Keep telling yourself "It's Not Monday".

posted at 3:01 PM •

Last night I was dreaming I was locked in a prison cell. When I woke up I was screaming, calling out your name. And the judge and the jury, they all put the blame on me. They wouldn't go for my story, they wouldn't hear my plea.

Only you can set me free, 'cos I'm guilty - guilty as a girl can be. Come on baby can't you see, I stand accused of love in the first degree.

posted at 3:59 PM •

The secret is meat.

This spoof website does actually contain a grain of reality - I was once given the recipe for a Tuna Smoothie by a huge bodybuilder. Put a large can of tuna in a blender, and add neat lime cordial. Blend and drink - a delicious, nutricious, protein-packed snack drink!

posted at 2:54 PM •

You know the fill-your-life-with-all-sorts-of-shit-and-it-won't-matter theory, right?

Been keeping busy here. Arrived in work on Wednesday to a stack of work dropped on me on top of all the other stuff I've already got. By the end of the day I'd retooled a new content management system and produced a load of renders in Lightwave.

Left-brain/right-brain - realising why I've not been enjoying work for the last two years, and it's not me, it's the people I've been working for. The last two companies couldn't see past their own arses. They had me pigeonholed before I even started there - but it's probably not their fault, I've certainly not come across many people like me who can work with both sides of their brain, creative and analytical.

Things are just going too well though, so I sabotaged myself Wednesday night with a binge in the King's Arms. Back home and in bed by twelve, but of course I couldn't sleep, having shoved a gram of Vim up my nose.

Yesterday was understandably a little hazy, and I'm a little confused that it's Friday already.

I'm a little confused in general actually. Life is confusing. Work is great, but love-life is non-existent. Getting very confused by it all - am I a minger?

posted at 11:59 AM •

Apparently being spiteful and having lots of extramarital affairs could bring back my jaundice, so I’m going to be really nice from now on.

I'm not turning into Rigsby after all, my life is turning into a Victoria Wood sketch, one piece of bathroom furniture at a time. Today a candlewick pedestal mat from John Lewis, tomorrow - who knows? Toilet roll dolly coasies?

I am a strong black woman. I can do domesticity, and it's bliss. My day off on Saturday was spent in a whirlwind of tidying, cleaning, sorting, filing, trimming, laying, descaling, polishing and rearranging. Oo boy d'you miss me like a hole in the head?

Back to work yesterday and off to work on my server empire. Sorting through error logs, clearing mail spool queues, setting up admin tools, bug-fixing and generally being invaluable to the company (and adding ££ to my future salary when I eventually come to look for a new job).

Is there anything I can't do?

posted at 3:58 PM •

i.

My favourite number. The square root of -1, the imaginary unit. Just the very concept of it sends shivers down my spine, seeming to make a mockery of the hard world of mathematics with it's absurd presence. The number has a purpose, which is to allow solutions and closure to certain equations, but when I first came across the idea of imaginary numbers, I envisaged an imaginary world of strange dimensions and planes, of wierd exotic numbers and shapes and possibilities that took one far beyond the dull realm of 1+1=2.

2(i)+1=0, and my precocious love affair with maths came to an end. I no longer wanted to learn any more, for to do so would mean the end of my simple joy for this number.

I became an artist, and I hid my love of i behind paint and canvas, painting imaginary numbers, imaginary people, imaginary life.

posted at 5:17 PM •

Dear Björk,

I have obtained an illegal copy of your new album, Medúlla. I'm listening to it now, and, yes, it's very challenging.

Anyway, I just thought I'd write to let you know not to worry, I will still hand over my cash to own a copy, assuming that you put it into some lovely packaging, which I'm sure you will. Let's face it, you could put a recording of you on the bog out, package it up in some gorgeous plastic, get some funky underground designers to scribble on the inlay and I'd rush out to give you money for it.

So please forgive me for a little bit of naughty piracy - I'm dead strapped for cash at the moment anyway, but rest assured I will beg, steal or borrow to let you have some more cash. (I notice Matthew doesn't seem to be doing much lately, I hope he's providing for you - it can't be easy for a working mum).

