Soulmates Lost (part 2)

This was originally intended to be a reply to Lisa, who very kindly replied to my last post. However as is the way whenever I say or write anything, I waffled on for too long, and things got out of hand. Therefore, I'm gonna post my reply as a new post. Although, before any of my other readers get any further, I would advise just skipping this post, and go to something more amusing like the post I wrote about the Pope. This isn't very interesting, funny, or infomative. I should have called this site RyanWhinga.


Lisa, thanks for your kind words. It does make me cringe somewhat knowing that someone has actually read this, thus proving your statements that I'm uncomfortable with a certain level of intimacy. However, I'm not sure this is really the point I'm making.

I think that you get the impression that I cannot talk or open up to people full stop, whereas this isn't actually the case. Put me in a room of strangers, and I'm fine. I'll talk to any of them, about almost anything. Put me in a room full of hot women, and I'd be the same, albeit probably a little bit more polite, and probably a bit more shy.
Sit me down with a group of people I know, plus a hot woman, and I will talk to her without problem. If she looks deep into my eyes I might still look away mind you.

My emotions often make me feel uncomfortable, especially in public. It's not the other person that necessarily makes me nervous (it doesn't help, but it's not the main thing), it's the people around me. Therefore I automatically developed a defensive mechanism. It's much the same as many other peoples', it's to be the centre of attention, the joker, some might say.

I only really do this because then people don't actually know how I'm feeling. I call it my sheild. Very few people in this world believe that they have insulted me, because I appear to have a very thick skin and a good sense of humour. However the thick skin is an illusion created by my sheild, and I know that many a true word is spoken in jest. I might be deeply hurt, but while I took it to heart, you would probably never know.

This sheild does come down when I'm in a relationship though. It's about the only time it will come down mind you, because I don't let my friends in, as a rule. This post, and particularly this reply, breaks almost every rule I have about the display of my thoughts and feelings, and the very thought of people reading it makes me uneasy, so if I appear to waffle, it's because I'm trying to write something that won't leave me too open, but at the same time accurately convey how I'm feeling.

However put me in a nightclub, where I have to initiate contact, or display the correct body language to attract women, and I won't even come close. My body language goes into stealth mode, and the more I like the person I'm looking at from across the club, the less likely I am to go and talk to her. In fact the only women I've ever met whilst out on the beers were people I was introduced to. I've never got together with someone I didn't already know.

I may be similar in many ways to other former foster kids, but I tend to consider myself different. I was in foster care from when I was about 5/6 years old, and ever since I can remember, the lack of anything (love, attention, material possesions, family, social bonding) simply made me more determined to manage for myself. I didn't feel the need to flip out, it just fuelled my resolve.
I am a fiercely independent person anyway, and having the hand in my back pushing me away just made me move faster, rather than resist and push back against it. I know it's not right, but I've always considered those in similar situations to me to be weak minded, and prone to the sort of stuff associated with foster kids anyway.

I didn't live in a home like an ophenarium, but I did live with many truly horrible people, the sort who shouldn't have kids of their own, let alone get paid to look after other people's. They weren't all like that mind you, but most were. Still, my issues with the inadequate Social Services is not the topic at hand.

I appear to have gone a little off tangent, but the long and short of it isn't that I cannot form bonds, or keep them, but that I just don't get the opportunity any more.
I've been in long relationships before, and although they didn't work out, I'm not bitter about them. However, I have now been single for around four and a half years now.
I'm against Marriage and Children to a degree, but probably not for the reasons I should. It is partly because of my upbringing that I'm very wary of serious commitment like marriage or kids, simply because I would never put another human being through what I had to go through as a kid. However, my real reasons are social. I'm against Marriage because I feel it is conditioning. You're born, you grow up, you get a job, get a girlfriend, buy a house, get married, have kids. Not necessarily in that order, but it's all social conditioning. In a way, I'm lucky to be detached from that somewhat. I never had family values instilled into me, and so my immediate thought upon maturing was not to obtain a wife a house and kids. I'm mainly against children because I believe the world is overpopulated, and more people for the sake of social conditioning isn't a good enough reason to have kids. I also think people should have a licence to have children. You may claim that it's a breach of human rights, but what about the rights of the children these people are going to bring up?

