The Ring

There has been a great deal of cretiny in my life of late.  Most of it, I'm ashamed to say, is of my own making.  The good news is that I am now free of BIG RED - he (?) is now in a landfill somewhere rotting down into the environment only to be found by future archaeologists who will be amazed that the fucking batteries still work.  They, no doubt, will use some future technology to recreate me from some random DNA I've left on the bleedin' thing and then I will go on display in some future human zoo as the sad loser wrongly accused of having had to use technology to get myself off rather than by meeting an actual living human being.  Of course I'll argue that I was appalled at the thing, it was a gift, I never used it but no, the future humans will nod sagely to each other and comment that I am clearly displaying the 'olden days' emotion of guilt and that I am one lying shit who cannot be trusted.  Pah, even the future humans are against me.  Actually, how dare they expect me to justify myself to them - down with future humans I say!

I am aware that I think too much.

So, cretiny.  Yeah.  I haven't finished wallpapering my bedroom yet.  I physically gave up the will to live and it has now taken so long to do I genuinely cannot bring forth the enthusiasm I started with.  Not that I actually started with much enthusiasm.  Enthusiasm isn't a feeling I'm very familiar with.  My default setting is apathy and it's a state I'm really rather happy with. 

I told you I got stained blue didn't I?  I can't remember but if I didn't then yeah, I woke up with a blue hue to my skin.  Even my toe nails were blue which was totally ridiculous, especially as I had a gig.  I mean, it's not normal is it?  I don't know of ANYONE else who goes to bed perfectly normal and then wakes up the next morning BLUE!  Some people reflected I might have something seriously wrong with me but I couldn't be bothered to check it out.  I felt ok so I guessed it must have come from the new Union Jack bedding my mother had bought me for Christmas.  Any way, the good news is that I am no longer blue but I am aware the Fates are still out there yanking my chain for their own delight.  Which leads me to THE RING.

Yeah, this is a new and significantly humiliating moment to add to my memory bank of humiliating moments.  It's not in the same calibre as the time I got flashed at and engaged apologetically with my pervert of the day or the time I frightened all those old people in the sea with my screaming and running across the surface of the ocean in terror 'cause I thought a dead sailor had touched me but yeah, this is pretty humiliating and PAINFUL too.  I guess I need to share in order to get it out of my head so that I can move on.

So, (sigh).  Bought a chunky ring with 3 big blue turquoise-type stones (I doubt it was real turquoise 'cause the band of the thing made my finger go green).  I had been wearing it on my ring finger but it was too big and I found it really annoying.  It wouldn't fit on my middle finger but I tried every couple of days or so just 'cause I was so annoyed at it twisting around the other finger.  Any way, a woman at work asked to try it on and with a bit of pushing she got it over the knuckle of her middle finger.  This made me think that I should just do the same which was a bit stupid of me really as I don't have big knuckles, my fingers are horrible peasant fingers made for working the land.  Like stupid square shovels rather than pretty piano players fingers. 

Herein lies my first stupid act.  I pushed the ring onto my middle finger.  Yeah it was tight and I did feel a bit of panic 'cause I knew it wouldn't come off but I ignored this.  Later on I fell asleep on the floor with my feet up the fire and my head on a Spongebob beanbag.  I woke up about midnight with a pain in my finger. Yup - swollen big time.  SHIIIIIT, I put it under the cold tap to try to bring down the swelling but my attempts to get it off were futile.  It was now about 12.20am and I realised with a sickening jolt I would have to attempt some self surgery. 

