Saturday night was the uni reunion, I went last year and it sucked royally because of an ex-boyfriend who apparently loves to make me want to kill myself, even five years later, there he was all "you have no soul", which is an interesting insult when you think about it because maybe he's right? I can't prove otherwise, but then insults that make you think about existential arguments and the inate nature of humanity aren't all that cutting really, he's just a pillock.
We decided this year that we wouldn't even pretend to stay at the halls of residence because fond memories need not be replaced by real life, halls were great when you were 18 and your room was just the pitstop between the bar and the lecture theatre but it was what the halls represented that was great rather than the building itself, so we booked a couple of hotel rooms and felt smug and superior for the evening. Nice.
This, plus me drinking Jack Daniels rather than Tia Maria led to some rather mocking looks, Amit now lists me in his phone as 'Hannarr actually' and I had a full five minute talk on 'seriously man, what happened to you?', until I poured half a glass of Jack Daniels and coke into a glass of Tia Maria and coke, not realising that Amit and Andy were trying to reconnect me to my roots, then they realised nothing had happened to me, take away the mortgage and the car and I'm still an idiot. And yes I drank it. And yes I felt like someone had removed my brain and replaced it with ball bearings the next day. Tiny ball bearings. With spikes on them.
By the way, to answer Moch's question, I totally believe that while it's not intentional but Top Gun is absolutely about Maverick struggling with his sexuality, it's the only way to explain the soundtrack.
'Danger Zone', that's all I'm saying.
Anyway, Saturday night got messy, really messy and I can't talk about why or how (how relieved are YOU? You know who you are.......), it's just that now I have these flashbacks, debilitating ones that make me go "oh god!" every so often, which doesn't bode well when you're back at work.
To properly demonstrate how messy Saturday night got, but without giving away any details that will make someone reading this start to sweat in an unattractive way, at one point I decided the best plan was to lock myself in the security room and hide, which resulted in me being thrown out of the security room by some deeply unimpressed security guards. I bet you never thought that you could get thrown out of the little room where they put the drunkern reprobates did you? Well you can.
Oh the flashbacks, will they never end? I want to fill my head with stuff I can distract myself with, like why is Ray in a wheelchair in the previews of next weeks ER? and I can't believe I missed Grey's Anatomy again this week, It's all TV based stuff, I think I prefer fictional drama about men with hair to real life men with hair (that was a clue there, did you see? Subtle, like a ninja clue).
Think about the decking, the calm prettiness of the soon to be finished decking, Ahhhh.......
There are some photo's on Facebook you can see if you're my friend, they're awful because Andy clearly can't take photo's for shit, seriously, I know it's a camera phone but just STEP BACK MAN! Focus.... That's better.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Brilliant
Top Gun is fucking great. What is Top Gun? You think it's a story about a bunch of fighter pilots.
It is a story about a man's struggle with his own homosexuality. It is! That is what Top Gun is about, man.
You've got Maverick, all right? He's on the edge, man. He's right on the fucking line, all right? And you've got Iceman, and all his crew. They're gay, they represent the gay man, all right? And they're saying, go, go the gay way, go the gay way. He could go both ways.
Kelly McGillis, she's heterosexuality. She's saying: no, no, no, no, no, no, go the normal way, play by the rules, go the normal way. They're saying no, go the gay way, be the gay way, go for the gay way, all right? That is what's going on throughout that whole movie...
He goes to her house, all right? It looks like they're going to have sex, you know, they're just kind of sitting back, he's takin' a shower and everything. They don't have sex. He gets on the motorcycle, drives away. She's like, "What the fuck, what the fuck is going on here?" Next scene, next scene you see her, she's in the elevator, she is dressed like a guy. She's got the cap on, she's got the aviator glasses, she's wearing the same jacket that the Iceman wears. She is, okay, this is how I gotta get this guy, this guy's going towards the gay way, I gotta bring him back, I gotta bring him back from the gay way, so I'm do that through subterfuge, I'm gonna dress like a man. All right? That is how she approaches it.
All right, but the REAL ending of the movie is when they fight the MIGs at the end, all right? Because he has passed over into the gay way. They are this gay fighting fucking force, all right? And they're beating the Russians, the gays are beating the Russians. And it's over, and they fucking land, and Iceman's been trying to get Maverick the entire time, and finally, he's got him, all right? And what is the last fucking line that they have together? They're all hugging and kissing and happy with each other, and Ice comes up to Maverick, and he says, "Man, you can ride my tail, anytime!" And what does Maverick say? "You can ride mine!" Swordfight! Swordfight! Fuckin' A, man!
As explained by Sid (Quentin Tarantino) in Sleep With Me (1994)
It is a story about a man's struggle with his own homosexuality. It is! That is what Top Gun is about, man.
You've got Maverick, all right? He's on the edge, man. He's right on the fucking line, all right? And you've got Iceman, and all his crew. They're gay, they represent the gay man, all right? And they're saying, go, go the gay way, go the gay way. He could go both ways.
Kelly McGillis, she's heterosexuality. She's saying: no, no, no, no, no, no, go the normal way, play by the rules, go the normal way. They're saying no, go the gay way, be the gay way, go for the gay way, all right? That is what's going on throughout that whole movie...
He goes to her house, all right? It looks like they're going to have sex, you know, they're just kind of sitting back, he's takin' a shower and everything. They don't have sex. He gets on the motorcycle, drives away. She's like, "What the fuck, what the fuck is going on here?" Next scene, next scene you see her, she's in the elevator, she is dressed like a guy. She's got the cap on, she's got the aviator glasses, she's wearing the same jacket that the Iceman wears. She is, okay, this is how I gotta get this guy, this guy's going towards the gay way, I gotta bring him back, I gotta bring him back from the gay way, so I'm do that through subterfuge, I'm gonna dress like a man. All right? That is how she approaches it.
