Each time I move back home I feel a bit more claustrophobic. Obviously seeing the family is great but relying on mum and dad is a bit 40 Year Old Virgin. When you live with your friends you can stagger in at five in the morning, play some Rolling Stones tracks with the base turned up and start mouthing off about how much of a goon John Terry is. This does tend to piss off the housemates a bit but after a hug or two we all move on (except MEH). It’s different back at home. The kitchen is off limits after 10pm and there is no talking while either, Antiques Road Show, Eggheads or University Challenge is on the telly. Unfortunately awesome bands such as The Stones have been pigeonholed along with American sit-coms as, “horrible racket.” My dad has an incredible ear for modern music; any jingle played above four decibels will be greeted with any of the following phrases.
“What is that horrible racket?”
“Turn that rubbish down!”
“Shut that racket off, I’m getting a head ache!”
This usually results in one of the three most immature responses you can imagine. Pick any of the following,
“Oh my god, it’s so unfair!”
Turning up the music really loud
or my favourite...
Exaggerated sigh followed by a “FOR FUCKS SAKE.....” then a door slam.
The problem is that once my parents start treating me like a child I behave like one. It’s like how when a sane person is accused of going mad and nobody believes that they are sane, they go insane. In fact it’s exactly like that. Well done Moist, good metaphor.
The worst bit is that all my complaints are horribly ungrateful. Seeing as they have paid for all my food, shelter and education for over twenty-one years the least I should do is shut up while my parents watch educational television. Even if The Antiques Road Show does make me want dig myself a deep cold grave, I should really allow them that small pleasure in peace.
I blame Universities. Building up huge student loans isn’t the best way to gain independence and so I’m going to be scrounging off the rents for a year or two yet. Bloody top up fees, I bet James Bond didn’t move back in with his mummy and daddy Bond after he finished studying guns and spying at Cambridge.
Today my family went for a ‘welcome back Moist’ meal (see I really am an ungrateful shit.) Much, to my displeasure, I got ID’d. Considering I was already feeling hopelessly dependant this was a worst case scenario. What made it so much worse was that the GIRL that did the deed couldn’t have been much more than twenty-one herself. ....She didn’t even ID me to my face. Back-stabbing ID slut.
I ordered a Peroni and she walked off to get the manager. Two minutes later Mr Manager appeared and said,
“Excuse me, can I ask your son for ID?” with a wankerish look on his face.
He didn’t even ask me. What a fuck face.
It was like your girlfriend dumping you, via a text to your dad. That wasn’t quite such a good metaphor.
I bet Maximus from gladiator didn’t get ID’d at my age and if he did, I bet Mr Manager didn’t ask his dad for ID on his behalf. Maximus would have stabbed the manager’s face off. By the way, if you’re reading this and you don’t know what I look like, I’m six foot and four inches tall, with a big beard. Plus I’m outrageously ripped and look about thirty.
....sort of.
Sunday, 28 March 2010
Friday, 26 March 2010
Back With A Bang
It’s been a while.
When writing a dissertation, doing anything other than writing you’re dissertation feels like a sin. That sin could be eating, drinking, watching TV, cleaning, washing, or even writing a blog. For the last six weeks the closest I’ve come to putting on fresh clothes has been leaving dirty garments on a hanger for a couple of days, spraying them with lynx or CK 1 if I’m going out, and re-wearing. After about four wearings, clothes join the other discarded outfits on Mount Attire.
Mount Attire started out as a foothill of socks and pants I had worn but hadn’t yet worn to the gym and were therefore, still eligible for reuse. Four weeks before the hand in Pant Mound became Garment Hill. Then with two weeks to go, I finally gave up on hygiene all together and created Mount Attire. In a miracle of fashion fusion, Mount Attire stands at around three foot tall and spans four square meters. The view from the summit is fairly spectacular. Sadly the whole lot is going in the wash tomorrow. The end of term has arrived and I’m off home to eat food that doesn’t come out of a plastic box and use soap that doesn’t smell like hospital.
I have been busy since I last wrote. For a start I had another driving test. This time, I didn’t fail...... Unfortunately I didn’t pass it either. I turned up at the test centre totally prepared for another soul destroying half hour joy ride around Leicestershire only to be greeted by my old friend Santa Claus.
“Hello.” He said as he walked up to my perfectly parked Focus. “Sorry, you’re examiner is on strike, now fuck off!” Well he didn’t say fuck off, but that’s how I’m choosing to remember it. A strike, can you believe it? So I still can’t drive.
In other news I have continued my struggle with alcoholism. The filthy habit has taken me around the country on benders of varying intensity. I managed to visit Birmingham, which as it turns out, is a pretty awesome night out.
