thr0z3n - Tumblr blog

thr0z3n · 7 years

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Now defending: my fashion choice

I launched this blog with absolutely no intention of marketing it, distributing it, or making any kind of effort whatsoever in reaching out to the general public. However, I would like to speak to the general public in this post, even though they will probably never hear me.

I want to talk about my dress sense and how it fits in with society. Ever since I shed a ton of weight in 2011, I’ve taken to wearing skinny clothing. Why? Probably because I enjoy being in my new, slimmer physique. I also hate baggy clothing with a passion. On me, anyway.

Traditionally men opt for “standard” fit clothing, whether it’s shirts, vests or jeans. It’s ingrained in me to tuck into “slim fit” versions of these garments.

Here’s a typical day for me, clothing wise:

Sorry for the awful quality. I tend to opt for either lengthy, slim-ish t-shirts, and the obligatory super skinny jeans - black, most of the time. If you’re a true fashion nazi, you’ll have instantly picked up on my footwear:

Shock, horror! Slip-on’s!... No, not really. Slip-on’s are relatively cool and accepted in society. The stunned reaction would be directed at the sock-less-ness.

This is often a point of conversation among my work colleagues (not so much my friends - they couldn’t care either way), and I’m not blind to the reason why. While it’s fairly common for women to run with the sock-less look, it still hasn’t completely come into fruition as a standard fashion choice for men. I guess I’m a “protester” in favour of the style.

Here’s the thing: I do wear socks. I wear “no show” socks. See, check it out:

Don’t you look foolish?

Actually you probably still think I do. Whether I’m wearing socks or not isn’t necessarily the issue society has, it’s the idea of it, teamed with the “mankle” (men showing off their ankles).

As said, it’s traditional for women to sport this look, but not so much for men. It’s particularly challenging in the Spring/Autumn times when it’s getting chilly and people instantly draw the conclusion that I “must be freezing” in that specific part of my body.

I’m not, FYI.

So, why do I wear my jeans and shoes in this way? Why do I give off the appearance of wandering around bare foot in my shoes?

Honestly, I love the feel, I hate thick socks (or most socks full stop), and I love the “mankle” look. I think, for a skinny jeans wearer like myself, it’s a fantastic style.

Now, I don’t really care what other people think (aside from blogging about it... derp). As I said, I’ve been through more than a few conversations about this choice of look, and these stimulating chats aren’t initiated by me.

Some people comment on my whether I’m cold (as said). Some people have outright said “dude... no socks?”.

I want to address the latter statement/question/curiosity.

I find myself deeply frustrated with the concept of what a man is. Men don’t wear skinny jeans. Men wear socks (or, in my case, visible socks). Men wear “manly” clothing. There is a dress code in society that I am, in some parts, in breach of.

If I wish to fit in with society, I must buy jeans with slightly greater girth and I must present clear and irrefutable evidence that I’m wearing ordinary socks. Essentially, I should become this guy:

I look at that and I think... Jesus fucking Christ.

How boring is that?

Baggy, bland, super-manly jeans, teamed with hyper-manly generic trainers.

At least with my choice of clothing, I’m demonstrating some degree of personality, character, liberty and edgyness.

Liberty is the key word there. I dress in a manner in which I feel myself. In a manner I feel comfortable with.

I wouldn’t feel like myself if I began dressing like that Dr Dull in the photo. Even if I took the tiniest inspiration and wear standard, above-the-ankle socks (I’m assuming Dr Dull is), I would feel completely lost in my own skin.

I wouldn’t feel like me.

I guess this is a fundamental problem in society, dating back generations, perhaps since the dawn of man - the cognitive failure to understand and ways and choices other people make that differ from their own. It’s comparable to homosexuality. There is absolutely nothing immoral of straight up wrong with it - it’s just taking mankind decades to get over their preconceptions and convictions over what they think is “right”.

Anyway.