All right, but the REAL ending of the movie is when they fight the MIGs at the end, all right? Because he has passed over into the gay way. They are this gay fighting fucking force, all right? And they're beating the Russians, the gays are beating the Russians. And it's over, and they fucking land, and Iceman's been trying to get Maverick the entire time, and finally, he's got him, all right? And what is the last fucking line that they have together? They're all hugging and kissing and happy with each other, and Ice comes up to Maverick, and he says, "Man, you can ride my tail, anytime!" And what does Maverick say? "You can ride mine!" Swordfight! Swordfight! Fuckin' A, man!
As explained by Sid (Quentin Tarantino) in Sleep With Me (1994)
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Out for lunch
The girl I’m working with at the moment says there’s a great place down the road, we should go for some lunch, I am desperate to get out of the office so I say yes. It turns out to be a sandwich shop, we order together which confuses the woman behind the counter because really, two chicken salad rolls, one with no cucumber or mayonnaise and one with just no tomato is apparently a much more complicated order than it sounds. As she rings up the till she says “are you paying together?” A moment of awkwardness ensues, both of us stood, not knowing the other well enough to really know what the other is thinking, I am thinking “no, she can bloody well buy her own sandwich”, but I am saying “I’ll get these”, she says “oh, you don’t have to”, I am thinking “what the fuck? Why are you offering to buy this person food? You don’t want to buy her a sandwich, you don’t know her, coming here was not your idea, you don’t even like the look of the sandwich, and the woman behind the counter was offensively stupid, just say ok, just say alright then, pay for your own”, I am saying “no, no, I’ll get them, you drove here”, I am thinking “it wasn’t even a mile!”, I am saying “you can get them next time if you like”, “I am thinking, “this sandwich sucks, there will never be a next time”.
My £450,000 house
I'm working in Hampshire at the moment and staying in Winchester. Winchester is very pretty and ridiculously English and picturesque. Normally I stay in a Holiday Inn near Eastleigh Airport, which is a lot less picturesque, with spectacular views of the M3, but they are fully booked (something sporty is going on, there are lots of cricketers around, this is not interesting to me) so I'm staying in the only available hotel in the surrounding area, a Bed and Breakfast in Winchester.
I mentioned where this B+B was to the lady I'm working with and she made lots of ooooohing noises and said that the address is probably the poshest road in Winchester, which is already to me, the poshest place in the whole world, and as I drove down the private access only Sleepers Hill, I thought yes, private drives, large iron gates, house names like "Oaklands", and "The Grange", Trusty Car and I are not in Longbridge anymore....
It is a very beuatiful house, with eight bedrooms, six of which are rentable, but I can't shake the feeling I'm staying in someone's home, when I opened my bedroom window they were hanging out their washing (in their two acre garden) and there are photographs of their children in the hallway.
This forced me to go out for dinner, whereas I normally like to sulk in my room, order room service and stare at the pilates DVD I take everywhere with me but has thus far never made it out of the box. I went to a french restaurant and I was the only customer (no reflection on the food, I think it was more a reflection of it only being 6.30pm),I sat there wondering if this was me growing up, being able to sit in a restaurant alone, and just think about things for a while, I would certainly never choose to do it but I remember a time when I would rather buy a sandwich and take it back to the hotel than sit in a restaurant on my own. Although there is much less of a chance that the waiter will come over and slime across the table at you while whispering in a appalling french accent "what is a lovely young lady like you doing eating alone?", I resisted the urge to say "I have this nervous tick and every time I get too close to another person I tend to accidently stab them in the face".
I got back to the B+B and flicked through the local trade magazine's they leave in your room so that you can feel like you have every right to sit in a million pound house in Winchester rather than on your half finished decking in Longbridge. I found a house the same size and proportions as mine, with a garden about one sixth of the size, for sale at £450,000.... I rang Glenn and we decided that the only solution was to transport our house, brick by brick, down south, why on earth not? I can live in a tent, hell, for £450,000 I'd live in a tree...
I found my dream house though, for £3 million, it has 6 bedrooms, a master en-suite bigger than my entire upstairs, a hot tub, spa, kitchen the size of Wales, stable block and the bit that sold Glenn - A CINEMA.
Now all I have to do, is make about £10 million, just enough to buy that house, start my alcoholic smoothie business, and take over the world!
I mentioned where this B+B was to the lady I'm working with and she made lots of ooooohing noises and said that the address is probably the poshest road in Winchester, which is already to me, the poshest place in the whole world, and as I drove down the private access only Sleepers Hill, I thought yes, private drives, large iron gates, house names like "Oaklands", and "The Grange", Trusty Car and I are not in Longbridge anymore....
It is a very beuatiful house, with eight bedrooms, six of which are rentable, but I can't shake the feeling I'm staying in someone's home, when I opened my bedroom window they were hanging out their washing (in their two acre garden) and there are photographs of their children in the hallway.
This forced me to go out for dinner, whereas I normally like to sulk in my room, order room service and stare at the pilates DVD I take everywhere with me but has thus far never made it out of the box. I went to a french restaurant and I was the only customer (no reflection on the food, I think it was more a reflection of it only being 6.30pm),I sat there wondering if this was me growing up, being able to sit in a restaurant alone, and just think about things for a while, I would certainly never choose to do it but I remember a time when I would rather buy a sandwich and take it back to the hotel than sit in a restaurant on my own. Although there is much less of a chance that the waiter will come over and slime across the table at you while whispering in a appalling french accent "what is a lovely young lady like you doing eating alone?", I resisted the urge to say "I have this nervous tick and every time I get too close to another person I tend to accidently stab them in the face".
