Monday, December 6, 2010

Andrew and the journey to the centre of filth and human indecency

Bali. Enough said.
A filthy, wretched place full of disgusting people and horrible, horrible weather. For me, especially terrible for the wretched, groin grabbing thief that stole my wallet. But this time, I'll tell a more personal story. Something I haven't told to anyone before, about my hatred for Bali. Let me indulge everyone in the story of how my pride was crushed unknowingly by a friend.
After I got my wallet stolen by a groin grabbing, 40 year old scooter riding cuntox fuckarse, I had to report it. Sigh. I knew that reporting it was going to be a laugh at the very least. An expensive laugh. But it had to be done, for insurance purposes (which turned out to be useless anyway).
Myself, and a good friend went and took a taxi to get my ordeal written down by an officer. The hotel organized for a taxi to be stopped when available, and we could just jump right in, which was quite convenient.
We told the driver we needed to go to the police station, and off we went. It was beautiful ignoring the prostitutes, sellers and money merchants by taxi. A welcome relief, because I wasn't particularly in the mood to buy a shitty knock-off handbag or a hand job from a 54 year old obese Balanise woman.
We arrived at the Bali police dating clinic (you'll see) and unconfidently entered. Inside, we were served and asked to fill out a single form about the incident. Across from us, two Aussie girls were reporting a stolen I-phone. Having a more relaxed approach to woman's looks, I took notice to them, but my fellow com-padre didn't.
I spent more time listening to their story. They had their phones stolen when they decided to get their bikini line waxed. I overheard this and gave them a 'you're an oddball' look, which made them laugh. 'Yes' I thought. 'I've embarrassed them. they feel stupid. I'm on top'. One of the police officers took notice of my (very, very inexperienced/uncoordinated) hitting-on techniques.
'You like these girls, yes?' he asked. They overheard, and their attention was drawn. I replied, in as cool as possible and casual, 'yeah, I am'. He then said something like 'Oh, you like those girls' (loudly and fucking incomprehensibly stupid, like most Balanise) hoping to draw their attention. Still thinking I was on top, I didn't look away. I looked directly at them. I was the alpha male here, and you just got robbed my a bikini waxer. They noticed, and giggled. I'm on top. Then the first stab.
'Please, don't insult us'. I could feel the blood rushing to my head, heating my whole face. I was turning red. Any confidence I had was destroyed. No longer the smooth operator, I was the overweight man robbed my an over-expressive elderly woman. Thinking they were interested in me was an insult to their very nature. Figures.
After quickly leaving the area of the police building after paying an 'administration fee' and a 'lick my fallopian' fee, we bailed to try and find the nearest McDonald's. This was when the second stab was made.
My mate then told me that those girls, who so willingly turned me down, were trying to hook up with him at the bounty earlier that week, but he turned them away because he thought they were yuck. All that was my self-love left me that day. My goals were my friend's scraps. I felt lower than I've ever felt.
Interesting side note, it was 10mins later I was a rat surrounded in garbage have shit licked off it by a feral dog, the definition of Bali. Bali is the worst place humanity has conceived. The only thing that saved the trip was the people I shared it with, and 26000rp long neck Bintang in mini marts.

Irresponsibility

I'm a solid under-achiever. I have been for as long as I remember. Only now I am not comfortable with it, but in the early stages of my life, I could under-achieve more than Danny Green. In school, I spent most of my days fucking about, socializing. Nice one. I'm now king awesome.
Today, I beat myself blue over my shortcomings. It's all come down to maturity and responsibility. I'm never on top of things, I postpone too often, I fuck up too much. I have this constant need for acceptance and positive re-enforcement because of this. I need to know if I'm sharpening a pencil correctly. I get nervous if someone watches me work, hoping I'm doing the right thing. It makes me wonder if anyone really feels responsible.
I look at my close friends and can see them far more mature than me. They have relationships, bills to pay, housework to do, bodies to maintain. I idolize them for how they go about things with grace, even controlling their stress appropriately. Juggling work and study is enough pain, without having to put up with my shit, even squeezing in enough time for a lunch date on breaks. They also invest a lot of time into me.
One of the girls I speak of agreed to help me lose weight. She monitored my weight, kept a book, advised me everyday, encouraged me, praised me, touched my sweaty torso to measure me; all done from sheer generosity and love. In return I've complained then given up. Not sure if that is an effort from irresponsibility or immaturity, but I sure as hell feel like a shithead.
I can tell as I'm writing this, it's not my usual style. I'm not writing this with such a reflective humor. I'm writing this because today I was told to get my finger out. After 2 years at my place of work, and another 16 months doing the same job, I've been told I'm a shithouse store man and need to pull my finger out. After 21 years of life and experience, I'm still not yet able to work properly. When I'm surrounded with friends that work so well, so hard and organize themselves for the future so well, I feel like the weakest link of a chain, a failure of my generation, a joke.
Nothing has changed.

