"Beg the Omnissiah for forgiveness, sinner!"

Afternoon.

So my PC's borked.

Like, proper borked. It won't even turn on properly now. I've been in contact with my PC manufacturer to describe the problem, and they supplied me with a link to a webpage I can't access because it's for registered members only and because my dad registered and paid out for my PC only he can access it. So I've sent him an email asking for the password so I can access the link (which pertains to chipsets and will probably be useless anyway) and because I don't have any credit on my mobile I can't give him a bell and tell him to check his email.

I'm sure I've told you guys the problem in one way or another. Basically, the PC fires up, the lights go, the fans spin, and that's about as far as it gets. It just sits there, whirring away.

Oh, well, OCCASIONALLY it'll turn on, and then I have to race to hit DEL so I can change the Boot settings to Boot From Disk, THEN I have to reset the PC and hope it reboots (which can take up to twenty minutes to do successfully). It brings up the repair setup after a short amount of button pressing and disc scanning, and so far that's been running fine, all the way up to the stage where it tells me that "Setup must now restart. Press ENTER to restart your computer now." At this stage there's also a big red bar slowly filling up which reads "Your PC will reboot in.. (countdown)"

Now, I don't know, but is there difference between rebooting and restarting? Because I've been letting the bar fill up to reboot, which ends up with the PC going back to whirry-whirry-nothin'-doin' mode.

I don't know. Why isn't there a fucking PC shop around here? Somewhere I can walk in, collapse in tears and shove the PC at them, sobbing into my beer belly and telling them that 'It just doesn't work, I don't know what's wrong, please just fix it for me!'

I'm missing installation discs from my original supply, (something my manufacturer failed to address in their response email - I should get on that) WAR Online is having a special event over the weekend which I'm not going to be able to take part in *rages against the heavens*, so cheap SOOOOOCHEAP I really wanted that Bloodletter mask..

And to top off the shitness, work is ridiculous! We're snowed under with a four-day backlog at the moment. One of our workers was shunted over to another team with literally ZERO notice to us, which means we're working at half-strength AND because of the utter failure to launch the 'new system', we've got twice as much fucking work coming in. I can't even try and get a day off because it just wouldn't be cricket to leave all this work for the other clerk. Here's a brief summary for those without any real knowledge of office clerking for governmental services: On an average day, our collective inbox tops out at about.. 8 emails? We get a lot more than that, obviously, but we're usually so on top of things that that's as bad as it gets. This morning we had 50.

Fuck's sake..

Anyway, LESS THAN JAKE ON THE 12TH!!



Oh hells yes. I might be seriously pissed off with my lack of PC awesomeness right now, but I'm going to see the best live band in the world AGAIN! And we're gonna see 'em at the Astoria, London's grimiest rock club. xD You might not know the history of the Astoria (heck, I don't, I've only been there like twice), but basically it's an old-school rock joint and it's due for destruction soon.

Less Than Jake are so bloody good.. x)

Anyway, back to the grind.

Odsox.

"Go on then.."

Afternoon all!

Just a quick one to bigup a webcomic I've started reading! The following has happened to me, two, maybe three times in total, so it's nice to see I'm not the only one who suffers from it!



Also, if anyone fancies the movies or something interesting this weekend, give us a shout, you've got my number. =D

Odsox.

"Isn't She Lovely?"

Right, that's that gloomy, miserable post off the front page.

Now, where were we?

Ah yes. GIRLS.

They're brilliant, aren't they? I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but we have a fair few hot girls in my workplace. Obviously due to the nature of the work itself (mmmmm, bureaucracy) our ranks mostly consist of middle-aged and upwards women, with one or two old dudes thrown in for their sins. But we do have a younger set within the group, consisting of a few young dudes and quite a few nice girls.

IS NICE!

Now I'll give you a couple of warnings before I continue:

One: As a dude, it's VERY VERY VERY difficult to do anything involving girls without one's brain resetting to type after about four seconds.

Two: It's also very difficult to say ANYTHING honest without sounding like a.. what's that word.. chauvinist? Possibly. Sounds a bit German to me though.

Three: While reading this, you should take my TGL factor into mind before reacting.

What's a TGL factor? Time/Gettin'Laid.

Basically, the more time a dude spends between intimate moments, the more difficult it is for said dude to concentrate on anything other than sex. This, my reasoning dictates, is why dudes who get laid on the regular are so rational, often listening to their girlfriends or wives or what have you. A dude with a TGL factor of, say, eight hours, will be more rational, competent and sensible than a dude with a TGL factor of 2 years, and as a consequence will more often than not turn down that last beer, shot or kebab in favour of getting a warm cab back home with the missus or, heck, tidying the house and feeding the cat.

And who can blame him? When you hold the positive attention of a woman, you feel like the most important person in the whole world. You can do anything, beat anyone, run a thousand miles or rescue a puppy from the jaws of a monstrous sea creature.

All right, maybe not that last one. Not in my case, anyway.

You'd jump off a slightly tall bridge, say 'Oh yeah?' to a mouthy git before backing down, buy baby wipes to put by the toilet, attempt (and likely fail) to cook a 'nice dinner', all this and more: Just to keep that gorgeous smile pointed at your face and those silky fingers on your skin; to hear that breathy voice in the night, to feel that shuddering, impassioned heat; to catch that sweet scent as she walks by and to feel the soft tickling of her hair on your face.

To know that whenever you need to rage or cry or scream, you can comfort yourself with the knowledge that she's terrified of spiders and therefore not nearly as macho as you.

But you get my point.