Although I don't believe in fate or God, I do believe that someone is shitting on me from a great height. I feel like I'm waiting for something to happen, or for my life to end, so that I can get on with the good stuff.

My fierce motivation has been overtaken by vague apathy as I realise that none of my childhood dreams will ever come true, and that contrary to my beliefs, adulthood isn't actually any better than childhood, except that it's a lot more stressful, and I'm the only one putting me down.

All this has eventually led me back to and reminded me of my original point: I really do think that I was given maybe 5 magic tickets to be happy, and I spent a couple, and wasted or lost the rest. People think that my life is great, because I earn a fair amount of money. However, what they don't realise, is that is all I have. I don't really have anything else to make me happy, although I do like 'stuff' and so the money helps. Pity I hate my job really.

I would claim that I'm not a manic depressant/bi polar whatever you wanna call it nowadays, but I probably am, I'm just too got damn stubborn to admit it. Although this post makes things sound really bad, please don't think I'm about to top myself, cos I'm not. I'm not that type of person.

I did just need a damn good whine about everything though, and although I've probably only covered a tenth of the things I wanted to talk about, it's all good.

Incidentally, how did you come across my blog?

Oh, and if any of this doesn't make sense, check back tomorrow. This was such a long post, I couldn't really be bothered to check through it.

Soulmates Lost

Morning everyone. This is an unusual post today. It's only really unusual because I'm writing this post for me, rather than you. I want to keep a record of certain things in my life, so that I can look back, and go "Wow, what a loser." This is one of those events.

I'd better give a bit of background info first though. Rewind about fourteen years, when I was in school, at the end of my first year. I must have been approximately thirteen years old and I remember when a new girl joined my class. Back then I didn't have much interest in girls, I was a bit of a late starter, you see. However, to this day I still remember the first time I saw her. I mostly only remember, because my heart was trying to escape from my chest, straight through my ribcage. I didn't know who she was, but I knew her name (the teacher introduced her), and I knew that she was the beautiful thing I had ever seen, which for a 13 year old, disinterested in girls, this was quite a bold statement.

Her name was Marie Daley. I didn't say anything about my feelings, of course. I'm incredible at hiding how I truly feel. Instead, we sort of became friends. We would be lab partners in science, and I remember my timetable was filled with unimportant lessons that just got in the way of science. It was a reason for me to go to school, and I spent a large portion of my days waiting for science lesson, and the nervous excitement that I would always feel around her.

I thought I was in love with her. Everytime I'd see her, my heart would literally miss a beat. It sounds cliched, but this is exactly what would happen. My heart would skip a beat, and it would leave me feeling scared, nervous and excited all at the same time. I'd become fidgity and nervous, and say stupid things in the hopes that I would impress her. All this weird emotional stuff was spinning me out.

Needless to say, the feelings just didn't go away. Four sent anonymous Valentine's later, and I still felt the same. Once, but only once, I told her how I felt. The reception wasn't great. She told me that I had no chance, because I was 'too much of a clown'. At the time I kinda took comfort in this. I thought, "well, at least she didn't say no because 'you are an ugly freak' ". Unfortunately she might as well have, because I was slightly crushed, and didn't ask again, much to my regret.

I fancied her forever. I barely looked at another girl at school (not that I had my pickings, cos I didn't, but still, that's not the point) from the first year, right the way through to the fifth year. I wanted to take her to the Prom, but I was working up the courage to ask her, when I found out someone else had asked her, and she'd accepted. I was gutted, and I didn't go to the Prom. I only wanted to take her, and even if I hadn't, I probably wouldn't have been able to get a date anyway, so I didn't go. Sure I regret it, but what can you do?