Moistometer: 9/10
I also managed to pass out before midnight at my buddy P-dizzle’s house party in Devon. I partied too hard, too fast and learned a valuable life lesson. However, by far the biggest night out was DISSERTATION HAND IN NIGHT or being slightly less dramatic, last night. I drank whisky with a straw; I ate pizza off the floor, I spent far too much money and I woke up in a beautiful ladies bed. It was pretty brilliant.
I’m sure you want the lowdown. Well even if you don’t, you’re getting it. Handing in your dissertation is a strange feeling. You spend every waking moment thinking of nothing else (thinking about it doesn’t necessarily mean working on it) and then all of a sudden it’s gone. So after ambling around twiddling our thumbs, my course buddies and I decided that it would be a good idea to start festivities early. We indulged in a cheeky Big Mac and Mcflurry combo and began the slow numbing process. Predictably, the drinking got out of hand and I ended up buying round after round of Sambuca shots, then things went a little hazy. I ended up “dancing” with a girl from my course (Coop) and I use the term dancing loosely. I was swaying on my heels and waving my arms around while she repeatedly put her hand in my face and mooshed it like a lump of blu-tac. It was incredibly romantic.
We ended up walking home via a late night takeaway. She really wanted to get pizza and chips, which I paid for and she didn't eat. We were innocently enjoying our feast when, out of the blue,our culinary adventure was rudely interrupted. We were joined by three protein munching, Abercrombie wearing lumps of meat, hell bent on ruining my life. One of the morons (Wasp) happened to be related to a famous rugby player. He was a real piece of shit and worst of all he was determined to steel my woman. Now Coop and I are acquaintances at best, but when Wasp started hitting on her I became convinced that she was the one. It seems Wasp’s wooing technique mostly consists of putting down any nearby male and sadly I was well within range. I would love to say that after his first dig at my expense I got up and punched him right in his stubbly face. I didn’t. I don’t fully remember if I got Wasp to fuck off by making a snide comment about him being the lesser sibling or if he just got bored of belittling me but he did eventually fuck off to whatever cess pit he came from.
After that I walked Coop home and she invited me in. (SUCK IT WASP) Everything was going swimmingly, but when I went for a wee I got stuck in the toilet; it took me a good five minutes of fiddling with the lock to break out. It was quite embarrassing really. When I rejoined her in the living room, Coop invited me up to her room. I was amazed by the invite, even after I had been in the loo so long, she must of thought I was pooing.... I wasn't, honestly.
Not wanting to be rude, I joined Coop in her room but then, unbelievably, I didn’t hit on her. That’s right, I was a gentleman. In some intoxicated epiphany I realized she was far too drunk and so we had a nice nap in her bed. I woke up in the morning and made my way home. Not quite as interesting as it sounded was it.
probably should have made a move.
On the plus side I can just tell people I slept with her. Technically it’s true. We did sleep together and it’s not my fault if people make assumptions.
.....Only joking.... sort of
When writing a dissertation, doing anything other than writing you’re dissertation feels like a sin. That sin could be eating, drinking, watching TV, cleaning, washing, or even writing a blog. For the last six weeks the closest I’ve come to putting on fresh clothes has been leaving dirty garments on a hanger for a couple of days, spraying them with lynx or CK 1 if I’m going out, and re-wearing. After about four wearings, clothes join the other discarded outfits on Mount Attire.
Mount Attire started out as a foothill of socks and pants I had worn but hadn’t yet worn to the gym and were therefore, still eligible for reuse. Four weeks before the hand in Pant Mound became Garment Hill. Then with two weeks to go, I finally gave up on hygiene all together and created Mount Attire. In a miracle of fashion fusion, Mount Attire stands at around three foot tall and spans four square meters. The view from the summit is fairly spectacular. Sadly the whole lot is going in the wash tomorrow. The end of term has arrived and I’m off home to eat food that doesn’t come out of a plastic box and use soap that doesn’t smell like hospital.
I have been busy since I last wrote. For a start I had another driving test. This time, I didn’t fail...... Unfortunately I didn’t pass it either. I turned up at the test centre totally prepared for another soul destroying half hour joy ride around Leicestershire only to be greeted by my old friend Santa Claus.
“Hello.” He said as he walked up to my perfectly parked Focus. “Sorry, you’re examiner is on strike, now fuck off!” Well he didn’t say fuck off, but that’s how I’m choosing to remember it. A strike, can you believe it? So I still can’t drive.
In other news I have continued my struggle with alcoholism. The filthy habit has taken me around the country on benders of varying intensity. I managed to visit Birmingham, which as it turns out, is a pretty awesome night out.