Monday, August 16, 2010

Telephone Time Machine

I wish I had a time machine sometimes. Not for the general reason one would want a time machine though, such as meeting famous people, seeing a dinosaur or freaking the shit out of cavemen. I wish I could go back in time and kick the shit out of my former self. I would dominate my grade 7 self, who pretended to be Austin Powers for a while to try and get a girlfriend; I would pummel the 9 year old me for eating sandwiches thick with butter and sprinkled with white sugar. “Take that, you stupid little shit! Drop that muffin! Stop listening to Britney Spears’ first album! Put your cock away before people notice your problem!” Things might be different for me if I beat the shit out of my year 12 self.
I’ll explain. I was wound up with a certain girl for a long time. Crushing bad. This girl was my friend, and didn’t want a relationship with me. Enough said.
So, a different girl, let’s call her Charlotte, could have been the right girl. She was pretty, into the same things as me and actually liked me. She even told me one day that she liked me, and wouldn’t mind me as a boyfriend. Stupid me, chasing what I couldn’t have, turned the poor girl down. Then out of no-where, a giant bearded fellow smacked me in the temple with a crowbar. Or so I wish.
Instead, nothing happened. I became friends with Charlotte until school finished, and didn’t see her for a long time.
Fast forward a couple years; quite recently actually. I made contact with Charlotte through the world’s largest social website of all time. I had put on a couple of kilos, was shaving almost daily and was single. So was she. So we exchanged numbers and decided to catch up at my brother’s house and watch TV.
I was eager to impress. I put on my most expensive cologne. I readied my car to “impress her with my achievements” since school. I showered. I bought a bottle of scotch with 24carot gold plated writing. I was feeling pretty good.
After she drove around the street in a confused state trying to find where I was situated, I waited outside the apartment complex and flagged her down with my amazing talking ability, coupled with my natural talent of flailing my arms.
She got out, and looked amazing. Like, all the time I spent making myself look overweight and balding; she had spent that time becoming this beautiful woman. That was the point I wanted that goddamn time machine.
I should also note that I had a few to drink at this point. It seems to be the most re-occurring formula in my rich history of failing, but I see no connection between the two and have no plans to stop.
So we get inside and I chuck on South Park and we just talk and drink. She’s doing well for herself and, job speaking, so was I. As the time went on, she went through 3 medium drinks and I went through about 8 drinks that could have stripped paint. I was sweating, getting redder in the face and slurring every sentence. It was my ideal time to make a move. I was in my prime. No woman could resist me.
Sigh…So I decided to hold my hand out. IDIOT! I feel ill just recalling that point. What the hell was I thinking? Holding hands? Why? She looked at my hand, then at me, and then gave me this look that said “what the fuck are you doing?” Even now, I can’t answer properly.
Second move for this sweaty Casanova, was to play with her hair. I’m finding it hard to conjure up words to describe the ways that was inappropriate and awkward. Bless her she puts up with it, and I continue to “massage” her head while we continue talking about old times and such.
I try the hand thing a couple more times. Fail, fail, fail. It gets late and I just crash. I set up a makeshift bed for her on the couch, and I sleep on the hard carpet ground. I think she slept until she was rid of any alcohol left before she bailed, about 3 or 4am I think.
Have I learnt anything? Well, I learnt I cannot pick up or have any sort of interaction with girls like that. I learnt that people don’t have to think of you “in that way” forever and people move on. But mostly, I learnt nothing, because Charlotte is probably reading this now with all my inner thoughts bared to see. This marks an important post too, as:
1. I’m at work right now.
2. I’m not drunk.
So for now I’ll get back to getting money, probably one small thing I’m particularly good at. Also, I’m sort of distracted by the red telephone booth that has just popped up out of nowhere…