I went back to the sixth form due to pressure from everyone I knew. I did very well in my exams, despite the fact that I didn't do a single bit of revision, to spite my foster parents. They made me stay in during the evenings to revise, but made me go out in the mornings. I told them that all my friends did the opposite, but nothing changed, and I was forced to stay in during the evenings.
So to spite them, because they made me stay in to revise, I didn't do a single bit. Not one iota. I think getting 7 Bs and 3 Cs isn't too bad considering I never even picked up a single textbook outside school during the final year, when most homework was revision. That'll teach my foster parents. :)

The sixth form was different. Something must've happened to Marie over the break after our GCSEs, because it seemed that when we returned, the majority of males felt the same way about Marie as I had for the past four years. She got her fair amount of attention, but I was ok, because coincidentally, we were doing almost the same A-levels, so I saw her a lot.
I'm fairly certain we used to sit next to each other in Sociology. Once I fell asleep, and was having a dream about battery hen farms, when Marie kicked me and woke me up. It was a bit late though, and when I woke, everybody was staring at me!

However, Marie was so popular now that for me to tell her how I felt was even more difficult. I felt(feel) insignificant. My attention isn't really worth anything, and I wasn't helped by the chronic nervousness that I felt. So I never said anything, and quit my A-levels because I had to move out of home. I didn't have to, but I was still living with Foster Parents, and nothing against those ones (I lived with about 7 or 8 different families over my childhood) at all, but I had to get out. Being the only child that doesn't truly belong amongst a family with 3 sons is tough, and doesn't make growing up easy. However, despite the fact that they were probably the best foster parents I'd had (social services had a habit of putting me in horrific places) it still wasn't a particularly happy time for me. So I quit my A-levels, got the first job I could, and moved out. It was shortly before my 17th birthday.

So I went my separate way. I still thought about Marie occasionally. After about 2 years I saw her in town, and almost choked as my heart leapt into my esophagus. Present day, and I've seen Marie probably only about 3 or 4 times since I was 16. Every time I feel the same, despite the amount of time that it's been since I'd seen her.

It's been quite a long time since I'd thought about Marie. It kinda pains me a little, because I do kinda feel like she was 'the one' and I missed it. I've been single for quite a while now, and I'm really not kidding when I say that I sort of feel like I have only been given one chance at finding my soulmate, and I've missed it, a long time ago.

You can probably guess what's bought this on - yep, I saw Marie again last night. I went to a house party, and got fairly wrecked. I was kinda spinning when we left, but we (me, Laura and Nate, plus this guy called Matt (but everyone called him chav) who was also tagging along. He looked a bit like Stifler if you ask me, but that's irrelevant. We decided that we needed food. I for one, was starving. Starving!!!! We arrived at Goodbody's, a mixture between a pub and a 24 hour greasy spoon. I paid my £7 for a mega breakfast, and sat and waited.

There was a hot girl with her shoes off at a table opposite me, but I didn't think anything of her, because I was starving, and pretty drunk still. Our food arrived, and just as it did, the hot shoeless girl was looking at me. I looked back. Then she mouthed the words at me, "Are you Ryan?". Considering I was drunk, I was highly impressed by my lip reading skills, cos she hadn't made a noise, and yet I caught every word. Strange. So anyway, I'm looking back at her, and I've got no idea who it is. It took me a good couple of minutes, but then it clicked - it was Marie.

Well, I'd been feeling spun out anyway, and although I was famished, my mega breakfast just wasn't going down well at all. I had to actually leave it, despite the fact I'd eaten one sausage and two forkfulls of beans. Devastated. But my heart was pounding. I don't really remember the conversation we had, but I'm fairly certain I made a twat out of myself. I had a chat with Marie for a while, and found out that she's married now with a 6 month baby girl. Stinger. Still, what was I expecting? She's always been stunning and nice to be around, I never thought she'd be single for long.

She asked if I was Married, and I laughed, and told her that I was a little unlucky. What I should have said was that it appears I am either socially inept, or that I have some sort of mutant growth coming out of me that everyone can see except for me. However, as much as I would like her sympathy, I'm not that weak. We talked for a while, and I realised that my insides were such a mess, there was no way I was gonna be able to eat any more of my breakfast. What a waste. And I was still starving!