Moistometer: 9/10
I also managed to pass out before midnight at my buddy P-dizzle’s house party in Devon. I partied too hard, too fast and learned a valuable life lesson. However, by far the biggest night out was DISSERTATION HAND IN NIGHT or being slightly less dramatic, last night. I drank whisky with a straw; I ate pizza off the floor, I spent far too much money and I woke up in a beautiful ladies bed. It was pretty brilliant.
I’m sure you want the lowdown. Well even if you don’t, you’re getting it. Handing in your dissertation is a strange feeling. You spend every waking moment thinking of nothing else (thinking about it doesn’t necessarily mean working on it) and then all of a sudden it’s gone. So after ambling around twiddling our thumbs, my course buddies and I decided that it would be a good idea to start festivities early. We indulged in a cheeky Big Mac and Mcflurry combo and began the slow numbing process. Predictably, the drinking got out of hand and I ended up buying round after round of Sambuca shots, then things went a little hazy. I ended up “dancing” with a girl from my course (Coop) and I use the term dancing loosely. I was swaying on my heels and waving my arms around while she repeatedly put her hand in my face and mooshed it like a lump of blu-tac. It was incredibly romantic.
We ended up walking home via a late night takeaway. She really wanted to get pizza and chips, which I paid for and she didn't eat. We were innocently enjoying our feast when, out of the blue,our culinary adventure was rudely interrupted. We were joined by three protein munching, Abercrombie wearing lumps of meat, hell bent on ruining my life. One of the morons (Wasp) happened to be related to a famous rugby player. He was a real piece of shit and worst of all he was determined to steel my woman. Now Coop and I are acquaintances at best, but when Wasp started hitting on her I became convinced that she was the one. It seems Wasp’s wooing technique mostly consists of putting down any nearby male and sadly I was well within range. I would love to say that after his first dig at my expense I got up and punched him right in his stubbly face. I didn’t. I don’t fully remember if I got Wasp to fuck off by making a snide comment about him being the lesser sibling or if he just got bored of belittling me but he did eventually fuck off to whatever cess pit he came from.
After that I walked Coop home and she invited me in. (SUCK IT WASP) Everything was going swimmingly, but when I went for a wee I got stuck in the toilet; it took me a good five minutes of fiddling with the lock to break out. It was quite embarrassing really. When I rejoined her in the living room, Coop invited me up to her room. I was amazed by the invite, even after I had been in the loo so long, she must of thought I was pooing.... I wasn't, honestly.
Not wanting to be rude, I joined Coop in her room but then, unbelievably, I didn’t hit on her. That’s right, I was a gentleman. In some intoxicated epiphany I realized she was far too drunk and so we had a nice nap in her bed. I woke up in the morning and made my way home. Not quite as interesting as it sounded was it.
probably should have made a move.
On the plus side I can just tell people I slept with her. Technically it’s true. We did sleep together and it’s not my fault if people make assumptions.
.....Only joking.... sort of
Wednesday, 3 March 2010
Monday, 8 February 2010
The Good, The Cute, and the Ugly
If, like me, you have an ego with the tendency to balloon so far out of control that the rubber discolours and it’s no longer possible to tie a knot in the end, then you’re never too far from an abrupt deflation. Having spent every ounce of modesty at my disposal writing this blog from a likable perspective, I feel obliged to let you in on the truth. I hold an incredibly high opinion of myself. Think Christ, but better looking and you’re just about spot on my self-estimation. Now that’s out of the bag I can disclose the details of Saturday night without risk of empathy or sympathy of any kind.
I’ve recently given up on a long standing dream of a successful political career and currently feel a fresh freedom to disclose all the sordid stories that may have caused scandal for a future Prime Minister. Just over a week ago I regained consciousness in an unfamiliar room. This alone, was not all that remarkable. The two unusual components of my morning were first that I woke up in a bed rather than on a cold, hard, floor and second that I was accompanied in said bed, by a beautiful lady. Also present, was the all too familiar, dull thumping ache on the left side of my face. A symptom that unfailingly informs me a vast quantity of alcohol was consumed the previous night. Hangover aside, waking up in bed with a half naked lady is the ultimate achievement isn’t it? Well actually, the reality doesn’t quite live up to the dream. Scrambling around a room in the buff, desperately trying to find underwear with a stranger watching isn’t very Daniel Craig. It’s not even Daniel Radcliff.
After being informed we had not had intercourse I left with renewed confidence in my ability to woo. If I could do it so smashed I couldn’t remember, then surly I would be even more capable fairly sober. Saturday night was the pin prick my ego so badly needed. We went to our local club and straight off I walked up to the hottest, happiest girl I could find and said,
“Hey, do I know you?”
