War Wounds

Today, I went back to the surgeon to get my cast taken off (then had another cast, made of fibre glass (wooo wooo) put on).  Anyway, I managed to take a snap of my war wounds inbetween casts…

It’s bigger than what I thought it would be (that’s what she said).  Say hello to my gimp wrist…

war wound #1 war wound #2

 

Oddly, I was tempted to see if I could peel the skin back and have a look around inside. *Vomits.*

Fingers are crossed that it heals, because the next option is to remove the offending bone and fuse my wrist together with sellotape and superglue. This will mean one arm will be half an inch shorter than the other!

Jeremy Beadle eat your heart out…I’m gonna need to work on the goatee.

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The first rule of twitter club

Words which should be banned from human consumption: any words relating to twitter, including (but not limited to):

twitter, twit, twits, twitting, twat, twatter, tweep, twee, tweet, tweeted, tweets, tweeter, tweeple, retweet. 

Whenever I hear anyone talk about twitter ‘the site that lets you send messages of up to 140 characters’, it annoys me.  Far more than it should.  It doesn’t sound right and as such, my brain processes it as a taboo subject.

Presenters on TV or radio sometimes look/sound uncomfortable talking about twitter ‘the site that lets you send messages of up to 140 characters’ too.  (David Dimbleby has  a look of utter distain when he has to announce the twitter address of Question Time each week).

I still struggle to understand how it’s integrated itself into everyday life.  Especially when half a segment on tv/radio is taken up by someone spouting about who has tweeted messaged who, and who has said what, in their own little z-list ‘celeb’ world: “Tweet us.  Follow us.  Re-Tweet us”.  No.  Stop talking nonsense. 

Although I use twitter an internet site to post short bursts of inconsequential information, and I also post stuff here, I’ve never embraced the whole social media thing – even though I’m always one of the first nerds to sign up to these things.

It took me an age to ‘get’ Facebook (even though the love affair and divorce with MySpace preceded it); it took me an age to ‘get’ this blogging thing too and it’s also taken me an age to ‘get’ tw……, but until it gives me that warm fuzzy feeling I doubt I will. 

If it had a better name it might be easier to let it slide (what’s wrong with a catchy name, like: “that site that lets you send messages of up to 140 characters dot com”?). 

Until then, I’m just pretending it doesn’t happen. 

The first rule of twitter club; do not talk about twitter club.

#twitter #annoying #socialmedia #isoundlikemydad

A presence

Our house has a strange layout: where the ground floor/basement has a kitchen (with the old fire opening still there) and what used to be the old pantry .  Then there is another door which opens into the coal bunker next to it.  It’s still laid out the way it would’ve been originally. 

It might just be because the rooms as they are, are a bit sparse and they still have the original features in there.  But I can’t help but picture people doing their daily grind as they would’ve been doing when the house was originally built – whether that be watching something cook over the fire or shovelling coal from the bunker.  It’s there, they’ll have touched the same door handles and opened and closed the same windows as I’m touching well over 100 odd years later.  And that freaks me out a little.

I don’t actually feel scared, but I do feel a bit…out of place when I’m down there, more so at night.  It’s like I shouldn’t be there. 

I’ve quite possibly just put all this into my head over the years of living here, but I’m fascinated by how people used to live in ye olden days.  Spending so much time alone in a big old creaking house, it’s easy for my imagination to run wild too. 

Nights of insomnia are brilliant for that – I end up having more lights than Vegas switched on (I was once convinced I heard someone breathing behind me on the stairs.  Only to later realise it was my own breath as I legged it up the steps).  It’s got to the point where I’m planning to get a pint of water from the kitchen to take to bed, well before I’m actually going – just because I’d rather not go down there again a few hours later at midnight or whenever. 

Yes, I know.  Massive scaredy cat.

I’m very sceptical about ghosts and stuff, but a few other people have mentioned it as soon as they’ve gone down there – that they wouldn’t like to be down there at night alone.  They might just be massive paranoid freaks like me though!

One day though, I’m fully expecting an imaginary man to run out of the coal bunker and hit me over the head with an imaginary shovel. 

Multitasking

It starts by opening Google Reader to catch up on some blog reading (and whatever other shite that I’ve got piling up in that thing – 118 unread items in less than a day – not good for my sanity).  Ten minutes in and I’m already on a slippery slope…my mind starts wandering… 

  • 12 tabs open in Firefox which include:
    • things half-read or to be read
    • 3 half written comments on blogs: I write a sentence and go back to it.  There must be something better happening on the internet somewhere else before I finish these off…
  • 2 forums are refreshed – switch between the 2 rather than bring myself up to date one at a time.
  • (Anally) correctly tagging newly downloaded albums.
  • Load some music onto my phone.
  • Dive into Google Reader again, open up a few more tabs to read the full post (unnecessary clicking, give us the full feed).  Leave these for now, continue reading through Reader.
  • Gmail Notifier says no new emails.  Click anyway to make sure.
  • How’s that music getting on? 
  • It was correct.  No new emails.  Close.
  • Add a sentence to blog comment 2. Not sure what else to add, but I’ll  come back to it.
  • How and why have I got this webpage open?  Close.
  • Scan read 2 open tabs so I can clean up a bit.  Let’s get a blog comment out of the way while I’m here.
  • Google something I’ve just read.  Middle click on search results to background open the links I like most.  I open 5 tabs in the background.  Leave till later.
  • *ping* Idea for Blog Post: open up Windows Live Writer and write a few lines.  Get bored.  Save draft.  Look, blankly, at list of 9 drafts.  Close.
  • Back to Google Reader and I realise why I had that tab, which I closed, open in the first place.  Shit.
  • Go to comment box of blog 1 and forgot why or what I’m commenting on.  First sentence of my comment doesn’t jog any memory.  Scan read original post.  Decide it’s not worth it (or someone has already commented something similar).  Close.
  • Copy and paste more music onto phone.
  • Mark half-read blog post in Reader ‘unread’ so I can move on and read another blog feed that’s just updated.
  • What blog was I just reading?
  • My phone has been sat next to me for the past few hours.  I’ve had no texts, but check anyway.   Yep…no texts.
  • Scan read news feeds.  Sod this feed stuff…open BBC News: start reading.
  • Refresh forums, laugh at new posts.  Reply to one.
  • Wonder how I’ve got a billion tabs open again.  Sack this.
  • “Do you want Firefox to save your tabs for the next time it starts?” No. 