Just one more thing - drop the visuals from LynnFox, love. They are gorgeous, but if I see one more fucking cgi jelly-fish in your videos I will sell everything I own of yours on ebay.

Love,
Steve.

ps. Loving the tits on the album cover... yours or store bought?

posted at 10:34 AM •

A wonderful trip of Hyper-Serendipity, one Thursday afternoon.

I wonder if Björk has a new album out soon? I wonder if there's any good new films out soon? I wonder if the soundtrack is out yet? I wonder what a woofbear is? I wonder what Medulla means?

posted at 6:25 PM •

Lines from films that didn't make the final cut.

"Soylent Green is people!"

"And Soylent Pink?"

"Soylent Pink is gays."

This post brought to you by the Steve Is Either Starting To Feel Much Better Or Is Finally Cracking Up Completely, Who Can Tell Campaign. And the letter P.

posted at 1:11 PM •

Today's Cher index is relatively buoyant, showing a slight increase from last week to:


Living Proof Cher.

posted at 12:19 PM •

Have you ever had one of those days where you almost feel you can see all the intricate workings of the world shift-click your life into a different gear?

Sometimes it's not suprising that we try to define our fortunes in terms of fate and destiny, the divine and the supernatural. Sometimes patterns just inexplicably pop out of nowhere and some primitive little bit of the brain snaps it's fingers and thinks "something is out there".

This time last year things started to fit into place - temporarily, but just long enough to get me through the last few months of 2003. I can almost see it starting to happen again. Bumping into old friends, circumstances changing for the good, and little random coincidences brightening up my mood.

I was in a world of my own this morning as I walked through the newly resurfaced Soho Square to the Pret on Oxford Street. I'd just got the last parking space in Falconberg Mews (my secret spot for parking) as all the bike bays were suspended on the square.

Trying to decide what to have for breakfast, Pret pot, Fruit Salad, Croissant? I settled rather healthily on a banana, and as I went to the tills to pay, bumped into Emma, a copywriter I used to work with and hadn't seen for a couple of years.

We clicked back into our old banter straight away, as if it was only yesterday we last saw each other - and suddenly life didn't seem so shit. Suddenly life seemed quite ace again.

posted at 10:04 AM •

Oh yes - I've been too ashamed kept forgetting to mention that I got my wallet nicked in xxl on Saturday after getting completely cunted on pills and booze slightly tipsy on a small sweet sherry.

I had been sitting by myself mumbling nonsense into my glass engaging in sparkling reparte with some acquaintances, when I eventually regained a semblance of consciousness and noticed my wallet had gone missing.

Drooling and staggering blindly through the club I immediately informed the club management, and one of the barman took pity on me and gave me a lift home.

It's been suprising how little of an inconvenience it's been. I cancelled my debit and credit cards immediately, and there was only a small amount of cash in the wallet which I would have pissed down the drain anyway. The only major thing that I was slightly worried about was my bike tax disk (I don't leave it on my bike in case it gets nicked, and I've never had a problem in two years of biking), which runs out of the end of the month anyway.

So, I got all my cards re-ordered, and set about getting replacement loyalty cards (perhaps they'll send me a little commiseration present too), congratulating myself on not losing my head too much. Dave pays me his rent money weekly, so I don't usually take money out during the week, and I'd bought four packs of imported Polish Marlboro Lights just before I lost my cards.

The twist in the tale (almost worthy, and yet in a way, so very not worthy of M Night Shymylialyialan) was that my cards all got posted back to the pub today.

Theives are getting so curteous these days aren't they?

posted at 11:48 PM •

I've been thinking about John a fair bit lately.

I've noticed that I miss him more when I'm down - when I'm feeling helpless and tired. I've been thinking about him and missing his comforting 'same-ness', his actually quite annoying quality of never changing irregardless of what went on around him. In that sense i was the opposite of him - even more so in the last year.

I've been thinking about him, but for the first time since the breakup the impulse to get in touch has been easy to deny. I haven't spoken to him in over a month, and it's starting to get a little easier to cope by myself.

I miss him - but I miss the person he was, the person I thought he was. I've begun to realise in the last month just how heartless his treatment of me was. I can cope with the fact that he fell out of love with me - it's much harder to deal with the fact that he never gave me a chance though.