So we decided to leave. Marie and the company she was with were leaving also. Now, my finest trick of ensure that I stay single forever is to pretend that I don't care. Oh, I'm so god-damn good at it too. When I like someone, I feel embarrassed. I've not had a huge amount of practice at displaying affection, because if truth be told I've never really had the chance. Living with people with no relation to you your whole life can leave you a little lacking in this area. For the same reason I don't understand family bonds. I just don't feel it. The majority of my family are just people, and if I never saw them again, I don't think it would bother me too much. I mean I haven't seen my Mum for at least 2 years, probably more like 3. It's not that I dislike her, I just find it difficult to feel anything about her.

Well anyway, enough of the psychology. The long and short of it is that the more I like someone, the more scared I am to tell them. I feel embarrassed by my emotions, and over the years have become very good at bottling them up. I'm not too bad in Private, but public displays of affection around 3rd parties are more difficult than naked table dancing for me. The problem is that I feel so weird about the whole thing, that if I really like someone, from a distance I'll be scared to even look at them or talk to them. Because of this, after Marie had left my table and gone back to hers, I couldn't meet her gaze. Although we all left at the same time, I walked past her as she was leaving with her friends, and I couldn't even look at her. I must have appeared so rude and arrogant, it really upsets me.

So there we go. I haven't been this candid on my blog for a long time. But I'm tired of being a fuckup. I'm really such a retard when it comes to affairs of the heart. However, I've come to the conclusion that I've met the one, and lost her. Actually, that's not strictly it. I feel that, but I also feel like it's my destiny not to have anyone. It was like when I was born, some higher power slapped my arse and said, "there shall be no love for this child, ever. Watch how we scupper his every chance"

I'm not really bitter. I've kinda come to accept it now, but I'm not very happy about it.

Housing/Life/Everything Troubles..... Again.....

I was hoping 2006 was gonna be a good year. I've been fairly mistaken so far.

Last October, I moved into a new house. We saw it for rent with an agency, and applied to go see. Everything was great, and we decided to move in. However, the agency caused us LOADS of problems, and both ourselves, and the landlord decided to cancel ties with the agency, and deal amoungst ourselves. It's really nice, a proper character property, with rooms in strange places (for instance, no taps in the entire house other than the basement, which is where the kitchen and bathroom reside), but this is exactly how I like it. It has three bedrooms, a front room, a dining room, a wc, and a wet room containing the shower, as well as a big kitchen and a nice southerly facing yard, with no access from the back (which is a good thing).

I moved in with Laura and Nate, who are friends of mine (in case you don’t know yet!) and a couple. I have one bedroom, they have another, and the third room we have been using as storage. Nate and I have our ‘office’ in the dining room, where all the PC stuff happens.

When we moved in, we loved the house, but hated the landlord. The landlord is called Roger, and quite frankly, he’s an ignorant tosser. I’d like to call him a cunt, but the fact is, he’s got such a wet personality that you just wanna slap him, for no particular reason other than it might instill a bit of backbone in him. I suppose I could probably get away with calling him a wet cunt, but that would introduce humour to the situation, when there is none. Also, he’s slow. Really slow. Not mentally (possibly), but talking to him is like talking to Bob Lumberg from the film Office Space, except that Roger takes a lot longer to get to the point, and then he’ll re-iterate it 3 or 4 times, even after you’ve agreed the first time, which again, just makes you want to slap him. Honestly, a semi-mute tourrette’s sufferer, complete with stutter would take less time to tell you what they mean than Roger does.

On top of being irritating on his own, he is also an ignoramus. If you ask me, there is nothing more rude than being late. Fair enough if it’s just a few minutes, but this guy really takes the piss. After we had moved in, Roger wanted to do an inspection, and so phoned us to book a time. He currently lives in Southampton, so had to travel down. I can’t remember the exact times, so I’ll estimate, but I’m not exaggerating at all.
Roger arranged to be turn up at 12pm on Saturday. It got to 2pm, then he still didn’t turn up, so I called him. Apparently he was on his way, and mumbled something about traffic, so would be here by 4pm. He never turned up. By 7pm I called again, at which point he re-arranged for the following day, Sunday, at midday. Sunday midday came and went, and still no sign of the ignorant fuckwit. I phoned him again, to find out where he was. Time was shifted back to 5pm. Come 5pm, and he STILL hadn’t arrived. I phoned him and told him if he wasn’t gonna turn up soon, he might as well not bother.