Rinse and repeat daily.

Memory Fail

I went food shopping yesterday (not a ‘big shop’, just ‘to get some bits’): I had my bank card and my keys; that’s all I needed so all was fine and dandy.  Little did I know it would lead to my worst shopping nightmare; one I always dread happening to me.

The woman at the checkout scans my items and tells me the price (£22 odd food shopping fact fans). I take out my bank card and immediately my brain shouts at me:

“I CAN’T REMEMBER YOUR PIN NUMBER.  HAHAHA. DICKHEAD!  BAHAHAHAAAAaaaaa.  Let’s see you get out of this one!”

I punched 4 numbers into the thing.  Incorrect.

My brain just wasn’t working. couldn’t remember my PIN.  I tried to remember the shape I make as I press numbers.  I knew it was 2 numbers on the right and 2 on the left (narrowed it down for me there brain.  Well done).

Again, “Incorrect PIN”.   Bollocks.

“Errr, I’ve forgot my PIN number” I told the woman at the till as the 2 people behind me just stared at me like I was a simple.  She too, looked and smiled at me as if I’d just been let out on day release and told me to try again.  I tried again and failed.

With no cash in my wallet and no other cards to use my shopping nightmare had come true: taking goods to the till but not being able to pay for them.

My cheeks went a brighter shade of red than that time, as a 12 year old, I stole a keyring from the Butlins souvenir shop as a dare (I’m still convinced I’ll get caught for that soon).

Remember a couple of years ago you could still sign for stuff with your debit card?  They’ve knocked that on the head now too.  Bastards.

So having no cash or other cards to pay for my shopping, fuming at this modern technology lark and my own feeble mind, I had to go home empty handed.

Therefore last nights dinner comprised of beans.  Just beans.  Other food stuffs and bread they could’ve accompanied was sat at the till mocking me.

Half an hour after I got home I heard the ‘PING’ noise inside my head and remembered my PIN number.  By this point it was too late, my brain was still laughing at me and I could only dream of having some milk to make a cup of tea.

The onset of old age has finally kicked in kids.  Bring it on!

Unwanted attention

Not much has happened with Voodoo Girl from my previous posts.  In fact, apart from making tentative plans to go out last week – which never materialised for some reason – nothing has happened at all.  Even though I got over the hard bit by getting in touch after a criminally long time, unanswered calls and no replies to a couple of  texts mean I just can’t be arsed chasing now.  I haven’t tried contacting her since and neither has she got in touch with me.  So that is that.

Although, as one bites the dust, I seemingly had a few admirers over the weekend.

First off was on Friday night, the bar was a bit crowded and people had to squeeze past each other.  Normally to grab someone’s attention to ask them to just budge out the way a little, I either tap them on the shoulder or tap their waist as I move through, obviously whilst smiling and saying various pleasantries such as:  ‘excuse me’, ‘cheers mate’, ‘ta’, ‘nice one’ etc.

One person, on their way past didn’t try to push me out the way, utter ‘excuse me’ or other such pleasantries.  Instead they patted my arse and had a good ol’ grope of my behind.  Surprised, but also hoping said person was attractive, I turned to have a look to see what she was like.

Surprise very quickly turned to horror when I realised it wasn’t a female.  It was man!

He then held eye contact longer than necessary and nodded at me.  I’ll be honest; I froze and let out a little scream inside.  I’ve had my arse felt before but never by a man!

That should’ve been that.  But nooooooooo, said man decided to almost stalk me around the bar for about the next hour.  I lost count the number of times he took various snake like passages through the crowd to go past me again. It wasn’t just in my mind either; my mates noticed his undivided attention too.

Quite flattering in some way, but I was annoyed when we all walked through to go outside on the terrace thing (so my mates could inhale some cancer into their lungs), he was stood by the door and even though my mates got through unscathed, he managed to half block my path so I had to squeeze past.  At this point my mates obviously found it hilarious!  He must’ve got the hint though because thankfully I didn’t see him again.

Fast forward to Saturday and a different bar, in a different part of town and I was waiting for my mate to come back from the bar.  What happens?  I got chatted up by two lads.

Five minutes earlier I was 80% certain I’d seen one of them give the other a kiss on the cheek.  As I was still waiting for my mate I seen them look over a couple of times and one of them point at me.  Now, I know they could’ve just been being friendly, but lads don’t normally approach other lads for a chat on a Saturday night out in bars do they?  Not in my neck of the woods anyway.  So there I was trying my best to not be unfriendly, but not be too friendly!  They scarpered when he came back, again, much to his amusement.

Then to round it all off, a little while later, my mate was laughing as I came back from the bar.  I asked what he was laughing at:

“You!  The lad over there in fancy dress camouflage gear thing (and he definitely wasn’t lost on some reconnaissance mission for the army), was giving you the eye and checking you out as you walked past!”

What’s going on?!  I’ve never knowingly been given attention from another man before, let alone three times in 24 hours.

Maybe it was the pink fairy wings I was wearing (joke!).

It’s flattering and all, but as I don’t bat for that side, can I have some interest from females next weekend please!