I got back to the B+B and flicked through the local trade magazine's they leave in your room so that you can feel like you have every right to sit in a million pound house in Winchester rather than on your half finished decking in Longbridge. I found a house the same size and proportions as mine, with a garden about one sixth of the size, for sale at £450,000.... I rang Glenn and we decided that the only solution was to transport our house, brick by brick, down south, why on earth not? I can live in a tent, hell, for £450,000 I'd live in a tree...
I found my dream house though, for £3 million, it has 6 bedrooms, a master en-suite bigger than my entire upstairs, a hot tub, spa, kitchen the size of Wales, stable block and the bit that sold Glenn - A CINEMA.
Now all I have to do, is make about £10 million, just enough to buy that house, start my alcoholic smoothie business, and take over the world!
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Head. Buzzing.
After my operation I decided to give up caffeine, this wasn't because anyone told me I should, or because I read something in the news, it's because for a few weeks before I was admitted the only thing available to drink where I was working was, unbelievably, these really amazing cappucino's that were 30p. So I went from one or two cups of tea in a day, to five or six strong coffee's, didn't feel particularly different, so I didn't worry.
The day I was admitted, I didn't have anything to drink, because I wasn't allowed, and by 1pm I was feeling really horrible, I was incredibly sleepy, my whole body felt lethargic and heavy, I couldn't string a sentance together and my head felt like someone was inside it with a pickaxe trying to bash a hole out of my skull. I made the connection, no coffee = FEEL LIKE DEATH and decided that I should probably not become so apparently dependant on something again. I took being deprived of caffeine as an opportunity to give it up and apart from a pretty huge relapse in Florence (sometimes the only way to get the attention of a very cute italian waiter is to order a steady stream of espresso's) I've succeeded. Everything in the house is decaf, coffee, tea, coke, bring on the tie dye and wheatgrass because I am half way there.
This morning I visited somewhere new and was offered coffee, I didn't want to appear rude or ingracious so I accepted their offer and now I think my veins are trying to get out of my body. Everything is twitching, my eye's are having problems staying focussed on one place and I typed this whole thing in about 1 minute, I. Can't. Stop. Moving. This is bad, it's like I've had a weird hit of something and it won't wear off, I'm one skinny latte away from painting a mural on the decking with my own blood.
And now Itunes is playing some kind of christmas song because the shuffle function doesn't know it's June.
I'm not sure my brain will recover from this.
Question - We replaced the tea in our house with decaf, and someone Glenn works with advised him that actually the chemicals they use to take the caffeine out of tea is pretty much as harmful as caffeine so we should drink redbush tea if we're going to drink tea at all. It turns out that redbush tea tastes like Mick Hucknell's armpit, so can anyone tell me if that's true?
And now I have to dig a hole through to next door with my fingernails. MAKE IT STOP.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Favourite thing I read this week
You are part Fine Glass of Wine. You are sophisticated and refined, but also complicated and hard to deal with. Not everyone loves you, but those who do swear that you're the coolest thing since sliced bread....
I'm just going to let you think that was written about me, carry on...
I'm just going to let you think that was written about me, carry on...
The country with the ugliest language in the world.
I have been so busy! Which is why no blogging for a while, and certainly not as much blogging as there used to be, like last year when I posted every day because of my lack of a life. Oh! Maybe my creativity got sucked out along with the endo! Maybe the endo was the secret of my powers… what have I done?!
Anyway…. We spent the last few weeks helping others fulfil their dreams, truly, I am the Jimmy Saville of the 21st Century, except with a lot more hair. A couple of weeks ago we flew to Germany to attend a kind of big weekend long party for Glenn’s parents, lots of drinking and an awful lot of sausage eating (of actual sausages, dipped in curry sauce, with chips, smothered in mayonnaise, and some vegetables, drowning in cheese sauce, it is a miracle that Germans live as long as the rest of us but it certainly explains Glenn’s eating habits) and even more beer drinking. Three days where I said goodbye to healthy arteries and hello to being hung over whenever it was day light.
We left Dusseldorf airport in a people carrier, six of us and luggage, six people not used to spending that much time together, about to embark on a 45 minute drive to the small town of Menden, or so we thought. We left the autobahn and took the road to Koln, someone in the back mentioned we might be going in the wrong direction, someone else told that someone to “SHUT UP!”, and so we drove for an hour and ended up in Menden, except it was the wrong Menden and so we drove an hour back to Dusseldorf, and then an hour towards the right Menden, through 5pm Friday evening traffic, making a 45 minute journey last three whole hours. Nice.
At the first party that evening someone claiming to be psychic pulled me to one side, gripped my hand tightly, looked deep into my eyes and said, “I can’t see children in your future, but I can see a lot of dogs”. So that was weird.
This is making it sound like the entire weekend was dreadful, it really wasn’t, we had a wonderful time and I got to see where Glenn spent some of his childhood, which was lovely. He has such fond memories of that place and now I do to.
But I’m never speaking to a psychic ever again, what in the world I was thinking I don’t know, the only coherent thoughts I can remember are “where’s the Jack FUCKING DOGS?! Daniels?”.
Anyway…. We spent the last few weeks helping others fulfil their dreams, truly, I am the Jimmy Saville of the 21st Century, except with a lot more hair. A couple of weeks ago we flew to Germany to attend a kind of big weekend long party for Glenn’s parents, lots of drinking and an awful lot of sausage eating (of actual sausages, dipped in curry sauce, with chips, smothered in mayonnaise, and some vegetables, drowning in cheese sauce, it is a miracle that Germans live as long as the rest of us but it certainly explains Glenn’s eating habits) and even more beer drinking. Three days where I said goodbye to healthy arteries and hello to being hung over whenever it was day light.