I love the way I dress. I love the way I feel in all my garments. I love that I am questioning the model of what a “man” is by squeezing into my skinnies every day. I love that I draw the occasional double-take from passer-by because my style is so unusual to their day-to-day observations.

There is a silver lining to this decision to be a fashion “outcast”.

During my outings, particularly in the Summer and in the city, I see more and more men sporting a similar “mankle” look. They don’t always wear skinny jeans, and sometimes opt for loafers or trainers.

Either’s good. I’m just glad they’re being themselves.

It’s a fashion choice I sort of wish was more “accepted” or at least not seen as “weird”. As I said before though, I don’t honestly care what people think. If I did, I’d probably stop dressing this way, right?

I feel better. :)

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thr0z3n · 7 years

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A bi-polar feeling of abandonment.

Admittedly I haven’t been updated this secret blog as often as I imagined when I launched it. I wanted it to be retrospective insight into the daily life of my gradually decaying youth in 10-20 years time.

Meh... who cares. I do what I want, what’s best for me and in my interests. Which smoothly brings me onto today’s topic and the reason for another albeit uncommon post.

Today a friend (Sophie) at work (SessionCam) told me that she’s leaving in around 6 weeks, to continue her education 200 miles west in Chester. When I say ‘friend’, I should stress that because she’s delightful, witty and intelligent, and because we click and get on like natural gas does with a cigarette lighter, I have a thing for her.

It’s totally secret (as secret as I’ve kept it, anyway) and definitely not mutual. Sophie is in a relationship with a girl, so not only is she off the market, but she doesn’t find a man’s pompadour haircut and slick jawline to be attractive. She could be bi-sexual, or even label-less and happened to find a girl she likes instead of a dude.

That’s neither here nor there and not important to this blog. Upon hearing the news I was really rather... sad. I could’ve said crushed, or devastated, or heartbroken, but because she is intrinsically a friend at this time, it’s not emotional trauma like that of a break-up. It’s just a friend, who I have strong feelings for, going away for a long time. To put it into scale, we talk almost every day, and frequently go to lunch (falafel!) and partake in sports together.

I’ve been down this path before, many times, where somebody I get close to (both friends - men and women, and romantic partners) up sticks and vanishes, and each time I feel a part of me crumbles.

So, anyway... I’m the sort of person who develops perhaps an uncommon (even disturbing?) level of emotion towards somebody, which is stronger than their thoughts or feelings towards me.

When I left my job at Hoseasons around 18 months ago, the hardest part was parting ways with a couple of close confidantes who I knew I probably wouldn’t see again. And, of course, while they were ‘sad’ to see me go (to some degree - they weren’t ‘happy’ at least), they saw it as another employee moving on. Staff turnover, and nothing more.

I guess this brings me onto my title for this blog - a bi-polar feeling of abandonment, which I think... makes... sense.

Sophie leaving calls to mind a feeling of abandonment, but on two completely opposite poles. At one end, I’m deeply saddened that she’s leaving, and as said, I feel like a small part of me died inside since I won’t receive that pleasure anymore. At the other end however, I identify with her decision to ‘abandon’ her current daily life, by analysing my own and thinking I could, and should, do the same.

I see people moving on fairly often and every time this happens I pull into focus what I’m doing with my own life. I often wonder if I’m truly happy, or if I’m missing out on the true meaning of life by not exploring everything within my grasp.

I have money. I have stability. I have knowledge and understanding of how the world and adult life works. I have a passport. I have fall-backs. I have a desirable job in a field that is always in-demand on a global level. And, perhaps most importantly, I have the confidence... sort of.

Still working on that last one. Travelling solo, let alone packing my bags and buggering off across the world, has always been daunting.

So why do I stay here, in Norwich? In England? Indulging in the same surroundings, pastimes and social times each and every day?