He never told me he was having doubts about us, so I never had a chance to change anything, or to decide for myself whether I wanted to change anything. It was after he finished with me though that the real heartlessness began. Since then, he's treated me like someone he barely knows, rather than someone he spent nearly six years of his life with. It hurts just writing that.

I will keep telling myself that I'm feeling like this because I'm low. When I'm feeling better I will be able to look at this more objectively.

And one day I might be able to think of him without my heart breaking.

posted at 6:02 PM •

Hi, my name's Steve, and I'm a workaholic. I had my last day off work about 40 days ago. Currently I'm battling chronic tiredness and mild depression.

I have my first day with no work on Saturday, and I'm scared. An entire 24 hours of my life will be my own, and I haven't a clue what you're supposed to do.

Maybe I'll spend the entire day in bed? I'm thinking of trying to stay in my flat for the whole day, do a bit of much-needed tidying - but wait, that's work isn't it? Maybe I'll rent a stack of DVDs and hole myself up in my living-room.

What I absolutely must not do is go to the pub. If I go to the pub I'll end up helping out, or spending money I don't have, and inevitably will end up in XXL. I must use all my willpower not to go into the pub, and well, actually I don't really have much willpower.

Let's see how this week goes shall we...

posted at 4:14 PM •

...and anyway, I was saying to Jean that she...

Oh, hello - I didn't see you there. Hello, I'm Steve of my shit life, you might remember me from - um - well, nothing else really. Well, yes, I'm that barman in the King's Arms, the tall skinny one who you think is either unobtainable or unattractive, depending on the light, amount of sleep I've had, and other random factors.

The thing is - I'll let you into a little secret - I wasn't always this glamorous and fabulous. Three years ago, I was a mild-mannered web designer with a stable job and a boyfriend. Then poof, gay life happened - the stable, reliable boyfriend turned out to be a shit, I lost the job, and had to fall back onto my wit and charm to keep going.

And what better place to do that than in a pub.

Well, tonight is my last evening shift at the King's Arms - I can't bring myself to leave completely and I'm staying doing Sunday days for a little while at least. It's finally looking like my full-time employment situation is getting a bit more secure, and I need to stop working 7 days a week. I've loved working there - it's easy work, if tiring - you know what has to be done all the time, and it is a fairly social job.

It's going to be strange having nothing to do on a Friday and Saturday night, but the good thing is I can go into the pub any night and there will be someone there I know.

posted at 11:33 AM •

Does blogging about why I stopped blogging count as blogging? Or am I just overanalysing as usual?

Answers on the back of a used twenty pound note please.

As usual, I'm in two minds. At least. I haven't been able to muster anything but crap for the last month here - and it's depressing. And yet, and I must credit the 'car crash' theory - people still keep coming. Maybe I'll start wearing a neck-brace in real life.

Except then people will think I'm some kind of Avid Merrion superfan-stalker.

OK, look - I write miserable stuff - don't think that's all there is to me. Yes, I could write about other things, but it takes time to make up document all the ace things that happen to me. I'm not like that other blogger who just carries an IP-enabled electronic dictaphone around with her and has everything transcribed by computer imps. You know who you are.

posted at 2:35 PM •

Calm down dear, it's only a weblog.

I've been caught in a feedback cycle with blogging. Since announcing my break last week, I've had a few comments telling me that it's the right thing to do - and one comment saying it's the wrong thing to do. As ever, you can't please all of the people all of the time.

I went to Brighton Pride last Saturday, and while saying hello to a guy I know from the pub I was recognised by this guy he was stood with.

"You used to work with that guy, Ed - and you've got that blog, 'My Shit Life'."

Infamy - infamy. They've all got it in for me...

posted at 5:26 PM •

It's all turned sour.

And I don't think I can carry on blogging.

My mind is split at the moment - half of me is happily building a new life for myself, thinking positively about the wide-open future. The other half is still cowering in the shadows, afraid and lost, consumed by love and hatred for John, for myself.

Shadows and masks. When I'm Steve the barman, the happy me is in control, hiding the pain and loneliness. When I'm Steve the blogger, the pain masks any happiness I may feel as it's just too easy to write about the negative stuff here.

