Monthly Archives: May 2013

Post-holiday blues

Yes, at last, a picture in this blog that I didn’t just pinch from Google!

Although my two weeks in the western USA weren’t an unalloyed success, my holiday was certainly enjoyable and fascinating, despite the cold I suffered while in San Francisco (and which may have been exacerbated by getting rained on in Yosemite the day before).  I saw the Grand Canyon from above during a helicopter ride, shot real guns at targets in Las Vegas, walked around Alcatraz (and felt oddly like I’d come home), and somehow made friends with my group, despite eight of the other twelve people being Danish (i.e. constantly chatting in their own language) and under 21!  And our anthem for the trip proved to be that annoyingly-catchy new Daft Punk song “Get Lucky” (and no, I didn’t, sadly).

No, my problem is that returning to my mundane existence after this remarkable adventure is proving to be very, very difficult.  Jet lag (and the tail end of the cold) is bad enough, but I find myself truly despairing of ever being happy in my life here.  With my holiday behind me, I feel I have nothing left to look forward to, and the past couple of days have been intolerable in the office; suffice to say, two people I like are now leaving (to go with the nice lady who’s becoming a childminder in October), and my supervisor has just revealed she’s pregnant, so she’ll be on maternity leave before too long as well.

At least Gatherers don’t keep trying to be my BFF, they just try to kill me, which is far more honest

Meanwhile, the annoying woman shows no signs of so much as taking annual leave, and only a miracle has stopped her coming over and demanding a full description of my holiday.  She is of course the reason I put on my headphones and listen to Gwar while I work, so imagine my surprise today when I realised she was standing over me as I did so, hoping to give me a message (apparently e-mail doesn’t exist anywhere in the world ever, then) and to “say hello” to me, as though she still thinks the reason I don’t like her is that she hasn’t been nice enough to me, rather than the exact opposite.

Yeah, I’m a jerk, so noted, but she’s really, really annoying, and it’s so fundamental to her very nature that there is absolutely no chance of me ever accepting her!

Much as I’d love to quit this job forever, I just have nowhere else to go; I still have no useful qualifications for getting a job in IT, and I don’t want to go to another admin job, because I’ll just get stuck in the same low-paid under-utilised situation (and probably with someone even more annoying).  There’s also no chance of a job in Barnet council (i.e. something I could walk to instead of using the damn Northern Line), since they’re eagerly pressing ahead with their idiotic “One Barnet” mass-privatisation, so even if I got a job there, I’d have to relocate to another part of the country anyway!

Nice, isn’t it?  I’m back a couple of days and already I want to quit my job and risk unemployment — travelling the western states of America has left me entirely dissatisfied with my normal life.  But wait, it doesn’t end there…

It became clear during my trip that one major stumbling block in the way of my happiness is my sexual frustration, my innate belief that I’m never gonna “get any” — and the belief, drummed into me by my “friends” at university, that I shouldn’t even complain about it or regard it as any less than deserved, because to do so would make me “desperate”.  My foolish attempts to “get” with at least two of the women on my trip (one nice to me but attached, the other 15 years my junior and clearly uninterested) almost ruined everything… it seems that I’ve made no progress since I was 18, and my libido is still trying to spoil my life (much as it did at university, indeed).

In fact, after one particularly drunken night (hey, at least I got off the wagon), I began researching the phrase “oath of celibacy”, because I felt that my romantic advances have never made women happy or flattered, only embarrassed and uncomfortable.  Yeah, stupid, I know, as dumb as my previous research into chemical castration, but the simple fact is that my heterosexuality has never brought me one iota of genuine pleasure in my entire life, only frustration (at my inevitable lack of success) and shame (for, ahem, doing what guys do to cope with the lack of a girlfriend).

