So you thought it would be a good Idea?

Hello friends of internet-land. Firstly I would like to apologise for my lack of digital presence. It has indeed been around 8 months of dwelling, self loathing and if I may be so bold as to mention I also released my ramblings onto the digital medium that is Kindle store. I now make my return to where it all began. The holy church of the Beardless Messiah.

So you thought it would be a good Idea?

The last year was somewhat a monumental disaster of sorts but dependent on your mind set it can be seen as quite amusing and certainly an improvement on two years ago! 

Take January 2014 for example, two years ago. Some may say I had a dark start to last year but the year before was far worse. At about 10:30pm on the 27^th January 2014, I stood on a bridge, full of Captain Morgans finest. I remember thinking to myself now this is going to be a good idea. You see I was going through a kind of “Cobain” stage. I couldn't get hold of a shotgun though, as cash generators in Walsall, don't really cut a prophet dealing arms. So I seriously thought about things and came to the conclusion, a bridge jump into the canal would be a wizard idea! Now, as you can probably guess, my attempt (as half arsed as it now seems) failed miserably. As I regress back to the moment, I realize I failed for two reasons. One, I only jumped from 18 feet. Two, I jumped ass first. I remember thinking to myself, there are only two possible outcomes to this situation. I will either die and be found by a tramp, then subsequently become his life spooning partner after he has stolen my shoes (this is genuinely why I removed my shoes first! In all of this I didn't want a homeless guy stealing them!) great to see I prioritize but I have always had a thing about people wearing my shoes. The second possible outcome will be, A failed attempt and this will hurt like absolute hell. I will tell you without delay. The second option was the winner and it wouldn't have taken a Monty Hall paradox expert to see that coming. The thing that I did not count on, whilst standing on the bridge edge, just about to jump, for some reason, singing Hall & Oates – Out of touch. Yet again not sure why, I just bloody love Hall & Oates. The thing I absolutely did not count on was what, at that point would be my final thought. Now when people do something stupid like this, because let's be honest it is dumb. People ask the same question. “What was he thinking?” I will answer that question now, the moment, the second I stepped off that bloody bridge and started to fall, that little bloody voice in my head, that we all have. Simply said. “You've changed your mind haven't you?” the answer to that question was “Yes, but you could have told me that before I jumped to prat!” Allow me to tell you this, if you've jumped already, changing your mind is kind of a pointless thing. I suppose you are thinking now, well it's ok, you can just swim out! Well yes! If I hadn't been a 29 year old, who can't swim (I didn't learn, because I am scared of piranhas!) The overall outcome was a bruised ego, what I thought was a broken ass or as I so eloquently put it at the time, my ass has gone all Christopher Reeves. I also broke my leg, which was and always has been incidentally screwed, now it's even worse. Most of the time I walk like a leper with a loose leg.

I think the most important lesson I have learned is simply this, life is precious and short enough as it is. So don't jump of a bridge and break your ass! If you do make rash decisions, make light of them when you come through them. You will come through them, life may be contaminated with faecal matter sometimes but smile! It could be worse, you could be related to Justin Bieber.

Break Ups, Coco Pops and Tramadol

The Curly Locks of A Genius

Last night at ate cereal from a regular sized cereal bowl. I realize that this is a rather odd way to begin a new post but please do go along with it. As some may have realized I have been absent for quite some time. This is due to self loathing and meandering through life in what I like to refer to as “White guy woman depression” allow me to rewind a little.

It's Tuesday morning, I am not at work today, I open my eyes in a disappointing fashion and struggle to see the clock through my hazed Rum and Tramadol pained state and notice it's midday. Today I will make a choice, I will segregate myself away from the world and wallow in the self pity that I have yet again found myself in. First step I need to eat. In my barely functional mode I look to the kitchen and reach for the cereal. Problem one hits me in the face like Bobby Brown on a bender. I have broken all of the bowls and I have no way to eat my beloved cereal, or do I? In the hallway cabinet I have a brand spanking new washing up bowl, I couldn't could I? Well I only ask this question to myself now because I will be honest, I did. I filled that black plastic bowl of dreams to the very brim and glazed the dusty brown fruity goodness of fruit and fibre with a pint of milk, grabbed a bottle of rum from the kitchen work surface and made my way back to the sofa of dreams.

Two hours later I seem to find myself shoveling soggy cereal into my mouth, very inebriated, cloaked in a quilt, dressed in only my underwear and watching the notebook on Netflix whilst sporadically shouting at the television offensive nonsense. You see there are some of us out there who do not cope well with the departing of ways from a woman, I am not ashamed to admit I am one of them but I did myself become a woman in the process, not an actual woman may I add. I don't tuck anything between my legs and start calling myself Susan when I look into the mirror.

As usual I digress, now people say everything happens for a reason and these situations show up to teach us valuable lessons. Let me first start by saying, whoever “These People” are, you are all absolutely wrong you wrong and not just wrong but so wrong in fact, that you couldn't be more wrong if the international wrong club showed up at your house on a Saturday afternoon, with five of the finest wrongers and spelled the word wrong using their wrongly shaped freak bodies! The only lesson I have actually learned from this whole experience is that If I ever see Michael Cera in real life, I will find a plethora of offensive words and possibly beat him to death using one of his legs which I hope may become a separate entity to his body in a near fatal traffic accident!! I mean how is this guy even famous! Absolutely everything about him screams sex offender! This guy is a just a Neverland away from a court case!

I gradually find myself as time slowly moves on, not so much in a state of recovery and the 7 stages of grief just don't apply but more in the most complicated state, yet amusing now I regress and look back. Now being a sad, lonely Caucasian gentleman. First thing is first. I must create a playlist! Do not sit there and judge me! We all do this, music is great to set the mood and I needed the right mood. Rule one! Absolutely no soppy love songs! I remember yesterday whilst dining on coco pops skimming the music stations and Michael Bolton rearing his remarkable curly blonde locks, don't get me wrong Mr Bolton is one of those people you just empathize with, I remember in the midst of my milk turning really chocolatey thinking, you sing it Bolton, I feel your pain. This was possibly a turning point for me if I am honest. I think if you are sitting in your pants, drinking Rum and eating coco pops at 2pm on a Wednesday afternoon whilst having a conversation with Michael Bolton, you should also reconsider the direction your life is taking.

Now in the present day, I feel good. Well as good as somebody like me can feel I have a playlist of death metal and the best of the worst of 80's hair metal. I have stopped eating so much All Bran and thus stopped spending 6 hours a day in the WC. I haven't watched Chocalat in a while now and I have also decided to be an adult about things and forgive the person that totally ruined my life in every way and Allow her the somewhat displeasure of being my friend. Now I am left with only one small problem, I am a socially awkward 30 year old with no brain to mouth filter, I look a little like the love child of Crispin Glover and Adrien Brodie and now I have to do the dating thing again. I think I may be in trouble. On the positive side though, I am back and now there will be just no filtering...