Wet dogs and a bit loved up

On a bit of a post-weekend high, so it's time to bore everybody shitless.

Just aired out Marks room - him and his mates got caught in a rain storm up on the beach, then came back to watch a movie. It now smells like a wet dog drying by the fire, with underlying tones of teenage boy. If you could bottle it, you could sell it as visitor repellent. Just spray on your front door, guaranteed effective on both cold callers and balliffs.

*VOMIT ZONE - bags provided*

Met a girl called Katie a few weeks back, just had the third superb weekend with her. Love everything about her - she's all beautiful big smiles, very outgoing and a whole ant colony's worth of industrious; rocks my boat every which way. Brilliant with my family and my kids, so far I've not found ANYTHING I dislike about her. No evidence of advanced psychosis, very affectionate, great fun to be around. It's like having my best mate curled up to me. I'm very, very, very impressed :)

*END OF VOMIT ZONE*

Back to work! WOO!

My god, it's been weeks since I last blogged! Either life's become so uninteresting it's not worth writing about or so much has been happening that I've not had the time. Bit of both I reckon, comes from a lack of routine; everything happens in fits and starts.

Finally, back to work! I've got my old job back with Ramco, so I'm back to back breaking hard work and a face plastered with oil and muck. In other words, happy as a kid in a sandpit who's just been shown how to make mud.

No more fits, the meds have kicked in nicely. I'm no longer headbutting inanimate objects (unless you count the bloke from the pub last friday, but he was definetly moving), my skull no longer looks like a budget remake of The Elephant Man and I can cross the road without making sure I've got plenty of momentum beforehand.

That's 3 months in total of unemployment and not something I want to repeat EVER. I've got my head into everything with plenty of interests, but there're only so many ways to fill seven days before you start repeating yourself. A little like Groundhog Day, except I don't get to snog Andie Macdowell at the end.

Ok, joined up on Faceparty again, after a long break (because it's a soulless cattle market) and already the spam's started. Read this message for an example....

"Hi my new friend. My name is Kristina. I am 27 years old. Let me introduce myself... I like warm and tender sea. My room is like a green garden. On mornings I lay in bed and like to dream. I think I am sentimental and I like to cry on a romantic drama, but sometimes love to laugh a lot and hardly sarcastic. When I play with children I feel like a child. I suppose I am a sufficient house-keeper. From time to time I just take cooking book or recipes of my mum and prepare something especial. I can't stand disorder in the house, and if I notice anything that seems to be in the wrong place. I am a creative by nature and capable on Self-feedback, it depends on the situation. I hope that I have made a good impression on you, and you can not pass such a girl as me. So I hope that we both can find common things. Well what? Let's check up. Write me on my email kristinachkaa@gmail.com and i sent my picture to you in my reply to you. Hope to hear from you soon, Kristina."

Apparently, she's like a warm and tender sea. What? Stinks of salt and fish? And if her room's like a green garden, she really needs to get around to washing the sheets, even if it's on an irregular basis. Even more sinister..."When I play with children I feel like a child"....now, statements like that over here are likely to earn you 8 years and several serious beatings, luv! And "recipes of my mum"....do I ask for a tender piece of breast or a big 'ol serving of Old Lady Buttock?!

Rule One on the World Wide Weird: If you're going to scam, don't pick random words out of the dictionary; learn the lingo and put the effort in. If there's anything that sticks in the throat worse than a scammer, it's one that can't even be arsed to put the effort in.

Rule Two: Get someone well versed in English to read the final result before you post it. If said person informs you that you sound like a raggedy nailed forthy lunatic, take note.

Ginger beards and strings

The picture at left....the first thing I saw on Saturday morning. If you see this lurking in your bedroom door in the wee hours, you really have drunk too much beer and need to re-affirm your lifestyle. He kipped at my place with the girl he picked up; he did some very adult things on my BLACK sofa bed.I'm still in two minds on whether or not to drag it outside and torch it.