I am questioning my thought process now - you'd all attempt the self surgery route too wouldn't you?  Any way, that's what I did but 2 girls sharing a house - we've got no fucking tools, nothing useful, nothing helpful in a situation like this.  So, I spied the rack of kitchen knives and knew what I'd have to do.  I have this surreal memory in my head of me standing in the kitchen at about 1am with my hand flat on the work surface with the Tidiness Nazi arguing with me that I shouldn't be doing what I was about to do.  Hell, she was probably right but I could think of no alternative.  I chose a big knife with a serrated edge and began sawing away at the band of the ring.  The big problem was the swollen finger which was in the way and getting sliced at regular intervals.  I'm left handed and was completing the task awkwardly so the Tidiness Nazi bravely decided she must take over.  First cut slipped and scored a giant flap of skin through my finger.  My language was deeply unpleasant and un-Christian (good thing I'm not Christian really).  I took over again but all the blood and metal shavings were getting in the way.  I broke through the band but the ring was so thick it wouldn't come apart and slip off my finger. 

I knew I'd have to start again and take a chunk out the band.  The cycle started again.  More knife wounds to my fingers, more blood, more metal in the wounds and more bad language.  I eventually broke through another part of the band and removed the middle of the band.  It STILL wouldn't come off and all I'd done was make all of my fingers swollen, especially the one with the ring on which now had 2 sharp metal shards of ring stabbing deep into it.  It was blue and the time was now about 2.30am.

Frustration and pain overcame me and I cried that I may as well do the same as that bloke in the new Danny Boyle film and just cut the fucking thing off (how melodramatic can I get?)  At this, the Tidiness Nazi ventured forth the idea that we needed the fire service with cutting equipment.  I said no way.  She ignored me and called them.  I wanted to curl up and die.  Because of all the blood they said they'd come out and come out they did.  I was forced upstairs to change out of my dinner stained pajamas (you never expect fire men to come to your house in the wee hours do you?).  It took 'em about 40 minutes to get the sodding ring off.  They were surprised too.

Well, 2 days later and my fingers look like they're covered in defence wounds after a frenzied attack by a maniac.  That maniac was me.  I'm so ashamed...

Big Red

Oh God, what am I doing posting this entry?  I'll warn you, it's over disclosing on a MAJOR scale and really rather graphic (for those of a sensitive disposition).  Do not read if you are easily shocked or hold me in some fond esteem. 

Deep breath, OK, here we go:

Actually, to begin with I need to tell you about the next decorating debacle.  Remember a few entries back I told you smugly that I had bought a load of paint and was going to be the best bedroom decorator out of me and the Tidiness Nazi housemate?  That was about 12 seconds before I accidentally poured half the tin down myself and all over my stuff.  I carried on and then realised I absolutely bloody hated the colour I'd chosen and so the room got left partially decorated.  I then lost interest and my hovel looked even worse.  Then I decided I wanted to get some really bad retro wallpaper but couldn't source anything awful enough locally and the postage costs buying the good stuff on-line outweighed the 'taste-from-up-my-arse' desire.  In the end I just went to B&Q and bought some kids wall paper which was blue with giant hippy flowers.  After Christmas (Oh, Happy New Year by the way) I decided to spend a couple of days wanging the paper up and then I'd get to work on the serious comedy writing project I need to start working on (will share at a later date).  Well, I've never wallpapered before and, Christ on a bike, I wish I'd bought more frickin paint now!  Had to throw the first strip away 'cause it ripped and I'd got huge bloodied fingerprints all over it.  They wouldn't sodding wipe off properly either - WHO gets covered in blood putting a simple piece of wallpaper on a wall?  I must be some major kind of moron I tell you.

Anyhoo, I'm getting to the point and the over-sharing bit now.  As part of my decorating plan I am going through my room like a dose of salts, being brutal and chucking loads of unnecessary shit away.  I have a problem throwing away anything with a face - it looks at me from the rubbish bag with sad and judgemental eyes and it's been even worse since I saw Toy Story.....

So, I started on one of my shelves full of boxes, old CDs and videos.  Decided to have a major chucking away/donating to charity session. Then I came across IT.

....I paused. 

IT had been hidden for so long it was covered in dust.  Due to the material IT was made from (a sort of rubbery stuff) the dust was stuck to it.  I paused, freedom from it within my grasp, took my courage and threw it into the black bin liner. It sort of felt good but my paranoia kicked in.  The same paranoia which had prevented the action in the past.  You may have guessed what IT is but if not, here is the story up until this point.