He eventually arrived somewhere around 7pm, at which point I had guests. He wanted us to be present for the inspection, so we left our guests in the front room, and went to the kitchen to start. Unfortunately, it would seem that Roger takes as much time to look at stuff as he does to talk about it. In fact, I would say it takes even longer, because he looks at it, THEN talks about it. On numerous occasions I asked if he could perhaps stop staring blankly at the walls and hurry up a bit, as he’d already been an hour, and I had guests. I was met with “….hmmmm…yeahhhh…ok……right…the ceiling……………………” accompanyed by vague mumblings and vacant gazing.

Two full, boring hours later, and after much disjointed talking about nothing Roger was finally ready to go. We had established throughout the inspection that not only was Roger abysmally dull, but he was also anally retentive, and by that I don’t mean he loves to keep cock up his arse (although he probably does). We discovered that despite the fact the decorating had been done by someone with about as much skill as boneless chicken, Roger didn’t want any nails in the walls. In fact, he kicked off about bluetack being stuck to the walls.

So only now we discover what an arse Roger is. However it’s too late then, as we’ve already moved in. It’s also too late for him, because although we originally dealt with the agency, and they Let us the place, we were now dealing directly with Roger. This meant the first time he met us, was when we already had a 6 month contract signed and were living in his house.

We always got the impression that there was something about us Roger didn’t like. It was probably the minor chastising I gave him about being late, but that was his fault, not ours. However we all talked (at great length -time, not content- thanks to Roger’s superb communication skills) and made it clear that we had moved a lot the previous year (I moved three fucking times) and we wanted to stay in this house for a long period of time, ie, definitely over a year. Roger agreed that a long let would be best, and assured us nothing would change for a long time.

Finally, we reach present day. Six happy months have passed in the house, and we were looking forward to Summer arriving, and having barbeques in the suntrap that is the yard. Roger phoned me up a week ago to inform me of a house inspection. Now technically we’ve been breaking the laws of the house, because Laura and Nate own a cat and a snake (used to be my snake), and Nate smokes. If only we had children, we would have completed the set.

So we set to work on the house. Truth be told, it didn’t require much work, because the cat is very well behaved and doesn’t scratch or dirty stuff, and we had looked after the house for the six months. We tidied up the cat hair, and gave the place a bit of a hoover, and an airing, incase of any smoke smell, which there wasn’t really anyway, cos only rollys (rolling tobacco) are smoked, not wall-staining chemical packed cigarettes.

The day arrived, and Roger did his inspection. He turned up in workboots that didn’t look like they’d even heard of mud (let alone seen any), and trousers pulled up to the armpits. We’ll just say that fashion isn’t his strong point, like competant conversation. Roger stayed for about an hour, accepted a cup of tea, and then did the inspection, again taking far longer than necessary. When he was finally done I asked if he’d had any problems, and to my surprise, he said he did.
This caught me off guard, because there was really nothing he could pick us up on, and I knew it. I was right. The things he was moaning about had nothing to do with us, and was either natural - a gap in the wooden flooring in the office, due to shrinkage of the wood caused by winter/summer temperature fluctuations – and some slight damage to the edge of a tiled step in the bathroom – caused by everyday use. Neither are actually damaged. If Roger threatens to take some of our deposit though, we’re gonna threaten to take him to the small claims court on 3 separate counts (one for each of us) – that should persuade him that it’d be easier, quicker, and cheaper to give us our deposit than screw us over. Although that said, there is a burn hole in my bedroom carpet (now under my bed) that Nate did. I won’t be losing my deposit over that either though, cos it WILL get fixed.

However, right before he’s due to leave, he suddenly mentions, “Oh…and…ummm…as you may be able to tell…my circumstances have changed…I’m contracting now…and…ummm…yeah…I’m gonna want the house back…”. I didn’t say anything, but at the time, but I thought, “WHAT THE FUCK?!? You’ve waited until now to tell us?”. It seemed really backhanded. He could have told us when he first arrived, instead of engage in conversation about the house and life, and how happy we were etc. If he’s kicking us out, why bother with this inspection? He’ll only have to do another when we move out….