I can only think of one legitimate reason and one frankly pathetic reason. The legitimate reason being family. I absolutely, one hundred per cent, want to be a full-time uncle to my niece Evie. I want to see her grow up and play a clear, responsible and integral role in her youth. I want to support my sister through this time too. None of that is up for debate.

So that immediately tethers me to Norwich, or at least (let’s say) a 25 mile radius. The “frankly pathetic” reason really isn’t a tether at all, though.

I said I have the confidence. Actually, I don’t. If it is a work-in-progress, then I’m still at the stage where I’m sleeping in til noon and ignoring all effort not to proactively achieve that goal.

I just couldn’t do it. I said earlier that I tend to develop uncommon degrees of emotion towards friends and girls who turn my mini hotdog into a German bratwurst. It’s because of this dependency on the people I’ve integrated into my normal routine that I cannot see myself functioning without them.

Special mentions to Jon, Rob and Charlotte. I’ve kinda grown up with them - we’re a special group in that sense.

There’s also the fact that I feel settled in Norwich, in this routine and with these people. I legitimately think Norwich is an excellent place for all my needs. I enjoy being British, I am no more than 30 minutes from the nearest beach (and I am surrounded by coastline), the year-round climate is comfortable, I am a 90 minute drive from Stansted airport and my gateway to European escapes whenever I want, and this city is a technology up-and-comer with great companies and opportunities, which is perfect for a web designer like me.

I can’t think of anywhere in Europe where I would be comfortable living, largely due to language barriers and the ruthlessly hot climate in the southern regions. The only places I would consider are southern Norway (<3) and Copenhagen. They are, however, economical vacuums. If I wanted to work remotely for a company in Britain, while living in either of those Scandinavian settlements, due to the currency conversion, my bank account would get slaughtered in a heartbeat. They’re just not viable.

And no - I’m not learning Norwegian or Danish just for the sake of maybe living in either country. #englishrules

So... that leaves me where I am. Which is fine, but I can’t help but tingle at the idea of orchestrating my own abandonment and starting out fresh.

I always imagined that I would progress my career further into my early 30′s, hopefully when I’ve found that special someone, who I could then construct my ideal life around. Whether that ideal life is in Norwich or somewhere like Canada, who knows. Time will tell...

I hoped writing this would alleviate some difficulty I’m having processing Sophie’s leave, but it hasn’t really. More time needed I suppose.

Siiiggghhhh. That’ll do. I’ll miss her, a lot.

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thr0z3n · 7 years

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Some things never change... or do they?

When reading my teenage blog, I am reminded of how times never seem to change.

It appeared that I spent a chunky amount of time in high school trying to forge romantic relations with girls who, to some degree, showed an interest in me. A few honourable mentions include Zoe - who I stayed in-touch with in patches during my twenties but lost contact with a few years ago, Artemis - see Zoe, Rachel - who I occasionally spoke to on Facebook some years back, and Gemma - who was deservedly pushed off a cliff for being a judgemental, condescending shrew post-high school.

I blogged on them at every opportunity, and it was never good news. 10 years on and none of these relationships amounted to anything significant. None of these women, perhaps with the exception of Rachel who I still consider a dear friend and will hopefully never lose contact with, bear an imprint on my daily life or long-term plans.

They made it tiresome to try and form romantic bonds with in high school, and perhaps that’s my fault for trying too hard, or being too glass-half-full. Or not - after all, I was young, innocent minded, and had skipped that lesson in school about how to foresee the future. What amuses me though, is my constant failure to comprehend Albert Einstein’s interpretation of insanity.

“Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.” My own attempts, casting my memory back over my twenties, are what tickle me the most. I’ve tried over and over again to lock down a relationship with a lovely lady and failed at each hurdle.

I’m going to describe my relationships and dating efforts since college. Buckle up.

- My most successful relationship to date was with Kirsty, in my early twenties. It was a fun, passionate relationship I could sink my teeth into quite pleasurably. Ultimately after 18 months however it was not to be, due to happiness subsiding on both sides and, in the end, we drifted apart emotionally and mutually ended things.

