Big Brave Boy

As I might have suggested yesterday, I have a toothache. As strange as it may sound, with the exceptions of "Self Inflicted" toothaches, I've never had a proper, full-on tooth ache. I've never had an ear ache either, but still.

Last night, I had pretty much NO sleep. When you have a face-ache, trying to lay on said-face is not that easy. No matter how I laid, I hurt and felt sick, even with painkillers.

It wouldn't be so bad if it was just a tooth ache, but in true Dan Fashion, my entire mouth hurt. My teeth felt tight (I know what I mean), and my gums are sore, red, inflamed... I've never had mouth problems, so this was all new to me. I started brushing my teeth this morning, but the feeling of the brush scrubbing over the gums made me want to cry. So it was mouthwash only this morning...

Kellie called her dentist and made me an emergency appointment which meant I got to see her again today. Such a hard life I lead ;) So I poodled on over to Canvey, had a cup of tea with my purdy girlie, and then we jumped in a cab.

I don't know if I've mentioned it here before, but I HATE dentists. They are ranked up there at #1 along with Snakes. I had several bad experiences in my formative years, and that was that. But, I felt that bad this morning, I WANTED a dentist. Of course, I was dreading it completely, but was tempted to hammer by bottom jaw off at 4am, so figured the dentist would be a good alternative.

I fill out the paperwork, asking Kellie questions like "Do you think I could be pregnant?" or "Did my AIDS results come back clear?" and then sat waiting.

Mrs Dentist Lady was very nice. I made sure I wrote helpful medical terms on my paperwork like "A bit of a girl" and "Wimp" and "Needles make me faint" so she was well prepared. She poked around all my teeth checking them all out, putting me at ease by telling me she was just having a look. The fact I was sweating the special Fear Sweat prolly showed her I was a wee bit nervy.

After having a look around, she told me the toothache was thanks to a wisdom tooth living just under my gum, bottom-back-right. All my other wisdom teeth have grown through fine and dandy, but this fourth one was a little covered still. The gums had what she classed as a "nasty looking infection" but she wasn't sure why as there was no outward signs of nastiness - smells, seepage, open wounds. She asked if my tongue piercing was new, but as it is 8 years old, she was happy that it wasn't that. My teeth, bar one, are in a great shape - but the infection has prolly been made more painful because she thinks I brush too hard.

However, like any specialist - much like a mechanic - she had to find something wrong. One of my teeth had a very small cavity, and she said that while it was OK for now, if it gets left it could become a problem. "Would you like a small filling now, or make an appointment. I know you don't like needles, but it'll be over with very fast.

"Now, here's my bind. Had I made an appointment, I would likely have never come back. She was of course, asking me if I would like a needle to be rammed into my mouth, part of a tooth drilled out, metal forced into the hole.... Blergh... However, my girlie was in the waiting room, so I decided to be all manly, sucked it up, and told her to do it.

The fear-sweat was flowing rather well.

She used the kids cream to numb part of my gum, then jabbed me. I didn't faint. After a few mins, she set to drilling and filling, and after about ten minutes, I was all done, and clutched a nice prescription for some antibiotics, advice to get some antiseptic mouthwash and a new, softer toothbrush.

We went to the chemist, got my stuff, went to a little coffee shop and had a cuppa and a teacake, took my meds, and proceeded to feel pants all day. I got to sit with Kellie all day who looked after me, so YAY. Got home, grabbed my son and Ruths girls from school, and once there, she made me a cuppa and then decided she'd make me dinner. Good job really as I wouldn't have bothered, and then taken my antibiotics on an empty tummy. Which could have been interesting. And Kellie told me I HAD to have something to eat. I think she might have stomped a foot too...

So me and the boy got back in at about 7pm and I'm now on the sofa, laptop on my, er, lap... Music on, Boy in bed, feeling sorry for myself. My gum now hurts too from the needle. So I went to the dentist, she couldn't fix it right there, drilled a completely different tooth...

I have to say though, it was prolly my best ever dentist visit. She was lovely, looked after me, and didn't spray me with my own tooth shards or anything...

