is it there are so many ignorant, miserable and self-centred people here? People who's sole purpose in life appears to be working in a call centre and belittling people, both inside and outside work. People who would rather resent you for having dreams and ambitions than sort out their own monotonous shallow life.
Of course, smiling, nodding, ignoring and proceeding is probably detrimental to my anxiety. I bottle everything up because I know I only have to put up with these people for another 9 months. I appreciate I'm going to find assholes wherever I go, but the sheer volume of them here is just obscene. Again, I go back to a point I've previously made: people in Medway are completely content with squashing their lives into a tiny box, and then they resent you for not doing the same.
My anxiety has been rough the last week. What if this doesn't clear up by the time I leave? Can I realistically travel with this? Right now I can barely hold a conversation. Breathing is hard enough, and trying to sleep is torture. I must have woke up ten times throughout the night last night.
I really need to get into 'naked butler' shape in time for Boston. It's very difficult to get motivated right now when you're worried you could have a panic attack at any minute, but I'm still squeezing in 3 to 4 sessions a week, albeit less strenuous and thorough.
--- Next Day ---
I've just found out my laptop will be sidelined until at least Friday. Fuck. I hate blogging on my phone.
I went to see the doctor today. My usual guy wasn't in and I had this completely useless numpty who didn't seem to understand that I had had next to no sleep in 48 hours and that I could barely breathe. So no progress.
If this truly is anxiety and the Echocardiogram thingy comes out fine, then I'm determined not to let this beat me. I WILL go travelling. If I'm stressed then I'll find a way to unwind. Some people recommend yoga. I've tried copious amounts of alcohol and fags, and I can categorically say that they do not work. Maybe I should start a new hobby. Maybe I should start sleeping around abit; I don't think anyone can argue that that's a pretty bloody awesome stress relief. Maybe I'll start playing whale music throughout the house, or panpipes...
I'll beat this thing. Thailand is calling. Australia is calling. America is bloody well screaming. Time to look old Mr Anxiety Disorder in the eyes and say "Get the fuck out of my face". Does he not know who the fuck I am?!
Day 3 without my laptop. This life of FIFA and Man vs Food is actually not half bad. So this week has dragged incredibly, and even though I write this on Thursday morning, I still see no light at the end of the tunnel. I am working another 8-hour Overtime shift on Saturday, which effectively means another 1-day weekend. Sunday is Papa's Birthday, so I am relying on Discount Supplements to provide me with much-needed inspiration and next-day delivery. Typically, my Dad would get a tube of pringles and a cheap bottle of Hock and he would be over the moon with that, but I'm thinking this year I'll get him something gym-related. Having 8 Brothers and Sisters has it's downfalls; I dread to think how much I shell out over the course of the year on Birthdays and at Christmas.
Which reminds me, Sean and I finally found the time to watch another episode of The OC last night. And lo and behold, it was a Chrismukkah episode! This got us thinking about Chrismukkah this year and how we can beat last year's effort. If you were not aware, Chrismukkah is the hybrid holiday that combines the best that Christianity (Christmas) and Judaism (Hannukah) have to offer. It's typically for mixed Jewish and Christian families, however due to our ludicrous obsession with anything Orange County, we celebrate it in our humble abode. Last year was our first ever Chrismukkah party and it went down like a storm. This year needs to be bigger, better, and with an extra helping of Chrismukkah miracle.
So I am expecting a visit from Annie tonight. I need to tell her I'm going to Boston in September. I'm torn. With regards to her food and eating, she naturally has 'good' days and 'bad' days. I know 100% that this will anger her, so I'm debating whether it's best to tell her on a good day or a bad day. I can't seem to decide, so I think I'll just tell her this evening, because she needs to know. If she finds out through someone else, she'll be even more angry. Sometimes I wish I didn't care what other people think.
So, this evening should be a barrell of laughs. Good job I have Big Bang Theory to watch post-Annie.
I have been tasked by Ella to write up a list of things I want to do when I'm in Boston. So far, I have:
Sex,
Cuddles,
Beer.
I'd like to see her reaction when I turn up in Boston with these three things scribbled on a Post-It. I need to check to see what's on tap for the arenas in Boston and find out if any of my favourite US bands are playing, because if Jack's Mannequin are performing, I'll be there like swim wear.