In contrast to the dude with a low TGL, the dude on the other end of the scale can become more of a danger to himself as he goes on. His language and behaviour become more crude, more impulsive and ill-thought; his sense of hygiene goes through fits and starts, sometimes going three days without a proper shower. High-TGL dude gives into the urge to go out and get drunk more often; he stays 'til the last pint and wakes up in a cold bed feeling like someone shit in a bag and left it on his head all night. Sometimes that might actually happen, especially if our High-TGL dude has been partying with others of his kind.

While results are inconclusive regarding the longevity and life expectancy of High-TGL dudes (they usually fade away into the obscurity of a desk job or the incessant beeping idiocy of retail work), it is obvious to the scientific mind that this downward spiral can be halted with a generous application of T 'n' A.

So girls, keep all this in mind next time you see a braying, crude bastard at the bar leering at your cleavage or following you round the pub with his bloodshot eyes.

Maybe all he needs is a kick start shag to save his life.

Odsox.

P.S. NO, it hasn't been two years for me. That was an example.

P.P.S. It's been a year and two months. BUT THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT.

"Much Too Young to Feel This Damn Old"

I'm sorry to say that that time of the year has rolled around again, and if you can put up with my rambling for one more year, not only will I be impressed as all hell, I'll be sincerely grateful with it.

I'm going to begin by thanking my friends.

Certain of you were there for me four years ago, when it was so difficult I was on the verge of cracking up every single day, and for that I thank you. Others were kind enough to listen when I needed to talk, to offer what advice they could, and to help however they could. I thank you for that.

All of you have been good and patient and have managed to put up with a solid four years of my vigil and I have to say I never thought any of you would last that long. So for that, and for all the lesser, myriad annoyances and irritating features I've made you endure, I thank you.

Okay.

Now all of you know that if there's one thing I do way too much, it's talk. But I think you'll agree that, because of obvious, awkward reasons and personal ones, this is the one subject I just don't like to talk about it.

But if there was ever a day when I thought I could man up and actually discuss the subject, it's today.

Today would have been my Mum's 51st Birthday, and I'm sure somewhere she's cackling about the fact that she isn't going to get all wrinkly and slow after this point, bless her. Normally on Mum's birthday I try to drown my sorrows in alcohol or otherwise, and believe me, I'll definitely be intoxicating myself into a stupor after I finish writing, but this year I've decided that I should actually tell you what happened after Mum passed away.

..I really hope I just suck it up and set this blog to private at some point.

Anyway..

I haven't felt the same since Mum passed away. About anything.

After she was taken, I confess I let everything go slowly to hell. The cats, rest their souls, got older and more difficult, I fed them and cleaned them and changed their tray but, to me, they weren't.. they weren't really there anymore, d'you see? So eventually they all went to sleep, some in sadder ways than others, and I went on.

Alex, my then-girlfriend, was still there, but I just couldn't deal with her anymore. She could be lovely when she tried, but there was something in me that just snapped every time she spoke. At every look, every touch (extremely rare as they were), every breath, I felt something wrenching at me. We smoldered, faded and died as a couple. She moved on, but I had nowhere to move to.

That's how I've felt since it happened. I've got nothing to move on to.

Mum was my best friend, and fuck you if you're even thinking the word 'cliche', and she was, above all else, my Mum. She took care of me from day one, devoted in that way that only mothers can be.

The rest of my family just seemed to vanish from my viewpoint. They were around, of course. I really, really couldn't have gotten anywhere without my Auntie Gill, Dad, Lou, Uncle Jimmy, and Big Rich. But they.. I just forgot about them half the time. Still do, as a matter of fact. When Mum was here they were very much real and very much there, at the end of a phone or in person every other week or so. I used to love visiting them, even if my sour demeanour indicated otherwise.

I forgot birthdays, which in itself isn't much of a thing (those who have seen my Big Birthday List on my kitchen cupboard door will understand), but now they were just gone. Blips on the radar, barely. Everything was dead, the world had ended, what was beloved by me was just fucking TAKEN like what she wanted didn't even matter, precious fucking God didn't step in at any point to set things right. Even shouting at people wasn't working. Nothing worked, Mum wasn't here for me to complain to about it.. All I really feel is left for me is waiting to fall in front of a bus. Or getting mauled to death by a low-flying mortgage. Maybe both at once. I just feel so fucking old.

And who else is going to put up with me? I mean, I know people usually tolerate my presence, but since Mum passed away I feel like the only person who ever really liked me, not just tolerated me or put up with me, is gone. Anytime I speak to anyone now, ANYONE, I just get the impression that the only reason they haven't told me to fuck off is because they feel sorry for me or they feel some obligation, or they've got no-one else to talk to, you know?

Mum actually WANTED to speak to me, whether it be to find out what I was thinking, what I wanted for dinner, whether she should wear the good earrings or not, what was on telly, where did I put the bloody remote, or could I make her a cup of tea..

..shit..

Okay, look, I'm gonna get the fuck out of here while I can still see and start hitting the vodka and drugs. Don't worry, I'm well aware of my limits.

The point of this self-deprecating rant was actually something positive, though you might not be able to tell that by my sudden spiral into uselessness, which is:

You really, really, REALLY don't know what you've got 'til it's gone, and fuck those jaded bastards who take this sort of thing in their stride or wuss out because they think it's cliched.

Do me one small favour and I promise I'll leave you guys alone for ages. If you can, just give your Mum a bell and see how she's doing, yeah? If not, give your old man a shout. No need to say hi for me, say hi for yourself instead. Just make sure they're okay.

Odsox.