Usually when I don’t post for a while I have a vaguely decent excuse in the opening paragraph, this time however I think it’s probably best I simply summarise with: Bugger bugger balls.

Many many many many things have happened since I last gave you a good reason to hate reading. I had one of the longest lasting relationships yet, but ended it myself because not only was our physical affection meter maxing at “HUG” but she also insisted I read her fanfiction (and secretly I loathe fanfiction so very very much) whilst showing zero interest in reading this site or any of my works.

In better news though, my most recent doctor visit (NUMBER 19) had the doctor who originally diagnosed me with epilepsy now feeling quite sure that, after looking at how I have “bad shit all over” (many of which are frankly too disturbing for even me to bitch about publicly), I have the wonderfully rare “Silk Road Disease”. Bad news is there’s obviously no cure, the good news is it’s fatal.

Allow the drama queen in me to savour in pretending that information stirred some emotion in you. Granted it’s only a 5% fatality rate, however I do fall into ALL the high mortality factors so that percentage is probably frighteningly higher when applied to me, particularly if all the blood I’m seeing lately is a sign.

Now now now don’t stress about fake-worrying too much. They’re already experimenting on me with various medications and whilst good health is largely an impossible dream at this juncture I may delay randomly drowning in my own blood to an unexpectedly longer time frame than any reader would like. The worst part is probably being 25 and HAVING to be unemployed because being awake for 4 hours a day is an achievement, worse yet people offer me jobs to no end and it’s hard to decline because of my health when I simultaneously pretend to be in good health around others as to not frighten them away with dread.

Fuck the police.

Sorry, that was a little inappropriate and maybe also slightly off topic. I would rather somebody get to “fucking me” than the police at this point. When people shout “Fuck you” to me (this happens slightly less than I probably deserve) I usually spin my head with hope and reply “Yes yes that’s a brilliant idea! Do you want the lights on or off?”.

Desperation is sexy.

P.S.

Don’t get me wrong though, I’m not depressed about the health scenario. If anything I’m delighted it could potentially END at some point, even if that ending is death. I do however adore pity and encourage you to fake it immediately.

It’s hard being funny you know, or at least that’s what actually funny people tell me.

Ah comedy, a sweet sweet curse upon our genetic pool that I’ve long since had a passing fling with. You dirty whore, you sweet temptress, you std laden mother of nine with a uterus so large it qualifies as a presidential vacation home.

My weapon, my tool and dare I say my comrade in arms. Comedy got me through high school when I learned doing standup routines for random groups of kids not only earned a positive response, but also made the idea of murdering me slightly less tempting. My highschool was a bit like prison. I mean I know we all think our highschools were a bit like prison, but my highschool frequently involved me carrying stab wound victims to the sickroom. They were pretty fair though and punished the victim as much as the criminal just to make sure we knew that only horrible human beings get stabbed during lunch.

I’ve always heard whispers of how comedy is the best power when it comes to relationships. This is pretty much entirely bullshit. In fact, being funny in a relationship only puts a deep deep strain to CONTINUE to be funny around the concerned partner and endless fears of “Am I being funny enough for them to still like me?!?!” tend to pop up more frequently than my hemorrhoid (Which seriously are being dicks lately) problem. Can we transition now from a crappy philosophy piece to a bitching about my romantic encounters piece now? It’s my shitty site, of course we can!!!

Last year I had an AMAZING amount of dates compared to any other year of my life. Unfortunately with it came an equally amazing amount of poorly thought-out rejection for me to wallow in bitterness about. I received “I’ll ruin you”, “We want different things”, “You remind me of my son/mother” (From a 37 year old who approached ME knowing my age and then repeatedly insisted I was too young) and the all-time classic complete disappearance after the first date! I got to turn one girl down myself though, but considering her solution to poverty was “The bastards should all just get a job” I believe I was making a fair decision on that particular coaster of rollers.