--- Next Day ---
Annie didn't show. I should have expected this. After all, I'm always second to whatever else she has planned. So the anticipated fireworks failed to materialise, which is a shame because I was psyched and ready to unleash this particular torpedo of truth. I still have no laptop, which is frustrating. I am writing this post on my work computer, during work hours, because this Fees work is so damn boring. I sure do miss reading people's Blogs and I'm hoping I haven't missed any life-changing revelations.
Last night was tough. I woke up at around 3am with horrific heart palpatations and breathlessness. My heart beat felt so irregular and I was genuinely worried. It took me 45 very uncomfortable minutes to get back to sleep and I came very close to getting up and going downstairs, pouring a Decaff and catching up on Destination X. Nope, that's not a dodgy porno, it's a wrestling PPV. Yep, I still watch wrestling.
Earlier in the week I started working out some figures and sums, and at this moment in time, my savings are around £750 ahead of schedule. This is flipping fantastic considering I have already paid for my flights to Boston. This month I have smashed the overtime again (27hours of double-time after Saturday with 2 more weekends to go this calendar month) so I have a nice cushion in case the overtime dries up. Here is my master plan. Right now I am studying for my next CII Insurance Qualification. I am aiming to complete the remaining two exams I need to get this qualification by the end of the year, which means I want to get the one I am currently studying for passed by the end of September. Then, in the new year I will start my driving lessons again (having already done 40 hours or so) and aim to pass my driving test by the end of March. That gives me 2 months (April and May) to tie up all the loose ends and sell all my belongings.
I have a collection of WCW Videos in my loft, probably around 20. I don't want to sell them. Granted, they are worth at least £100, but they are my babies! If I have to sell them, I think I will cry. Macho, manly tears.
I work to live, I don't live to work. If I had a dollar for every time somebody told me I was working too hard, I would have enough dollars to pay for a fancy seafood dinner at the Barking Crab every night in Boston when I go there in September.
People have always said to me "Luke, it's not about the quantity, it's about the quality". So why is it so wrong that I am fully prepared to wish away the next 10 months in order to have the most amazing year of my life? Why are so many people completely content on having two mediocre years as opposed to having one dull year and one breathtaking year? Or is it all about instant gratification? Do ordinary people just live for the moment? Enjoy each day? Maybe I have it wrong.
I was speaking to my parents yesterday and I mentioned what I would do if I came back. That word. "If". I think my Mum was slightly shocked to hear me use that. I'm not sure she realises that when I leave for travelling, I do not plan on coming back to Kent. I might not come back at all. Who's to say that I won't fall in love with Australia and never want to return? Granted, odds are that I'll come back to the UK. I love my family dearly, and I know leaving them for travelling will be the hardest part.
Speaking to Martin in the Barbers, I didn't realise he had similar thoughts flying around in his head. He wants to be a Miami Muscle-head. Sure, I don't think he's looked into it in as much detail as I have, but the idea is there. Which reminds me, I must keep up-to-date re the Green Card Lottery. I'm going to be all over that like a cheap suit. I love being born in Northern Ireland.
So I'll be putting in another 8-hour shift this Saturday, which means my 16 hours for July are done. It's likely I'll end the month on around 30, as I just can't bring myself to only doing 16. See, I have worked out this fantastic method of motivating myself: One hour of work on a Saturday pays for one day in Thailand. So effectively, for every overtime hour I work this year, there's another 24 hours I don't need to work next year. If my office knew I was jetting off, I would so have that on a Post-It on one of my monitors.
Death Cab on Thursday. If they don't play 'I Will Follow You Into The Dark' I think I will cry. I am well and truly buzzing.
Apparently they have loads and loads of flavours of Pop-Tarts in the US. We have Chocolate and Strawberry over here and they cost around £2 a box, which is fucking extortionate. If any of my lovely American followers can confirm or deny this rumour, I would really appreciate it. If the number of flavours reaches double figures, I'm going to cancel my return flight home from Boston. Or I'm going to order extra luggage allowance.
I found my identical hair twin. Finally. Novak Djokovic. When my hair hasn't been flattened with a beanie, gelled, or mutilated by a turkish man, it looks like Djoko's hair. Congrats to the man, he won Wimbledon AND he became my identical hair twin, all in the same week. I'm not sure what honour is more prestigious.
I have 85 days left to get back into pre-Magaluf shape, which means I'm back up to two large protein shakes a day and 3 large trips to the toilet a day. Great. I refuse to get back on the tuna though. Almost 2 years I had a tin of tuna every day. I am sticking to my Billy Bear sandwiches from now on thank you very much.