- Chelsea.

Dated her for four months following my split with Kirsty. This was without question my first glimpse into the black hole of relationships. While casting a pretence that she was happy (with simply ‘dating’, and refusing to take things further), it turns out she was simply using my good-natured ways for her gain (such as asking for weed money, groceries, the use of my gaming consoles, etc) while sleeping with her best friend, who was a dude, who pretended to be gay, hence why she refused to take our model further.

The part about sleeping with this guy I’ve assumed, since the day Chelsea and I parted ways romantically was the same day she got together with him. Coincidence...?

- Jess M.

While dating Chelsea, I was socialising/dating Jess. Nothing wrong with that - if Chelsea wouldn’t commit to a relationship, then I’m free to explore elsewhere. Jess was sweet, kind, loved a laugh and accepted me in every way.

How I handled this, however, was probably my biggest dating blunder. Chelsea, despite most likely sleeping with her best friend, became overwhelmed with an incredibly childish, stroppy form of envy when learning I was seeing Jess, and twisted my arm into severing my romantic ties with her rival. Jess would later date an enormously chavvy and abusive cunt, fall in-love (of course), and all hope of our future abandoned following my split with Chelsea.

C'est la vie.

- Nicki.

Ohh, Nicki, you mind-fucking puzzle, you. Met her through a once-good friend, she took a shine to me and the feeling was mutual. We went on three dates, with progress slow but steady. In terms of personality traits, it was like looking in a mirror. Before our fourth date however, she suddenly decided that she wasn’t ready to date somebody (bit late for that, don’t you think?).

Long-story short, a difficult friendship turned to tatters over the next two years. The climax came after I learned that she was actively looking for a relationship online, despite telling me she wasn’t ready to date, again. She revealed that she never saw me in that light, but didn’t really care to mention that.

Respect should really grow on trees.

- Gemma W.

Now the fun really begins.

If I were to tier the women I’ve made reasonable efforts with to craft a romantic future with who would later reveal themselves to be devious witches, this runt would nearly top the list.

I met her online and we went on a bunch of dates. I can’t honestly say she was my type, but at the time I wasn’t choosy. She was slender and occasionally smiled... tick! Over the course of our 3 month story, communication and general relations were rocky.

Our first big fight occurred when I accused her of deceiving me when she claimed she couldn’t meet up because she was visiting family, yet that same day, she posted on Facebook a photo of herself enjoying a Costa coffee with her guy “friend” in Norwich. (Remember this part for later.)

Having flashbacks to the aforementioned Chelsea saga? I sure am. Amongst all the other similarities to that experience, I should make it clear that, like Chelsea, Gemma would also refuse to commit to a relationship following many dates and a few months of progress.

I was forced, by my penis of all things really, to submit and accept full responsibility following what was, here in the real world, a reasonable accusation of mistrust. I really regret this, in hindsight.

We continued after this, but it wasn’t long before our relationship received the shredder treatment. Above all else, I trust my instincts - they’re so bloody accurate, and towards the end, it was my instinct that she was being unfaithful, yet I couldn’t prove it.

So I decided to be clever. Aside from her guy friend from before, how else would she meet people? Same way she met me - online. So I logged back onto that website, entered her username from before, and there it was - her profile, still active. She had been ‘online today’ that day, as well.

I was feeling good.

So I did what any sensible person would do. I created a fake user called Matt. I then found a fairly dreamy looking fella on Google Images and slapped that in as the profile picture. ‘Matt’ then messaged her. She responded, almost instantly, showing overwhelming interest.

When ‘Matt’ asked her if she was single, of course - she said yes. When ‘Matt’ asked if she was seeing anybody all all, of course - she said no. When ‘Matt’ asked if she wants to get together, of course - she said yes.