We left Dusseldorf airport in a people carrier, six of us and luggage, six people not used to spending that much time together, about to embark on a 45 minute drive to the small town of Menden, or so we thought. We left the autobahn and took the road to Koln, someone in the back mentioned we might be going in the wrong direction, someone else told that someone to “SHUT UP!”, and so we drove for an hour and ended up in Menden, except it was the wrong Menden and so we drove an hour back to Dusseldorf, and then an hour towards the right Menden, through 5pm Friday evening traffic, making a 45 minute journey last three whole hours. Nice.
At the first party that evening someone claiming to be psychic pulled me to one side, gripped my hand tightly, looked deep into my eyes and said, “I can’t see children in your future, but I can see a lot of dogs”. So that was weird.
This is making it sound like the entire weekend was dreadful, it really wasn’t, we had a wonderful time and I got to see where Glenn spent some of his childhood, which was lovely. He has such fond memories of that place and now I do to.
But I’m never speaking to a psychic ever again, what in the world I was thinking I don’t know, the only coherent thoughts I can remember are “where’s the Jack FUCKING DOGS?! Daniels?”.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Email with newly engaged person
Me: Debenhams?
Him: I don't understand! What about Debenhams? Is there a sale? Can I get a reasonably priced non-stick set of frying pans? Explain yourself!
Me: Your wedding list doofus, I got your very beautiful invitation, some very beautiful directions, a very beautiful menu, and a little mini card telling me you were registered at Debenhams. It made me laugh out loud, just can't see you there picking out china patterns... I am going to buy you one spoon, just the one, I may get it engraved, some thing like 'and now I'm off to the shoe department'.
Him: Wedding - oh yeah! Hey did you like the ribbons on the invitations? I tied them myself! Then my lady untied them and rolled her eyes at me. I was well up for Argos myself (Debs is a little too upmarket for my taste) - there's so many beautiful things in the Laminated Book of Dreams.
Me: I particularly enjoyed the ribbons on the invitation, very pretty, my friend Sarah got married last year and she said hand made invitations were such a good idea... then 300 tiny silver hearts later she wanted to kill herself.
Him: I don't understand! What about Debenhams? Is there a sale? Can I get a reasonably priced non-stick set of frying pans? Explain yourself!
Me: Your wedding list doofus, I got your very beautiful invitation, some very beautiful directions, a very beautiful menu, and a little mini card telling me you were registered at Debenhams. It made me laugh out loud, just can't see you there picking out china patterns... I am going to buy you one spoon, just the one, I may get it engraved, some thing like 'and now I'm off to the shoe department'.
Him: Wedding - oh yeah! Hey did you like the ribbons on the invitations? I tied them myself! Then my lady untied them and rolled her eyes at me. I was well up for Argos myself (Debs is a little too upmarket for my taste) - there's so many beautiful things in the Laminated Book of Dreams.
Me: I particularly enjoyed the ribbons on the invitation, very pretty, my friend Sarah got married last year and she said hand made invitations were such a good idea... then 300 tiny silver hearts later she wanted to kill herself.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
What deosn't kill you etc etc
It's true, I had no idea that you people lived like this, pain free?! ALL THE TIME?! I think I've already said this, at least I've definitely said this to everyone I know but it's like I'm a whole new person, and if this is how you all live then you should get out there and engage in some kind of extreme sport or something because it makes me feel like I could run a marathon, or build a house or pull a boeing 747 along with my ears, or fix the lawn that I've accidentally killed when I got a little trigger happy with the feed and weed...
This is incredible, I had absolutely no idea how difficult life was until life wasn't difficult anymore. I think because the problem had been getting steadily worse over four years I had no perception of how debilitated I was. All the exhaustion, and the head being all over the place, and the endless, numbing, frustrating pain... and then three weeks of hell... and then nothing. Just nothing! No pain, my head feels like a fog has lifted, I can think in sentances now! And I'm so excited about it all! To put it simply, I had no idea that I was struggling, I thought I was doing ok, and now I actually am.
So I have to tell you all to embrace your health and well being, I know what I sound like (I really do, preachy and, well, american) but I know what you have and honestly, your health is everything, and it informs everything, I function better, I'm just happier, so much happier.
Unfortunately my parents seem to think that means I should have a baby RIGHT NOW, in fact, right now I'm a little late, the first time my mother mentioned it I was still in hospital but I am thus far managing to keep her at bay. My Dad, being one of those religious types, wants me to get married before that, so between the two of them they're having a tug of war to see who can wear me down first, at this rate I'll be gagged and dragged down the aisle (in the not at all pretentious cathedral wedding that my father dreams of) and knocked up before the ink is dry on the certificate, Glenn will be slightly woozy from all the barbituates they've slipped into his tea. Ah, just how I always dreamed it would be...
After the first laparoscopy in May 2004, I was a mess, I cried solidly for two days, I couldn't stand up for a week, it took me an age to pull myself together. After the second laparoscopy in October 2006, I had a cry when I got home, but then I was fine and I could walk around like a normal person after four days. After this operation? No tears, none at all, there was a moment when Keane were on the TV when I had a small lump in my throat, but that's no measure of anything, that music is gentically engineered to make bears cry. Physically we won't talk about because it's like comparing a rover 25 with a porsche 911, but my recovery has been remarkable, after about 16 years of hating my body, now I feel like I can be friends with it again, I probably wouldn't invite it to the cathedral just yet, it did after all get me into this mess in the first place, but I might send it a christmas card, one of the ones from the large box of 'comedy' cards for work people, not the hand made ones for people I love, we're not there yet.
