Another Humiliating Experience

This happened Thursday just gone and well, I've only just been able to gather the mental strength to talk about it.  When 'the thing' happened I didn't mention anything to anyone for the first few hours as I was traumatised and mentally scarred from the whole situation; a situation which has led me further towards the realisation that I am losing my ability to interact with the human race.  I KNEW hermitude was the only way to go.

Before I tell you, I have to share another phenomena I've discovered.  One that I've realised happens too often when I'm trying to share humiliation with people:

SCENARIO ONE - On phone to my Mother

Me: Oh God Mom, I've had a terrible experience today, I.....

Mom: ...You've shit yourself?

Me: No, I haven't bloody shit myself, I....

Mom: You've farted!  You farted in front of someone!

Me: NO, I haven't farted in front of anyone

Mom: (sounding more than just mildly disappointed): Oh, go one then.  What did you do?

Scenario Two: At home with Tidiness Nazi Housemate/Best pal:


Me: Oh my God, you'll never believe what I did today

Tidiness Nazi: (sounding mortified): Oh God, you didn't shit yourself did you?

Scenario Three: In Office to 'Mental Health Work Colleague':


Me: I've gotta tell you what happened yesterday

Mental Health Work Colleague: You didn't shit yourself again did you?


?

Again!

No, for everyone who doesn't automatically think I regularly shit my pants.......oh hang on, before we go on, and on the subject of pants, I have to say that I have been recently disturbed by the fact that I have TWICE suffered the discomfort of pants up my backside (hungry arse syndrome I believe it's called) with pants normally thoroughly comfortable.  Upon a visit to the ladies powder room (us ladies don't have bodily functions y'know; we emit a perfumed powder) I discovered I'd put my pants on back to front.  TWICE!  Now, I like to have comfortable nethers, it's all part of having a happy day, so this recent development is somewhat disturbing.  Can one just develop 'Pant Dyslexia' or something? In my defence, I have an 'interesting pants' obsession and will just buy pants that vaguely amuse me.  The 2 pairs I seemed to have difficulty with had a cartoon print going all the way around so perhaps it's nothing more than sloppy dressing during the misery that is morning.  The pants in question? A Wonder Woman pair and a Superman pair.  I actually threw the Superman pair away 'cause once I'd turned them around they were still uncomfortable - crotch part not wide enough.  Like I say - one HAS to have comfortable nethers to make it through the misery that is the working day.

So, back to the story.  Since I broke my traumatised silence I have told EVERYONE I have met and they have all cringed - even the Capital Radio breakfast show guys.  I think the reason I have spilled my guts so much is that I am seeking someone - ANYONE who will offer comfort and say that it wasn't THAT bad.

 Thus far, no one has.

Right, here we go.  On Thursday I had cause to go out and deal with something accompanied by a uniformed police officer.  We vaguely know each other and so there was a bit of light hearted banter in the police car and he's a nice bloke. Once the issue was dealt with we returned to the police station and as we pulled up he got another shout to go out and deal with something else.  Things sort of went like this:

PC: Oh, that's a shame; I was going to invite you into the nick for coffee and some cake.

Me: (gutted to be missing out on cake): Oh maaaan, cake?  You've got cake? In these austere times you've got cake in there? That would have been lovely too. I could just go some cake.

We both then walked around to the back of the police car (now parked in the police station car park) and at this point, I don't really know what happened.  Perhaps he took an extra step towards me, I dunno, but I was suddenly gripped with the belief that he was coming in to HUG me?  As you may already know, I have a bit of a fear of human contact and do my best to avoid all humans (and pets actually) as much as possible.  I felt my face flash between horror and 'oh my God, this is really happening!' and made the unconscious decision to act like a proper human being rather than a broken, mentally damaged fool, and so I stiffly stepped towards him with my arms out to receive the aforementioned hug.

At this point HE looked horrified and I realised with blood draining horror that HE WASN'T GOING TO HUG ME AT ALL!!!!!!

Clearly the guy now felt obliged to hug this moronic Brummie short-arse of a girl with shit hair which had been recently dyed a bizarre colour.  FAAAAAACK.  He went in to receive the hug with a combined look of shock and confusion on his face (we were both at work and this is not how one says goodbye after a professional meeting!). God only knows what the PCSO in the van thought OR said to him once back in the nick.