My research satisfied my gut feeling and I confronted her, digitally at least, accusing her of stringing me along, dishonesty, the works, but didn’t reveal how I obtained my findings in great detail (I kept that hush hush) - I simply said I saw her online profile still active.

She didn’t deny that she was attempting to unzip other dudes trousers, metaphorically or perhaps for real (who knows?). She retreated to her comfort zone, which is to launch an offensive and counter-accuse me of snooping. Which was the REAL crime here, let’s be honest, right?

I kicked her to the kerb. A month or so later, I revisited her Facebook profile out of curiosity, to find that she was in a relationship with the aforementioned Costa coffee friend.

This was a truly immersive experience. It taught me that women, quite simply, are not worth my time, my energy, my money, or my life.

Why was she even dating me? Boggles the mind...

- Jess R.

This is incredibly complicated. An Internet friendship spanning a decade since college that became more.

I met Jess, who has lived in Australia since birth, online during college. She was, and presently is, gay, but despite this our mutual feelings pulled this sexual orientation into question on many occasions in the early days.

During this time we had formed a seemingly unbreakable bond. She loved my Britishy-ness and humour. I loved her smile and her crude grasp of proper English. We would talk over webcam for hours, and hours, and hours.

Following a separation due to a massive misunderstanding involving her jealous, abusive tank of a girlfriend, we went 5/6 years without contact, until I reached out over Facebook late into 2013. She was happy to see me, and vice versa.

We fell back into old habits. I would put my life on hold in my daily routine to keep her company over Skype on her long journeys to work, often into the early hours of the morning (which ruined my sleep cycle and compromised my ability to work).

It became clear where this was heading. A few months after making contact, we decided to ‘date’ officially, my first real Internet relationship. I felt rather proud that, of all the men on the planet, she had chosen to break her sexual preference because of me, and who I am, and what I meant to her.

The bond matured, so much so that I felt physically sick about not being with her, a feeling I had never felt before. We put together this plan, which would see her coming to live with me for 6 months (largely funded by me), and would in-turn satisfy her ultimate dream of living in England.

There was a problem, though, which is where the cracks started to emerge. For reasons I couldn’t grasp (or perhaps refused to see), she wouldn’t purchase a new passport, which was critical to the plan’s success. I politely prodded her about the matter several times, but each time was met with a rather cold “I’m doing it”.

She never did it.

What’s more, around 4 months into our relationship, she met some new friends. Lady friends. Who were gay. Who were, despite in being in a relationship with one-another, were interested in Jess.

The relationship declined severely. I was still holding out for our plan, while at the same time, she would pay very divided attention to our video chats. Too busy messaging one (or both?) of her new lesbian friends.

Eventually I snapped. I didn’t want to live in this facade anymore. I confronted her on Facebook, bringing into the spotlight her obvious feelings for this new girl and her obvious disregard for everything about us. I told her to choose between the girl or me.

She chose her. Of course.

We ended, there and then. All of my planning, efforts, and hope, put towards what would be an incredible life in England with her, in tatters.

I still talk to Jess occasionally on Facebook. In this chats it seems we’re very close still. She even expresses immense feelings of love. Here’s a quote, from a conversation last month:

“I miss your voice. I miss your smile. I miss your laugh. I miss the stupid things we'd talk about. I miss that look you'd give me... the that but mixed with that one.. I'm a bit said there wasn't an emoji for that but it was the look you gave me whenever I said something really dumb.”

As sweet and heart-felt as it is, I can’t buy into it. Partly because she’s engaged to a girl, and partly because it’s all surface. She doesn’t really mean it. She considers everybody her best friend, and loves everybody. Which is sweet, and I do love her to a certain degree. But I am far from special to her.

- Angela.

My second most successful relationship in terms of goals and general progression.

As with most girls listed here, I met her on an online dating site. In hindsight I’m not sure what on Earth we talked about, because it became clear that we had literally nothing in common.

Despite this, we went on a few dates, developed feelings, and entered into an official relationship on my birthday (yippee!).