It's 9:30 in the evening and for some reason I'm feeling really bouncy and chirpy. It's not a good way to be at this time in the evening, personally speaking I'd rather be feeling lethargic yet relaxed and at peace with the world. Something tells me I'm not going to be sleeping well tonight!

Today has been Guitar Day - I usually get some playing in every day because things start to slip if the practice stops. The regime today; loosened off the truss rod in the Prince acoustic, because the string action's gone finger snappingly high. Playing should be a happy experience, not something that's liable to leave me with chronic RSI. Wanted to drop the action on the electric as well, but not got an allen key small enough to fit, so that'll have to wait till the weekend. Cyndi Lauper's Time after Time is now down pat, as are the opening bars to Stone Sours Zyzzyx Road (horribly technical and requiring the growth of extra fingers on the left hand).

The tips of my left hand are now rock hard again, of which I'm obscenely proud even if it does feel wierd and freaky when you stroke 'em :)

The Wicker Dog

I don't learn many lessons throughout the average day, but right up at number one I'm going to put "don't set fire to police sniffer dogs". Big crack down around SkegVegas on Saturday night, police were out in abundance, replete with girl friendly border collie (rather than man eating German Shepherd). Here's me and the Waynster, minding out own business in the V-Bar. Obviously, with shaven heads and that "most likely to be arrested" look about us, we're chosen as the first to have our groins sniffed by another species. Dog goes behind me for my back pockets, catches the end of my fag and stands there dumbly with its snout raising a cloud of burning hair. Cue me and one of said coppers slapping the dog on the head trying to put it out. The policeman was in no way pleased with me. Not aided or abbetted by Wayne trying to chat one of the nice police ladies up. What is wrong with the bloke?!

Whilst Saturday nights (or in this weekends case, every night) are all very good, I'm starting to move into that mind-set that lives for the weekend and tries to wish the week away. I know exactly what's doing it; too much free time during the week, no-one around and me a social creature that craves human contact. Don't get me wrong, I'm perfectly capable of occupying myself and have my head into literally everything, but I miss being around people. I WANT to get back to work but can't; my manager's written a letter to say I'm dangerous in the warehouse whilst still fitting. Apparently impromptu breakdancing whilst guiding 8 tons of industrial lathe into position may cause my own death and take someone else with me. I'm burning very little energy off during the day and sleeping badly. It's pants!

I want to get back to some kind of balance. Whilst I'm in no way going to give up the social life I've carved out for myself of late (missed that like fook over the past year or two) I need that working week routine badly.

Half cut

After a morning of feeling like death warmed over, packed in an airtight tub then placed in the fridge (yup, it's a cold flat), I collapsed face down on the bed and slept all the way through to 4 in the afternoon. Fantastic night ouy; Kim arrived about 3 yesterday afternoon, got on like a house on fire; she's very talkative, very animated and just a top chick all round. Amazingly, after 4 years talking on the net, exactly how I'd imagined her, most people put up a bit of a front or persona one here, but non of that. Met up with Wayne in the Marina and basically went on the lash around town. Mr Wayne you twat; don't bite my finger just because I'm attracted to your beard and felt the need to stroke it! Superb night all round, SkegVegas was heaving. Cassy! Very well met (a facebook thing), the lass who asked me if I was a pirate then gave me a random hug, even the girl who robbed a drink out of me when Wayne mistook her for someone else (I appreciate cunning)....all well met indeed :)

My breasts are rotting!

It was Monday night when I truly appreciated the fact that I'm utterly free; I needed to get into a tin of new potatoes but couldn't find the tin opener. There I was, squatting on the kitchen floor in a pair of ragged old underpants and socks, hammer and chisel in hand, battering four bales of fuck out of a tin that appeared to be made of Fort Knox. Very much like an evolving chimp who's just found out you can get the meat out by battering the carcass with a big rock. As the tears of frustration rolled down my face, I started cackling to myself; freedom is going nekkid in your flat in underpants with a hole in the arse!

