Shem Douglas's Blog, page 2

The Bucket List of a 2-Year-Old

So my nephew is all kinds of awesome. When he’s not being adorable and screaming “BOOBIES!” whilst trying to lift my top up in public, he’s generally throwing shade at anyone and everyone… because his sassy levels are outta control and I love him even more for that!

Nothing but side eye & judgement!

I recently-ish went away on a big family holiday to Portugal with my parents, my older bro, his wife and my nephew. It was the first time we had been away or spent that amount of time with each other since around the summer of 1994. I was scared. However, I made it through the 2 weeks (and that experience needs a whole blog post to itself!)

As I don’t live near my nephew I only get to see him in bursts of hazy madness when I visit home. This basically consists of me running around helping him destroy the place and then I leave. Being away with him opened my eyes to his day to day life and on one level I loved spending so much time with him… but on another level I found myself cradling my empty womb with a grateful smug smile!

Bucket lists or ‘Fuck it, why not’ lists are always fun! Some of my ‘to do’ experiences before I die saving a kitten from a burning building (this is how I see my death!) are composed of realistic goals like travelling around South America, playing the steel pan in procession at Notting Hill Carnival and marrying/kidnapping Kate Mckinnon and making her my wife… With this in mind and after spending a couple of weeks with my nephew, I’ve created a bucket list of what every 2-year-old should achieve before their 3rd birthday.

Reach the infinite number of times (roughly 1 trillion billion) you can say “But whyyyyy?” to everything regardless if it makes sense or not. Example: Nephew – What’s that? Me – A washing line sweetheart. Nephew – But whyyyy? Me – WTF you mean why?!!

Have a meltdown and roll around on the floor traumatised because you didn’t get to press the button for the lift.

Fake a hysterical crying fit because you’re not getting enough attention. Don’t give up the charade until you get exactly what you want!

Refuse to cooperate in public because you want to eat ice cream for dinner instead of the expensive meal your parents have just ordered and paid for. Bonus point if you can wangle a chicken nugget to appease your rage before the parentals get you your friggin ice cream.

Run everywhere… really fast… Even when the grown-ups warn you to be careful. Continue to ignore these obvious fools until you trip over your own feet and your screams are heard across the land.

Demand to sing out loud… even if it’s at the table of a super nice restaurant. People NEED to hear you damn it!

Play hide and seek on a busy beach… but don’t tell anyone that you’re actually playing. Bonus point if you jump out screaming “Here I am!!” JUST as your auntie is about to call the police. The fun is in the panicked drama and the amount of tears the grownups cry.

Ask for a drink but then refuse to drink it insisting someone else’s looks better than yours.

Talk really loudly about how you have a sore bum. Preferably aim for a densely populated area. Strangers love to hear all about your problems with your arse hole.

Tell your amazing auntie that you love her lots directly after you’ve acted like a complete gobshite. But don’t overdo it because nobody likes a desperate relative begging for affection.

Stop With The Spoilers!

I miss the good old days when people watched their favourite TV show or film, enjoyed it immensely… and moved the hell on with their lives. Back in a utopian society when you would watch your drama in real time along with the rest of the nation. Now I appreciate how INSANE I sound with such outlandish whimsical statements, but the internet has ruined the pleasure I once took in consuming highbrow television like Buffy The Vampire Slayer and Dawson’s Creek, at a pace where I didn't want to punch my friends for revealing shit I had yet to view. Gone are the days of organically discovering whether Joey picked Dawson or Pacey and if Buffy got her shit together and stopped playing poor Spike for a fool! Now, unfortunately if you enjoy a television show or are gagging to watch a new film you've been patiently/obsessively waiting 3 years to be released, you have to put up with irritating gobshites who find amusement in telling you what happens as quick as you can say, “Snape kills Dumbledore!”

I’m the type of person who always takes a while to get into anything current. This isn’t because I’m too cool for popular culture but simply because I struggle to organise my life. I’m also terribly lazy. I much prefer watching re-runs of Murder She Wrote from 1987 and low budget, shit but amazing 80s movies. Yes, I am the type of gal who watched Sex and the City 10 years too late, I still haven’t watched Breaking Bad and I don’t watch Game of Thrones...

However, the only TV show that I adore and is current right now is Orange Is the New Black on Netflix… for reasons such as it’s hilarious and ya know… lesbians! The thing is… because of social media I discovered one humungous spoiler the afternoon it was released. Some giant prick binge watched all 13, 55 minutes long episodes in less than one day and THEN posted the stomach punching spoiler online PURELY to ruin it for everyone else. Bravo you knob.

It’s like some folk get a weird kick out of being an asshole. An asshole with way too much time on their hands. Yes, some astute individuals have pointed out that I should just avoid the internet if I don’t want to see any spoilers… but avoiding the internet is like trying to avoid bumping into your ex in a supermarket that you don’t even shop at anyways! It's impossible.