Edit: Ooooh I forgot to add - the antibiotics are the sort they give for STDs too! So at least I know I'm clean for a change! hehe

Hmpf

Today I will be trying to find a dentist. I can't think of anything but my mouth. I can't feel anything but my mouth. I just want to have my head removed and put in the bin.

I've never had toothache. I don't like it.

Another Pain

The last few days I've had a sore mouth which, last night, came to a head in the form of a toothache.

The previous pain are still there, sore gums mostly, but I've been using warm salty water to help them out. However this toothache is one I get every now and then for no real reason - it just seems to arrive, annoy me for a few days, then bugger off again. Bottom-Back-Right, prolly a wisdom tooth I think.

Now, those of you with a little Common Sense would say "Call your dentist" but the sad part is, I don't have a dentist. Not because I can't find one, afford one, or anything else - I just don't have one. The last time I need dentist work done was when I was 17 or so... A frozen chocolate bar, none the less. One shattered tooth later, I never went back ;)

Luckily, where I've spent so long dealing with various aches and pains, this is another I just grin and bare. Kellie didn't realise I was hurting till I told her earlier! How's that for manly ;)

So, for the next day or two, if I am grumpy and grouchy, you'll know why... Well, aside from the fact I'm me of course.

A Wee Bit Owie

If I didn't know better, I would say that last night, I was set upon by a wild, rabid donkey. Now to be fair, I was very busy yesterday - the fact I had very little in the way of rest was, in hindsight, a Bad Thing.

When we got in last night, I popped some meds and sat on the sofa with the laptop, but could not get nor stay comfortable. I then had to force myself to stay awake so I could take some more meds later on. Last night, I didn't so much sleep, as was medicated out. My bed this morning was pretty much as it was when I went to sleep, which shows I stayed in the same place, in the same position all night.

Ruth had to ring to wake me up this morning too, twice, as I was A) Doped up still, and B) Owie and didn't want to move.

None the less, I've forced myself up, up and away, and have eaten some cereal in an effort to wake up some more. I was going to shower, but can't actually get my leg up into the bath - so that can wait till a little later. The Ruth has offered to take The Boy in to school (Hmmm, who is still in bed, I note with a huff), but I'm going to get dressed and get out.

On the bright side, after Kellie and her kids stayed over during the week last week, me and Jaysen are off to hers tonight after school, only to come back tomorrow morning in order to get The Boy to school Wednesday. It's not too hard really - just means getting up a little earlier and getting a bus for half seven/eight in the morning.

I get to see Kellie, so I don't care ;)

And on a final note - if this fricking cat keeps meowing over and over outside the window, I will skin him, dip him in vinegar, lightly salt him, and throw him to the Very Big Dog a few doors down.

Infanticide

Jaysen is currently wandering around the house, getting changed...

Whistling "Jingle Bells"

Someone stop me before it's too late ;)

In other news - haven't bloody stopped today - it's half three, I'm now sitting down eating a bowl of breakfast cereal I started this morning at 7am. Today I have showered, school-runned, mowed a lawn, strimmed the edges, attacked brambles with a saw, backed up an old computer, installed a new computer, added all the stuff needed to a new computer, school-runned...

And now the boy is getting changed to go to a party this afternoon, with me, while I help where I can... Then get Sally from Cel, head home, shower the boy, shower the Me, put the boy to bed and... Finally...

Relax.

Yeah, I'm completely knackered, I'm in all sorts of pain, I managed to slash my arms on one large bit of bramble, hit myself in the leg with the saw, and managed - somehow - to catch myself in the leg with the strimmer... I look like I've been wrestling with bears.

And now. I just poured my breakfast over me. Marvellous...

On The Meds

OK I'm kidding... mostly. See, while I am off my Happy Fun Pills, I am NOT off my "For-The-Love-Of-All-Things-Holy-OWIE!" pain killers. Unlike sadness and depression, chronic pain and missing-bits-of-spine don't go away.

Which is a shame, but still.

