In my 20's I had no morals, no future, and no standards.
The 'nothing years' I like to call them. Your twenties. The decade passes for most people in a blur of new relationships, passing music fads, and desperate fashion (carpet jackets, black Nike high tops and a yellow floral tight shirt that I thought made me look like Jarvis Cocker, when in fact it made look like a total cock). I worked in a petrol station and used to lie to girls in Whelans that I was in the 'oil industry'. I wrote poetry and posted it to the same girls, after they dumped me. 'You'll be sorry' was sent to a long termer. 'Mind the traffic bitch' to another. I made up for a lack of charisma, style and looks with a quirky odour. I parted my hair in the middle and invented the inverse dance to 'song 2' from blur in Whelans, where I would go mental to the quiet bits and stand perfectly still to the loud ones. I lived in a bedsit in Terenure in which my futon literally floated after a flash flood. I was so rock and roll that I used to complain about the noise from the old woman in the flat above me. I had a slug infestation and once woke up beside a pretty little bank teller to the sight of two of them on her leg 'your tongue feels lovely' she said, needlessly reminding me that she was totally and utterly drunk. I once, perhaps, manslaughtered an Australian girl when I knocked her from her bed trying to turn Jamoruqi off the stereo and she hit her head off a radiator. I deejayed in Doyles to 3 people, all of whom were related to me. They reckon I still owe them a refund.
Then towards the end of this troubled era I grew up. I got a better job. I got a better place. I got a better girlfriend. That's really where all the trouble began.
You see, despite the fact that I was an idiot in my twenties, I had a lot of fun. I had a lot of girls. I took unhealthy risks. I killed a Jamourqui fan.
Now, I'm starring into the abyss that is the age of man. I'm virgin (sic) on 33. I used to say to Fakey (who reaches the age of man this week) when he had one of his 'crises', "get off the cross dude, someone else needs the wood!!" now, rather than being crucified like my hero Jesus I'm being told 'just go off and die in the corner there love'. I thought I'd be a doting father by now, with kids. A money man, with money. A home owner who owned a home. Instead, I'm a fuckwit, who can't get ...... Well, maybe I actually can, it's just that the youthful centre parted gung-ho attitude of my twenties has been replaced by a sensible, nose to spite the face, stubbornness that sees me in on a Halloween night watching Ghost World only cos it has Ghost in the title.*
I have become too critical. This blog is littered with my opinions. It's littered with my mistakes. It's littered with a thinly veiled hated of TV3 that those of you with half a brain would already of guessed means that I watch it religiously. What it has not been littered with is stories of Antipodean murders, wantin public sex acts and regrettable encounters with women with beards. Had I of wrote this blog in my 20's, it would of. It would of spoke of nameless women, all stroking my ego and not being given the respect of me remembering their names.
It would of been filled with college tales so outlandish that even I struggle to believe them (such as when I was removed from Fairways hotel disco in Dundalk, only to gain re-entry by climbing a drainpipe, entering a bedroom and passing a couple as they woke to say 'Oh, this isn't the gents'). More near death experiences, such as when I woke up under Templeouge bridge with my jeans on backwards and contracted serious blood poisoning, but ended up in a 4 year relationship with the girl who lured me there. And the time I actually was covered in milk (only I was sleeping in a some random strangers garden on the Avenue Rd, Dundalk: at 3 in the day). The decade that I fondly look back upon as the 'nothing years' was in fact that.
There was nothing like it.
2008, Disgrace, still so-obviously single.
*Written on Halloween night