Bikini Bottom of the Love Chain

Moving to London was one of the best decisions of my life, and like most Londoners, I have given serious and generous thought to the state of my flat should I get killed during the day. What if someone pushes me onto the underground tracks? Or if I accidentally blow up? Or if a lady with a pram studs my big toe making me fall in front of a double-decker bus? What then? After I get rushed to hospital and the sheets cover my face. After my funeral and all the cheese and pickle hedgehogs have been demolished. What will happen?

Back in my little room will be an unmade bed with my dishes still unwashed in the kitchen. The day I get shot in the corner shop (buying fags, naturally) will be laundry day with all my clothes on the floor, but I opted to watch 'Modern Family' all day in my onsie instead. I picture, quite frequently, my parents coming down to London to collect my things and clean out my room and they enter a room so disgusting that they'll actually be angry with me, even though I'll be six feet under.

Whilst my parents are discovering my huge collection of gay lifestyle magazines, and finding my giant stash of 54 condoms I took from the university nurse during freshers week. They will also probably come across my mini Spongebob Squarepants figure collection kept in a shoebox under my bed. There are about 8 mini figures that I have collected since my mid-teens. Every time I saw one of those toy vending machines that had a Spongebob inclusion, I wouldn't hesitate to waste a £2 coin, even if it was shiny. The sad thing about the collection is, that the most recent addition to the collection was only three weeks ago, when I saw a vending machine at a M4 services.

I'm not exactly sure how the Spongebob thing happend, but it has happened, and there's no going back now. I was quite a Spongebob fan as a youngster, but not in a way where I would ask my parents for paraphernalia. I guess I just like the fact that they're little and cute. Plus I always thought that if Spongebob was in office he would legalise gay marriage immediately. And thus the Spongebob shoebox came to be.

It's uncomfortable to admit, but I've been given Spongebob figures on two occasions by my past lovers. My ex-boyfriend back when I was in Wales gave me one on Valentines day. I know it seems like a pathetic gift in comparison to chocolate, but we'd only been seeing each other a week before V-Day. Then before Christmas, when someone came back to mine after a night out, he found the Spongebob collection. A week later I had a little gift from the same person, a limited edition, baywatch-esque, mini Spongebob figure. These figures are becoming a symbol that marks the beginning of a relationship. Kinda cute, right? But I was thinking last night, that the whole Spongebob thing is equally as cute as it is creepy. The Spongebob gift is the beginning of a romantic repertoire of private jokes within my relationships (which is how I think all relationships are focused on), and a chance for all my future boyfriends (every member of One Direction) to see how much of a slut I was before them. So I'm not sure what to do with the figures.

What if, these Spongebob figures, if by accident, come to represent the most overtly sentimental parts of my life? Because both relationships that had Spongebob gifts included, have ended, and ended badly. But I couldn't throw them away because I already had a collection before both relationships. They are my odd little secret, if you will.

Unfortunately the creepy overrides the sentimental and whilst writing this, I've put the Spongebob shoebox in the bin, and the bin is almost ready to go outside and into the skip. I created this ideology and now I need to uncreate it. When I fall down a montain, get trampled on by scaffolding or eaten by a Lion that escaped from London zoo, a shoebox will not represent my pathetic love life. The real proof that I was loved and did love could never fit in a converse box.

Love, dating and my sad, pathetic life.

For those who are new to this blog. Hello. I'm Jack. I'm 18 and I'm married to Shannen Doherty from the original Beverly Hills, 90210 with three kids. Well, this is not strictly true, although the essay I wrote when I was ten predicted I'd be married to a woman by 21, have a son at 24 and twin girls by the time I'm 30. Alas, I am a gay dude who's Facebook relationship status is single, and I have two years to find and marry Shannen Doherty.