Things were going pretty well for the first two months. Meeting up a few times a week in-between her studies to go for meals, drinks, movies, etc.

It was when I became entrenched in this relationship that I truly discovered who my girlfriend was - daddy’s spoiled little control-freak.

Literally nothing we did happened without her strict vetting and approval. We would eat at restaurants only she liked. We only went to the cinema to see films only she wanted to see. We met up when she wanted to, often only a few times a week for a few hours. We were only intimate when she was in the mood (I think it was exactly 4 times.)

I was committed though. The conqueror in me was determined to make this work. Until one day, four months in, she came round and revealed she wasn’t happy and wanted to end things.

I was destroyed. I sat in my living room afterwards crying, having thrown my phone across the room and smashed a photo frame with our best moments in against the wall. It was horrible... and yet... in hindsight... brilliant.

I know it’s easy to say this now. But in all logic, science and seriousness, it was the most toxic relationship I’ll probably ever have - certainly the most unsatisfying and repellent.

I marvel at the irony to this day. I endeavoured to please her, meeting all her demands and requests, and she was the unhappy one. Just, wonderful.

- Gemma R.

I’m really tired at this point. Must... soldier... on...

I met this particular Gemma on an adult dating website. Similarly with Jess, we took an almost immediate shine to one-another thanks to our shared interests and beliefs.

We met up, despite living 40 miles apart. And she couldn’t drive, so I smashed the piggy bank to fuel up my car, but it was worth it. She was incredible. Pint-sized, slender, cheery, the right blend between emo-goth-alternative and just normal. She was a gamer, and into the same kooky kind of things I was. I thought I’d hit the goldmine.

During our dates (which didn’t happen too often given the distance), we would be physically intimate. It was pretty hot, cough.

This continued for two months or so, with the only drawback being her refusal to talk on Facebook or Skype for days on end, sometimes weeks. She claimed she was taking stock of our situation and needed time in-between our get-together’s, due to aspects from her abnormally dark upbringing.

Despite this, things were going smoothly. I felt confident. I didn’t want to jinx things though (because my relationship track record, as you can tell so far, was seriously bad up to this point), so I didn’t tell Mike, who I usually keep abreast of my love life. Until one Tuesday morning in the third month.

I decided to tell him about Gemma, still oozing with confidence. He was as chuffed as I was, but in-spite of this, I jokingly said “don’t worry - in about an hour, I bet it’ll be over”. He dismissed it, as did I.

Oh, boy.

An hour later, Gemma sent me a message, saying “we need to talk later.” This was following a weekend of mostly silence, which I had adapted to. I knew exactly what was going to happen. I was too experienced not to know, or pretend not to know.

I rang her immediately. She was crying her eyes out. When I essentially asked “what’s up?”, she revealed that since we began dating, she had been sleeping with her ex-boyfriend relentlessly and uncontrollably.

I didn’t feel anything. I heard white noise. I was like a statue. Partly because I had developed an immunity over the years to rejection and failure with love, and partly I knew it was over there and then.

We talked again that night, and she confirmed it was over, claiming the higher grounded and that she was the true victim because of the “difficult decision she had to make, choosing between us.”

Lol. Fuck off. You’re the victim? No matter what you do, I lose here. I lose. Not you.

After this, I terminated all efforts into finding a girlfriend. I hit my breaking point. I understood that, at least for a significant amount of time, I would be single and alone...

- Rose.

...for a few months.

In all seriousness, I had given up for the most part. I deleted my online dating account and made no strides in real life into finding a girl. I simply wasn’t interested.

However... however... I was still a member of this adult dating site, and one evening, made the decision to message a few girls. Partly because fuck it - why not, I’m bored and want something to do, and partly because I had greater success on this adult site than the standard dating site.

Low and behold - I struck gold. At least in terms of responses.

I met this girl called Rose. You can fill in the blanks here. We talked online, got to know one-another, and eventually met up for a drink.