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Stalking Cousins

I have been thinking how other perceve me. I've always seen myself as a nice guy, but no-one can be perfect. The perception I have can be very different from the truth. Take for instance, my darkest hour. The moment I realized I was socially inept.
It was the Quindanning races. I basically planned to head there with my brother and get drunk as usual. We loaded the car with two of his friends, one alright and one a complete fuckwit, and headed towards the camping ground. Once set up, we met with my brother's girlfriend (now his ex) and checked out the surroundings. The bar had a massive tree cut in half as...the bar...and served a limited range of beer and spirits designed to keep the reddest of necks happy.
A few drinks in, once the sun had set, I saw a girl that looked nice and seemed to be in high spirits. I don't know if I was drunk or had a confidence boost but I decided to talk to her. I decided to be honest and frank, because I was quite new to this whole 'confidence' fad, and couldn't really twist my words to sound sexual or flattering. So I walked up to the bar as if to order a drink, right next to her. Then I looked at her, waiting for eye contect to be made. At the time, it seemed like eye contect would open me to talk to her, but in hindsight, standing right next to her and staring at her wasn't the best opener. So once eye contact was made, I had to go and open my mouth.
"You're the most beautiful girl here".
Ok, I deserved a hammer to the face with the side designed to remove nails from for that one.
She replied with "That's really corny" to which, with my sexiest face on, replied "Well it's true". Now I should have been imprisioned. I should go back in time, and punch myself in the face. This continued for a short time, with me saying things and her being not interested. Although to me, with my sweaty, drunken state, she must have seemed interested.
She was about to go off and wake her friend up for some reason and asked if I was coming. This, to me, meant I was in. Hopes were set above what they should ever be set if your last name is Gibson. I went with her and awoke her sleeping friend, but lost her on the way back to the licensed area.
I went to enter back in, when I was stopped by about 4 guys. They were the worst kind of guys because they were obviously rednecks and stopping me.
"You've been stalking my cousin" one guy, whom I could not identify, said. At this I began to laugh.
"I'm not stalking anyone man, let me through".
They didn't let me through. They told me I have to leave or i'd get my teeth kicked in, then counted down from 4. From out of no-where the girl came and started hurling abuse at me "I've never seen her in my life," I stammered as my cowardice came out in true from, like a phoenix arising from poo. It didn't help much. I ran away.
About 2 mins into my walk of shame I gained confidence. I thought, "They can't do that," and "I'm allowed to enjoy my night". I've since learned i'm actually not allowed to.
I slinked into the main area again without being spotted. I wasn't going to try and "move" onto this girl again. I'd just sit down and drink at a table. They spotted me though, and this time one of the guys grabbed me in a headlock, about to smack me in the head. The bouncer seperated us, but not before Redneck McGee annunced to the bar I was a stalker and a creep. That was when I decided leaving was the best option. I high tailed it back to the car narrowly missing various twigs and rocks thrown at me by the furious redneck.
This was one of my various attempts at picking up that has led me to believe I can only pick up in confined areas or places where my personality is forced upon them. Personality is my strong suite, and I think that's why I hate nightclubs. I also think it's why I hear the friend remark so often when confessing my adoration to someone of the opposite sex. I'm too weird to come off as normal. I wish I was a bed.