See, in my garden, I have a plant I've mentioned before. I'm not going into the SATAN of all plants, but if you're bored, have a google for Japanese Knotweed. I have that. Lots and lots of that.

I had to contact DEFRA (Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs) about the plant after being bounced from council, environment agencies, departments for this, that and the other. DEFRA are a nice group - they are the ones that deal with the nice stuff, Foot & Mouth, Bluetongue, Avian Flu... All the good stuff.

Oh, and now, Knotweed.

I had to leave the garden while they investigated and looked into it as it's a bitch. Once you have it, you have it. Anyway, a nice lady called me this morning and said as long as I don't dump it, shred it, landfill it or anything else, I can rip that fecker up. Of course, to get to it, we had to get the tribe of pygmys to allow us to hack through the grass jungle. So me and the boy hacked, and mowed, and strimmed, and piled... Took us three hours, but we found various things, most importantly, the gravel and the lawn:


OK, to put this in perspective - the shed at the end of my garden was all but hidden. The metal washing-line-pole was missing. Of course, it's not tidy by a long shot yet. There's actually a PATH on my lawn but it's well grown over. And no, I still don't have a fence. And yes, the rear-neighbours do have a pool. And yes, the house on the right has a lovely garden. If you look carefully, that pile of GREEN next to my shed - that's the stack of knotweed that was covering the lower half of the garden.

And to give you an idea of this weed... See the fence panel on the left of my garden? See the green plant growing next to it? THAT, my friends, is knotweed. Mine wasn't quite that tall, but still - that is 5 weeks of growth. That's a seven-foot tall fence panel. Still not impressed? Go right, to the paved garden, and go to the end of their garden where it backs onto the people behind... See the green behind their shed and their neighbour? Yeah, that's it too. That's how far it's spread. It's two or three doors to the left and right, and one garden back.

Here is a detailed artist impression of what my garden looked like before we used MANLY skills on it.


Actually, I am quite impressed by the depth in that image. My art skills are clearly improving. But that pretty much summed up my garden. Sally could go out there and vanish in the grass. I had to wear my big clumpy boots incase I found a snake out there. *shudder*

But anyway, to the subject at hand. I am now sitting with fluffy-leg sensation, and am listening to very loud music and waiting for the Mother F'king pain to jump on the bus and get outta Dan Town. Head Meds - gone. Back Meds - My Friends.

It's All Go

I'm not sure what it is, but the last five or six days have been manic. Well, manic in some aspects, lazy in others but none the less, it's all caught up with me this afternoon.

I spent the day out with Ruth and Alyce - harassing the wildlife that inhabits the local post office, being unruly on the bus, and embarassing the masses around the town centre. Like any wandering butt-head, I needed a recharge, and it was more Chinese food at a local buffet that was in order.

Seriously, yum.

Then it was back to walking up and down the length, breadth and depth of town, Asda and then finally home. THEN it was the school run, then back to Ruths, then home where I collapsed and set about running around the Government.

See - when the pooey stuff hit the fan at the start of March, I called all the departments and set about sorting stuff out for me. Well, one department "lost" my claim, so I've had to kick them in the butt. The second department asked for evidence of me having a child - which would have been the completed claim from the first department. So I called them, and instead they want Jaysens Birth Certificate, and brownie points for his Passport. Done and done.

Then a third department are now after me because I have left someone else to raise my child. Eh? Yes folks, the Child Support Agency who are now MANDATORY for all new claims... So I called them, and the woman was as bemused as me. See, I have to fill out the claim and file a counter claim which means the government will over see me paying Jo £5 a week towards Tam, and Jo will pay ME £5 per week towards Jaysen. All that paperwork, man hours, filing, inputting...

Just so me and Jo can swap a fiver a week...

I know, I know, it's all crap, but there's not a lot we can do about it.

Moving on, after being so busy the last few days, I am paying for it today. I woke up and felt a bit achey and headachey, and rapidly went downhill from there. By about midday I was hurting, and once I got it, well, sod anything that resembles movement. Plus, on top of it, I'm so not with it, I decided that crashing my head into a low ceiling at Ruths was just what I needed, jarred my neck, spanked the skull, clattered my teeth...