Sometimes when I write my Blog, I feel like the comedian Tim Vine. I feel like nothing ever really connects and I'm just reeling off random musings. If only I was as funny as him.
This time in three months, I will be in America. To say I am buzzing would be an understatement. I get to spend a whole week in this magical place full of wonderfully beautiful people who live in beach houses, go to Cotillions and speak like they do on the TV. A place where Man and Unicorn live in harmony. A place where everyone knows your name, and everyone has a smile on their face, a spring in their step and a song in their heart. Magical, wonderful America.
Yep, it's going to be exactly like that. If I don't end up at party one night with a bunch of water polo players, I am going to be severely disappointed.
You can't come running to me anymore, expecting to hear the things you want to hear. You can't use me to comfort you and sugar-coat the reality. That's not my job anymore. I did that for 4 years. For 4 years, I told you everything you wanted to hear. No matter how bad things got, you knew that I was always there to make you feel better. But those days are long gone and you can't rely on me anymore.
I'm going to be honest with you. I'm going to be completely truthful, which is how I would want my friends to be towards me. If you ask me a question, I'm going to give you my answer, and sometimes it's not going to be the answer you want to hear.
You look ridiculous. And it is demeaning. Degrading. I don't care what you say. Dressing up like that, showing off almost every inch of your fake breasts and wearing more make-up than a mime-artist is just not attractive. It's not my job to tell you you look beautiful anymore, because you don't. You look like any other Medway girl. You crave the attention, you want people to tell you how hot you are. But you're not getting any of that from me. Flowery dresses over hot pants and boob tubes anyday. Have some bloody respect for yourself.
The truth is, you are the most miserable person in the world. Lighten up, stop biting my head off and enjoy yourself. Stop torturing your body and eat a flipping burger.
I hate seeing what you have become. You used to be so happy, so enthusiastic, so energetic. Now I just see a gaunt reminder that people change. You changed so much.
I wanted to tell you today that I'm going to Boston in September. I wanted to tell you I was going to see Ella. I'm not sure there's ever going to be a good time to tell you. You're never in a good mood, and if I say something you don't like, you storm off in a strop. You don't know this, but I don't think about you anymore. I pray you're healthy and happy (which, quite frankly, you're not) and I miss your family, but I don't think about you. As far as girls go, I only ever think about Ella. Shoot me for putting her on a pedestal, but please, find me a girl in Britain who can match her intelligence, beauty and personality. I've yet to find one. You need to realise that you are no longer numero uno, and I won't come running anymore.
I can't be dealing with your mood swings, your hissy-fits and your constant bickering. I don't love you anymore. I haven't for a long time. You need to realise this. I hate the person you have become. I hate everything you stand for. I hate your hair, I hate your fake boobs, I hate your stupid earrings and I hate the fact you always try to one-up me. The reality is, I'm thriving, whereas you're merely surviving.
I'm home! Back to my all-too-familiar surroundings. My house, my bed (oh man, I've missed my bed!) and my neighbourhood. I feel absolutely disgusting. I have just returned from a week of solid partying and drinking and I am absolutely completely exhausted. I have a sore throat, a cough, a cold, my body aches, my right nipple has been bitten by a mosquito and swollen up, my skin is dry and my shoulders are peeling from the sunburn. So yeah, basically, I'm a complete mess right now. But boy, that was a fantastic week and exactly what the doctor ordered, although I can see myself having some serious holiday blues over the next week or so. I need to book up my flights to Boston ASAP so I have something to look forward to.
I have Death Cab to look forward to I guess. Although I haven't invited anybody, and I have two tickets. Part of me wants to invite Annie, because, well, it's Annie. Sure, she's a pain in the ass but at least I know it will be just two friends hanging out and I think she would really appreciate it.
So, my holiday was quite literally the most relentlessly fucked-up week I have ever had. From getting in a cab and driving half an hour away with two Dutch girls, to sleeping with a French girl I had only met half an hour earlier, to getting absolutely mortaled on the boat trip, to being dubbed the 'Virgin Slayer', it was one rollercoaster after another. And the 'Captain Cuddles' persona was born. See, there were a couple of girls I met on holiday who I didn't really want to sleep with, so we ended up just having a spooning session and chatting. Of course, the other lads mocked me, hence the moniker was born. 'Captain Cuddles'. Hey, I've had worse nicknames! And I do love a good cuddle.
