There is absolutely zero chance you'll be getting breakfast or special cuddles in the morning.

Wednesday morning. I wake up feeling pretty rough. Then my hair doesn't go (yes, I'm a tart). Then I walk to work in the snow, in the freezing cold gale-force winds. Then I find that my new slim-fit office shirt is so slim-fit in fact that I cannot roll the sleeves up properly without cutting off the circulation to my forearm. Fuck. I'm gangster, I always roll my sleeves up. That's how I roll (get it!?).

 

So not the best start to my Wednesday. Or Wank Wednesday as I like to call it. No, not like that. It's named as such because it is officially the shittest day of the week. Nothing happens on a Wednesday. Nothing. There's not even any decent TV!

 

Monday - WWE Raw, One Tree Hill

Tuesday - Geordie Shore

Wednesday - ???

Thursday - Sun, Sex and Suspicious Parents.

Friday - New Girl, Ice Road Truckers, WWE Smackdown.

Saturday - Match of the Day, Take Me Out.

Sunday - Whichever kids film Channel 4 decide to show.

 

I'm typically hanging out of my ass on Sunday so I'm easily amused.

 

And right on topic, let's talk about Saturday night. So there's this girl who I met a few weeks ago in a club. I took her home but didn't sleep with her. To be honest, she's too tall and she's not, how can I put it.. she's not aesthetically gifted. Anyhow, since that night, she has been on my case, ringing and texting constantly even when I don't reply. Debbie Desperate as we like to call them. In the end I told her to basically do one, I wasn't at all interested and I just wanted casual sex with random chicks. I was completely blunt with her.  

 

So Saturday comes along and I bump into her in the club again. Later in the night, we're deep into Power Hour (the last hour of any night where all the girls start getting a little desperate to pull, they don't want to go home alone) and I've yet to get lucky. Bad times. In a drunken haze I turn to Stilts. I said to her, "Look, this is just sex. I am under no obligation to text you after, this is a one-off, and there is absolutely zero chance you'll be getting breakfast or special cuddles in the morning, okay?".

 

"Yeah that's fine!".

 

Boom. I woke up the next morning next to her with a horrible, horrible hangover. Casual sex - If you only want to sleep with her after 10 pints, she's probably not the girl for you.

 

...Couldn't throw her around or anything... :/

 

Annie text me yesterday. "I wish I knew how you were".

 

I'll tell you exactly how I am, bitch. I'm fucking awesome. Stay the fuck out of my life.

 

Once again, I didn't reply. I've only recently got to the stage where I don't think of her most days. It's taken nearly two years, but I often completely forget about her. I like it that way. Leave the memories alone and keep the past in the past.

 

And when she gets home, if she dare come and knock on my front door, she's getting that very door slammed in her face. She's not welcome, we are not friends, and she is a cold-hearted home-wrecking .... And I am definitely not bitter.

 

Finally, I am in love with Lights Poxleitner. She is the perfect woman. Absolutely perfect. If you don't know her, here she is in all her glory.

Much Love,
Luke

Today is going to be a good day.

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 15^th: London >>> Boston

(Overland to Miami)

Oct 15^th : Miami >>> Bangkok (via Los Angeles)

(Overland to Singapore)

Dec 15^th: 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.

http://www.seeing-stars.com/OC/

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.

Much love,

Luke

She's just a little bit too tasty.

I always remember reading this article on Digg a while back about the most annoying topics of conversation you can have with someone. The one that always sticks is dreams, and it's true. I hate hearing about other people's dreams. I guess you can never see them the way that person saw them, and ultimately, it's a completely pointless topic of conversation. IT'S NOT REAL. Sean (my housemate) is the worst. Every dream he ever haves involves three things:

- Sarah,
- Outer Space or Zombies,
- Blowing shit up.

Sean, if you are somehow secretly reading this blog (which you're not because I know not even you would be able to find it) please please please stop telling me about your dreams. I. just. don't. care.

Anyhow, I promise I'm going somewhere with this. So despite nobody apparently giving a flying fuck about other people's dreams, I am going to tell you all about mine. Last night I had the best dream since, like, forever. Sure, there was the one where I had the Gameboy Colour that was also a time-machine. That was pretty banging. But this one was seriously messed-up. Here's what I wrote down:


Met a girl at an immigration facility up on the Great Lines (fields near the house). 
She worked there.
I tried haggling with her over the cost of my new passport. 
Got it for £3.25 instead of £3.30.
The banter was unparalleled. 


We went to lunch. Just walked along the fields, laughing. She was from Gillingham. 
Why hadn't I ever seen her?


She was quite short, maybe 5ft 5. Size 12. Longish curly blonde hair, cute little scrunched up face.
Big cheesy grin. 
Almost like a friendlier, slightly chubbier Taylor Momsen. 


We were wearing the same t-shirt. Both burgundy. 
Both had wristbands.
I gave her one of mine, she gave me a beige hairband in return. It was adorable.