So yeah, what doesn't kill you etc etc, turns out to be true.
Smile, we're all so very, very lucky, and most of you don't even know it.
This is incredible, I had absolutely no idea how difficult life was until life wasn't difficult anymore. I think because the problem had been getting steadily worse over four years I had no perception of how debilitated I was. All the exhaustion, and the head being all over the place, and the endless, numbing, frustrating pain... and then three weeks of hell... and then nothing. Just nothing! No pain, my head feels like a fog has lifted, I can think in sentances now! And I'm so excited about it all! To put it simply, I had no idea that I was struggling, I thought I was doing ok, and now I actually am.
So I have to tell you all to embrace your health and well being, I know what I sound like (I really do, preachy and, well, american) but I know what you have and honestly, your health is everything, and it informs everything, I function better, I'm just happier, so much happier.
Unfortunately my parents seem to think that means I should have a baby RIGHT NOW, in fact, right now I'm a little late, the first time my mother mentioned it I was still in hospital but I am thus far managing to keep her at bay. My Dad, being one of those religious types, wants me to get married before that, so between the two of them they're having a tug of war to see who can wear me down first, at this rate I'll be gagged and dragged down the aisle (in the not at all pretentious cathedral wedding that my father dreams of) and knocked up before the ink is dry on the certificate, Glenn will be slightly woozy from all the barbituates they've slipped into his tea. Ah, just how I always dreamed it would be...
After the first laparoscopy in May 2004, I was a mess, I cried solidly for two days, I couldn't stand up for a week, it took me an age to pull myself together. After the second laparoscopy in October 2006, I had a cry when I got home, but then I was fine and I could walk around like a normal person after four days. After this operation? No tears, none at all, there was a moment when Keane were on the TV when I had a small lump in my throat, but that's no measure of anything, that music is gentically engineered to make bears cry. Physically we won't talk about because it's like comparing a rover 25 with a porsche 911, but my recovery has been remarkable, after about 16 years of hating my body, now I feel like I can be friends with it again, I probably wouldn't invite it to the cathedral just yet, it did after all get me into this mess in the first place, but I might send it a christmas card, one of the ones from the large box of 'comedy' cards for work people, not the hand made ones for people I love, we're not there yet.
So yeah, what doesn't kill you etc etc, turns out to be true.
Smile, we're all so very, very lucky, and most of you don't even know it.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Returning to work
This is great, I’m a real person again, no one’s even acknowledged that I was ever off, I’m busy. I’m doing something, I am contributing to the turning of the world, everything is going to be ok, no one is asking me if I’m alright every five bloody minutes, no one is looking at me with their head cocked slightly to the right like I might die in front of them, lovely , just normal and lovely… Mind you, maybe one “so how are you doing?” would be nice, I mean I was off for a while, it would just be polite for someone to acknowledge that I’ve been away and not well… Would it kill someone just to ask me if it all went ok, you know, because it was all quite traumatic you know, I wasn’t just off with the bloody flu or something, someone cut me open…A LOT…No, this is good, no special treatment, just normal… Honestly?! Nothing at all?! No one’s even acknowledged that I was ever off!
Bastards.
Bastards.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Excuse me Mr
I found out the other day that someone I used to know has a my space page, and I was sat here thinking I would like to write all about how cliched it is that someone would have a my space page, like who the hell do you think you are to create something all about you on the internet and expect people to read it and actually be interested in your life when essentially you're not actually a very interesting person, you're just... a person.
And then I realised that I was about to write this rant on my fucking blog.
So then I played Tragic Kingdom at a very loud volume and thought about how much easier it was to not have anything to do with people you hated when there was no internet.
And then I realised that I was about to write this rant on my fucking blog.
So then I played Tragic Kingdom at a very loud volume and thought about how much easier it was to not have anything to do with people you hated when there was no internet.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
I must be better...
...because I am bored!
Like, my brain is going to explode, itchy feet, I might go running or redecorate my house or mow the lawn or drive to Scotland or dance naked in my bedroom at night with the lights on and the curtains open kind of bored.
So there we have it, the first week I was out of the hospital I was so poorly that I couldn't get bored, there was no room in my "POOR ME" mentality for boredom, I was literally surviving minute to minute, then the second week, I was kind of up for getting off the sofa but though the mind was willing, the body was weak. Now it'e the beginning of week three and yes! I am bored! I never thought I would be so happy to be so frustrated by not doing anything!
I have bought stuff on Ebay that I shouldn't have bought (vintage dress and glittery eyeliners, I don't know when I'm going to wear the eyeliners, last time I looked electric blue glittery eyes were not a pre-requisite for working in an FE college, but you know, Florence might not be as classy as I think) and I have a watch list of Nikon D70's that I am praying will one day unearth one that's less than £450. no luck yet....
But I did see Ian McKellan's penis on friday night, so that was aewsome (that man has nothing to be ashamed of, NOTHING, and I was in the circle....). We had tickets for the RSC's production of King Lear with Sir Ian playing the tortured patriarc and it was wonderful, not cheery wonderful, a kind of wow, they gouged out BOTH his eyes didn't they?! Right there in front of me... Gross! There was some unnecessary but fascinating nudity and Sylvester McCoy was hung right before Glenn didn't buy me ice cream in the interval. Yep, Trevor Nunn killed Dr Who, and not before time...