Her broad grin disappeared immediately,
“No.”
“Oh....right ... bye,” and off I went.
I accept the ‘do I know you?’ line is cheesy and also very obviously a line, but I really did think I knew her. Ok I didn’t but she was six or seven sorts of hot. In my defence she seemed disproportionately angry, I mean, I didn’t stab her! Not one to give up about half an hour later with my buddies in toe I bumped into another girl I knew. This time I actually did know them and wasn’t just trying to convince myself that I did in order to start a conversation. I would even go as far as to say I fancied her a bit. So when I made eye contact, said,
“Hi,” and started walking over, only for her to turn 180 degrees and gallop away I was left a little crushed. (Picture a balloon careering around the room making a fart noise as air rushes out of the bottom.) Then someone called me cute... Revolting.
In other news....
Today one of my housemates, Seth, returned from a mysterious absence. He refuses to tell us what he's been up to. Where did he go? What did he do? .....The investigation begins.
I’ve recently given up on a long standing dream of a successful political career and currently feel a fresh freedom to disclose all the sordid stories that may have caused scandal for a future Prime Minister. Just over a week ago I regained consciousness in an unfamiliar room. This alone, was not all that remarkable. The two unusual components of my morning were first that I woke up in a bed rather than on a cold, hard, floor and second that I was accompanied in said bed, by a beautiful lady. Also present, was the all too familiar, dull thumping ache on the left side of my face. A symptom that unfailingly informs me a vast quantity of alcohol was consumed the previous night. Hangover aside, waking up in bed with a half naked lady is the ultimate achievement isn’t it? Well actually, the reality doesn’t quite live up to the dream. Scrambling around a room in the buff, desperately trying to find underwear with a stranger watching isn’t very Daniel Craig. It’s not even Daniel Radcliff.
After being informed we had not had intercourse I left with renewed confidence in my ability to woo. If I could do it so smashed I couldn’t remember, then surly I would be even more capable fairly sober. Saturday night was the pin prick my ego so badly needed. We went to our local club and straight off I walked up to the hottest, happiest girl I could find and said,
“Hey, do I know you?”
Her broad grin disappeared immediately,
“No.”
“Oh....right ... bye,” and off I went.
I accept the ‘do I know you?’ line is cheesy and also very obviously a line, but I really did think I knew her. Ok I didn’t but she was six or seven sorts of hot. In my defence she seemed disproportionately angry, I mean, I didn’t stab her! Not one to give up about half an hour later with my buddies in toe I bumped into another girl I knew. This time I actually did know them and wasn’t just trying to convince myself that I did in order to start a conversation. I would even go as far as to say I fancied her a bit. So when I made eye contact, said,
“Hi,” and started walking over, only for her to turn 180 degrees and gallop away I was left a little crushed. (Picture a balloon careering around the room making a fart noise as air rushes out of the bottom.) Then someone called me cute... Revolting.
In other news....
Today one of my housemates, Seth, returned from a mysterious absence. He refuses to tell us what he's been up to. Where did he go? What did he do? .....The investigation begins.
Thursday, 4 February 2010
I got dis
So.... where to begin? I have finished exams and handed in my coursework, time for a little bit of R and R. Unfortunately I did less resting and more drinking, a relaxing activity in moderation but I think that half a bottle of whisky and god know what else is a tad over the recomended daily intake. (In fact I fear that it is more than the weekly allowance.) Well that was last night, and this morning, I am imobalized, it feels like contracting the plauge. My skin feels like paper bags and my mouth tastes of synthetic fruit.
Plans for the day.
construct a sausage sandwitch. (done)
Make a hang over nest.
. two sofas pushed together.
. everything soft.
I probably should explain my earlier intoxicated entry. It all started when we watched Tottenham vs Leeds. Obviously the best team won and so, Prince The B dawg, MEH, Blunt and I set out on an expadition to the union with a skip in our step. (Pete joined us but he supports disgusting Leeds so he was ...down beat.) Things got messy fast and there were many casualties. As each of my fellow explorers were picked off by alcohol poisoning and bouncers I became icolated.
