Tag Archives: robert smith

If loving you is wrong, I’d like to be partially incorrect.

This week, I'm going to give you some advice on romance. Now, I know what you're thinking. It's either A) How did I end up at this page when I was looking for videos of cats playing keyboards??? or B) Why on earth would J. M. Donellan be qualified to give relationship advice? He seems to just post about getting dumped all the time

 

I have no answer for A) but in regards to B) I'm hardly going to be the first amateur to deign to impart ill-founded advice. I mean, the Situation wrote a fucking book with advice on dating, I'm pretty goddamn sure I'm more qualified than he is. Not least because of the fact that I realise that a book should consist of more than just 133 pages of narcissistic, misogynistic ranting. And fashion tips. 

Sure, love can be a beautiful thing. But let's face it there are plenty of times when it can also be gross, stupid, frustrating, painful and sometimes, just really fucking inconvenient. Maybe they're your housemate. Perhaps you just have the wrong anatomy for their romantic preferences. Or they just said the sentence "I don't know who David Bowie is." Maybe they're dating your best friend and the three of you hang out all the time and once in a while you'll all have a little too much to drink and he/she will suggest you all head into the bedroom together and by the time you realise they were only joking you're already half undressed and then you have to pretend like you were only joking too but they both know you weren't and it gets super awkward and even worse they've seen they embarrassing tattoo that you keen meaning to get removed…

Bad_tattoo
Whatever the case. There are times when being in love in just a terrible idea, so here are my strategies to help you not love someone.

 1 IMAGINE THEM AS YOUR LEAST FAVOURITE POLITICIAN

Simple but effective. If the politician in question is ugly and/or the wrong gender for your preferences, even better. Just imagine someone who really sums up everything that's wrong with politics and modern society in general, someone like, oh I don't know…

Campbell newman

2 DEVELOP A NEGATIVE PAVLOVIAN REACTION 

Canned-chrysalis-300x94"Jenny? Oh no, I'm WAY over her. She smells like transmutational butterfly larvae."

Sounds weird, I know, but weirder than tying all your hopes, dreams and happiness to one single human being who is just going to end up decomposing in the ground some day? I think not. Keep a packet of something disgusting in your pocket, like canned chrysalises for instance. Every time you see or think about your soon-to-be-not-loved one, shove something putrid into your facehole. Once you associate the object of your desire with squirming, crunchy larvae, IT'S BYE BYE ROMANCE!

3 INTRODUCE THEM TO YOUR PARENTS

Angry-parents

I know this is often what people do when a relationship is going WELL, but this is primarily due to the fact that people are idiots. By the time dear old dad asks them for the sixth time if they got that nose ring because they were hoping to more closely resemble a swine or just to antagonise their deadbeat parents you'll know that all hopes of a happy, successful relationship are dead in the water.

4 THINK ABOUT THE LAST TIME YOU BROKE UP WITH SOMEONE

Dawson-crying"Oh god! I can't do crosswords anymore! She used to use words like, all the time! Sometimes in sentences, or paragraphs even! It was our special thing…"

Bear in mind all relationships end, the only variables are when and how badly. Just try and picture that last time, when you listened to the 3 Smith Kings of Misery (Elliott Smith, The Smiths and Robert Smith) on repeat and lived on a daily intake of three bottles of cheap red wine and a family sized block of cadbury chocolate. Actually that last bit doesn't sound too bad, but then there was the bawling over summertime photos, the dividing of possessions, the places, songs, books and movies that were forever ruined. Yeah, that's right. You've got all of THAT to look forward to. Maybe in three months time, maybe three years, maybe three decades but whatever the case we all know that breaking up with someone feels like having your heart torn out of your chest, ripped in half, spat on, then forcibly reinserted via your colon.

So there you have it. Next time you start falling in love and it's going to be the worst idea ever you can thank me for reminding you that's it's the worst idea ever. Send me a thank you email. Maybe with a photo attached. Perhaps a facebook friend request.

Are you single?