I have uploaded tonnes of photo's onto Flickr, where my account name is Spanairspan, because unbelievably, there is already a spanair! So I guess that means two of us will be sued when we are discovered by the literary world and the airline takes umbrage at us using their name to make millions.
Here is a photo of my eyes as a teaser... Let us not mention my giant nose, I said let us NOT.
Like, my brain is going to explode, itchy feet, I might go running or redecorate my house or mow the lawn or drive to Scotland or dance naked in my bedroom at night with the lights on and the curtains open kind of bored.
So there we have it, the first week I was out of the hospital I was so poorly that I couldn't get bored, there was no room in my "POOR ME" mentality for boredom, I was literally surviving minute to minute, then the second week, I was kind of up for getting off the sofa but though the mind was willing, the body was weak. Now it'e the beginning of week three and yes! I am bored! I never thought I would be so happy to be so frustrated by not doing anything!
I have bought stuff on Ebay that I shouldn't have bought (vintage dress and glittery eyeliners, I don't know when I'm going to wear the eyeliners, last time I looked electric blue glittery eyes were not a pre-requisite for working in an FE college, but you know, Florence might not be as classy as I think) and I have a watch list of Nikon D70's that I am praying will one day unearth one that's less than £450. no luck yet....
But I did see Ian McKellan's penis on friday night, so that was aewsome (that man has nothing to be ashamed of, NOTHING, and I was in the circle....). We had tickets for the RSC's production of King Lear with Sir Ian playing the tortured patriarc and it was wonderful, not cheery wonderful, a kind of wow, they gouged out BOTH his eyes didn't they?! Right there in front of me... Gross! There was some unnecessary but fascinating nudity and Sylvester McCoy was hung right before Glenn didn't buy me ice cream in the interval. Yep, Trevor Nunn killed Dr Who, and not before time...
I have uploaded tonnes of photo's onto Flickr, where my account name is Spanairspan, because unbelievably, there is already a spanair! So I guess that means two of us will be sued when we are discovered by the literary world and the airline takes umbrage at us using their name to make millions.
Here is a photo of my eyes as a teaser... Let us not mention my giant nose, I said let us NOT.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Hello healthy people! Jealous? Me? Noooo........
So Hi there! I did not die, not I did not, and that must be said, it must be repeated over and over because this convalesance thing is like an alternate slow death, one in which I make decisions to do stuff and then my body says noooo, no you will not do that, you will not do that at all...
Like yesterday, I got up at around 10, I tidied up a bit, watched a lo-hot of tv and then felt so bright and positive in the evening that I had a little dance in my kitchen to Stevie Wonder, and I felt good about that, so good in fact that I today I thought well get me, and my dancing, I'm going to go out! So I walked to the train station (Stevie on the Ipod for motivation), and took a train into town where Glenn and I had lunch and then I perused the sales. Then it started, the shaking, and the slightly cold feeling, and the horrible nagging voice in my head that said if I was not back lying on my bed within the hour then I would be lying on the floor at New St station and which do you prefer? huh? huh? which one?!
So I went home, and lay down, and finally, finally gave in to it.
Being sick sucks.
The operation lasted 4 hours, but blessed be my surgeon, he managed to do the whole thing through keyholes, rather than the large incision I was living in fear of and NO COLOSTOMY! DO YOU HEAR ME WORLD?! NO FUCKING COLOSTOMY!!!!
Lots of morphine though, I came back into the world after the operation and was adament that I had not had enough pain relief, I was convinced of it, so I kept asking for more and they kept telling me I'd had a lot and I kept asking for more and well, nobody wins that game. I was still asking for more when Glenn turned up and he held my hand and talked me through it until the Golden Hour when the morphine came back.
Anyway, I don't know if anyone's reading this anymore, I have been neglectful of my blog and I may never be forgiven, but the point is, I'm out the otherside and although I'm being stubborn and not taking it quite easy enough, I'm getting there.
I received five lots of flowers, an orchid, four boxes of chocolates, a tonne of cards, a package of all kinds of exciting stuff all the way from Australia and to top it all off, grapes.
Being sick maybe does not suck so much, no?
Many stories about excessive bleeding, uncontrollable vomiting, the auxillary nurse from hell, anti-biotics that taste like rotten eggs which surely were engineered by the nazi's and unexpected fevers to come, can you even contain your excitement? I thought not.
Like yesterday, I got up at around 10, I tidied up a bit, watched a lo-hot of tv and then felt so bright and positive in the evening that I had a little dance in my kitchen to Stevie Wonder, and I felt good about that, so good in fact that I today I thought well get me, and my dancing, I'm going to go out! So I walked to the train station (Stevie on the Ipod for motivation), and took a train into town where Glenn and I had lunch and then I perused the sales. Then it started, the shaking, and the slightly cold feeling, and the horrible nagging voice in my head that said if I was not back lying on my bed within the hour then I would be lying on the floor at New St station and which do you prefer? huh? huh? which one?!
So I went home, and lay down, and finally, finally gave in to it.
Being sick sucks.
The operation lasted 4 hours, but blessed be my surgeon, he managed to do the whole thing through keyholes, rather than the large incision I was living in fear of and NO COLOSTOMY! DO YOU HEAR ME WORLD?! NO FUCKING COLOSTOMY!!!!
Lots of morphine though, I came back into the world after the operation and was adament that I had not had enough pain relief, I was convinced of it, so I kept asking for more and they kept telling me I'd had a lot and I kept asking for more and well, nobody wins that game. I was still asking for more when Glenn turned up and he held my hand and talked me through it until the Golden Hour when the morphine came back.
Anyway, I don't know if anyone's reading this anymore, I have been neglectful of my blog and I may never be forgiven, but the point is, I'm out the otherside and although I'm being stubborn and not taking it quite easy enough, I'm getting there.
