A little about me.

Some of you from Twitter may be wondering who I am. It’s only natural, after all. I am of couse, Zoomeister, a man who posts some things that you read. Apparently, some of them cause some of you to emit what I understand is laughter, or at least, a reaction. That’s okay, that’s enough. That’s enough.

Well. I suppose I should do a small description. It’s not going to be interesting, or funny, or touching. But at least it might make me look a little more rounded. Literally, I’ve got a stone fatter in the last year.

I am thirty four, I am a male, with a penis that is rapdily becoming as useful as an external appendix. That’s not important. I was born in 1976, to Ron and Wendy. They are my parents. This is their story. No it isn’t. It’s mine. I should have said that before.

I grew up in Margate, colloquially known as “Home of the grey promenades”. Coined by me, just then. More specifically, Milmead housing estate. It wasn’t a nice place, it was functional. I don’t remember much about it. I have a few pictures. My parents made me take part in the celebrations of the Royal Wedding. I mean the old one, between that man with the ears and that other lady who is dead. Dana. That’s it. She did that song.

I was a shy, depressive child. I was called a “Day-dreamer” by my teachers. I probably was. I didn’t concentrate. I didn’t do the things other children did. Still, I did make some friends. They liked my strange humour. There isn’t much to tell. I got into trouble for saying another boy had stolen my lunch money when i’d actually just lost it. I was told off for saying “pooping paper”. I don’t know why, it seems mild.

I went to King Ethelbert’s Secondary school, in 1988. It wasn’t like in a comic, it was like a nuclear war film, only more depressing. I became more introverted, than ever. I came out of my shell as I hit the last year. Some of the laughs I had then were the best I’ve ever had. Was crap with girls, though. This vein continued.

When I left school, being totally ill equipped for it, I became something of a recluse, and remained jobless and a virgin for some years. (It’s not something i’m particularly ashamed of, it’s just what it is.) I had no social life, or indeed, any life at all. I felt like a grey matter, lifeless and distorted, shapeless, sexless, aimless. From 1993 until 1995, I did little, until a temporary job discouraged me further. I then spent a desolate number of years drifting in and out of job clubs. During this time, my fear of social contact worsened. I made a misguided trip to a nightclub with my sister. I was sick and left my glasses on a cistern. It was not nice.

So, you can ascertain by this point that I was a recluse, shit with girls, and perpetually unemployed. I don’t seek pity, I am just telling you what I was like. Let’s move on.

In 2001 I finally carved something of a life, however small, a niche in something. I got a job at the local pub, washing up. For anyone else, nothing, for me, something. I was utterly chronically shy, and tip toed around my new colleagues, not knowing what to say. It was a difficult time. Part of my problem is social awkwardness, not feeling good enough. It’s changed a lot, but at the time, it was debilitating.

I made some good friends. Dave, a pint sized lad with a wicked physical sense of humour, Graham (Think Withnail but in a suit.) and Aleks and Ian, the owners. To this day, they are the best bosses I ever had. But i’ll get to that another time. It deserves its own post.

During the next year I began to go out, of the house, to be with these new friends. It was an incredible experience, so many years alone, and then, this.

Girls still remained a problem, they always had. Even today, i’m not that great with them, but at that point, fucking embarrassingly bad. I made an innefectual attempt to ask a girl out. She initially accepted, then it all went a bit wrong. Having never done what other people had done, I didn’t know what to do. Never felt handsome, never felt funny, never felt charismatic enough. And I couldn’t flirt. Still can’t, actually. I look like a prick when I flirt.

Anyway, her name was Denise. I didn’t go out with her. Like I said, it all went a bit wrong. I’ll leave that there. I had mild infactuations with a few women, which nothing came of. Nothing helped. Confidence is part of it, you see, and I didn’t have it.

In 2004, I was writing a journal. Do you remember them? Like Twitter but with more words, and that. I liked my journal. It was a massive aid to my writing. If you are half bloody interested, you can read about the next parts in that, on Livejournal. I’m Zoomeister on that too. If you can’t be bothered (More likely), then i’ll give you the capsule review. I wrote about my life. I wrote in some detail. I quite liked doing it. I still would too, if I thought it was still worth doing it.

My first girlfriend read it too. She was American, and was reading it from Delaware. Somehow, she fell in love with me because of it, stupid, I know, but there it is. I was surprised, when that happened. Obviously, you would be, if you had never had apparent female interest of that nature. I ended up besotted with her too, and I met her in 2005. I’m not going to talk about that, because it is something you can read if you want to on that diary. It doesn’t have the emotional impact now, because all parties moved on, but yeah, it’s there.

I got engaged that year. That didn’t work out. Inexperience, distance, that kind of thing. The break up was painful. Very painful. I’d never felt anything like it. I woke up one morning to learn that she was dating someone else, two weeks after the breakup. I didn’t blame her, it was all legit, but the knowledge made me feel like my gut was slipping out of my shoes. I couldn’t face it, I couldn’t believe it was all over, all the plans, all the beauty of it. It was genuinely like a death. Part of my giddy innocence left me that day. Sounds a bit of a cliche’, but that’s exactly what it felt like.

I got over Suzanne, we’re good friends now. I’m happy she was my first. I got to experience the whole thing as an adult. Was certainly worth the wait. Anyway, moving on. Next few years were a little dull. I switched jobs, left the Bell, went to Canterbury, became a chef. This gave me a whole new host of friends to get to know. A great bunch. You’d like them. That was 2008. I ended up seeing a girl called Selina, who i’d met in 2004, but who i’d only recently started to click romantically with. She was only my second. Was a hedonistic, sensual relationship, but I don’t think either of us thought it would last. We had some nice times in Plymouth in her student accomodation, and after a brief relationship, ended it in the summer. We had sex to the song Cold Desert by Kings of Leon, and then it was over. It was quite a nice way to end it. I didn’t feel bad after it ended, either. Strange. Because I did rather like her.

Anyway, that was July 2009. My romantic ventures from that point are a mere smattering of mild flirtations. From that point working matters have put it on hold. I moved jobs again, had my hair cut, and now i’m doing this. Twittering, working, wondering what to do. I’m a thirty four year old chef, and I make jokes about facehugger eggs.

Hello. Sorry that was all a bit shit. I’m not as miserable as that lot sounds.

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About neilstilwell

Abseiling into trouble, a sewer rat staring at the stars. Disgusting. You can assist my search for the one ring by buying a Kindle version of this diary from here. http://www.amazon.co.uk/frozen-fridge-Zoomeister-Diaries-ebook/dp/B00C426DD0/ref=sr_1_sc_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1366481719&sr=8-1-spell&keywords=a+frozen+turd+in+a+hot+frudge It has some other stuff in it, and a dreadful cover.
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