Spent this morning cleaning this gaff up. I've got Kim, a web mate who I've chatted to for nigh on 4 years but never met coming to stay over on Saturday, and I'm really looking forward to it. We're off out on a serious bender around SkegVegas. So, quick clean up around the place; I opened the fridge and rediscovered the chicken breasts I bought the week after christmas, slowly degenerating in a stew of rotting juices. Shows how often I go in my fridge; I nearly passed out on the spot, followed by retching noises as I swabbed it down with bleach. Absolutely feckin' gopping.

Had a good natter with my bro over skype, perfect sound quality and no delay; I was half expecting the equivalent of talking to Joey Deacon on Mars. Really good to hear him, he's off for his driver testing (-28 outside, snow on the ground and driving on the wrong side).

Well, had the big farewell party for my little bro and his partner, Kerry, yesterday. Great fun (pics are on here somewhere), but all got a bit emotional. Lots of goodbyes said; I know Kerry finds it harder (James being a bloke), she's extremely close to her dad. Her dad! Top bloke, came out of the closet after Kerry was born. He lost it outside after saying goodbye, I lost it as well, big (manly!...grrr!) hugs all round. Seriously going to miss them something awful. I lost the plot about four years back, they did all they could to bring me back round and succeeded, seriously don't know what would of happened to me if they hadn't been there. I know full well that it's going to be piss easy to get in contact with them, tech god over here's armed him with enough technology know-how to both order a sofa online and make a serious attempt on the Pentagon, but it's never going to be quite the same as rolling into their place and chewing the fat. At the same time though; I'm mind bendingly proud of the both of them for having the guts and determination to make such a huge change for a better life. He's carrying on with the trucker thing, huge wage and a decent amount of life comfort, Kerry has to wait for a work visa. Wayne, me and Billy are aiming for a big Canadian road trip when they're settled which I'm seriously looking forward to; holidays for the cost of a plane ticket! Been trying to write them a letter to read on the plane, but kept sobbing so I wrote this instead and leaving that till later!

Possibly not the best time to blog, because I'm feeling not a little exhausted and a touch emotional (sleep deprivation!), but I'll do it anyway to let loose the demons.

Thought through what happened last night; whilst the female attention was all well and good and rubbed the ego the right way (which is slowly backwards and forwards across my shaven scalp, fact fans!) it's not really what I'm looking for. Yep, attractive, pushed all the right buttons on the physical score, but a case of back to mine, do the deed and jump straight into the taxi. I'm fairly sure she found the time to wipe, if not the cabby's going to be wondering who let the snails loose on the back seat. While it's nice to actually have sex (a teenager throwback), I've discovered I want the warm body next to me through the night more than anything else. Bit of conversation after?! Erm...the chance to say "good morning", even though you know full well that they're regretting the barcadi and cokes and the bright light that sears the retinas off at the crack of daybreak. I could always learn to say it in an ironic fashion.

So, to sum it up; sex is no longer a priority (visualise the queue of head scratching blokes with blank looks). Affection is a serious priority, whether it leads to the funky monkey or not. A distinct possibility of saying good morning more than once in this lifetime is another. Don't get me wrong, I'm not throwing myself into a serious relationship with the first person that shows up, unless against the law of odds, it clicks in all the right places, because that'd be leading both myself and the other person down the garden path, left turn into fantasy street and into the wasteland. Going to carry on dating and I guess that one day I'll hit the nail on the head. And no, that wasn't innuendo about "nailing it".

For the meantime, perfectly happy with both being single and the possibility of something else kicking off. I've got illness to cope with (and coping well with), a rapidly re-expanding circle of good and close mates and my head into everything (my natural state of being).

The Caffiene Razor

It's caffiene day; the only thing keeping my body running is coffee and red bull, I'm on the that razor sharp edge where you're mind doesn't even know if it's got much to do with the body it's connected to. Had a great night last night, went to see some live music in Leicester with Juliette. We even found the club eventually! Anyways, another late night and early morning and it's not over yet. Big 'Ol Wayne's coming out on the lash around Skegness later so my short lived plans to get some sleep've been put on the backburner.

