Crush

I almost started this blog with one of those cutesy “While I was chatting to ‘her’ I thought about ‘x’” openings that really grind my gears. Firstly, no one cares that you have a loved one unless the blog is about them. And if it’s about them you shouldn’t refer to them as a pronoun. Her, she, him, themselves, it and yolky bobby are not terms of endearment.

If your girlfriend doesn’t want to be mentioned in your blog, but is an important part the content, then find some other way to bring it in. You’re a writer, use your imagination.

So myself and Jack Nicholson were playing basketball against Burt and Ryan Reynolds (no relation) when Burt started talking smack to Jack. Saying how his momma was an astronaut and what not. Jack Nicholson was having none of it and things got a bit heated when he mentioned how The Bandit had let the love of his life, Sally Field, slip out of his grasp.

While Ryan Reynolds was busy separating the two Hollywood veterans I couldn’t help dwelling on the image of Sally Field. When I was younger I used to have such a crush on her. I’m not sure I even knew what a crush was. I certainly didn’t know what the funny feeling I was having in my tummy every time I saw the star of Smokey and the Bandit and Mrs Doubtfire on screen. I just knew there was something special about her.

Of course she isn’t the only celebrity fancy I had when I was a young boy developing a curiosity for the fairer sex. Like every straight (and probably some gay) man my age Carrie Fisher as Princess Leia definitely stirred something in my pre pubescent self. Gold Bikinis and hair in funny buns will forever be fetish wear for men of a certain generation.

Of course these are both no brainers, Sally Field and Carrie Fisher were both beautiful women who radiate a cuteness while at the same time being can’t-quite-put-your-finger-on-it sexy. They tended to play sassy women who were more than capable of standing up to any moronic man. Had all my young attractions were so obvious I probably wouldn’t be writing this.

I need to point out that I was very young at the time. Not really sure what I was looking for in a girlfriend; I didn’t even know I was looking for a girlfriend. So I ask that you don’t judge ten year old me so harshly because he had a crush on the following women:

Carol Decker, the lead singer of T’pau who sang Heart and Soul and China in your Hand. She had curly red hair and could belt out a power ballad. Maybe it was the sepia tone lighting in all their videos but I always thought she was pretty. I followed her on twitter recently but that felt a bit weird.

Sonia. A bubbly Liverpool singer who was dubbed the new Cilla Black was another ginger chanteuse who appealed to my little boy sensibility. This penchant for redheads is not something that I have carried forward into my actual romantic life. I don’t know what it was about Sonia. Maybe it was the pinchable cheeks or twinkly eyes. Most likely it was the floppy hat and yellow bolero combination that she sported on her album cover Everybody Knows (which I owned on cassette tape, by the way.)

Dana. There I said it. I used to fancy Dana. All Kinds of Everything, Dana. I didn’t know she was a religious nut at the time. Before she wanted to be president and sign Ireland over to the Catholic Church I used to think she was very cute. She had big brown eyes and rosy cheeks. She had a seemed to have a kind heart; she helped Finn and Derval in Flight of the Doves. Playing Snow White in pantomime and winning the Eurovision proved how talented she was. How could anyone not be attracted to this woman?

In a time when Georgia Salpa is considered a sexy celebrity, it’s hard not to yearn for a simpler time. Or maybe I just have strange taste in women. Oh, I don’t think herself will like me saying that.

Spooning

One of the big drawbacks of doing this writing lark and working part time to pay the bills is that you’ve got to be flexible. Its not always possible to have the weekends off. The fact that I haven’t seen a single one of Irelands reportedly average Six Nations so far this year or I don‘t get to go home and have a Sunday Roast in my folks are sacrifices I have to make.

And that’s ok. I enjoy my schedule, it lets me write Blogs on Monday afternoon and hoover the stairs on Tuesday morning. If anything it means I appreciate my days off on weekends all the more when they do occur. I have one this week and I can’t wait.

Do you know what I’d really like to do with my day off? I’d like to go out on Saturday night, get drunk, maybe have a bit of a dance. Then I’d like to go home and have some drunken sex before spending the next day having hungover sex in between eating breakfast in bed, watching movies, talking nonsense and generally having a nice time.

Oh I should have warned you. This one is going to be a little honest. I may ‘share’ a bit.