That said, I’m having a terribly difficult time not feeling like a piece of shit given 8 or so straight solid rejections, some even from girls who complained their cheeks hurt from laughing so much. Y U NO WANT?!? *cough* Arguably the worst part is I’m consistently told how I’m exactly what they expected, and that appears to consistently not be what they want. I DECLARE YOUR GENDER MAD! Mad and sexy and…and…..yes I’m probably going to die a virgin at this rate.

So assuredly that when I dared put myself on a local “casual encounter” listing (in hopes of losing the “Jayde who never gets laid” moniker my bipolar friend liked to don on me when he isn’t forcing me to wear pirate and soldier hats for awkward photo ops) the only response I received actually chickened out at the last minute, no doubt leaving my carpet in worse condition than ever.

Also no drawing for this entry because err SOPA or some shit. I’m actually just not arsed and felt it was better than stalling this update for an irrelevant piece of art no one ever comments about.

(more…)

You might think I’ve been doing nothing but then you’d be right and no one wants that.

I’ve been through a proverbial whirlwind the past few months only taking a brief respite to make a highly selective sexytimeapplicationform to try and get rid of that virginity thing I’m so good at.

Otherwise I had a brief relationship that I almost wrote an article about but reminded myself “You only write about them when they fail for a reason!” the reason being that they inevitably fail and I feel like a tard if my posts contained even the slightest hints of optimism.

It did expose me to unusual events like a medieval fair where a 40 year fully armoured man insisted I pick up a sword, a shield and run away very quickly. Joke was on him when he found out just how slow I am at running! HA!!

I also had the odd liberty of having a 3 hour date and makeout session in the kiddies birthday area of a local mcdonalds. While the female contact was appreciated enough to mostly zone me out………….the kids screaming, poking my knees and asking mommy what I was doing was…………not.

But yes yes my experience has thus ended and I’m left wallowing in self-pity and lube so gelatinely sweet in its form. On the brightside I had someone rarely close enough to my face to confirm what often scared my classmates (and I considered to be a joke of some sort) away in terror, that being that my eyes randomly change in colour even adopting spouts of heterochromia when they feel like it. This is a “mildly cool” genetic marvel, unlike the fact that my facial hair TURNS GINGER at a certain length which a “mildly suicide inducing” trait.

THEN SOMETHING MAGICAL HAPPENED! A mere(cat) two days after being dumped a shining ginger star of a lass appeared before me and I was offered a date that produced enough fruit to create a full relationship. This being me of course though, meant that I yet AGAIN received my almost-chillingly-regular “Dear John” dumpification just after the one month point past. Thinking positively however, she did hit me rather regularly for fun, considered popping pimples on my back a ”good time”, appeared to have less feelings for me than a bucket of rotting blowfish, went “Blip” on my forehead whilst claiming she was smacking it with her imaginary willy, would have me buy her phone airtime but use it to contact EVERYONE BUT ME aaaaaaaaaaand to sort of round out the kick in my balls she ended things by sweetly telling me I…………..“Remind her of her mother”.

Two relationships in one year IS a record for me however, and I came at least 3% closer to losing my virginity than ever before………..unfortunately that IS 97% still too far away I’m afraid.

Health-bitching wise Doctors continue to marvel at the concept of what the hell is wrong with me by now insisting either my kidneys are saying sayonara or I have a rare tissue condition of some sort. Either way this involves another lovely night in hospital for me aaaaaand will likely result in yet another “We have no idea” happygofuntime. In fact I almost wish my kidneys WERE failing because at least then they’d find something for a change. [UPDATE FROM THE FUTURE: They found absolutely nothing yet again. My osmolarity is abnormal but they're not sure why, and the FULLY CONCIOUS THROAT BIOPSY I had came back as "Seriously fucked up" but with them YET AGAIN NOT KNOWING WHY. GO TEAM!]

P.S.

So the biggest delay for this update has been that I first wrote it about being in a relationship, then rewrote it about being dumped, then about being dumped but in a new relationship and then finally about being dumped twice!

“Go!” shouted Phillip in his most cheery voice followed by a heart-felt “This time you can do it mate!”, Adam could not contain his joy any longer, and with a smile matched only by his unusually low car insurance premiums, he lept. He Soared. He Flew! He decorated the street with blood and faecal matter.