I'm actually learning to appreciate public transport; I'm now a fully fledged window licker, so I'm trying to put myself in role. Essential tools; something to read, be it book or magazine. MP3 player loaded with carefully chosen music of eclectic quality, a shaven head to put people off sitting next to you. Careful planning is essential, otherwise you end up on the school run and half a county worth of giggling schoolgirls.

Really enjoying life at the moment; making some cracking mates (Juliette - you really are the best!) and my social circle's building itself back up again. Very much more like myself again, back to outgoing self confidence; I'm enjoying being me again!

Drowning in my fluids

My hands are sore. My eyes sting. I lay awake at night, gasping for breath, the fluids rattling in my lungs as my body fights for life and grasps for the edge with bloody, ragged fingernails, afraid to fall into the abyss, lest I never climb out again.

Which is a good indication that the common household chemicals I'm using to remove the damp induced mould in the flat may well be reacting together and I might need to open a window or two. Big change at home; utter rearrangement of the flat. Kate took the vast majority of her furniture yesterday, so I spent six hours yesterday evening on an intensely hyperactive Johnny Homemaker cleaning and moving session. Erecting the new bed was less hassle than it initially appeared to be, aided by the fact that when I bolted the wrong bit on, House Boy, a.k.a my son Mark was sent into the warzone on his own to undo my wrong-doings.

<---- House Boy!

The living room is now the bedroom, and vice versa. Decided I'd rather have a roomy, non claustrophobic bedroom and a small, cosy living room. The kitchen has been scrubbed down in obsessive-compulsive fashion. The entire place has been thoroughly aired and the horrible, not quite identifiable musty smell has gone.

I don't agree with the whole New Man thing, males should be males and etc etc, do what's in your nature as long as it's not hurting someone else. Yet, I find myself standing in shops and looking at duvet covers and assorted home furnishings, stroking my chin knowing full well I look like Graham Norton eyeing up a bottom.

Frankly, I don't care; this is the first place in over half a decade which has been entirely my abode and mine alone. Like a dog pissing up you favourite dry clean only jacket, I'm marking my territory and creating Base Camp. It's like a mad dictators hidden cave deep in the mountains; no matter what goes wrong in my personal and social life, I can retreat here and redraw my plans for world domination.

I'm a cocktail shaker!

Here’s a turn up for the books! Went for the consultation after the couple of fits I’ve had over the past year and it turns out I’ve got epilepsy! Net result: I go on medication for the next two years, side effects of which are:

a) it’s dangerous if I become pregnant (I may discount this one, having no womb for gestation)
b) it puts on huge amounts of weight (bit of a bonus, could do with an extra stone or two)

The big downside is the loss of my driving license for the next year; if I have no more fits over the next twelve months, the DVLA’ll give me it back and my insurance company will charge me to hell and back. Now, as always, trying to see the bright side in the situation; I’m going to have to go out and buy a push-bike for work. This is my key to getting uber-fit over the next year. I’ve always been a very strong cyclist, used to cycle an 80 mile round trip just to see my kids when I was younger. I really enjoy it and it’s worked wonders for my health over the years. During a medical a few years ago, my lung capacity was a litre above average.

The sheer cost of keeping a motorcycle on the road is gone; between petrol, insurance and consumables I’m going to be nearly £150 better off every month which should work wonders both for my social life and my health. Taking up boxing again, now suddenly rendered affordable and handily, there’s a very local club about four hundred yards down the road.

That’s about it, really! I’ve got two big bald patches on a hairy chest due to the ecg and I look like a hair shirt that’s moulting. CAT scans are booked, what appeared to be the full eight litres of blood reside in very possibly a bucket that’s being sent to my gp.

Sometimes when life throws shit at you, you have to pick out the sweetcorn and throw the faeces away :)