Monday, June 21, 2010

Petrolium

I've felt embarrassment, quite often. Who hasn't? None quite as so devastating as the BP incident. This has probably been my most well documented, and most told story. Let me take you far back. Way back to 2007.
I worked at Barbecues Galore, as most of you already know. Right next door was BP. As well as selling petrol, there was a large amount of coffee sold during morning sessions. One of the regulars was a young, naive version of me. I can still remember the taste of a fresh caramel late from there, made by one of the most beautiful girls I've known, and I'm yet to find an equal.
Every morning I walked in there, and saw her. The first month might have been weird, but soon after we striked up a familiar ship. I can't remember how it started, but soon we could take about anything. My coffee girl would put me in a zone I felt comfortable in. We'd talk like the oldest friends, about people the other only knew. Her friends became my friends in my head. She'd always go out of her way to see me/do things for me. Rush through her duties to serve me coffee, shout me coffee some mornings. I have coffee to thank for a lot of loves.
After a while, I started to convince myself she liked me. The acts of friendship I received became strong views of affection. Every conversation became a subliminal cry for affection. I was meant to be the sexiest man alive.
After weeks of talking and being nice, I finally worked up the courage to do something. It was a massive plan. John Dillinger wouldn't have spent longer on his plan. I'd strike up conversation as usual, then when I received the coffee, I'd ask her if she wanted to do something afterwards. Easy.
I decided on one morning. It had to be that morning, because everything was working out well for me. I was early, feeling/looking good. Smelling a million bucks. It was all falling into place. I walked in, and saw no-one but workers about. Great.
Ordered the usual caramel late and made idol chit-chat. She looked stunning, even in her stained uniform. She handed me my coffee, and it was judgement time. I looked around and to my sheer horror, people had flooded the building. My preparation couldn't be wasted, I was too far. I swallowed my pride and asked her "Did you want to do something later?". The response wasn't what I was looking forward to.
She replied with "What?"
Oh dear god. She didn't hear. I could feel every ounce of blood rush towards my face. I felt faint, like I was about to fall over. She didn't hear! Imagine performing the most amazing feat for a Guinness world record, then finding out it wasn't seen properly. Sheer devastating. All my confidence was drained, so when I asked again, my voice was sincerely drained of feeling, quietened and shaky.
"Did you want to...umm...do something later?" I asked, as quick as possible, while 4-5 patrons behind me listened in.
"Sorry, I'm busy..."
I've never felt a bullet impact my chest, but that's what I'm sure it felt like. A freight train just disemboweled me and left the waste behind. Pretty sure I lost breath. I can't remember what I said afterwards, but in the span of what seemed like 2 seconds I was gone. I could have broken the sound barrier with the speed walk I did that day. I don't think I made it past the car wash before stupid, insecure tears welled up in my eyes. I didn't want them to appear, but they squeezed them out from underneath my tattered ego. Made it inside the confides of work before I lost composure, and my shit.
That night I bought a bottle of black Douglas and drank my ass off. Enough to spew all over the kitchen floor of my Aunt's. I sincerely apologise to my cousin for making her boyfriend's first night with her, one of spew smells and loud noises.
I think I avoided coffee for the next few days. When I came back, things were as if nothing had happened. Everything ignored. I nervously tried to get back to routine, but it just wasn't working. She told me something about her being pregnant, and only finding out that same day. Odd coincidence. One day she failed to arrive to work and I never saw her again.
I wish I could say my experience has changed me, but it hasn't. I'm still the naive young boy, jumping at conclusions. If an attractive girl says "you're a nice guy" or "I like you" I immediately think I'm in. I conjure up situations in my head. I convince myself of these feelings until I get shut down. I ride an everyday roller coaster. I hate myself for this thinking method. It overrides any logical thinking and restricts my friendship connections. Worst of all, I think it made me into a self loathing, bitter and twisted individual I am today. I love the person I am, but feel that this part of me brings out the most pathetic, cowardly and immature actions. I need a hobby.