It was the worst date of my life. Trying to squeeze meaningful chatter out of her was like trying to convince Donald Trump that he doesn’t have an orange for a face. It was nigh-on impossible. We went for a wander after she finished her glass of wine. It was incredibly awkward. That evening, following the world’s worst date, I admittedly asked her for a second go, to see if the first attempt was just bad luck (that’s scientific, right?). She declined, saying we weren't a match.

Fine by me. I returned to my comfortable state of not caring about women, dating, or relationships, and we didn’t speak again.

Fast-forward two months later however, and I receive a text message from an unregistered number, reading “hey, how’s it going”. I was intrigued. I didn’t want to outright ask, “uhh, who the fuck is this?”, so I delivered a generic response and massaged the conversation to suss out their identity. I learned eventually that it was her.

So why was she getting back in-touch? Almost the first thing she said was, “I’m okay, but my boyfriend just broke up with me.”

Transparency = 100%. She was feeling empty and unloved and seeking the comfort from... a guy she met once and hadn’t said a word to in over two months. Of course.

I played along, saying it’s always darkest before the dawn, if it’s not meant to be it’s not meant to be, and so forth. All the clichés.

Enough time had passed that I was willing to brush our awful first date under the rug and ask for a second go. She declined, just wanting to be friends.

I was enraged, hysterical, and couldn’t stop laughing my head off.

Let’s recap. She rejected me (which was fine), chose not to speak to me for two months (again, which was fine, as did I), and then expects me to be her friend when the man she chose over me rejected her.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

I am not your tool. I am not your puppet. I am not anything to you - something you chose. Why the fuck would I comfort you? So you can, once again, bugger off for an indeterminate length of time to screw somebody else instead of me? And then come back again when it doesn’t go your way?

It was this experience that shut the doors on my dating career. This experience, minus one or two weak attempts to talk to a few girls online, has crushed any ambition I have to forge a relationship.

Women are toxic, manipulative, deceptive, lying rats, only ever looking out for number one.

I am tired of wasting precious time pandering to their pathetic ways, to ultimately receive nothing in return.

Instead, I focus on me. I focus on my friends, my travels across Europe, my career, my gaming, my web design, my photography, and more.

I love my life, because I don’t let selfish women ruin it.

Here’s hoping things may be different in 10 years time. But if they aren’t, I can confidently say, I would be fine with that.

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thr0z3n · 7 years

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The Internet allows us to document our entire lives. So, here we go.

I don’t really know where to begin. This is still a little strange...

I have no intention of showing this blog to anybody. Not my friends, family or coworkers, and let’s be honest - the web is saturated with pretentious blogging so I doubt even strangers - my largest potential audience, would stand up and take notice. I certainly have no interest in trying to market it to them either.

But I don’t care. I set up this platform for me, and me alone.

It came about after, one day at work (SessionCam - but we’ll get into that later), I was so consumed with boredom on a Friday afternoon that I began reading a blog I was committed to in my teenage years (which, for my future reference, is: http://users.livejournal.com/outlawtorn-/).

Nobody read that blog either, and that was long before blogging or even fundamentally having a voice online became a ‘thing’. Judging by how passionately I wrote (mostly about girls at high school - puberty, eh?) and how little interaction the blog had post-by-post, I didn’t care about my audience. I just seemed to care about being able to write, express, rant and feel liberated from an emotional entrapment with each and every word.

I miss that kind of writing. Prior to adding another customer to Tumblr’s base, I operate a travel blog (again - more on that later) and occasionally a web design blog on my portfolio (and, again). I put significant effort into those blogs, with the enthusiastic intent to garner some kind of religious audience. But they’re a bit... exhausting... and sometimes don’t accurately reflect how I would actually write, but I still write them that way in pursuit of a goal.