There should be some kind of punishment for those who like to flex their prowess for being spoiler junkies… like enduring one whole year of dial-up internet from a free AOL disc your mum received in the post… OR have their digital TV revoked and swapped with 4 terrestrial channels on a television set the size and weight of a wild Mountain Lion, with no remote control AND a coat hanger for an aerial.

I only hope there comes a day that we as humans can revert back to being respectful of everyone’s speed and frequency to watch... stuff. And I can live my life blissfully unaware of who shot JR/Phil Mitchell/Tupac until I'm bloody well good and ready to find out for myself! Yeah.

 

First Dates - The Experience

I have been told for many years to ‘just put myself out there’. It's as if this 'ground-breaking' piece of advice is the key to the gates of Shangri-fucking-La. Every time a friend suggested I whore myself around this mystical place called ‘there’ in order to find the elusive love affair I wasn’t even sure I desired, I wanted to punch them in the left kidney. I’m 33 and still sleep with a night-light… ‘out there’ is scary and you can’t make me do it!

I am however a big fan of nudges of encouragement to drag my lazy ass into new adventures… but I’m also a big fan of baby steps. I freak out... a lot. I can also be found overthinking perfectly normal situations until I’m bleeding from every orifice. It’s exhausting. But I wanted to do something bold and ridiculous in 2016. I wanted to go on just one small, insignificant date to help build my slightly battered confidence with women. Baby steps right…

Soooo… without telling anyone... I applied for the reality TV show First Dates Ireland. A dating series that sets you up with a complete stranger for members of the public to point, laugh and annihilate you on Twitter in 140 characters or less. Kinda like Mad Max and the Thunderdome... but with more hearts and a shit load more awkwardness. (I clearly didn't think any of this through before applying.)

I auditioned in December 2015, filmed the date on a cold January evening, and it went live on national telly in May. Here are the 10 stages of basking in approximately 48 hours of being a reality TV ‘sensation’ from maybe 8 minutes of screen time.

One

I’ve just been told I’m on the show! Woop! Fire all the cupcake canons bitches!

 

Two

Realise the magnitude of going on TV and alternate between silently weeping whilst Googling ‘how to lose 56 stone in 2 weeks’ … and screaming obscenities at my naked body in a mirror.  

Three

Decide that life is too short and I need to love myself just the way I am before anyone can love me. Namaste and stuff.

Four

Laugh hysterically at my pep talk and drink nothing but cayenne pepper mixed with bleach for the next 2 weeks at an attempt to look like Beyonce in Dreamgirls.

Five

Hire a media savvy PR team/my best mates who tell me to avoid being a drunken prick… and nobody needs to hear the story of when I first got my period.

Six

Arrive at the venue and instantly wanna vomit with nerves. Everyone seems so young and fresh faced… and all I can offer are inappropriate comments, side eye and sparkly shoes.

Seven

My blind date seems fun… all is well even though she fucks a grilled lemon onto the floor. Wait… hold on… do you know what would make this SO much better?? Attempting to moonwalk across the restaurant like the massive prick my friends warned me about.

Eight

Have a little sit down next to my date in a small room where we are put on the spot and have basically 30 seconds to decide if we want to bump uglies.

I know she doesn’t fancy me… (because she has eyes!) Even though I look crushed... the fact that I’m more excited about the free cab ride home than getting her number suggests I don’t fancy her either. I leave the date confused and overwhelmed at what I just did.

Nine

Wait 4 months until the show finally airs on TV and snuggle up to a false sense of security that everything is fiiiine… despite my body being riddled with anxiety. I sit down to watch and violently yell at the screen, “SHEM.. NO… WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!! MAKE IT STOP!!”

Ten

1 radio interview, numerous social media abuse about my hair and strangers in the street discreetly shouting “FIRST DATES!” directly into my face later… and normality resumes. Alas I am still single… but the quota for ‘putting myself out there’ has now been filled for the foreseeable future.

Mental Health Awareness #TimeToTalk

Slowly but surely more folk are being brave and realising that talking openly about mental health doesn’t mean you’re gonna be shunned from society and beaten with a splintered broom handle to exorcise the ‘demons’ from within!

Conversations can be had amongst friends, family or with complete strangers… without fear of judgement. Admitting that you’re not ok is in fact… ok! It's more than ok... it's wonderfully empowering when you attempt those first few steps in making mental health your bitch!

Today is National Time To Talk Day and the fine people at Green Ribbon are encouraging everyone to have the chats about mental health. Whether it’s sharing your own story or just simply listening to others… we all need to communicate and be our own kind of awesome!

Sharing is caring… unless it’s snacks… coz I don’t share snacks.

So practicing what I preach… here is me sharing something I wrote a couple of weeks ago. I like to fondly refer to it as, “I was having a great day until anxiety clotheslined me like a big steroidy WWF wrestler.”

Go forth and be brave! Fists in the air you fabulous warriors of the mind you!

Sometimes.

Sometimes I feel like my head is going to burst, like a shit low budget car explosion in a 90s film that went straight to VHS. You know the one where the action hero (probably played by an overweight Steven Seagal) manages to avoid third degree burns and walks effortlessly away with a small child in one hand and some large breasted woman in the other.

