The misery of The Hobbit

Yeah, so I went to see The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey.  It's an event innit?  Going to be one of those films that goes down in history as a famous epic.  I think I enjoyed it but my initial one word review had been

'meh...'

...which is wrong.  I wondered why a film which had immersed me so deeply would cause such a shrug shouldery reaction in response.  Then I realised; I'd been too immersed and had gone mental (as usual). Yup, my unhelpful inner voice had ruined the whole fucking thing for me by making me over think.

On the whole, the film had too much happening, from being chased by various hoards of 'things' to being in the middle of angry fucking rocks beating ten kinds of shit out of each other.  I just know that had I been part of the adventurous group I'd have made the whole thing a hundred times worse for everyone.  That's what my brain does, puts me in the middle of stuff but not in a cool way, in an all too real way until the majesty of the thing is ruined.

Of course, after the film my freakish mind had left me feeling a bit traumatised 'cause there was SO much that would have made me mental had I been part of the company. Yeah, I'd be there fancying the arse off Thorin (Richard Armitage) and Kili (Aidan Turner) but I would have wanted them to have seen me as mysterious, windswept and interesting but then I can't do that stuff 'cause I tend to over-share pretty much EVERYTHING that ever happens to me as well as every sodding thought I have.

You can't be mysterious after you've just told a group of Dwarves that you had just had a shit which felt like it had come out sideways.  I'd like to think I wouldn't say stuff like that but y'know, I probably would.  I still tell people I found a dead squashed ant in my pubes once and that was over 10 years ago!  I won't even start with the whole being accidentally startled by my own vagina that time.

Oh yeah.  I just need to say that as a bona fide lady I don't shit or have pubes.  I have no unpleasant bodily functions and forever smell like roses.  I do genuinely go for the Kojak look nowadays so if my pubes had ant killing qualities then I am like a Goddess to them now.  Or an ant Saint.  That'd be shit wouldn't it; Saint Sket of the ants and the story tells how she rid the ants of the tangled murderous, slightly odoriferous jungle of doom and led them to peace and freedom.  Why would I even type that into a blog?  THIS is why I am destined to forever be alone. I bet that arse Samuel Pepys never wrote about dead ants in his nethers. No, he'd be too wrapped up documenting the history of his age and telling future generations about life in his day. Well, I put it to you Mr Samuel bloody Pepys if that's even your real name, the people of MY future want to know about shitting and being a moron in the 21st Century.  Oh yes.  HELL to the yes!

...back to the misery of  Hobbit.  No doubt I wouldn't have been able to find the shoes I wanted to wear and that would be another thing.  See, ol' Bilbo didn't have much warning and if it had been me I'd have wanted to know what kind of weather we'd be expecting.  I mean, who wants to lumber a big fuck-off coat around with them if it's going to be warm - we've all been there and it's a misery.  Also, I wouldn't have expected to need running shoes to escape from all the hoards of ugly stuff trying to kill me!  Who'd even think that?  I'd have put hiking boots on and they rub like all fuckery don't they? There are no blister plasters in Middle Earth, mark my words! Oh god my hair too - it's naturally curly but not in a nice way, in a tangley bird nest way.  It needs proper conditioning or else it just turns into a big horrible mess.  THAT'S not sexy and no way to pull Kili is it? I got a Cockatiel's feet stuck in my hair once and a gerbil another time. I'm vegetarian too but I don't like onions.  I'd have been a right misery just banging on and on about my arse hurting on my hairy pony, being hungry, not being able to see 'cause I didn't bring enough contact lenses with me, my hair being a mess, being paranoid that Thorin and Kili were actively trying to keep their distance from me, being borderline hysterical 'cause things were attacking us and once we'd escaped SOMETHING ELSE having a go at killing us.  I'd have shin splints from all the running and heck, I'm not fit enough for all this shit. I'd have also been the one complaining that the giant Eagles should have taken us to our final destination not just dumping us on a rock where we could just SEE the fucking mountain.  Lazy feathered bastards.  Yeah, and in Lord of the Rings, if Gandalf had access to giant fuck off eagles, why didn't he get them to give Frodo and Sam a friggin lift straight to Mount Doom? Yeah, it would have shortened the trilogy quite significantly but that's not the point.  I'd have been bloody livid.