So, now it's a big cuppa, pain killers, feet up and... NOTHING.

Stupid body.

A Toilet Day

"A Toilet Day" is another way of saying it's been a crap day. I've been dreading today for numerous reasons, but haven't told everyone what is going on - it's something I had to deal with, and as much as I tried to deal, I just stressed.

I had to have a medical.

My original plans were bust over the weekend, and I was on the verge of cancelling vs. having a complete mental breakdown and panic attack, but as it turns out, the last time I had an appointment I had to reschedule for other reasons, I used my only "rebooking" allowance.

Marvellous.

Thankfully, Gemma caught wind of it, and ended up taking me - I was planning on using the bus/train, but it worked out better this way, even if her SatNav had a nervous disposition and took us the "pretty" route.

Basically, where I am on Incapacity Benefit for long-term, I need periodic medicals. I've only had one in the last few years, so I guess my number was up, as it were. However, the thought of having to tell a stranger every single aspect of my life - the pain, tiredness, aching, fatigue, the depression (and, of course, the reasons) is enough to make me scream. And, for some reason, I got it into my head that this guy today was going to look at me and say "There's nothing wrong with you, piss off"

The day started out pretty shit with me arguing with my mobile phone provider, which, as it turns out, I didn't need to do. I've been stewing on the medical for the last fortnight, and had no real outlet or support for it, especially with everything that's gone on here. I've ripped my fingers to shreds, sat up all night panicing...

He was a lovely chap though, asking lots of questions, wanting to know about my daily life, how my aches, pains and depression affects me, what changes I've had to make to my life. Then lots of prodding, poking, and getting me to bend around and pulling myself in painful positions.

Honestly, I wanted to leave there and cry, from both the pain and the mental stress.

I HATE knowing that he's got to write a report to a man behind a desk that will decide if I am still allowed money. I told him exactly how it is, everything I've been through, how hard it is for me on a generally daily basis. All I can do now is wait.

Luckily Ruth was able to watch the kids while I was gone and even sorted me dinner when I got back. I'm just glad today is over. Fingers crossed, after a bit of unwinding this evening, I will get a decent night of sleep. Of course, this is assuming the kids are good for me ;)

Awww

All is fine with me in my crazy little world.

Met up with Jo today and sorted out the bank and hopefully sorted her out a bank account as well. Got some presents for Tams birthday as well! Tam went back with Jo, I came home with stuff to wrap.

I've knackered myself out over the last couple of days and paying for it this evening, so with Jaysen in bed and Tam with Jo, I am heading to bed in a min.

For now, enjoy this.


All together now. Awwww.

Anyway, thankfully the next couple of weeks are short school weeks - where I've been so busy I feel like a truck has slowly reversed over me, so will be glad of the rest. Jaysen was in today, tomorrow and Wednesday, then no school Thursday (Teacher Training), no school Friday (Good Friday) and no school Monday (Bank Holiday Monday), then he's in school four days next week, and breaks up for two weeks.

Result!

Late

Last night was a late one. I was hurting so much physically that I could not settle. I went to bed just before ten, and was awake till gone 2am.

My legs hurt, my back hurts, my arms and shoulders hurt, and my head is pounding.

I decided today that if I was going to meltdown physically, I needed to push myself into getting cleared up first. Not that there is much to clear up. A couple of laundry loads, a quick run-around with a broom downstairs, a tidy and a hoover upstairs, bath and loo cleaned.

Of course, The Mother is coming over too, which means I need to bit a teensy bit tidier. Because, well, you know. It's The Mother.

I spoke to Jo this morning. Just chatted about nothing in particular once again, though she did share some interesting third-hand gossip. See, it turns out that an actual Friend of hers believes that Tam is someone elses child completely. Which, while amusing, just shows what that "Friend" really things of Me, of Jo, and everything else.

So he can piss off right now.

