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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Lending people money

A few years ago, to help someone out, I set up a direct debit for them which they would repay me each month.

For the first few months all was hunky dory, until they started missing odd payments.  Then a few months down the line, the inevitable set in and in the end there was no sign of any repayments coming in at all.  I, however, kept up the repayments because otherwise I’d get that big black mark against my name.

At the time, I barely earned enough for myself, and with this extra debit I ended up in quite a lot of debt.  Subsequently they ended up owing me a lot of money.

It’s all since been sorted out: the debt was cleared years ago (although I’m probably still paying interest back on my credit card for using it when I normally wouldn’t have needed to).

I’d learnt my lesson though, and I told myself I’d never put myself in that situation again.

Loaning money from people has always been something I’ve avoided too.  I’m too proud a person to even ask anyone for money – if I haven’t got it, I go without.

Fast forward to today and here I am wondering why I’ve been naive/stupid enough to loan quite a lot of money again to the same person.

If I can, I’ll always help them out (or anyone for that matter).  But what annoys me more than anything is the false promises of getting it back: “I’ll give you x amount back on Thursday”.  When x amount doesn’t show up, or any offer of an explanation why…it’s a bit of a piss-take.  If I won’t get it back for 2 months, rather than 3 days later, just tell me it’ll be 2 months.  At least I know.

Normally I wouldn’t be too bothered, but between lending them money – not getting anything back as promised  – and some bad mathematics/budget skills by me, I’ve now left myself very short changed this month (it didn’t take me 3 attempts to pass my maths GCSE exam for nothing) with over a week until payday.

Saying I’m pissed off right now would be an understatement.

Similar to the ‘Knights Who Say Ni’.  I’m declaring myself: ‘The Gimp Who Always Says “Yes, Ok”’.  I’m sure I’ve either got ‘Mug’ or ‘Too Nice’ plastered on my fod!

“’Tis but a scratch’

‘A scratch?! Your arm’s off!’

‘No, it isn’t.’”

NB: I’m not sure how I squeezed Monty Python into that post either.

Money, weekend, shopping and gimps

On Friday, I got my first wage which included my bumper pay rise.  I’d already worked out how much money I would get anyway, but it’s still nice to actually see the numbers in my bank account.

Unfortunately for me, I spent Friday sat in because no one wanted to go out.  For the first time in years I had money waiting to be spent and I couldn’t spend it!  As I’ve mentioned previously, all my mates went took the grown-up route a few years ago – getting themselves mortgages, wife’s and babies.  I won’t be able to turn myself into an alcoholic quite as quick as I’d hoped.  G’ah.  I did venture out last night though with some family – not quite as exciting as I’d hoped for on my payday weekend, but better than nothing!

I bought myself some new clothes for the first time in forever as well.  I hate shopping with a passion – especially when I have to try things on.  I will literally wait until I have to shop before I will.  Even if it’s shopping for food, I’ll put off going the supermarket until all available food as been eaten or perished.  I make clothes shopping ten times more difficult than it is too.  Anytime I go into a changing room I come out all flustered, red cheeked and with little beads of sweat starting on my fod.  I’m sure the shop assistants must think either I’m trying to escape from a straight jacket or I’ve just cracked one off in the changing room.  In reality I’m only trying on my 3rd pair of jeans that don’t fit.  Why don’t different brands have the same sizing rules.  One pair is too big, the next is too long, the next makes me look like a gangster rapper – yet they were all (technically) the same size. 

Buying trainers was easy though: found the shop, found the pair I wanted, tried them on, paid and left the shop…all within about 5 minutes.  it went downhill from there with the jeans.

I did end up buying a pair of jeans but got home and decided I don’t like them.  I’m just a gimp when it comes to shopping.