I'm going to try to take a break from it all. Try to find out who I was before I met John - who I was before mum died - who I was before I started the story of my ace life.

Thanks for reading.

posted at 10:32 AM •

And another thing to feel frustrated about - my two lives. Undisclosed sexuality during the week, alpha gay on the scene at the weekend.

I say alpha gay, but only in the sense that I'm really well known through working in the King's Arms. In every other sense, I'm a nobody. I'm pathetically shy when it comes to talking to guys I'm attracted to, unless there's a huge neon sign above their heads saying "I'd like to shag you". Which usually there isn't. I'm always worn out from working in the pub anyway, so can never put the effort into properly getting to meet new people. Far too easy to stick to the regulars I see all weekend.

And then work. In work, no-one can hear you cruise. The default work setting is 'straight', and OK - you're not at work to flirt and cruise, but oh bollocks, that little cubbish runner with the meaty calves is just too gorgeous and it's just impossible to find out whether he even bats for the same team as me.

His calves really are gorgeous too. I'd like to lick them all over, working my way up the inside of his thighs and...

posted at 1:50 PM •

I'm still angry.

I'm sober, but damn tired after a knackering three nights in the pub, understaffed and overly busy. Friday night was packed, and I was working with the two Polish straight guys and a new Canadian guy.

Yes, we have two Polish straight guys working at the pub - we also have a straight Brazilian glass collector who doesn't speak a word of English. It's a slightly odd situation, and one of the many reasons I'm leaving.

Saturday night we ended up with only three staff on, and the glass collector ended up going home ill towards the end of the night. There's a lot of competition from other venues on a Saturday night, so fortunately we weren't too busy. I went out after work as usual, managing to only spend money on a cab home, which by my standards is a damn cheap night.

Then yesterday - Soho Pride. I got into the West End at 3pm, giving me a couple of hours to enjoy feeling oppressed by Latino muscleboys.

What fun.

I got into work at 6pm to find that there were only two other people on the evening shift after everyone else had managed to get the evening off. So that they could spend the evening drinking in the pub. Three barmen (one who'd had his last shift the night before) and one ex-barman stood at the end of the bar watching me work my ass off for four and a half hours with just a single cigarette break.

Thanks for that guys.

They're all out for a piss-up this evening - and even if I was invited now, I wouldn't go - not least because I'm completely knackered and just want to sleep tonight.

Two weekends to go and I'm out of there.

Oh, and the latest thing is getting my fingers burned with dating and shagging. Did someone's boyfriend last weekend, which was good at the time but less enjoyable when I then saw him in the pub the following week and he blanked me because he was with his boyfriend. Then last night had some guy who I'd fancied for a while but filed under "doesn't fancy me but could be a mate" come onto me - but in a really half-arsed way on Gaydar. He's now retracted the come-on, but of course it's out there now and I'll see him in a different light when I see him next.

I'm fed up with this crap.

posted at 12:15 PM •

Blogging when pissed? I'll give you blogging when pissed.

Fuck - I can't remember what I wanted to say now.

My fucking ace life - my ordinary, dreary, same as everyone else life. What a fucking stupid name for a blog. My life is a big fat fucking lie. Nothing in my life has ever been real. And now I just can't trust a single thing for fear that it will die or leave me or turn out actually to not be what was advertised on the packet. Fucking great.

And the best part? The best part is that I'm a kid who has no fucking support structure around me. You think you know me? You think you understand what makes Steve Powell tick? Think again, because I don't even understand what make me tick. I'm just a fucking pathetic homosexual man who has had his face trampled into the dirt by a man who he thought the world of. I'm just a pathetic crapulent tosser who has experienced stuff that people twice his age haven't experienced. Oh, but wait, I'm not even that, because - think of the starving kiddies, the poor little refugees. I'm nothing - I'm just some middle-class English white man who is hung up on self-pity. So click away now - go on, fuck off, stop reading this shit. I know I'll look back at this post and wonder "what the...?"

And if you think you've got the answers, well, thank you but piss off. There are no answers. There are no answers until I've got through this fucking misery and depression. So thanks and everything, but actually - no, go somewhere else - fuck off to a blog about funny things like pop music or something.

Screw it all.

posted at 5:18 AM •