Monday, June 14, 2010

Second Amendment

Right. As per the usual quota, i'm plastered. Work in the morning is going to suck. I find that when i'm plastered I can write more open and honestly, which will make me feel better.
When I drink I get very lonely. It's a problem, and it keeps occurring. This very night, i've tried to contact 2 very nice girls but no replies. You know who you are.
So, often when i'm drunk, and feeling lonely, I go onto Oasis Active. I have a very barren account on there, filled with lots of little dove pictures shrugging their shoulders and looking depressed (if you've ever had an account, you'd know what that means). Doves aren't meant to look depressed. Majority of doves I have seen are on powerlines, shitting on pedestrians. Guess i'm a pedestrian.
This particular story is from when I actually had a SUCCESS on Oasis. I probably should have been alerted to the fact this girl hadn't put any full pictures on her site. She seemed nice though, so I decided to meet up with her. I'm sparing the details in this department so as not to point anyone that may stumble on this site out. We met up at a party her friends were having. I nervously rolled up to the party, anxious to see what she looked like in real life. Parked the car a couple meters away from the party and called her phone. She answered and we began the task of decribing locations in order to meet.
What found me was...large. She was a very big girl. I don't want to sound like i'm against big girls, but this girl was big, big. And wore makeup so thick, you could blast for diamonds in her pores.
I made friendly, hoping that she didn't put on her personality either, and she didn't. Relief. I was introduced to her friends and stood by her side awkwardly as they discussed one of their friends like I knew them.
The party was a redneck, dropout heaven; complete with fireworks, fake fights and mass swearing. I felt uncomfortable seeing them light a firework next to a police officer.
Once the party was cleansed of the dero mess, only her friends and some pretty cool people remained. This is where things become hazy.
I can recall leaving the party. I was drunk as a tequilla worm, trying to condition myself to find this walrus attractive (again, she was an ALRIGHT person). We got a lift with some guy and she sat in front while I sat in the back with her friend. Then things got confusing. Her friend started rubbing my leg. For some reason I had a cigarrette, and burnt myself at this point with hot ash. I was numb anyway, so I manned it through. She started kissing my neck (I think) and that's when my sense of decency kicked in. I turned and asked her exactly what the absolute fuck she was doing. She replied with giving me her number. I replied with some retort about her being a proper friend, and how she was clearly being a shit person.
I found out this was a test, and I passed. Oh goodie.
Things happened. I wont go into much detail, but she found out about the particulars of phimosis she never knew about, and I found out that she reminded me of my sister. Before you think anything, fuck off!
So, in the morning, I experienced my first dose of remorse. It sucks man.
My fingers had all become covered in a thick layer of dried puss, starting from my cuticals. I pried apart the crust, to see a large amount of fresh puss fill my nails. I shouldn't have done what I did.
What's worse was I had to meet her parents afterward. Try and justify why I was in her daughters bed. And they were deros too. So all sorts of filthy shit flowed from their mouths, along with something about the footy scores and a motorbike reference. I got a lift back to my car and bailed.
A few weeks later I got a text from her saying her ex boyfriend wanted her back, and she kinda felt he'd changed. I got dumped by this girl, even though I didn't know anything was going on between us. Even though I didn't think we had/want a relationship with her, it still hurt. Serves me right I guess for being so shallow.
What have I learnt? Nothing. I still want someone who is gorgeous, attractive. I find personality a huge factor, but looks equally. Does that make me a shallow person, or does everyone see this way too? Maybe my problem isn't my personality, but my looks. You can't catch fish without bait. I feel that, from the experience I had, i'm closer to figuring out who I am.

Saturday, June 5, 2010

Subject Online

I am drunk. Pretty drunk. Been drinking Coopers green for a while now and listening to Dntel, which has somehow stopped playing without me noticing. I've had a shithouse night. Arrived home at 10:15 after driving from Perth to home. Went to my cousin's party to only be stared at and ignored for over an hour. I have no idea why I waited around for an hour. I felt like that weird guy at the back of the children's party wearing a suspicious trenchcoat. I felt like a pet running around the house with the others, never really part of the conversation, but there enough to be in someone's way.
I should have done something cool. I wish I could do or be something cooler than what I am. I dreamt of conversing with the guests that I was in a band, and we were touring around Europe next month. Or even having some kind of slippery arch on the soles of my shoe, so I could surf the stair hand rails as I exited; at least the exit would have been cool. Instead, I stood around in my slightly overweight physique, feeling like an idiot as I listened to everyone talking about someone they all knew. And my awesome exit? I reversed a bit too fast and scratched the host's car, which caused all of the people on the balcony to rush over and inspect the massive, 1cm damage I had caused with my excessive breaking. From this night, I am thankful I have a cousin like Hannah. Standing up for me, asking if I was alright, trying to include me.
She, at one point, asked me to sit down nearer to the main point of conversation. What I didn't realize was I had just stolen a young girl's seat by doing this. I had defiled her nesting area. Disgusted, I saw her sit on the couch I once sat on, over the other side of the room. I could tell she thought I was a total anal twitch for what I did, like I did it on purpose. Luckily she actually turned out to be a decent person before I left. Quite a nice girl. If I could pick up, or had any skill in doing that, I would have at least tried to. Unfortunately, I have the gift of the gut, and manage to make some really, really good friends. Seriously, really good friends. It's like you're stuck in a desert looking for water, and you find milk instead. Useless and quite sickening.
That pretty much sets the tone for this Blog. I'm going to post about all my failures and love failures. They have made great stories before, and I figure if there's one thing we all love to hear, it's about someone dying a little inside.