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By Isaac Kennedy, August 29, 2011 6:00 am

Image by Buero Monaco

For nine months during my first year of university, I was in a casual relationship with two different women.

Right. This is where most people expect macho bragging, but I’m actually not going to do that. It was great… for awhile. But ultimately, I broke it off because I couldn’t deal with being used for sex. As a guy, I feel incredibly weird just typing that out, but it’s how I felt.

Of the few people I’ve told, the result has always been high-fives and pats on the back. Even when I told my mother, her response was a simple, “Good for you son! Glad to see you’re enjoying university.”

The first girl was my girlfriend before the start of university. We broke up with the understanding that university is a time to enjoy yourself and not be tied down to another person, but we somehow ended up living in the same town.

One night, I received a message asking me to come over. I had to muster up a good amount of willpower, but my reply was no. We were supposed to be meeting new people, and I didn’t want to retread the same path.

Several days later, the same thing happened. Again, I said no. Finally, a week later, she was a lot clearer and simply messaged saying, “I only want sex.”

This time, I agreed. Soon, this became a regular occurrence: She would send me a message, and I would go round to her house. It seemed like the best deal on earth at the time (and this was when I was living in a place that had 50-pence drinks and free sandwich parties).

The second girl, I met at a party. We got drunk and spent the night together. The next morning, we parted ways amicably, and I thought nothing more of it until I received a message a few days later. Not wanting to pursue a relationship with this girl, I replied no. But as before, I received a second message stating, “I only want sex.”

Continue reading 'Casual Sex Isn’t As Great As I Thought It Would Be'»

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By Isaac Kennedy, July 18, 2011 6:00 am

Photo by Tom Grill

I hate myself sometimes–my face, my body, or even my hair when it won’t go quite exactly how I want it to go.

Since I was 13 years old, my weight has remained fairly constant, but my height has changed by around a foot. In a span of a few years, I went from awkward overweight child to awkward underweight teenager. I’m only now just at a healthy weight for someone of my size, and it only took me seven freaking years!

Since I’ve experienced being both overweight and underweight, I sympathise with the arguments for each. I’m often asked which was worse, which I considered the worst to deal with.

The honest answer? When I was “just right.” That perfect moment of equilibrium, when my height and weight were in perfect harmony? That sucked, ironically enough.

Being either side of the “right” weight meant I had a goal to aim towards, some target I was aiming for that would grant me a sense of accomplishment when I reached it. Because when I was unhappy with how I looked, I was damn well motivated to do something about it.

But when I was just the right weight? Well, that was hemlock for my motivation.

When I was overweight, I was around 5′ 4″ and weighed 10 stone (or 60 kilos, for you non-Brits). This put me on the cusp of being obese. For around six months, every meal I ate consisted of junk food, but no one in my family or circle of friends commented on this. Despite seeing me literally killing my insides with junk food, no one batted an eyelid.

Of course, my family’s silence was more than made up for by the bullies at school. Their insults made me turn to food more. It wasn’t until I tried running at a school sports day that I realised that even though the bullies were Class-A dicks, they had a point: I wasn’t healthy.

Continue reading 'I Hate Myself, But In A Good Way'»

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By Isaac Kennedy, June 6, 2011 6:00 am

Work sucks.

Now, I don’t know that I’m entitled to dislike my job more than anyone else. But I’d like to think I have a pretty good reason: I work in a VIP bar that has me face-to-face with spoiled millionaires almost every single day.

And even when there aren’t any millionaires around, there are plenty of a-holes with more money than sense to fill the void. And it’s hard to work when you’re serving people who have everything you want–the money, the power and all the women throwing themselves at them crotch-first.

It’s understandable, right? It’s only human to want to things we can’t have. I’m sure we all feel the same way at some point. We want that promotion… more days off… a tiny bird to keep on our desks that sings Journey songs to get us through the day….

I worked like this for six months. The only thing getting me through each day was the thought of payday–a wonderful day where I could enjoy the fruits of my labour before another week of monotony.

For six months, I was barely scraping by, going through each shift staring at the clock every chance I got, waiting for the sweet moment when I could call it a day.

It was depressing and soul-destroying to have to do something I disliked so much. Every. Single. Day.

But then, I realized something. Something that has made working a breeze, to the point that I not only enjoy, but even look forward to, working now.

I was standing in our back room, wiping sweat from my brow, enjoying a drink I’d just made myself (lemon and lime, with fresh strawberries and raspberries mixed in), when one of the girls who worked on the bar came in and started chatting with me.

Continue reading 'The Little Victories At Work'»