Smellmycheese's Blog

Posts Tagged ‘jesus

Christ on a bike, I’ve not written a post for almost a year! And the last one was well depressing.

So, just like Christ, I’m getting back on my bike and pedaling. For bike, you can read blog, and for pedaling you can read typing. And for Christ you can read whoever the chuff you like. He doesn’t care, he’s too busy having a right laugh on his proper ace bike. (Sons of God do not have crap bikes, and that’s a fact.)

A lot has changed in a year. One thing is I have finally left (well, finally left AGAIN) the utterly soul-destroying period of my life that was working in marketing behind. HURRAH!

I mean, not all of it was shit. We had some good nights out and got free sandwiches once a month at the agency meeting. But the sandwiches weren’t great and the work was on a par with a massive tuna bap: you think you want it, you enjoy it at first, but after a while your breath just stinks.

What I mean by that of course is that I was terrible at it. Every single solitary aspect of my personality, interests, opinions and morals is not in any way compatible with working full time in a marketing agency.

I don’t care about making money for companies or having ‘conversations’ with consumers in their online ‘journey’. I don’t want to hear about a deck unless it’s a deck of cards and we’re playing some form of drinking game. I do not have a ‘capacity pocket’. You can keep your marketing baloney in your own pocket. Mine is full of a probably used tissue, 1p, an old train ticket and a potentially hazardous extra strong mint circa February 2011. Because that is what pockets are FOR.

I couldn’t give two tiny rats’ buttocks if a brand resonates with an audience. I don’t want to know where people go online, what they do when they’re there, what they’re thinking when they click a mouse or how we can ‘engage’ them. Plus everyone knows the answers to those questions are: porn sites, watch porn, show them more porn. (Apart from my Mum who thinks the internet has one website, Google, and looks at how to make patchwork cushions on it. Probably.)

If no one reads this post, I don’t care. I only ever wrote stuff online because I liked it, it was fun and I could rant away with no one telling me to shut up. But then I accidentally got a job doing it, but not writing fun stuff anymore and, ironically, sucking all the fun out of the fun thing that accidentally got me the job in the first place.

But no more! I’m alive, I’m back and I’m here to rant whether I’m simply shouting into the empty abyss or to a varied and diverse audience of engaged consumers. I just don’t give a TOSS.

Smell that? That’s the sweet smell of freedom my friends.

 

Nine days into the New Year and it already feels like Christmas was an age ago. It also feels like I’ve not been paid for an excruciatingly long time, and yet there are still two and a bit weeks to go until the next pay day. Getting paid early for xmas is great n all, but not so great once you realise you’ve spent all your cash on booze, food and cheap hoes (for the garden, obv) before the 24th of December and there’s still a MONTH to go until the next pay day.

Still, I’d imagine it’s what Jesus would’ve wanted.

As well as Jesus, someone else extremely important celebrated their birthday in December. That’s right – me. They don’t call me the modern day Messiah for nothing! (They don’t call me it at all. They’re idiots.)

So now I’ve entered into my final year of my twenties. Whoop de freaking whoop.

This time next year I’ll be 30. And what do I have to show for my life so far? Not a lot. All around me people are settling down with partners, getting engaged, having babies, buying houses. All the stuff that you’ve got all the time in the world to do, until you look in the mirror and realise that you’re no longer a teenager and that ticking isn’t your watch, because you don’t own a watch, it’s your biological clock screaming “Hurry the SHIT up or you’re going to die alone with a withered womb, smelling of cat wee and desperation.”

My clock is a cruel mistress.

So then you start to wonder, have I been too rash in the past? Should I have given people more of a chance and relationships more of a go?

Just because someone’s attempts to be funny make you want to vomit violently at the sheer cringe-inducing un-funniness of it all, doesn’t mean you couldn’t learn to live with it, does it…? Just because someone’s so selfish, lazy, pretentious, boring, or a winning combo of all of the above, that you basically learn to detest everything about them and couldn’t possibly see yourself producing offspring with such a human being, doesn’t mean that you can’t make a bit of an effort so that you’re not left alone, surrounded by cat poo (to go with the aforementioned cat wee - can’t have one without the other), does it…? Just because it gets to the point where someone touching you makes you visibly cringe and leaves you wanting to scrub your skin with a wire brush and bleach, doesn’t mean you can’t just stick with it and perhaps opt for artificial insemination, does it…? And just because someone has a shrine in your honour and a tattoo of your face on their torso, well, it doesn’t mean that they’re anything other than a bit ‘keen’, does it…?

I don’t know. But I do wonder whether a great deal of people don’t settle for second best once they reach a certain age. Or has everyone suddenly and magically found the happy relationships that they struggled to find before? Do people lower their standards once they reach their 30s, or have they just got bored of playing around?

I’d like to pause time right now so I can still go off and do all the fun things I want and have all the good times I can, without the oppressive cloud of time looming over me every step of the way. That way, I’d have all the time in the world to meet the right person, without having to settle for someone who I’ll end up resenting and who I may decide to slowly poison over several months, watching their health slowly deteriorate, just as the last shards of light slowly deteriorate from my heart, leaving nothing but a small, shrivelled-up, black lump of coal.

coal aka my heart

HA-PPY NEW YEAR!!

P.S I was going to do that one-blog-post-a-day thing this year, but I didn’t.

Ahh, Easter, the time of year when we celebrate the momentus occasion on which baby Jesus turned into a bunny and ate some chocolate.

I’m joking of course, that would be ridiculous and far-fetched and no one in their right mind could possibly think it really happened. It makes no sense. No, what really happened is that he came back to life. Obviously.

How do I like my eggs in the morning? With a side serving of Jesus please!

This Easter I will probably not be eating any more chocolate than usual, mainly because I’m not going to buy Easter eggs for myself like a huge loser (if anyone would like to buy me an egg, I’ll have a dark chocolate or white chocolate one thanks) but also because I have no money to spare after deciding I can live the life of an international jet setter (in a way) on the salary of a regional non jet setter. Less Paris Hilton, more Leeds Travelodge.  Less Victoria Beckham, more Vicky Pollard. Less Barry Manilow, more Barry Chuckle. Less… you get the idea: I’m broke.

But it’ll all be worth it when I’m partying in Sydney on NYE. And the good news is I’ll be really thin because I can’t afford to eat until then (possibly a slight exaggeration) and I’ll be a complete lightweight because I won’t be buying alcohol until then (definitely not going to actually happen) and I’ll be extra fun-loving because I can’t afford to have any fun during the preceding months (obviously a huge lie. I’m NEVER fun).

In the meantime, I’ve come up with a foolproof plan to earn some cash, and fast (you might want to run and get a pen and paper at this point and jot the following down, because it’s a pretty special idea)…

…win the lottery!!

I know, I know . You’re welcome.

Just in case this doesn’t pan out as expected, however, (which it obviously will, although buying a lottery ticket at some stage will probably increase my chances a little bit) I’m also going to…

sell all my tat at a car boot sale!!

I expect to make at least a tenner, from stuff that collectively must have cost me easily a couple of hundred quid. Hurray for consumerism and buying crap we don’t need.

I’m sure the car boot will offer many blogging inspirations so I’ll be sure to update you all on it. Unless I can’t be arsed of course, in which case I won’t.

Bye bye for now and remember that the baby Jesus loves you. That’s why you should give your money to those lovely people at Nestlé and eat lots of high sugar junk food.

It’s what he would have wanted.


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