And that's what I've got. I met the most amazing girl and spent the most amazing lunch break with her. She was my subconscious version of my perfect girl, and words cannot describe how absolutely gutted I was when I woke up. How sad is that, right? We've all had dreams of winning the lottery and then waking up and feeling glum, but how many people have fallen in love with the most beautiful, perfect person in the world? It was a first for me.

Odd start to the day. So anyway, work was a drag. The highlight of my day? Emily coming over for the second day running. She's just a little bit too tasty. I just need to resist temptation and remember that all girls are blood-sucking, vindicative, moody and soulless bitches.

So this girl in my dream was perfect. What's my idea of a perfect girl? Let's brainstorm:

1. She has to be shorter than me. Tall girls are intimidating. 
2. She should have some sort of interesting hobby, such as painting, photography or playing the violin. Drinking Jagerbombs doesn't count as a hobby. 
3. She should come out with occassional hilarious ditzy comments, but not so ditzy that you start to wonder if she is an actual moron. She should be intelligent, but not too intelligent.  
4. She must have a friendly face and great hair. 
5. She should be popular, but not too popular. I don't want us to be the metaphorical prom King and Queen. 
6. She should have absolutely no problem stuffing her face with a Big Mac from time to time. 
7. She must like one of the following: The OC, Jack's Mannequin, Liverpool FC or Man vs Food.
8. She has to understand that Sunday afternoons are reserved for football unless a roast dinner event is scheduled. In that case, I am perfectly entitled to check the scores on my mobile. 
9. She should have absolutely no problem singing Karaoke. 
10. She must wear white french knickers. Always. 

Send your applications in a stamped, addressed envelope to...

Some say I'm burning the candle at both ends.

So this is 2012? As I sit here in the office on a Bank Holiday Monday morning, once again up at stupid o’clock, with just one other person insane/desperate enough to work overtime today, I must say 2012 feels an awful lot like 2011.

Except this year is going to be my year. Not because I think it will be, or because I’m due a good year. No. This is going to be my year because I’m going to bloody well make it my year. I have 9 months until I leave for my travels and in those 9 months I am going to be working like a little bitch to get as much saved as possible. I'm also going to go out, party hard, dance to dubstep (despite harboring an irrational hatred towards it), get smashed, sleep with random women and wake up with some of the most disgusting hangovers known to man. Some say I'm burning the candle at both ends. To those people I say: "Fuck you". Politely, of course.

So as expected, I have a plethora of crazy, exciting ideas for my travels, and trying to fit them into one solid itinerary isn’t easy. Over the next few weeks or so, Martin and I need to decide where we want to go and in what route. I’ve ordered a giant World Map poster for my bedroom wall, and I have this great vision in my head of this poster being covered with post-its and pins and looking proper beastly, although in reality I tend to fail dismally with anything arts and crafts-related. The infamous flowerpot painting of ’08 springs to mind.

New Year’s Eve was… different. What a great time for a club to have a powercut. The music in the main room cut out at 1am and didn't come back on until around 3am, but by that time the only people left in the club were the stupidly drunk and the embarrassingly desperate. I was still there.

It was good to see Peppa though. She looked absolutely gorgeous, better than she’s ever looked. For a moment, I wondered whether I made the right choice by not dating her, but I guess you need some sort of spark and we never had that. But it did lead me to realise that every girl I date gets substantially better looking when we stop seeing each other? That's not fair. I'm looking at you Sarah. What the fuck. Where did those breasts come from? 


So I’ve had some time to mull over my resolutions for 2012 and I think I’ve got a pretty good list coming along.

Stop smoking

I hate this because it is purely for financial reasons. I bloody love smoking and I shall miss my lovely little white cancer-sticks.

Pass my driving test

Because guys who drive are hotter than guys who walk.

Complete my Cert CII and TEFL courses

Get as qualified as possible before I pack up and leave town... just in case.

Learn the art of sealing the deal

The ongoing joke that I am unable to ‘seal the deal’; In short I get a girl home and get her into bed and for one reason or another do not have sex with them, be it overly-drunk, refusal to depart with virginity or wrong time of the month. This affectionately led me to inherit the nickname ‘Captain Cuddles’. So 2012 is the year I get the job done. 

Find a new haircut

Which will more than likely mean ‘Shave head in the hope I look more badass’.

Get out of the UK

Because everyone knows this country is going down the shitter and who doesn't love a chick with an accent.



That should do nicely for now. I may add more as the week goes on, but right now, I just can't take my mind off that god-awful smell in the kitchen. Filth. I hope you all had lovely New Years celebrations and the 50 or so photos you were tagged in the following morning were considerably better than mine. 'Photogenic' is not a word I would use to describe myself.


Much love, 
Luke

I had it all up in my head. And unfortunately, that's where it stayed.

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,
• Find a new haircut,
• Man up,
• ...

Help a Brother out.

Much Love,

Luke. 

Sometimes we spend life wondering when we should be wandering. Explore life and all of it's great mysteries.

Welcome to Wallow Central.

Population: Me. 

And Sean, I guess. But I call dibs on Mayor. Chief Wallower. The Archbishop of Wallowing. 