I must remind myself that making “shits and giggles” about genuinely concerning topics has a tendency to rip my anal region in twine with little regard for sexual preference.

Of course I considered it a coincidence when my numerous jokes about Epilepsy were followed by me being diagnosed with the blighter. But…..But with my jokes about requiring therapy being followed by me now actually requiring therapy…..I have little room for waning suspicion.

As those of you who read the last entry know, I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder and it’s hard enough to come to terms with not feeling shitty about having a mental illness, let alone about actually having to have very frequent therapy in the hopes of getting it under better control than this site’s php code. (I hear this site doesn’t work on iPhones now or something. I applaud Apple for being unable to render 6 year old code and hope I don’t break any of their future projects by overusing advanced <font> commands or something)

Bitter jokes that only people who’ve never had sex will understand (read as: me) aside, it really is a tricky thing to come to grips with. Trying to not feel ashamed of who you are when part of your cognitive capacity is considered “wrong” is a tiring journey itself, but I can’t for a moment say this isn’t the case. Those who’ve met me in person know that as much as I’m the world’s most extroverted introvert (that’s totally a thing now), I’m also god awfully terrified of EVERYTHING.

Women have generally enjoyed this aspect about me however, and by enjoy I mean “triedtheirbestoterrifymefurtherandgiggleatresults”. Allow me to quote a religious text for a moment and say “It’s Super Effective!”.

What’s more intriguing is I’ve learned I have panic attacks at near constant. I’m just disgustingly good at dealing with them. Speaking of being good at dealing with things, my therapist certainly knows what she’s doing and I am hopeful I’ll learn to control my overall fuckedupness at some point in the future with her help.

Oh look at the tone! It’s five past no one giving a fuck and unless you count me as the world’s most sparsely update autobiography, I imagine these details offer as much entertainment as me in bed.

So in other vaguely more positive news: I updated my main art gallery with another strange piece. It’s even up for print sale on the incredibly unlikely chance one of you has both bad taste and $250 to waste. ($150 for the FRAME. THE GOD DAMN FRAME. I swear that frame better give head or something)

P.S.

Financial gods willing I –MAY- attempt going on a short vacation sometime soon as I have discovered Cape Town possesses women that are up to 1x more likely to sleep with me.

P.P.S.

Out of vague interest I’d thought I should mention I finally achieved my MCITP:Server Administrator qualification. I am now at 8 in total with a very hard to explain desire to finish at 12.

There comes a time in every man’s life when he finds true happiness, ultimate serenity and euphoria emulated. This is not one of those times.

In fact, had you been paying attention during chapters one through eleventy, you’d probably know my tale is about as heart-warming as your average resealed canister of neuro-toxin. Of course we all have it bad from time to time and it’s all a matter of Perspex. Not perspective mind you. I meant Perspex. Really. Okay I didn’t but fuck off.

I’m sorry. I….I didn’t mean that. I really like you you know…..I….I think of you an awful lot and I don’t know what I’d do wi*zips up* yeah okay I’m done so we can move along now.

Anyway Hemmingway, like I was saying before………..It’s all about the Perspex. Have enough of it and problems seem trivial, lack it and suddenly you’re in a /persplexing/ situation of note. So to put things rightfully INTO Perspex I thought I’d neatly summarize my past few months for all you giddy little poppets.

• Was rererererererediagnosed during my 5 days of utter hell and NOW am the proud owner of not simply an anxiety disorder but also adrenal seizures.
• Planned on going to Israel for 3 weeks. Didn’t plan on getting called and getting death threats because I’m a dirty “Non-Jew”. Suddenly understand the 1940s.
• I’m kidding.
• I always understood the 1940s.
• I’m sorry.
• I suspect I’m not using these appropriately.
• Still a virgin.
• (SUUUUURPRISE!)
• I don’t have any confetti so I’ll just sprinkle my shattered dreams about instead.

Now that was jolly good fun wasn’t it? I imagine I have a BRIGHT FUTURE in corporate presentations but would probably have to first convert this into a powerpoint presentation of a pdf file first.