Otherwise, with my body doing the Ouchie Tango, I'm sat till The Mother arrives in a while. Later today, Jaysen is off to spend the weekend with Jo, and I've asked (and shall receive!) Tamsyn for the weekend. I've gone from being a family, then to being broken and having Jaysen, to what, this weekend, should be just me - so I asked for Tam to help wean me a bit.

Jaysen will be back Sunday night, and I might well keep Tam an extra day or two so the kids spend time together as well - because let's face it, that's important too.

So while I'm in a better frame of mind today, I've still got a long way to go.

I'll survive.

An Ouchie

Some days I wake up and think "What shall I do today?" while other days - like today - I woke up and thought "Mmmpfghhh?" Of course, that's what happens when you're kept awake till 6am.

Of course, the downside to this is that when I get tired, I am either mentally or physically incapable of functioning. And on other days - like today - I suffer from both physical and mental floopiness.

Yes, floopiness.

So this afternoon me and Jaysen had hankering for cheese, onion and salad cream sarnies. We had a fresh loaf, some nice cheese, new onions and a full bottle of salad cream. All was buttered, prepared, sliced, laid out and ready to be cut.

Slice.
Chop.



Click them to open them up and see the full oozy gory goodness. I actually stuck the knife into the bone which, obviously, hurt. Still, I am sure Cheese, Onion and Salad Cream Sandwiches are sterile.

I assume the gross stuff oozing from the injury is a pocket of fat. Needless to say, my finger is killing me. Pah, I knew I should have stayed in bed.

On Crap Nights

Some nights I can go to bed and just lay there - nothing really playing on my mind, but no matter how tired I feel, I just cannot get to sleep. Other nights I drift off, only to jolt awake, then drift off to jolt awake, ad infinitum.

When Jo isn't around, it's even worse, and when I am hurting, it's becomes even less fun.

Last night, my body was fighting sleep through till the early hours. I was up till gone midnight, and then laying in bed till nearly 3am, awake but exhausted, before finally falling asleep. Only to have no reason what so ever to bolt awake at 4am. I bolted up, awake and completely with it. Still totally knackered, but unable to sleep.

So I got up and watched some cartoons, mature as I am. Then my alarm went off at half six, so I've been doing morning things since then.

I'm cold, tired, aching - but at least it's Friday. Tam is being taken by Jo's mum, Jaysen is going to school, and there's a risk of people coming over this weekend which means I need to work my arse off and clean up this pig sty of a house. On an hour of sleep. Then it's get the boy from school, sort dinner and... well, assuming visitors don't arrive till tomorrow, I might just try to sleep.

I can't stop yawning, my eyes look like piss-holes in the snow, and I am cold all the way through by body, even fully clothed. But the world carries on around me...

In The Garden...

Sadly, it's not my garden that has been attacked by a Dan today - we're waiting for our fence to be replaced before ours gets a kicking. No, today me and Jo (plus the kids, of course) went over to Ruths where her fella Paul was ready to attack a bramble patch.

Last year we did the same thing, and planned to get rid of it once and for all. But we kinda sorta forgot. So the brambles this year were bigger, meaner and thicker than last years crop. But, with me armed with a massive pair of blunt sheers and a wobbly saw, I set to hacking, chopping and demolishing, while Paul pulled back and dumped.

Jo and Ruth stood on the sidelines rar-rarring us in their cheerleader outfits*, providing us with food, drink, coffee and alternative methods of cheering on the menfolk**.

In the end, the testosterone got the better of me, and I set to hacking back some tree-branches with afore-mentioned wobbly saw so the end of the garden gets a bit more "light" and a lot less "tree dumping leaves and shade"

Paul suffered a serious hand injury*** while I suffered several minor cuts that will add to my manly prowess. I should mention I'm wearing shorts, a top, and big clompy boots. Hear me roar, for I am Dan - Killer of Brambles!

Of course, now the manly hormones have subsided, the aches have kicked in, so here I sit, feet up, eating chocolate, staving off a headache and ignoring the screaming coming from my back and legs.