So… Now we have to move again. It’s not easy. I hope to move again with Laura and Nate, but at this rate, that might not happen. Since we moved, house prices for rent have gone up, by quite a lot. As well as a fixed budget, we want the following from a house:

--Not more than £750 per month for the whole house – Laura and Nate can’t afford more.
--Not below anyone - I’ve lived under people in the past and it was a nightmare, especially as I’m a bit of an imsomniac, and I can’t stand thumping on the ceiling.
--Has to have parking, or be in an area where parking is ludicrously easy - Laura has a car, and won’t go out in the dark in case she gets raped or mugged – therefore in winter months, she wants to park the car very close.
--Has to be in certain areas. Nate doesn’t have transport, so the house must be close to major bus routes (ie town) but not near Nate’s work (as he hates the area). This isn’t really a problem, but does narrow our search.
--Ideally with a garden or outside space – I don’t think Laura and Nate are fussed about this, but I’d like it if possible, especially with summer coming up. a 3 bedroom place – we all want this, as it gives us room for storage, and an office for the PCs.
--Somewhere that accepts pets - because of the cat and the snake, but mainly the cat. Although this condition isn't really important, as we've already proven we can keep a cat in a place that doesn't allow them and get away with it...
--Somewhere that allows smoking (this is where a garden comes in handy too), although this is the same as the cat.

So basically we want a good sized three bedroomed house with parking, garden or similar, with quiet neighbours for less than £700 a month. It’d be perfect if we could find one that didn’t mind pets or smoking as well, but we can get round this if need be. However, I can't see us finding somewhere that fits all, or even most of our conditions, especially as we only have until June the 3rd to move out completely.

So I may well be losing some great housemates, as well as the money it takes to move, and my happy settled feeling (that I was just starting to get), simply because our landlord is a dishonest cocksmoker. If I do end up losing my housemates, I’m gonna be losing a lot of cash per month, as I’ll have to get a place on my own, and that costs loads in comparison to sharing. I can afford it, but it’ll leave me without much spending money whatsoever. The ironic thing is that I probably earn about double what the average wage in Plymouth is, and I can still barely afford to live! How does everyone else manage without this much hassle?!?

So, another landlord has ruined my year. I’m fed up with the fuckers doing this, they need to pay. I’m honestly starting to wonder what the point of me coming to work is. Apart from the spare bit of cash to buy gadgets, I’ve got nothing to show for coming to this place. I can barely afford to rent, house prices are so sky high that I can’t afford anything other than a shitty flat if I were to get a mortgage (over 35 years as well!!!), and I’m not left with much money to play with. What the frig do I get up and do a job I hate for? There seems to be no benefit. At least if I was on the dole, they’d pay my housing, and I’d get lots of free time, even if I didn’t have much spending money.

I’m currently trying to think of a way to get back at Roger for this. I was thinking of pouring milk into the fibreglass loft insulation, as given a couple of weeks, that’ll really turn nasty. I might also introduce mice to the house, as the buggers breed every 10-20 days, and could be a right pain to sort out.

I don’t care what I do, but it needs to be untraceable back to me, take a couple of weeks before the results really kick in (so we get our deposit, and get outta there!), and it’s gotta seriously piss off the Roger, or the new tenant so much they wished they were living someone else.

Anyone know any good techniques for this? Oh, and I don’t want it involving excrement of any kind. If it’s mine, it could in theory be traced back to me, and if it’s not mine, I don’t want to go near it!

I fear that Society is getting too much for me. One of these days I’m gonna do a ‘Falling Down’ on everybody. There’s just too much stress, and so very little joy in my life, that it almost seems inevitable.….

Basic Instinct 2

I've only just discovered that Sharon Stone is starring in the new Basic instinct film.

Just wondering, can anyone tell me if she gets her muff out in this one?

Only I have fond memories from my teenage years of the first one, and if truth be told I'm looking forward to seeing the latest.

...might even treat myself to a posh wank.