Sometimes I feel like the pressure swelling in my chest will leave no room for my heart to beat. Instead it crushes all my internal organs like a semi deflated neon pink lilo in the Costa Del Sol being haphazardly wrapped around my throat.

Sometimes I get so angry with inexplicable sadness that punches me square in the stomach. Quite like my 2-year-old nephew screaming “HULK SMASH!” as he mistakes my rotund belly for an inflatable weeble.

Sometimes I exhaust myself with how much I overthink a simple pondering of life. Instead of leaving it alone, I pick at it like a 3-day old scab that I know hasn’t healed and will bleed all over my favourite Whitney Houston T-Shirt.

Sometimes I wish I could will the overly dramatic cyclone of self-doubt to stop spinning uncontrollably, annihilating every happy ever after I thought I was owed… and then dropping my mad, sad self along with Dorothy and Toto in Oz.

Sometimes my head and heart get so hyped that I feel as powerful as a samurai cat riding on the back of a unicorn that’s shooting laser beams from its eyes. The kind of illusion of grandeur that makes me feel like ‘I got this!’ when some days I feel like I ain’t got shit.  

How To Hate Dating & Everything It Stands For In 10 Easy Steps

Now I’ve been single for ages. And that’s ok because I really just wanna concentrate on me and my rap career right now…

I have recently dipped my toe into the world of dating and discovered that it’s hard. Really fucking hard. And it’s oh so brutal! Apparently the way to win someone’s affection is to pretend that you don’t fancy them at all… because game playing is a HOOT! (said no one except that dickhead you’re pretending not to like even though you want nothing more than to French kiss them right now!)

I like to think that I’m tough… but my defence system when it comes to rejection is as weak and confusing as Andrex puppies having a dance off against the Evian Water babies… on roller skates. And my bravado of “I’m fiiiiine! No really I am! Let’s get drunk and eat fajitas fiiiiine!” is as ‘tough’ as a sandwich of squishy Haribo fried eggs.

Alas… despite all the signs telling me I am not cut out for the quest of slaying the dragon and rescuing the princess… and Cupid is pissing himself at my efforts of wooing anything with a vagina, I still would like to try. Even if I fail miserably then I wanna have a crack at smashing this dating malarkey with a giant fireball to the face!

Because for the first time in forever, sharing my time with someone nice doesn’t make me wanna soil myself with fear quite as much as it did… and that has to be a good thing… right?!

So as I walk through the valley of the shadow of death… Here are the 10 stages I had to navigate when I decided to mix it up and set about the mission I like to fondly refer to as… “OMG I'm so embarrassed but I really don't wanna die alone or end up marrying a taxidermy hamster for companionship.”

One

Gross! Dating? How very dare you even suggest such a thing! I’m an independent woman! I don’t need anyone to validate me! **insert numerous Destiny’s Child/Beyonce anthems here** It will happen when it happens. Dating/relationships/love sounds like effort. PLUS, the bitch will only cheat on me with Becky with the good hair… and then I’ll have to write an obscure slightly aggressive visual album about it.

Two

Ok… so lemme just see what happens if I download this dating app real quick.

Three

Wait – they need to verify my account via Facebook. Hell no… that’s another level of commitment right there. That’s surely a breach of my human rights... or something. I’ll just leave it and distract myself with food.

Four

Ok get a grip. I’m signed up! I feel so brave and empowered! All these filter choices for my profile pic make me look like Aaliyah circa 1996. I’m so hot that I’m embarrassed for everyone else and their mediocracy.  

Five

Why is no one ‘liking’ my profile. I REFUSE to make the first move. It’s been at least 7 minutes. I’m over it! Pass me a jar of Nutella.

Six

No seriously – what’s wrong with me?!! Why am I so repulsive. Why does everyone hate meeee! Maybe the filter that made me look Caucasian was a touch too far?

Seven

Shit – someone likes me and my ego has exploded. She looks crazy sexy cool! Bear with me as I overthink this and find all the reasons why replying is a truly horrible idea.

Eight

Aaargh – I’ve just replied! Cue eighteen panic attacks and setting my phone on fire due to irrationality and possibly too much Nutella.

Nine

She's got great banter and we’re off on a real life date! Stay cool…. Don’t be awkward and don’t fill the silence with panicked outbursts or racist jokes. I’m freaking myself out but once I’ve stopped throwing up with fear… I’m sure I’ll kinda like it.

Ten

Wake up next day confused, elated, hungover and anxious. Did I fancy her? Did she fancy me? Was it really necessary to leave my tongue in her mouth for such a prolonged period of time? What does it all mean?! I receive a text message… It’s her!

“You’re really fun… You make me laugh… BUT…”

I feel horrendous. Cue a meltdown of epic proportions likening my failed first date to ISIS and Ebola. Promptly delete dating app, Google cat adoption agencies and order a meal deal for 1.

Screw you – I’m an independent woman. I don’t need anyone to validate me!