What a good plan for a Sunday!

*may be untrue
**may also be untrue
***he might be a wimp

Most Embarrassing Moment Ever

As a word of warning, some people might find this post offensive. Yes folks, Dan writes something offensive. Amazing.

Women: I'm going to talk about MY bits.
Men: You will probably cringe.

And as an aside - this is a long entry!

Quite often, things happen in my life that, to put it bluntly, make me cringe. On a daily basis, I walk into things, trip over things, fall down and even up stairs, and generally embarrass myself. Of course, doing such things in public also has the added bonus of making those with me either laugh or run and hide so they aren't seen associating with me.

However, my Most Embarrassing Moment Ever was horrendous for just me. Such is this moment, that only a handful of trusted people in my life know this story, but, seeing as it's a nice day, I decided to share.

Imagine the scene. You're a 15 year old boy, living at home with your parents, you're pubescent, girls are this scary thing you avoid because you are shy and get very flustered very easily. It's about half eight one evening, you've had a shower ready for school the next day, you've said goodbye to your new girlfriend (which is still in the "kissing in a shy manner" stage) and are relaxing and chilling out at home. Unsurprisingly, you're playing on the computer.

You are me, after all.

So, I sat down in the office chair and felt a slight twinge down below. Not the "chap" itself, but the plums, as it were. I remember frowning and thinking "oooh that wasn't nice" but carry on . Ten minutes later, the twinge is still there, perhaps a little more noticeable. I fidget in the chair, trying to readjust myself but to no avail. In fact, but doing the side-to-side butt shuffle, the twinge becomes a bit of an ache.

Thinking I've just caught myself a bit - being that I am in boxers and a teeshirt, covered with a dressing gown - I carry on for another fifteen minutes or so, when the bit of an ache is actually rather uncomfortable. I head to the loo and check out the furniture, as it were. All looks fine, but all doesn't feel fine. The plums are a bit sore to the touch in fact. I have a cough. One cough, two cough, three cou- Ouch!

Now, the bit of an ache is decidedly rather tender and not nice at all. However, I Am Man! I head back to the computer and try concentrating on whatever I was doing, but over the next fifteen minutes, it actually starts to hurt. I fidget, I cough, I re-arrange, but in the end, I do what any self-respecting 15-year-old boy should never, ever EVER have to do.

"Mum..."

Yes folks, I had to call my mother for assistance. I had to say something along the lines of "I'm in pain, and I don't know why" when she uttered the words that NO self-respecting 15-year-old boy should never, ever EVER have to hear.

"Do you want me to take a look?"

I reel back like an idiot on a bungee rope trying to run along an oiled race course. "Hell no" is akin to my answer, and I escape the clutches of my mother, and run back to the loo to "have a poke" or, because it's so sore, "have a delicate check up". After a few minutes, and deciding that something is really not healthy in Ballsville, I emerge to find my mum standing outside the door. "Any better?" she asks, concerned. "Why don't you talk to John?"

John is the father figure of the house, my step dad that I got along fine with, as long as I wasn't being accused of destroying, stealing or drug abuse. I spoke to him and explained the situation, and I am really uncomfortable - for one, the pain is making movement painful and two, I am discussing my privates with my step dad. He is concerned, and gets me to sit. I tell my mum to stay the hell out of the lounge and do what any self-respecting 15-year-old boy should never, ever EVER have to do. I have to show my Step Father my tackle.

"Mum, you stay the hell out!" I call through the lounge door.

He is standing in front of me, looking down. He furrows his brow. He leans forward and furrows his brow more. He covers me back up, and calls out to my mum, "call the doctor out". By now, the pain is akin to having just had a foot swiftly connect to the prize jewels between my legs. I feel like I've been booted one right in the gonads and NOW, after mum asking to see, after stepdad actually seeing, they want the doctor.

Mum gets on the phone, and I can hear them in the hall talking about me, the pain, the swelling. I have a feel, and sure enough, there is suddenly a plum where before, there was a marble. If you get my drift.