I’m not even looking for a relationship at this time — I couldn’t ask a woman to share my life when I’m so fundamentally sick of it in its current form — but I have no ability to “pick up chicks” or “get laid”.  The guy from this previous article would doubtless say I should just go to a prostitute, but somehow that notion disgusts me — and not just because ladies of the night always use very dishonest advertising (you expect a lingerie model and end up with Nut-Gobbler from that South Park episode), but also the very sleazy and STD-ridden nature of the beast.  But I never meet single women in real life, and I have almost no friends in London with whom I can socialise (as you would expect, all my friends from previous years have moved away and paired off), so I’m left with the prospect of going to clubs alone, like a complete loser.  Not entirely unlike when I was at university, then…

So what am I gonna do with myself?  (No, not like that, get your minds out of the gutter!)  I can’t go on like this, wallowing in self-pity and cursing womankind as a whole for my problems, and I’m determined to sort this out once and for all.  Here, then, is my plan for the months ahead:

  • Get over my jet lag and cold, which will be a major part of my recovery;
  • Take another IT class (or however many it takes), and search for jobs of the “trainee programmer” variety — I don’t mind starting at the bottom, but frankly I’m done with soul-crushing dead end admin jobs forever;
  • Find things to do outside my own home, so I’m not stuck here every night, and make new friends in London; my friend from climbing may prove to be pivotal in this (and maybe it’ll help him feel better too).

There but for the grace of $DEITY go I…

The most fundamental thing I need to do, though, is simply to get laid.  Yes, you read that right: old “nice guy” Dave-ros wants nothing more than a fling, a one-night stand, with a beautiful (or at least passably attractive) stranger.

It won’t solve all my problems (it didn’t for Jimmy in that South Park episode above), but hopefully it’ll stop me obsessing so much, and give me some confidence for the future.  After all, the real problem I have now is feelings of hopelessness and futility, and the idea that not only can I not succeed but that I shouldn’t even be trying; if I can get past that, I can concentrate on the more important things.  I’ll certainly never be happy just waiting around for the “girl of my dreams” to teleport into my room, and to be blunt, I need to get where I should have been by around age 21, and most blokes were several years earlier.

How to achieve the last aim?  Well, to be honest, I’ve given up entirely on English women, for all the times they’ve spurned me, so my goal in this instance is to figure out what clubs and bars are frequented by the foreign girls who are on holiday in London, and work that particular vein (no, I told you already, wash your minds out!).  Then once that little detail is out of the way, hopefully either I’ll be able to focus on the things in my life which really matter, and not be so damned distracted by desire all the time… or I’ll be some kind of sex god with nymphomaniacs at my beck and call, and the other problems won’t matter.

Hmm, which to wish for… all I know is, I don’t want things to stay as they are now!

Prelude to departure


“Don’t forget to bring a… oh.”

After the obligatory sleepless night, here I am still trying to pack my bag for my trip to America; I rather need to buy a towel (since mine are all in the wash), but I’ll have to wait for the shops to open.  I also might need to tell British Airways I’ve got a second “bag”, my sleeping bag, if I can’t fit it in to my main bag properly… and no, sitting on it won’t help!

Bah, so much to worry about, but at least it means I’m not worrying about the actual flight, and being in a small aluminium can a mile up in the air, with only a thin veneer of metal separating me from a long plunge into the… oh, sorry.

It’s been hectic lately on the local politics front: yesterday the odious (hopefully soon-to-be ex-) Barnet politician Brian Coleman pleaded guilty to assault on a local café owner, having insisted upon his innocence since the original incident last year.  One wonders whether he knew he was going down either way, and was trying to curry favour with the judge by being the “sinner who repenteth”… too late, mate.  Alas, he’s only been fined rather than imprisoned or — more appropriately — given community service (such as sweeping the pavement outside Café Buzz, perchance?), and it may seem like he’s “getting away with it” because he’s a member of the political class, but I won’t criticise the judge, he did what he could.


If he’d gone to prison, would there be calls to “welease Bwian”?

What’s really ludicrous is that she was photographing him parking illegally in a loading bay, and he used to be in charge of parking in Barnet (and introduced very unpopular changes which negatively affected the high street, apparently wanting to keep people without mobile phones away from our shops)!  What’s even worse is, the local Tories only suspended him after pressure from Westminster, insisting he was innocent all along — but would a normal “pleb” be accorded such consideration from their masters if accused of a violent crime, or indeed anything at all?  No, we’d get suspended or even fired so they could keep their hands clean.

Anyway, this will hopefully spell the end of his political career (he already lost his seat in the London Assembly, possibly due to being the only person there not to voluntarily publish his expenses — yes, that old chestnut!), and we’ll be rid of him.  I certainly hope I won’t return from my holiday to discover more Bwian-welated events have twanspiwed…

(Come on, if it’s okay to make fun of Jonathan “Wossie” Ross for his rhotacism, when I think he’s all right (in spite of “Sachsgate”), then surely it’s okay to make fun of a horrible, horrible man who shames politics!)