So I got back today at around 1pm, and since then I have pretty much done nothing. Put a load of washing on, had a power nap and put the photos up on Facebook. I plan on spending as much time as possible this weekend sat on this very sofa. I have gaffer-taped the remaining cigarettes so I won't be tempted, and I'll pop round the rents tomorrow and give them to my Mum. No more smoking, and no more drinking, at least until the end of the month. I don't want to see a San Miguel ever again in my life.
So now Magaluf is all done and dusted, it is all about travelling. Monday I'm back in the office and it's back to working my socks off and saving as much as possible. I need to take it easy with the anxiety and everything, but the way I look at it, it's not so much the amount of time I spend in the office, rather the amount of time I don't spend relaxing or enjoying myself. There's nothing wrong with living hard, but I need to make sure I go out and enjoy myself. Work hard, play hard. May next year I'll be jetting off to Thailand and I'm hoping the time will fly by.
Leigh was absolutely fantastic this week. We are very similar and we got on like a house on fire. I think it could be the start of a great wingman partnership. We both wear our hearts on our sleeves and we both like to talk about everything and anything. He really made a great impression on me, so I think that this new friendship is one of the best things to have come out of the holiday. "ROOMIE!!"
Anyway, emotionally, I'm pretty much void at the moment. I don't really feel like I have anything on my mind, perhaps because physically I am in such a state, I don't have the energy to do anything. It's nice to go to bed and not sit there and ponder the world. I feel like all I want to do right now is sleep, sleep, sleep. I'd say the last week I've averaged around 4 hours a day, split over two sessions. So I probably didn't hit REM sleep at all throughout the holiday. That's seriously unhealthy. It's now 12:25am and I'm about to hit the hay, and I don't plan on getting up anytime before 10am. It is going to be pure bliss.
What makes me think that this has any chance of ever being anything more than friendship and sex?
Why does she have to live in Boston?
Why can't I live in Boston?
WHY IS MY HAIR SO UNMANAGEABLE!!?
I was looking forward to a nice optimistic, uplifting blog post this evening.
Sometimes being an idealist sucks. Sometimes I wish I didn't believe that there was such thing as a perfect love, or a perfect relationship. I look at my friends, they seem content. Either content being single, or content with their partner. Why can't I be content? On paper, I have so much. So many people seem so happy just existing, just getting along in life. Why am I the person who always wants something better, something special, something perfect? Why can't I just be happy in the house with Sean with the good job I have?
Ella and I have been talking every night. Chances are one of us will meet someone in the next 7 months (although I pray I don't, I want to go travelling!!) so I don't know what will happen. But right now, I'd like to look back at the last couple of weeks and think "Man, that girl put that Cheshire cat grin back on my face."
"Losing your heart's desire is tragic, but gaining your heart's desire is all you can wish for. So if that's tragic, then give me tragedy!"
I managed to spill a whole black coffee all over Richard's desk. In 3 and a half years, I've never done that.
Good chat with Ben, I think we're both at a crossroads at the moment. We are equally fed up at work and need to get out sooner rather than later before we go insane. I sometimes wonder what would happen if I did indeed spend the rest of my life in Kent, or in England for that matter. Would I go insane? Is it too much to ask to have a fun life, or does work and responsibility ultimately prevent you from doing what you want to do in life?
Fun. That's a word I haven't used nearly enough as I should recently. I have fun talking to Ella. I have fun when I'm out with certain people. I had the most fun when I was in love. It's funny, you can go for a long walk with a mate and it's just a long walk. But go for a long walk with the woman you love and it's amazing. You feel like you could walk with them for miles without getting tired.
Ignored Si today... Figured I should surround myself with people I want to be around. People who bring out the best in me, not the worst.
I wonder where Ella is tonight... haven't had a good old chinwag since Thursday night. Hopefully I'll catch her on the weekend. There's someone who I want to be around. Hmm... only 3325 miles away. Boston sounds awesome. You ever wonder how someone else perceives you? I sit here looking forward to talking to an ex-girlfriend who lives a million miles away, waiting impatiently for Skype to pop up in the corner and say hello. I wonder if she ever thinks about me. And if so, how? How do I perceive her? Is she a friend? Is she an ex? Is there something in-between?
I'm eagerly anticipating the weekend. I think Friday will be my Xbox night, although with the right offer I could be tempted to put my face on and venture out, and then Saturday I'll whack on some tunes, get the 'Whyte and Mackay' out and paint this bedroom. Pink isn't a good colour for a single guy.