I wrote before (here) how I wasn’t a huge fan of sharing my bed. Snoring, cuddling, naked sleeping being the reasons as I explained. Unless of course it was someone who I was comfortable with. Someone who I could relax around. And that’s what I really want for my Sunday. Someone I can happily just be with.

Of course the first step in spending a lazy, horny Sunday with somebody is to actually meet someone. And I haven’t done that in a long time. Don’t get me wrong. I have had sex. “I gets mine,” as the latest rapper turned actor might say.

None of those encounters worked out. Just not right for me. Or they weren’t meant to work out in the first place. Casual, No strings, friends with benefits kind of things. I don’t want that anymore.

There is a movie out at the moment called No Strings attached. It stars Ashton Kutcher (playing Ashton Kutcher, his best kind of role) and recent Oscar winner Natalie Portman as two chums who try to have a casual,friends who have sex relationship and it doesn’t work out because (spoiler alert) they fall in love.

In my experience, this is not what happens. One party might develop feelings while the other is content to go along with the status quo until they find someone they do want to be in a relationship with, thus breaking the heart of the deluded half of the duo.

Alternatively, one of the fuckbuddies (I hate that term) might realise they want something more out of life in general and realise that its not a productive path to go down. Or neither of them will realise this and they will end up having empty, meaningless sex for a long time until one of them dies.

That’s not for me anymore. I used to think it was cool to have as much, varied sex with as many people as possible. And it is. But I’d just like to meet someone who I can hang out with on a Sunday.

Of course I realise that people in relationships, people with kids and families know this already. They probably think that I have some fantasy that is nothing like the real thing. At least 3 of my friends can’t remember the last time they got to lie in bed all day Sunday and perform their special party piece on their partners naked body.

Maybe I am just a romantic at heart. I’ve definitely seen too many movies. I want my last minute dash to airport to stop the girl leaving. I want to burst into a church a punch out the jerky boyfriend who doesn’t laugh at her jokes. I want a musical number.

Failing that? I’d settle for someone who makes good scrambled eggs and likes Cohen Brother movies.

Nightmare

So I’ve learned an important lesson today. I should not drink coffee after 9pm.



I’ve been awake best part of 22 hours now and am showing no signs of getting to sleep anytime soon. So instead of lying in my bed tossing and turning I’ve decided to climb aboard my trusty laptop and do the latest instalment of what by now must surely be your favourite randomly updated collection of thoughts from a semi employed halfwit with an unwarranted superiority complex.


Don’t worry; however, this won’t be a random stream of conscience written by a sleep deprived madman. I’m all for challenging the accepted norm and pushing my perception of reality and the norm. That doesn’t mean I’ll be sitting here typing until something resembling a thought appears. I’ve read ‘On the Road’ and frankly, Kerouac is a load of nonsense. The reason that guy took so many drugs was to convince himself that what he was producing was literature of any quality.

No what I want to talk about is the thing that I am dearly missing as I sit here at 7:40 am. Sleep.

Who here doesn’t like sleep? It really is the most fun you can have with your eyes closed. I believe it was Jon Bon Jovi who said “Gonna live while I’m alive, Sleep when I’m dead.” You always were a twat Mr. Jovi.

I can appreciate that the world is a wonderful place and that there is so much to do and experience, that lying in bed unaware of everything going on can seem like a waste to some. I just happen to think that there is a lot to be said for resting your body, shutting it down, closing your eyes and recharging your batteries so that when you do go to face the big bad world, you are fighting fit.

I suppose everyone’s take on nightly slumber is different. I can only speak for myself. I usually do. With that in mind here are some things I’d like to share about my sleeping habits.

I sleep naked 99% of the time.

I can’t abide having anything restrict me while I sleep. The idea of wearing a shirt which will wrap around my body as I turn in the night and attempt to restrict the oxygen coming into my lungs is counter active to the concept of a restful nights sleep. The same has to be said for underwear…but not about oxygen obviously. It’s nice to just let everything go free and unhindered.

Of course, social decorum requires that occasionally, being as the day I was born is not appropriate. I do own a couple of pairs of pyjama bottoms (bottoms only) for when etiquette dictates. If I am staying as a guest in a friends house or hotel, if I need to be kept overnight in hospital or if I ever need to answer the door.