Despite my desperation to find Zayn Malik, I've only ever had two gay relationships. One ended before coming to university last Summer, and the other with vodka (we're on a break, after what I can only describe as the worst hangover ever, sent from Hell) (I assume vodka is a boy, because it's so damn delicious). Because of my break-up with a boy I thought I'd be with for a long time ended, my bed has become my loving husband, and Netflix my harsh dominatrix of a mistress, demanding I devote all my time to watching The Hills and Jerseylicious (don't judge me).

The problem is I've not been a very good dater. The other night I decided to take someone out on a date. I was in charge of location, time, etc. and to be quite honest, it was lovely. We went for street food in Camden, followed by a cupcake accompanied walk to Primrose Hill, where we enjoyed hot chocolate and a chat, with the most amazing view of the London skyline. But now I don't know what to do or what to say.

I've spent nearly my entire teenage years in relationships with Troy Bolton, Justin Timberlake and Zack Morris from Saved by the Bell. My teenage years are almost over. I want to find someone that I can be myself around, have sexy times with, and do crosswords with whilst drinking a bottle of red. I really don't think I'll find this relationship in SoHo on a night out with my girls and gays. The only relationship you'll form from a night out in SoHo is with gonorrhea.

My problem is obvious. I'm not making the most of what I get. Cupid shoots the arrows and I go to surgically remove them. But I think this applies to all gay men. I've had two sexual experiences since coming to university. One of them included me bringing someone back to mine. It was just before Christmas and I really liked this person. I even cooked him oven chips for Christ's sake. If that doesn't scream true love, then I don't know what does. After getting the undercooked crumbs of the McCoys oven chips all over my sheets, we got a little frisky and had the best sleep ever resulting in a late for lecture fiasco with a quick digit exchange. After that, I didn't hear from him, and he didn't hear from me (if you're reading this, it's a bit fucking late now, and my apologies for not texting you). Maybe it's just my destiny to become a cat lady, which is fine and dandy with me because I spend 20% of my time youtubing cat videos, and another 20% looking for cat GIFS on tumblr. That's 40% guys. 40%.

This sad and pathetic blog posts calls for an intervention. I, Jack Rattenbury, am going to go on a second date this week. It's what Dame Lauren Conrad would want.

I need a stiff drink and a stiff something else.

HELLO! Happy Thursday to you. I decided not to go out tonight and now, have this huge feeling of regret in the pit of my stomach. I haven't had a double vodka and red bull in about 6 days and this to me, is unacceptable to the highest degree. Also I'm feeling unloved. I'm sick and tired of being single and I really want to take part in the American activity of dating because, as a British citizen I feel like we don't really partake in dating, and if we do call it a date it tends to make things awkward. I guess we'd call it 'outings', am I right? So I want an awkward free date with someone that gives me an instaboner (that's instant boner to those who don't know, it's not an app that makes your dick sepia).  My perfect date would be a few drinks (obviously) , sharing a shit full amount of carbohydrates and a good fuck.

Here is a brief characterisation of my ideal man. I like light brown hair and blue eyes on other men *orgasm*. I like men with the same build as me (unless you are Tom Daley, then you can sit on my face), you have to either be a little taller or the same height as me. I love a good sense of humour and if you are lucky enough to be my boyfriend (pushing it), then I'll enjoy seasonal kiki's with you and dick banana splits. You have to like One Direction and support them through every decision they make. Also if I meet any of the following people, you need to understand that I am aloud to leave you if they are in love with me: Zayn Malik, Zac Efron, Tom Daley, Darren Criss, David Beckham or River Viiperi. Please note that this list does change sometimes (everyday). It would be nice if we had similar music tastes. Finally, and this is important, you cannot be clingy. This is the worst personality trait to me. I like time to myself and I think it's important to spend time on your own, as it is with people you love.

It's time for my 'THING OF THE WEEK' and for those of you who are actually feeling alone. This week it's a beautiful video made by a filmmaker called Andrea Dorfman. It's about being lonely and how to cope with it if you are. Whenever I do feel lonely (which is rare because I surround myself with some lovely people) I think of this video and all is good in the world.