Having only recently woo-ed a lady on a night out I felt good about myself. Tonight was going terribly though, no females and no friends in sight. Then an interesting development. I found a lady that liked Garth Mareghi's dark place. (infact she was one of the zombies i met at haloweeen.) This was the second time I have ever fallen in love. Doing impressions of Garth Marenghi characters; brilliant impressions at that, didn't endear her to me instantly but surely a prelonged effort would win her over. It was around about the time of my third Dean Learner quote that I saw the girl that liked "The Who" from ages ago. I abandoned my new love to chase after her. It's a bit hazy but then somehow, they were both getting with other people..... Sluts! Its sort of like that fable about the dog with the meat in his mouth that see's a bigger bit of meat in his reflection. Then drops the meat into the water or something like that. What I'm trying to say is, I dropped my meat. What is a night club other than a cattle market?
On the way home I felt the need to call or text everyone I know, much to their displeasure. I'm sure once my hangover is gone I will be embarrassed about my phone calls and terrible dancing but I just can't bring myself to care about it now.
Its taken me four hours of sitting watching Hornblower and having chips thrown at me to write this, and its terrible.
As a result of last nights boozing and some rather unwise wagers Pete has to 'nosh off ' Blunt. I'm not sure if it's a sight I'm looking forward to or dreading.
as they say in Hornblower "The wine was in and the wit was out"
Hangoverzilla: 8/10
woozilla 5/10
drunkdactyl 9/10
Moist Man of the moment. Niko Krancjar
Plans for the day.
construct a sausage sandwitch. (done)
Make a hang over nest.
. two sofas pushed together.
. everything soft.
I probably should explain my earlier intoxicated entry. It all started when we watched Tottenham vs Leeds. Obviously the best team won and so, Prince The B dawg, MEH, Blunt and I set out on an expadition to the union with a skip in our step. (Pete joined us but he supports disgusting Leeds so he was ...down beat.) Things got messy fast and there were many casualties. As each of my fellow explorers were picked off by alcohol poisoning and bouncers I became icolated.
Having only recently woo-ed a lady on a night out I felt good about myself. Tonight was going terribly though, no females and no friends in sight. Then an interesting development. I found a lady that liked Garth Mareghi's dark place. (infact she was one of the zombies i met at haloweeen.) This was the second time I have ever fallen in love. Doing impressions of Garth Marenghi characters; brilliant impressions at that, didn't endear her to me instantly but surely a prelonged effort would win her over. It was around about the time of my third Dean Learner quote that I saw the girl that liked "The Who" from ages ago. I abandoned my new love to chase after her. It's a bit hazy but then somehow, they were both getting with other people..... Sluts! Its sort of like that fable about the dog with the meat in his mouth that see's a bigger bit of meat in his reflection. Then drops the meat into the water or something like that. What I'm trying to say is, I dropped my meat. What is a night club other than a cattle market?
On the way home I felt the need to call or text everyone I know, much to their displeasure. I'm sure once my hangover is gone I will be embarrassed about my phone calls and terrible dancing but I just can't bring myself to care about it now.
Its taken me four hours of sitting watching Hornblower and having chips thrown at me to write this, and its terrible.
As a result of last nights boozing and some rather unwise wagers Pete has to 'nosh off ' Blunt. I'm not sure if it's a sight I'm looking forward to or dreading.
as they say in Hornblower "The wine was in and the wit was out"
Hangoverzilla: 8/10
woozilla 5/10
drunkdactyl 9/10
Moist Man of the moment. Niko Krancjar
Wednesday, 3 February 2010
woo?
Right the first thing you have to understand is that I am really drunk!
Itsetg abouit 7 hours since I failed my drving test again and I am not a happy bunny. If I was sober I WOULD tell you lll a halerious story about how it went but I'm not so..... you are gonna have to put up with the ramblings of a mad man. I sholudl remind you sober MOUST tht you should keep this as a reminder of the bad times when the good times come around.. sOO What happened toniufgr was a bit of a disaster; i met this lady that had the same favourite tv show as me (garth marenghis dark place)_ and i was totally wooing her, and then I met this other girl, and i was totes wooing her too cos i met her before and we talked about THE WHO, so we were all dancing and they both got with other people oiur ratoios I can t beliece it to be gair!
qwwoozilla 2 /10
OH NO!
Itsetg abouit 7 hours since I failed my drving test again and I am not a happy bunny. If I was sober I WOULD tell you lll a halerious story about how it went but I'm not so..... you are gonna have to put up with the ramblings of a mad man. I sholudl remind you sober MOUST tht you should keep this as a reminder of the bad times when the good times come around.. sOO What happened toniufgr was a bit of a disaster; i met this lady that had the same favourite tv show as me (garth marenghis dark place)_ and i was totally wooing her, and then I met this other girl, and i was totes wooing her too cos i met her before and we talked about THE WHO, so we were all dancing and they both got with other people oiur ratoios I can t beliece it to be gair!
qwwoozilla 2 /10
OH NO!
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