This was the stiffest, most uncomfortable hug of my entire life.  You think that's the worst bit?  You'd be wrong.  In his horror, he kinda turned his face towards me a bit.  On reflection, this was probably for something of an answer as to why I was demanding a hug from him after a simple joint visit somewhere, but I was in' total 'human contact phobia' mode and my phobic brain, upon seeing his face turn towards mine screamed 'OH MY GOD, HE'S GOING IN FOR THE CHEEK KISS TOO!"  at me.

Oh god, I can barely type this any more.

I'll type it quick

....I started to pucker up to kiss him back!

Luckily, he managed an uncomfortable cheek bump instead.  What must he think of me?  Perhaps he thinks I'm a raging nympho or that I was coming on to him?  How can one explain to a person that they are losing their human social skills and had been overcome with the thought of cake when they threw themselves into their arms and sort of demanded a kiss?  Oh God, I keep coming over all cold when I think about it.  I've had humiliations in the past, bloody massive ones but at least they've been pretty private and mostly anonymous.  This one was with a great big copper in uniform with whom I often have to work.  He had to bend over to hug me too 'cause I'm like some sort of sub-normal Hobbit.  Y'think Samwise Gamgee was a bit of a moron.  Meet me, his idiot sister.

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.....

Plaything of The Fates (again)

Y'know those times we all dread? The times we (well, not me 'cause I'm a laydeeee - cough) allow an unguarded fart to fall from our arses. They always seem to rip out in a satisfying manner only for you to realise you aren't alone! That recently happened to a rellie of mine (you know who you are!) I had a similar but 'un-guilty' experience which is, in fact, just as bad.

Right, I was at the gym and had worked hard so was a bit on the sweaty side. Being a fucking short-arse I had to get on my tippie-toes to get on the exercise bike (even though I'd lowered the saddle to dwarf height) and well, I sort of dragged my arse across the seat and, to my mortification, it made a squeaky sort of loud fart sound! It wasn't a fart but by fuck it sure sounded like one and there were people there - REAL people who I don't know. No one moved (other than to continue exercising) or looked my way but my reaction was as if I really had let out a gigantic fart and no matter how much I squidged around on the seat I couldn't reproduce that sound in order to prove my innocence. I looked at myself in the giant mirror and could see the fart-guilt written all over my face. I wondered how people would react if I jumped down from the bike, stood at the front and explained to everyone that I wasn't guilty of a fart crime but then people might not have heard me after all and then they might believe I WAS guilty of the fart. What a dilemma. I just continued pedaling in the sure knowledge that every time those people came to the gym and saw me they'd associate me with farts and there's nothing I could do about it.

Other than that, I had a couple of food related accidents. We ordered a lovely pizza and I was attempting to add a little salt (which some people find weird). The salt was still in the container it came in and had become a little damp. All I did was smack the thing a bit hard but the lid came off and the entire pot of salt landed on my frickin' dinner! I did try to brush it off and carry on eating but it was so horrible I could feel a salt related Stroke coming on so had to throw it away. Sigh. The next day I put a plastic pot of pumpkin soup in my bag and rushed off to work. Fuck (I'm rather sweary again aren't I?) knows how I did it but the plastic container split and I ended up with a bag full of mushed pumpkin. It looked as if I'd vomited into the thing. I have done that before (only it was purple from over-drinking pernod and black. Jesus Christ, what had I been thinking?) I wonder if I can post photos to this thing...

I wonder if Samuel Pepys ever diarised his own humiliations or discussed farting. I'll tell you something else that arsehole Pepys never did - took photos of dirty toilets! Did they have cameras in those days? Well, ok then, did that arsehole Pepys ever sketch a dirty toilet and then paint it in oils? Did they have toilets in those days? I'm probably getting confused with Black Adder and the woman who preferred to 'crap out of the window'. Blimey, do you think Pepys crapped out of a window? Nah, he'd have a poe. Any way, I am slowly collecting pictures of dreadfully unloved toilets. You may wonder why. So do I.

PS. I don't know why Pepys suddenly became an arsehole in this diary. He was probably a totally ok bloke (despite being rich and powerful).