I received five lots of flowers, an orchid, four boxes of chocolates, a tonne of cards, a package of all kinds of exciting stuff all the way from Australia and to top it all off, grapes.
Being sick maybe does not suck so much, no?
Many stories about excessive bleeding, uncontrollable vomiting, the auxillary nurse from hell, anti-biotics that taste like rotten eggs which surely were engineered by the nazi's and unexpected fevers to come, can you even contain your excitement? I thought not.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Conversation with an anaesthetist
Him: Do you remember the name of the anaesthetist who put you to sleep the last time you were here?
Me: No, but I do remember that he asked me if there was anything I enjoyed about having surgery, which I have to say, I thought was a little weird.
Him: Ha ha, yes we're sometimes a bit odd.
Me: Uh huh, you need to spend more time around people who are awake.
Me: No, but I do remember that he asked me if there was anything I enjoyed about having surgery, which I have to say, I thought was a little weird.
Him: Ha ha, yes we're sometimes a bit odd.
Me: Uh huh, you need to spend more time around people who are awake.
Friday, March 09, 2007
Happy Birthday Me!
Last week I humiliated myself in front of Richard Madeley, this week, I spent two days working on the island that looked straight out of the wicker man.
Looks like 26 is going to be a weird one.
Looks like 26 is going to be a weird one.
Work Conversation, no really, this was at work...
The phone rings, so I pick it up...
Me: Hello
Him: Hello is that Hannah?
Me: Yes, can I help you?
Him: This is C from XXX, I emailed you yesterday about whether you can get involved in a project we're doing at Y but you haven't responded.
Me: No, I'm sorry I didn't get it until late last night and I'm actually working on the isle of wight today so I'm a little busy.
Him; Yes, I know where you are, I rang R and found out.
Me: Oh
Him: So can you attend a meeting on the 9th?
Me: I'm afraid that's a little short notice as today is the 8th and I have to be somewhere else tomorrow. Also, I'm actually going off work for about 8 weeks next week so if this project is getting off the ground earlier than that you might want to look for someone else.
Him: Are you having a hysterectomy?
Me: Excuse me?
Him: Are. you. having. a. hysterectomy?
Me: Er, no.
Him; My wife's just had one.
Me: Right, I see, I'm er, sorry about that... but I'm not having one.
Him: Are you sure?
Me: Yes, quite sure.
Him: Women's things though is it?
Me: It's personal.
Him: Right, well I'll see when we were looking for you to get involved and let you know.
Me: Ok, right, thanks.
Him: Bye
Me: Bye.
Me: Fucking lunatic.
Me: Hello
Him: Hello is that Hannah?
Me: Yes, can I help you?
Him: This is C from XXX, I emailed you yesterday about whether you can get involved in a project we're doing at Y but you haven't responded.
Me: No, I'm sorry I didn't get it until late last night and I'm actually working on the isle of wight today so I'm a little busy.
Him; Yes, I know where you are, I rang R and found out.
Me: Oh
Him: So can you attend a meeting on the 9th?
Me: I'm afraid that's a little short notice as today is the 8th and I have to be somewhere else tomorrow. Also, I'm actually going off work for about 8 weeks next week so if this project is getting off the ground earlier than that you might want to look for someone else.
Him: Are you having a hysterectomy?
Me: Excuse me?
Him: Are. you. having. a. hysterectomy?
Me: Er, no.
Him; My wife's just had one.
Me: Right, I see, I'm er, sorry about that... but I'm not having one.
Him: Are you sure?
Me: Yes, quite sure.
Him: Women's things though is it?
Me: It's personal.
Him: Right, well I'll see when we were looking for you to get involved and let you know.
Me: Ok, right, thanks.
Him: Bye
Me: Bye.
Me: Fucking lunatic.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Crazy, and I know I absolutely did not take any drugs last night..... or did I?
Last night I dreamt that I lived in a commune with my boyfriend who in my dream was a man that I work with, we'll call him Ricky, because that is his name.
Anyway, the commune was this big old victorian mansion and I went out for a walk, where upon I was attacked by my ex-boyfriend who in my dream was my ex-boyfriend, we'll call him Dave, because that is his name. I see him crossing the front garden and I try and hide behind a tree but he sees me and runs towards me screaming "You think you can break up with me with a note? A NOTE?! I've been waiting for this for four years you bitch!",
Incidentally, I did not break up with him with a note, I broke up with him over the phone and then ignored his calls for 3 months so I wouldn't have to deal with him, I'm nice like that.
So he pushes me into a hedge and someone in the hedge grabs my shoulders so I can't move and he's hitting me and screaming at me, and it's then that I notice Phil Mitchell is lying next to me bleeding from a shotgun wound to the stomach and looking very pale. I look over and Ricky is calling the police from his hiding place which is on top of a rotary washing line in the middle of the front garden, and all these police cars come screaming up the drive. Someone pulls Dave off me and I shout "Phil! Someone has to help Phil Mitchell! He's been shot", but when I look down Phil Mitchell's not there anymore but I can see that the person who grabbed my shoulders in the hedge is a woman half sticking out of a crashed car and was just trying to get me to help her.
The End
I may never go sleep again.
Anyway, the commune was this big old victorian mansion and I went out for a walk, where upon I was attacked by my ex-boyfriend who in my dream was my ex-boyfriend, we'll call him Dave, because that is his name. I see him crossing the front garden and I try and hide behind a tree but he sees me and runs towards me screaming "You think you can break up with me with a note? A NOTE?! I've been waiting for this for four years you bitch!",
Incidentally, I did not break up with him with a note, I broke up with him over the phone and then ignored his calls for 3 months so I wouldn't have to deal with him, I'm nice like that.