A few years ago a friend of mine became an Anne Summers party planner (for non-UK readers, Anne Summers is the acceptable face of sex toys for women).  She didn't seem the type but had a ball selling the stuff and one day we had a graphic conversation about her Rampant Rabbit (google it if you don't know....)  I almost died.  Despite not being born in this country I have become really rather British and uptight about stuff.  Not all stuff, I mean I'm a Stand Up and talk about all kinds of inappropriate things but I guess my own sexuality is something I am rather uptight about now.  I've been single for soooooo long I reckon I've either healed up 'down there' or shut down completely.  My eyes wide and not really knowing where to put myself I was told all about how wonderful the Rabbit was and how many orgasms she had in each sitting (?)  I'm guessing the single friend with no hope of pulling a rotten tooth out of a dead horses head let alone a bloke must have seemed pathetic to her and one day she presented me with a rabbit of my own.

Oh God.  I did think about having a 'go' but really, I'm the kind of girl who wants to be with someone and lost in the moment not sitting there fully awake with a giant red mechanical thing making a hell of a racket between my legs.  Oh God.  Further investigations with friends made me realise LOADS of people are happy to settle (is this settling?) for this type of sexual encounter. Any way, the upshot of the situation was I hid the bugger but then worried. 

Worried?

Yeah, worried.  Worried that I would die and my poor old mother would come to my hovel to go lovingly through her beloved, baby's stuff only to find out that she's A MASSIVE BLOODY SEXUAL DEVIANT!  I also worried that police would come and go through my room after I'd been murdered in order to build up a picture of me to share with the public and they would find out I was A MASSIVE BLOODY SEXUAL DEVIANT who was unable to pull a proper human being.   I think that was the main thing.  In death I'd be remembered as someone who was unable to pull a proper human being and so had to resort to machinery.

Well, having spent years hiding it in various places, too scared to throw it away lest it should somehow be traced back to me I finally did it, I threw the fucker away.

Last night the Tidiness Nazi busied herself engaging in Tidiness Nazi-ism.  As part of this she went around the side of the house to bring the rubbish to the front so the dustmen would take it all away this morning.  As I sat around engaging my my task of slovenliness she came in, a look of wonderment on her face.

"Did you throw Big Red away?"

"Erm, yeah.  How'd you know?

She indicated I should follow her and with  a fair amount of trepidation I did.  She led me to the pile of bin bags (we'd missed the last collection). One was vibrating very VERY loudly.  Ohhhhhhh Godddddddd I groaned. 

"Leave it, it's late and the batteries will have run down by morning" I said grumpily. 

We did.  Every time we passed the front door we could hear the sound of buzzing.  It was like my accuser.  After an hour it was still going strong and my paranoia reached it's peak.  Bleedin hell, what if one of the neighbours walked past and decided to investigate the sound.  Bloody hell, what if ALL the neighbours came out to investigate the sound thinking something was seriously wrong with our house and we were all about to DIE!  Bloody hell, what if it was still going this morning when the dustmen came and they ripped the bag apart to find out what the sound was and then left it on our doorstep 'cause it was not within their remit to remove!  I could stand it no more, we went out and lifted up bag after bag in order to find which one was vibrating.  When I found it I shiftily ran into the house and searched for my mechanical nemesis.  Once found (it did hide, I have to say) I quickly opened the back and allowed the FOUR batteries to drop out.  You know what pisses me off?  You leave some random thing for 4 weeks and the battery leaks acid all over it and the object is dead.  You leave a Rampant Rabbit for maybe 4 years and the thing works like it was brand new and ready for action.  I tied the bag up and went to bed.

I got up this morning and left the house to go to work.  I glanced guiltily across at the black bags.

THE BLOODY THING WAS ONLY STICKING OUT THROUGH A HOLE IN THE CHEAP BIN BAGS WE'D BOUGHT!

Y'know, sometimes I envy the dead.....