So here's a quick sitrep. Turns out there may be a slim chance I suck at dating. There also may well be a fairly large chance that I am completely dire at any sort of games (playing hard-to-get, making her jealous, Modern Warfare 3...). And finally, there's a massive possibility that I should never, ever, under any circumstances, be allowed to use a phone or a laptop after 3 bottles of red. 

No seriously, this is ridiculous. I seem to have somehow inherited the need to ring, text and message people when I'm mangled. It's not something I've ever been renowned for, yet two nights in a row now I have been an absolute pest. Take Saturday night for example. It's 3am. I get home and the room is spinning. I make myself some pop tarts and a glass of milk and sit on the sofa. Then, for some ungodly reason, I decide to take out my phone and call someone. Not just anyone either. 

First call goes to Tasha. I knew she had been out already, so I had hoped she was still in the area. No answer. 

Second call goes to Emma. Despite not having spoken properly for a good few weeks, I decided she would be the solution to my problems. It's a good job Emma didn't answer, because she was the person I wanted to rant about. 

Third call goes to Ella. In Boston. THANK FUCK she didn't answer. My phone bill would have not been pretty. 

Fourth call goes to Sarah. She answers. Of course she does. The same Sarah I dated on and off for almost a year. I'm sure she really appreciated me spending two and a half hours ranting about women and dating. Ahh she's such a doll, that Sarah.

Anyway, I think in future, I'll be giving my phone to my housemate at midnight and telling him not to give it back until the following morning. So things with Emma are done, we can draw a line under that whole saga. And God doesn't close a door without opening a window apparently. And my window happens to be in a hostel in Thailand. Yes, TRAVELLING LUKE IS BACK! 

And this time, he has his trusty sidekick Martin to spur him on and keep him on the straight and narrow. It's time to kick-start that Standing Order, jump back on the overtime train and dig out my little blue book of dreams. In February, we book our flights. And then in September, it's time to pack up and set sail to a magical world of mysterious places, dodgy hostels, very convincing Thai lady-boys and Sydney beach parties, surrounded by bikini-clad women catering to my every sordid whim. 

Today, I officially take myself off the dating market. If you want me, it's purely coitus. Do not expect breakfast in the morning. 

Now let's not try to get attached to anyone this time, shall we Luke? 

Luke

And he returns, tail firmly between his legs...

Oh Blog.

Oh how I have neglected you in another desperate strive for 'The One'. And here we are, over a month later, and I come crawling back to you, hoping you'll still be there for me to pick out all these thoughts and feelings that are swirling around in my head. I guess when life is going swimmingly, I don't have the time or the inspiration to blog; it's purely when things start taking a turn for the worse that I find myself needing to write.

I've now been seeing Emma for a couple of months now. We've been on a few proper dates and we've hung out around each other's houses. Today I'm feeling incredibly down, and I'm desperately trying to put my finger on why.


Maybe it's because for the first time since we've been seeing each other, last night, I felt like we made absolutely no progress. 


We just watched a couple of films. Which is fine. Just fine. I get that she's exhausted from the medication, but I feel that if I didn't kiss her, we would never kiss. My ideal girl kisses me and comes and snuggles up to me whilst watching Tangled, not the other way round. Great film by the way. Major crush on Rapunzel.


Maybe it's because I seem to have exhausted my repertoire of date ideas and I'm running low on ideas and inspiration, yet things seem to be going at a snail's pace. 


Before last night, I had been toying with the idea of asking her where things are going. I mean, things were going perfectly. I'd taken her to a really nice country pub for drinks, we had been to see her second favourite film at a special cinema showing, I'd bought us tickets to see Boyce Avenue, and then when she was in hospital, I brought her a huge bouquet of flowers and spent as much time with her as possible. I've never done anything like this. Sure, I'm a little old-school when it comes to dating but I expected things to go a little quicker and maybe, just maybe, expected her to act a little more interested.


Maybe it's because she's made up with her friend who seems intent on not making things work between us for reasons unknown. 


Fuck you, Megan. What's your problem? Until I started dating Emma, you thought I was a great guy, so why all the beef?


Or maybe, it's because I'm doubting whether I can be the guy that Emma wants, and I'm ever-so-slightly doubting whether she can be the girl for me. 


I get that the guy is the one who makes most of the moves early on in a relationship. He asks the girl out, he arranges the dates, he pays for everything, he goes in for the kiss. That's cool, I get that. But at some point, the girl has to start coming out of her shell and reciprocating. I feel like less of a man by being the one who kisses her all the time and not the other way round.

But hey, I did just get spanked 6-2 on FIFA 12, so perhaps that is attributing to this melancholic mood.

I guess I need to find out whether she's serious about things. In my eyes, I have three options:

1. Keep doing what I'm doing. 
2. Pull away a little and see if she chases me. 
3. Ask her where things are going. 

And right now, all three seem to have their merits and drawbacks. The strange thing is, until last night, I was as happy as Larry. I was untouchable. But after last night, I just can't stop wondering "Is this actually going to lead to anything?". There's only so long you can go on dating, right?

Oh the lovely world of dating. Women - Can't live with them, can't live without them.

Luke