I snore. Loud.


This is something anyone who has had the misfortune (or opportunity of a lifetime, eh ladies,) to share a room with me. I remember once sharing a room with an Uncle on family trip away. He snored so loud that the whole room shook. I have been told I am at least as bad as him.

There have been occasions where I have woken myself up such has been the voracity of my nocturnal rumblings. It can be particularly embarrassing if I fall asleep on bus or train. I wake up with a real sense of paranoia.

I have tried various methods and potions to ease this affliction. Sprays, rubs, nasal strips. All to no avail. I’ve been told stitching a tennis ball into pyjamas would help as it would stop me lying on my back. But I’ve already discussed my problem with nightwear.

I spoke to my doctor once about my problem and she suggested that I may need my adenoids removed. Frankly, electing for surgery for something that (mostly) isn’t causing me to lose any sleep seems a bit extreme.

I prefer to sleep alone.

This might be deemed a little controversial. I hate sharing a bed. Having someone else there, in my space when I am trying to relax is just an exercise in futility. I just can’t switch off.

Firstly if I can go back to my previous point about snoring. I’m so worried that if I start snoring then my companion won’t get any rest. I lie awake frozen, petrified that my nasal earthquakes will be so shuddering that no woman would ever risk their hearing by spending another night with me.

There is also the possibility that she snores. I can’t be expected to just lie there while she rides the noisy train to the land of nod.

Secondly, there is always the temptation of sex. If there is a lady in my bed and (as I’ve already explained) I’m au natural well then I am constantly going to be aware that I could be called into action at any time. I’ve got to be ready. I’ve got to be on my ‘A’ game. Especially if I need to make her forget about my snoring.

I imagine its how Fernando Torres felt at the World Cup Final. He couldn’t relax on the bench because he knew he could be called into action at anytime and he really had a lot to prove after a disappointing tournament.

Finally I just like to roll around in my bed. I’m not one of these people who have a ‘side’ of the bed. I sleep diagonally mostly. It takes a while for me to get comfortable. Usually the most comfortable part of the bed is the exact same point where my friends back or legs are…it’s just awkward.

Don’t get me wrong. I understand the rules. I’m not just some “Hit it and Quit it” kind of guy (I love that phrase.) A gentleman would never skulk off in the night after enjoying a ladies ‘company’ so it is something I endure.

I’ve been lucky over the years that I have met a few ladies who where understanding of my sleep problems and made me feel at ease that I could lie comfortably beside them and get some rest. After cuddling of course. How anyone can sleep whilst cuddling is just beyond me.

I have some strange dreams.

I have all the usual subconscious manifestations that you would expect from someone with such furtive imagination. I’ve dreamt I’ve been falling, losing my teeth, naked in public, back in school. All your basic Freudian latent imagery.

Then there are the other ones. I have had some dreams which really require some deep analysis. I’m not really sure where to begin with these. I had them both more than five years ago but they where so vivid that they stay fresh in my memory. Please don’t judge me

The first one I was a member of Boyzone (don’t judge I said.) We had just won an award for our latest song and we decided to have a celebration on the roof of my apartment building. We ran out of booze and headed to the local Spar to pick up the staple of any ‘Rock n Roll’ party, Budweiser and Jack Daniels.

Unfortunately we didn’t have any cash and the Spar wouldn’t accept our Super Platinum credit card. So, me, Ronan, Keith and the other boyz decided to steal the stuff. Of course we were picked up by the police and went to court. In front of the judge we were sentenced to work off our crime in an abattoir. The dream ended with me and my talent less friends in white overcoats up to our knees in pig’s blood.

The second one was kind of similar. I was in love with a Colombian drug lord’s daughter and the only way he would approve our union was if I completed some tasks. One of which was to rob a bank with the Jackson 5.

I believe the expression on the internet is WTF!!!!

I’ve also been able to do some lucid dreaming where I realise I am dreaming and take control. This usually involves me fulfilling some kind of fantasy such as finding a lot of money, meeting a beautiful woman or going to an exotic location.

I love dreaming. It takes you out of reality and transports you to the places your mind want you to be. Dreaming alone is reason enough to love sleeping. Anyone who says otherwise needs to wake up.