 

THIS IS THE EIGHTH OR NINTH WORST THING THAT COULD POSSIBLY EVER HAPPEN.


Sad-face
 

A bad thing happened last week. One of the worst things that can happen, actually. Well, almost. If you wrote a list of the 100 worst things you could possibly imagine occurring with ‘stepping on a thumbtack’ at the bottom and 'nuclear holocaust' or 'waking up next to Kochie'  at the absolute top, then this particular event would probably rate around an eight or a nine, depending on your personal preferences. Perhaps your entire family was killed by a rogue thumbtack and everytime you see one it triggers a wave of emotional anguish that leads to a three day rampage of drugs and grand larcency, who knows. But we aren’t here to talk about your problems. It’s the internet people, I want to whine about ME.


Ever since this the eighth or ninth worst thing that could ever happen to me did I've been working my way through the 7 Stages of Grieving. Not that textbook list that they give you, I mean I'm working through MY list, which is immensely superior. If the eighth or ninth worst thing that you could think of happens to you, then you may find it useful.


1 POSTING A SHAMEFACEDLY ATTENTION SEEKING STATUS UPDATE


Sadface 


Come on, we’ve all done it. Maybe you prefer the unsubtle approach, something along the lines of: “OMG I AM GOING TO FUCKING KILL MY BOSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” or maybe, much like westpac bank, you’re the cryptic kind who favours generic melancholic statements such as ‘oh so over it today.' I'm sorry Westpac, we've all been so caught up with minor concerns like global warming and colony collapse disorder that we haven't had time to spare a thought for those poor little corporations that only posted 1.6 billion dollar profits last quarter. Text me later. We can eat cookie dough, talk about boys and watch 'Beaches.'


2 TRYING TO CAUSE LOVESICK COUPLES TO SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUST


Sure. A week ago you were my allies. I would look at you and think, "dawww…look at those two crazy kids; sniffing the rosebushes, sharing their sandwhiches, picking nits out of each others' hair." But no more. You have all become my nemeses. If I see hear ANYONE using any kind of ridiculously sappy pet name (honeybabysweetiemuffinsugar) in the  next few days I am going to just speed up the whole combustion process by means of a can of petrol and some cheap, illegal fireworks.


Sappy couple 

"Here darling, I bought you a

present to sweeten you up before 

I tell you that I gave you the clap."

 "Oh that's a relief,

it'll give me some return fire

ammo for when I tell you I've been

sleeping with your mum."

3 WRITING BAD POETRY

4 REMEMBERING WHY I SHOULDN'T TRY TO WRITE POETRY


5 LISTENING TO THE 3 SMITH KINGS OF MISERY



Robert_smith     Elliott_Smith_photo_051018022946332_wideweb__300x375       Morrissey-then  

   Robert smith.             Elliot Smith.            Steven Morrissey.

    (of the Smiths)

6 CHECKING MY AMAZON.COM SALES RANKING

This is a somewhat risky game of Russian roulette. It may offer me a tenuous rope out of the depths of the abyss, but more often than not I may simply find that the rope in question comes in the form of a tight fitting noose. That episode of Bored to Death where Johnathon says that "those amazon sales rankings are very misleading" ain't no joke. Somedays my book can jump a MILLION slots. Which I think means its sold around 3 copies that day.


7 BURNING COOKIES

DSCN0470 

Much like my now non-existent relationship these cookies were once sweet, colourful and nourishing. Under my careful watch however, they became burnt, deformed and fit only for the rubbish bin. END METAPHOR.

It'll get better. OBVIOUSLY. I mean, it's not as though I had my legs devoured by flesh eating ants or had my brain surgically transplanted in Pauline Hansen's body or anything as horrible as that. In the meantime I can be grateful that as a writer I have the only job in the world where being a depressed drunk is actually an advantage. Well, writing and detective work perhaps.

Feel free to post your own grieving practices, although I'll probably be too preoccupied with lying on the floor drinking cheap vodka, listening to 'Roman Candle' and eating burnt cookies to read it.