So yeah, I think, between you and me, my Wizardly and Dwarven companions would have turned on me themselves after a day.

...and that's why I didn't enjoy The Hobbit as much as I should have

My Inner Arsehole

I've mentioned it before, I'm mentioning it now and no doubt I'll be mentioning it again in the future; I have an incredibly unhelpful and frankly unpleasant inner voice/voice of my sub-conscience/inner arsehole.  In fact, a lot of the time I think it purposefully works to undermine me in an attempt to turn me into some sort of mental cripple. I came to realise that rather than leave the school yard bullies behind, I've got one living inside my own head!

Fer chrissake......

On the whole though, I've learned to ignore my inner arsehole and just carry on with my head held high.  When I was young it told me that everyone hated me and advised me to set traps and to hide places in order to catch people out!

....yeah, I know.

Listening to this arsehole, I even shut myself in a wardrobe whilst on a school trip.  The wardrobe was in a dorm of 2 bunk beds and I asked one of my 3 room mates to tempt the other two in and then try to persuade them to start slagging me off - WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING? What the hell must SHE have thought? Turns out, disappointingly, they didn't have anything bad to say about me - I had planned to jump out of the wardrobe dramatically shouting 'A-HA, I HEARD EVERY LAST WORD YOU SAID!' when in fact, I had to slink out as if it was totally normal for me to have been standing silently in a wardrobe for an hour.  The other thing I learned was, it is really difficult to shut a wardrobe door from the inside.  You have to try and get some pulling speed and then bring your fingers in quickly.  Unfortunately I didn't get my thumb in quick enough and sort of split the skin (yuck!) so not only was I standing in a wardrobe for an hour, I was standing in a wardrobe in pain and covered in blood.  Fucking mental and that's what happens when you have an inner arsehole who you listen to.

I tell you, my inner arsehole was really pissed off when I came to the conclusion that I couldn't give a shit what people thought of me and if they shunned me it actually made life easier and more pleasant.

My arsehole then tried to tell me that monsters were a reality and that when I was out late at night I shouldn't be scared of murderers or rapists, I should fear the unknown and ancient evil.

....again, I know, I know....

My inner arsehole, in more recent years, has concentrated on telling me that every last twinge, ache, strange mark or pain equals my untimely and ultimately painful death.  Yep, hypochondria is the thing I am battling the most at the moment.  Y'wanna hear what this bastard has been saying to me?

Inner Arsehole (I.A.): Hmmmmmmm, you've had that painful gum thing going on for a few days now haven't you?


Me: Yeah, so what?


I.A.: Well, you've probably got some kind of infection which means that all your teeth will need to be pulled out from that side of your head.  It's that or jaw cancer.  Yeah, it's probably jaw cancer and they'll not only have to pull all your teeth but also remove that side of your jaw.  You'll have to have your face reconstructed and it'll never look the same.  You'll be a social pariah and you'll never be able to do stand up or work where people need to look at you again.  You could do stand up with a sort of Phantom of the Opera mask thing on your face only you probably won't be able to speak properly so no one will understand you.  You'll just have to concentrate on comedy writing and you know you procrastinate so rarely get anything serious written.  You are FUCKED girl.


Me: Oh fucking hell......

I.A.: Yeah, well I'm only trying to prepare you.  Oh yeah, I meant to mention your eyes too...


Me: Oh God, don't mention my eyes. It's the contact lens thing isn't it?  You're going to say something about the contact lens thing aren't you?

I.A.: I'm only trying to be helpful and prepare you for the worst.  That weird thing that keeps happening to your contact lenses - the thing where you blink and suddenly you can't see out of one any more?  That deposit that just suddenly forms? The one that looks like an opaque snowflake across the lens?  Well, clearly that's calcium and your eyes are just over producing it.  You've got CALCIFIED EYES lady.  You are going to wake up one day and discover you've lost your sight.  You'll have some freaky yellow covering over them and it'll frighten people who see you.