So he pushes me into a hedge and someone in the hedge grabs my shoulders so I can't move and he's hitting me and screaming at me, and it's then that I notice Phil Mitchell is lying next to me bleeding from a shotgun wound to the stomach and looking very pale. I look over and Ricky is calling the police from his hiding place which is on top of a rotary washing line in the middle of the front garden, and all these police cars come screaming up the drive. Someone pulls Dave off me and I shout "Phil! Someone has to help Phil Mitchell! He's been shot", but when I look down Phil Mitchell's not there anymore but I can see that the person who grabbed my shoulders in the hedge is a woman half sticking out of a crashed car and was just trying to get me to help her.
The End
I may never go sleep again.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
I think I may take drugs sometimes and then not remember....
I found an old notebook hidden in my laptop bag and was having a flick through to see if there was any information that I needed to keep before I threw it away when I noticed that I make no sense whatsoever and it is a miracle I can function as a living human at all.
Things what I wrote in notebook;
Things that have happened since I posted which was quite a while ago now –
Painted bathroom, disaster
Gym, pain, energy.
Sex (question – should you write about your sex life on the internet?)
The answer is no by the way, in case you were wondering what I decided about that, and you should never, ever, write about your vibrator, it disturbs people….
Go to Amsterdam
Right… Ok then….
Drop card off for Matt
I can only apologise to Matt if I didn’t, I can’t remember doing it but you see? I have good intentions!
Liz – Saturday wedding
I don’t know if I was telling her to get married on a Saturday or if that was the name of something, either way she’s getting married on a Wednesday so it shows how much I know.
Why did talk to at office holiday
Drunk, must have been.
If the F.St is FE then the LA REF must exist in FE AV with a valid status for current ac yr, but not for new starters or re-sits.
N=09 XX excluding C I K M O V or whole must be spaces
A09_A10_A20_A27_LAD 6
Stunningly, that’s pretty much the only thing in the whole notebook which makes perfect sense to me.
Send apologies to Bryan
I don’t know anyone called Bryan.
Keep photocopy of
What?
Liza was a proper gypsy!
That’s true actually.
Do it! Do it do it do it do it!!!
DO WHAT?!
Michael H has unnaturally feminine hands
Also true.
Ethnicity – Learning difficulties, DONE!
Ohkaaaay…….
Is there a skip nearby I can put the garden rubbish in during the night?
Ha ha! We are sooooooo cheap….
GP thinks what JV wants
Again, true…
ROJO – Indian next to Solihull Ice Rink, meet Aimee at 8
Turned out to be an Italian and I should have met her at 7.
Dirty London junkies stole my Fiorelli purse
Now that’s true but I’m not sure why I was so upset because I actually bought the purse from TK Maxx…..
Nokia 6210 – Worth £100
That’s me planning insurance fraud.
But my absolute favourite is this;
Kevin, room 7, mount over desk.
I don’t know who Kevin is, but wow! He sure got lucky….
Things what I wrote in notebook;
Things that have happened since I posted which was quite a while ago now –
Painted bathroom, disaster
Gym, pain, energy.
Sex (question – should you write about your sex life on the internet?)
The answer is no by the way, in case you were wondering what I decided about that, and you should never, ever, write about your vibrator, it disturbs people….
Go to Amsterdam
Right… Ok then….
Drop card off for Matt
I can only apologise to Matt if I didn’t, I can’t remember doing it but you see? I have good intentions!
Liz – Saturday wedding
I don’t know if I was telling her to get married on a Saturday or if that was the name of something, either way she’s getting married on a Wednesday so it shows how much I know.
Why did talk to at office holiday
Drunk, must have been.
If the F.St is FE then the LA REF must exist in FE AV with a valid status for current ac yr, but not for new starters or re-sits.
N=09 XX excluding C I K M O V or whole must be spaces
A09_A10_A20_A27_LAD 6
Stunningly, that’s pretty much the only thing in the whole notebook which makes perfect sense to me.
Send apologies to Bryan
I don’t know anyone called Bryan.
Keep photocopy of
What?
Liza was a proper gypsy!
That’s true actually.
Do it! Do it do it do it do it!!!
DO WHAT?!
Michael H has unnaturally feminine hands
Also true.
Ethnicity – Learning difficulties, DONE!
Ohkaaaay…….
Is there a skip nearby I can put the garden rubbish in during the night?
Ha ha! We are sooooooo cheap….
GP thinks what JV wants
Again, true…
ROJO – Indian next to Solihull Ice Rink, meet Aimee at 8
Turned out to be an Italian and I should have met her at 7.
Dirty London junkies stole my Fiorelli purse
Now that’s true but I’m not sure why I was so upset because I actually bought the purse from TK Maxx…..
Nokia 6210 – Worth £100
That’s me planning insurance fraud.
But my absolute favourite is this;
Kevin, room 7, mount over desk.
I don’t know who Kevin is, but wow! He sure got lucky….
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Trying to find a gift....
Me: Hey, check this one out, for $99 I can send them the luxury beer gift hamper
Him: That, get them that.
Me: And if I send that what will I be sending her?
Him: His happiness.
Later
Me: I give up, I can't find anything, the only kind of flowers this company will deliver over there is a wreath.
Him: I'm saying nothing.... absolutely nothing.
Him: That, get them that.
Me: And if I send that what will I be sending her?
Him: His happiness.
Later
Me: I give up, I can't find anything, the only kind of flowers this company will deliver over there is a wreath.
Him: I'm saying nothing.... absolutely nothing.
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