Thursday, February 21, 2008

Women, Booze & Grand Plans

My health plan is going extraordinarily well; I should've gone back to the gym tonight but instead, I find myself slightly drunk and chainsmoking.

I've got an Excel spreadsheet with full calorific details and everything, but I'm clearly not sticking to it. For one thing, I'm finding it a tad disheartening to cycle to work, swim, do a full day SLAVING FOR THE MAN and cycle home to lift weights and run on the spot only to discover I've actually gained weight.

Yes, I'm aware that muscle weighs more than fat, but it's still annoying.

Ergo, I'm making loads of spelling mistakes as I sit here typing away with a fag in my mouth whilst eating a kebab.

Valentine's Day was an eye-opener. I noted that morning with some interest a fair plethora of women actively staring at me, wondering, actually surmising in those briefest of nanoseconds if, in fact, I could live up to their instant ideal such was the pressure of the day. If I was being kind, I would actually recommend February 14th as a godsend for singlefolk as equally desperate people woke up that morning absolutely gagging for anything surly and unshaven.

Like me.

The night before, I was ensconced in a pleasant tavern (well, the Lord Moon of the Mall in Whitehall), catching up with some folks from my previous job. While it was a very pleasant evening, I did note a gaggle of women at a nearby table. They caught my eye for one reason; seven of them were sat with only two men, two young, suited pups from the City. Their interaction fascinated me. The girls sat either side of the men were frantic and exuberant in their expressions, touching, laughing, and generally looking like the cats that had all the cream. Meanwhile, the other women seemed somehow subdued, mere shadows of themselves. I didn't realise this until my eye was caught by the girl sitting directly opposite me. I had been staring at her in lazy detachment, not really thinking of anything, when she saw me and visibly went all coy like a nervous six-year-old with a sudden audience. In the fierce competition of her table, she became animated when she noticed me staring.

She stroked her hair.
She glanced in my direction.

And then I went and ruined it all by grinning.

And thus, I recalled Lesson Number One in trying to pull women: Look disinterested. Or rather, look interested enough to seem keen, but not so interested that they sense complete and utter desperation.

Because all women are Idiot bloodhounds.

It also helps if you don't look like a shaved Clement Freud.

I've spent the last few days embarking on my 'Fuck this life, I want a change' Plan, by having my picture taken at every conceivable opportunity. The idea behind this is to update my dating website profile and snare myself an attractive maniac.

Unfortunately, Hitler, Jim Davidson, and John Merrick the Elephant Man are somehow more photogenic than me. It's not been fun realising that a racist comedian with elephantiasis and a Hitler moustache will get more hits than me on Jdate.

I can't take much more of friends taking my picture, pausing, then laughing uproariously while I say 'delete it' in bored monotone.

But grand plans are afoot. I'm going to open London's first decent 24-hour pub with Nothing Man. It's realistic, it's cost-effective, and the fact that no-one's opened one yet shows that the market's there - and not that it's a complete waste of time laden with petty-minded bureaucracy.

I'm running out of life options here. I keep getting rejections from jobs I've been applying for.
My latest rejection was for a position I'd been banned from mentioning, but since I got shafted, I can reveal all; I'm actually applied to become an operative for MI6.

Sadly, I'm deeply ashamed to admit, I'm not lying. I applied to become James Bond.

I am not a fantasist. I just want a decent job.


Angela-la-la said...

Honey, did you not realise they only advertise for MI6 when they're on a quiet spell? They simply want to find people who aspire to be spies or double agents or assassins so they can hunt them down and kill them in the interests of national de-nuttering!

Still, it was lovely to know you.

fwengebola said...

Hey, I could kill then go for pizza.
I've done it before.

daisyfae said...

festive blog - found you from 'post of the week' and have been lurking since.

appreciate the pain-in-the-ass effort to get the body in shape prior to trying to get laid - divorced after 20+ years got me to drop over 75 lbs.

screw the spreadsheet - try this: It does all the work for you, and even calculates calories expended for activities. i didn't like the expenditure rate for sexual activity, however. so i just counted that as 'yoga'...

Dom said...

I think the problem you're having with your picture is you've got your mates taking snapshots with pissant little cameras (or, God forbid, the heaps of shite you find on mobile phones). Find someone with half a clue and a proper camera :)

Z said...

You just set yourself up to fail so that you've got another excuse, don't you, darling.

Peach said...

right you I'm fed up of your incessant self-loathing, you're a fookin beautiful brainy cool guy. I think we should go to this, I'm about to be made redundant and don't know where on EARTH my life is going, and it's right near to my work, so I think we should go then get smashed:

Inarticulate Fumblings said...

Last year, with 10 years of post secondary education (leaving me with too much education for some positions, and not enough for others) I found myself applying at the Starbucks down my street. Fuck Me. It will get better, I promise.

marianne said...

I already think of you as James Bond.

fwengebola said...

Dais ~ That's brilliant, it's got its own software and everything! The sex part is pretty pointless though.
And 75lbs is a great loss. And all it took was a divorce following over 20 years of marriage.
Dom ~ These are decent pictures. I just look like a cunt when I grin.
Or frown.
Z ~ Yep. Set your sights low and you don't have that far to fall.
Peach ~ Redundant? Really? That's fucking dreadful. I like the sound of Onelife though. Give me further details and I'm in. (And you do realise the incessant self loathing is purely a comedic device?)
IF ~ Jesus bloody christ, that's appalling. But did you actually get the job?
Marianne ~ And you're Pushy Galore.

daisyfae said...

and then i realized that because i'm a chick, i could have gotten laid anyway. sucks to be a guy, huh? but it's more fun this way... stay with it. you'll feel better about life...

fwengebola said...

Pfffft, but I'll have to stop drinking and turn down every chance to hit the pub (about three random times a week), and become a jogging, cycling, swimming, humourless automaton.
With a really good body.

luna said...

Turned you down?
I'm surprised,don't they need a few dozen Prince harry doubles to send to warzones?

Anyway they know you wouldn't be able to keep your gob shut.You'd put it all in your blog and blow your cover.

fwengebola said...

Yes, it did occur to me that I would probably have to stop blogging, so it's probably all for the best.
I think.