In worse local court-related news, however, a legal challenge against my council’s “One Barnet” mass-privatisation scheme brought by a local woman, who believes that they didn’t consult her or other disabled people in the borough (or indeed, any of us proles) about the project, and that they shouldn’t be so eager to help private companies profit from essential services like social care without any kind of mandate from the electorate, sadly failed in court.  But oh, here’s why: although the judge accepted that Barnet council hadn’t consulted us (and indeed berated them for this), he had to let it drop on a technicality, that it was “out of time”.  However, since no-one in court could even agree on when the three-month time limit for the legal challenge began, she has leave to appeal this decision (and legal aid to boot!).

Naturally the leader of the council, Richard Cornelius (the guy who wouldn’t suspend Coleman until he had to, despite his previous bad behaviour), has implored her not to do so, because it will “waste” further money (presumably the social services company that needed a £2m. bail-out, when it was supposed to be turning a profit, wasted a different kind of money?).  I reckon it’s actually because he knows that he and the other Barnet Tories will be voted out at the next election, and he wants to ensure that the 10-year contracts are in place before that happens, presumably because he and the other Barnet Tories will then be able to go through the revolving door between the political and business classes and take up cushy jobs in the companies they placed in power over Barnet.


“I am the Great Cornhelius! I need PFI for my bunghole!”

Yeah, maybe there’s a less sinister explanation, but that Cornelius person always makes me cringe: he’s one of those politicians who always, always has a big smile on his face and sounds like he’s on the verge of laughing whenever he speaks to the cameras.  Perhaps he thinks it’ll make him seem amiable and “one of us”, when in fact it makes him appear to be smugly lording it over us, and chuckling at our foolish attempts to hold him to account… like he thinks we’re uppity peasants whose opinions should be automatically discounted because we can’t possibly know what we’re talking about.  He’s the kind of person who puts me off politics, because I fear becoming like him.

Anyway, that’s all the local politics I’ll write about for some time; aren’t you all relieved?

When the shops open, I’ll be buying some food for breakfast, and a towel, and continuing my efforts to pack.  I still have some trepidation about this trip, but that’s probably just nausea resulting from getting almost no sleep, and having a dry mouth as a result (shades of January 2012, but at least this time it’s only for one night — oh, and look, I have some “travel sickness” pills left over from those days, and they haven’t gone off yet!).

I will also be phoning Trek America to see if I can buy a sleeping bag once I’m out there (possibly from them), and donate it to goodwill afterwards.  Hey, the sleeping bag I have is probably too warm for the climate in California, Nevada and Arizona!  And I frequently donate stuff to charity that wasn’t necessarily cheap: not only a mountain of stuff in January 2012, before moving (wish I’d thought to give them all our old plates and other kitchenware, instead of having to throw it all out in about a thousand black bin liners), but more recently things like an extraneous bedside chest of drawers that I’d wanted to sell.

But hopefully I won’t have to donate my body to medical science, at least until I’m actually done with it…


Gwar invites you to donate your body to science fiction

That’s about all I can write for now: this isn’t the end of my blog (not when I’ve still got so many promised entries to write!), and your humble narrator will return later in the month.  I won’t be writing this on the road, due to my smartphone being all right for Facebook but not for editing a blog that’s unwieldy enough on a proper PC, and also because those of you who know me are my Facebook friends anyway, while the rest of you probably just think I’m some muppet who complains about insignificant things and constantly drones on about climbing, Gwar and American Dad!

So, for those of you who know me, check my Facebook updates.  For the rest: later, dudes.  And for all: be thankful that, at least for now (and, barring accidents, for the foreseeable future)…

Dave-ros Lives!

Videos wot have cheered me up: Love Rollercoaster (Red Hot Chili Peppers)

In anticipation of my own trip to “do America”, here’s a song that everyone’s favourite shirtless funk rockers made (or to be more precise, covered) for the Beavis and Butt-head movie; it features not only the obligatory clips from the film, but also the band themselves in animated form!

(Warning: it actually seems to have been edited, for some bizarre reason — spot the repeated clips…)