Me: Yeah, but 'Bakes' (my sister from another mother/my cousin) works at the University Optician Training place and the lecturer type person she spoke to didn't think it was anything serious.

I.A.: So, it's a new disease is it?  Perhaps they'll name it after you.  Oh yeah, I meant to mention that other thing I've been niggling at you about too...


Me:  The dog.


I.A.: You got it!


Me:  So, the dog has randomly started to follow me around and has been uncommonly loving and clingy to me for the past few days.  So what, what can you POSSIBLY make out of that Inner Arsehole?

I.A.: Dogs know y'know.  They KNOW!


Me: Fuck off, Inner Arsehole.  You can't get me on THIS one....

I.A.: Ok then, ignore the fact that dogs can SMELL CANCER!


Me:  Noooooooo.......

I.A.: The dog is saying her goodbyes to you Lady, you've had it.  Wouldn't be surprised if yours isn't one of those stories you hear about when someone suddenly feels ill and they're dead within 2 weeks.  Just thought I'd mention it.


Me: I HATE you Inner Arsehole.  There's a big part of me that pays no attention to the poison you spread and 'sides, most cancers can be easily treated and cured nowadays!

I.A.: ...but not yours and there's always that little part of you which quietly believes me and that's what makes my day.  Right, I'm off now to tell your 'Mental Health' work sistah/colleague that she's got arm cancer, Wisdom Tooth cancer and the BIG disease which we cannot name....


Y'know, I even 'heard' the newspaper report in my head which heralded the Tidiness Nazi and my untimely deaths in a car crash today.  I then thought about whether any of my internet based friends would come and visit me in hospital whilst I lay in the inevitable coma I'll find myself in (should I survive).  I started to worry that people will visit too soon and I won't have lost any weight from only being fed via a drip.  Hell, I need to be looking pale and tragic at this point, not fat and bloated.  I imagine myself to look like a Disney princess in my hospital bed.  Hey, I wonder if someone could get Aidan Turner from Being Human to come and talk to me - once I'd lost some weight and before my muscles go a bit atrophied of course.  It'd just be my luck that he'll fall hopelessly in love with me and I won't have a bleedin' clue.  Great innit?  The reality is, he'd have to have some weird fetish for short, strange, crap haired comedians to fall for me.  Oh yeah, talking about hair - mine is really curly and tangles really easily.  If the nurses brush my hair for the visit I'll have a dreadful frizzy 'fro thing.  Hang on - here's my coma contingency plan

Coma Contingency Plan:

• Ensure nurses don't brush my hair when it's dry.  It needs to be washed, heavily conditioned, given a quick spray of Frizz Ease and then left to dry naturally before being teased into shape with the fingers.  Oh God - the NHS would NEVER do that.  They wouldn't SHAVE it off would they?  I'd look like a frickin' biker.
• MEN - DO NOT READ THE NEXT POINT!  Sometimes, us ladies get a few stray facial hairs which need plucking out.  Please, someone check me over and fix my eyebrows before Aidan shows up.  If you can't get Aidan, Alex Zane would be my next choice; he'll probably be easier to get too as Aidan is in New Zealand filming The Hobbit.  Any way, what I'm saying is, can someone make sure I don't have a goddam BEARD when either of these attractive young men show up to try and wake me from my coma please?  No one wants to turn a handsome man gay after the terrifying realisation that women could be quite so repulsive.
• Could someone also ensure I don't have hairy pits or legs and perhaps put me in my favourite Cookie Monster underpants please?  Whilst they've never proved it to me yet, I like to think of them as my lucky pants.
• Ensure I don't have breath which smells like I've been eating shit all day.

That should do it.  Thanks guys.  I feel better now.

UPDATE: ALEX ZANE, VIA TWITTER, HAS AGREED TO COME AND TALK ME OUT OF A COMA IF NECESSARY.  HE SOUNDED RATHER SURPRISED BUT HAS INDEED AGREED.  I LOVE IT WHEN A PLAN COMES TOGETHER!