Right now, for example, as I type, I’m barely exerting any effort into my grammar and punctuation, and certainly not delving deep into my library of lengthy words (or simply nipping onto thesaurus.com). But it feels good. I’m writing how I would probably speak to somebody. One of my former journalism mentors taunt me that - that the best way to explain something is like you’re telling it “down the pub”, she said. Thus, crimes against the Oxford English dictionary, Shakespeare and the foundation of our globalised language ensue.

So...

Back to this blog. I created it quite simply so that, much like I did today with my teenage blogging, be able to read stuff written by the 28-year-old Simon, perhaps in 10-20 years time. That blog has survived nearly 15 years, there’s no reason why this Tumblr one couldn’t.

I like reading my past, especially in such comic form as teenage sexual frustration rants. Like, every other post involves relegating one or more women in my life at the time into my black list (and then up again a little later). It’s silly, but still fun, and I want to be able to identify myself in decades to come.

So, to begin, I suppose I should explain who I am, and what I do...

Just checking a Facebook message, hold up...

It was nonsense, not worth checking.

It was a meme posted into my gaming team’s group chat. I give it a 5/10 for humour...

That seems a good place to start, actually.

In my teenage years, I was a devoted gamer. Throw-forward 10 years, I still am, very much so. Over the course of a decade, I’ve built up a social base around shooting pixels on screen with ludicrously overpriced hardware, largely thanks to a gaming team I set up in 2007 called Excessive Forces in Counter Strike: Source.

My best friend locally - Jon, has stuck with me since college in 2005, and we play together and see each other frequently. He is my closest confidant in daily life, but there is also another fellow, of scousey origin...

Alright, I’ll expand on that.

His name is a Liverpudlian called Mike, and I still find it surprising that he doesn’t seem to be mentioned in my teen blogging, since I had met him a while before that profile on Live Journal came to be. Maybe we went through a period of silence or drifted apart. Who knows.

But he is, without any doubt, my absolute closest friend in the world, but who I have only ever met once (but speak to very often, if that makes up for it). I tell him everything, like literally everything, over Facebook. I love him.

Shout outs to Rob who I met in college about 8 years ago, Charlotte who I’ve known since high school and married to Rob (thanks to me. I take full credit), Tom the Norwegian, Dom - my travel associate, Dan - a Welsh fellow I met online via my gaming clan, and so on.

As well as being a proud gamer with a pleasant group of friends, I’m also fairly liberal and democratic (I hate Tory and right-wing thinking, basically), I’m an avid photographer and traveller of the world (although mostly Europe at the moment).

Perhaps biggest of all though is my job in web design. I’m into my fourth year of the profession having kick-started my career in 2013 after falling out with journalism. I work for SessionCam - a pretty cool company in the heart of Norwich, developing user interfaces for their core product, a session replay solution.

I’m getting tired, aha...

I’m enjoying the satisfaction of letting my entire life roll off my tongue and onto the keys on my keyboard right now, but I certainly wouldn’t want to read all this...

Wait... that’s the whole point... to read this back in decades to come...

Uhh, nevermind.

I intend to keep updating this as often as I can, in order to maximise my future insight into the former Simon. Because, I can say confidently in my late twenties, that ageing, fucking, sucks.

I feel my youth slipping away with each passing day.

I don’t identify with youth anymore, as an age bracket or a state of mind. I don’t see myself as young, yet I feel in denial of my inevitable dive deeper into adulthood, bald patches and rubbish, mundane clothing.

One more thing...

I’m going to include a photo of myself. It’s late, I’m tired, and I showered earlier so I haven’t done my hair...

Huh. Maybe I am still a teenager on the inside, concerned about looks in a blog that nobody is meant to find. Anyway, here we go...

That’s probably the most honest selfie I’ve ever taken. On my new LG G5 actually... (I’ll probably read that back in 20 years and laugh at the fact that I felt pleased to own an LG G5, which in that time, will have become the Nokia 3310 of its time).

I’m going to stop now. More to come, I hope. :)

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