Doctor is heading right over, and after what feels like an eternity on the nut-kicking machine, our old family GP turns up. I am now in really severe pain and trying not to move; the plum is getting bigger and it is not nice. In true Indian Family Doctor style, he comes in, tut-tuts, puts his bag down, and without much in the way of warning, flips open my dressing gown to have a peek. His eyes widen as he is greeted with it, and he cops a feel.

I am being violated, by my doctor, in front of my step dad.

"How are you feeling Daniel?" he asks, and I just look at him, fighting back tears now. My answer is amazingly articulate. "It hurts!"

He covers me back up and turns to my step dad. "Get Daniel to the hospital. Now" He scribbles on some paper, and tells mum to give it to the Emergency Room receptionist.

Now at this juncture, I am in so much pain, I just don't care anymore. I want the pain to stop. I can honestly not describe it aside from excruciating and even then, that doesn't seem to do it justice.

I'm having difficulty walking, and of course, have to walk out to the car. And of course, it would appear that every man and his dog are outside between the front door and the car. And, of course, I am in my boxers, teeshirt and dressing gown, barefoot, being escorted with my my mum and step dad either side, holding me up, with our family doctor bringing up the rear.

And of course, we're spotted. Concerned questions, people asking what's up, wanting to know what's going on. "Dan hurt himself" replies mum, without going into too much detail. I think that finally, my dignity has been given a little protection.

Getting into the car and the journey to the hospital is a monumentally painful trip. Every bump, the change of speed, cornering - everything pulls on the injured part of my body. Before we get to the hospital, I am now crying. Fifteen years old, being walked by my parents, and crying.

Mum hands the woman on reception the doctors note, and she nods, gets up and scurries off to the back, only to emerge a minute later with the Angelina Jolie of nurses. Curvy, Pouty, Big Eyes, Long Legs... I think it's about that point that I die. Right on the spot. I tell my mum to sit in the waiting room, and take my step dad with me, where we're taken to a cubical with Miss Drop Dead Gorgeous. John explains the problem, explains what's gone on, and all I can do is cry. The pain is nothing to what I know is coming next.

"Ooooh" she says, pouting the bee-stung lips "Let's have a look, see what we can do..."

Now, at this juncture, I should point out that I am anything but aroused. Even though I am fifteen years old and get aroused by amusingly shaped trees, I am in too much agony to care. It's the sheer humiliation of the thing that makes me want to die. Here is probably the most gorgeous woman in the hospital - probably in all the hospitals anywhere, and she wants to see my equipment.

She washes her hands as I get comfortable (well, till I move so she can see) and she is taken aback by the sight. To be honest, so am I, not having had a check or a fiddle for a while. The "swollen nut that was a plum" has taken on the appearance of an angry purple apple stuffed inside me. And more's the point the bag containing said-apple is not actually made for holding such a load.

Take one purple ball, and force it into a small red balloon.
Yeah, there you go.

Of course, she HAS to touch, feel, prod and poke. "I think we're going to have to do something about that pretty urgently" she says, and rushes off. John looks at me and says something along the lines of "Wow, she's a looker!" to cheer me up. It doesn't work.

Sexy Nurse reappears a few minutes later with a battle axe of a Sister (a high-ranking nurse) and a small indian lady in "normal" clothing with a stethoscope around her neck. When they are shown the impressive bulge between my legs, the Sister legs it and the doctor introduces herself and starts examining me, much like a woman does with a grapefruit at the supermarket. She even puts the stethoscope on me and has a listen. The sister returns clutching one thing I hate to see - an Hospital Issue razor.

Which she hands to me.

I am struck with a moment of de ja vu. A year previous, almost to the day, another blue-clad battleaxe presented me with a shaver to "remove the hair from the pubes to the nipples" as I was suffering from appendicitis. No water. No shaving cream.

This time wasn't much different. "Sorry son, they're going to need to operate, and you need to be hairless." For the second time in my life, I have had to decline an offer from a pretty nurse to shave my private area as Sexy Nurse offers. The doc tells me to hurry and I set to it.

Do I need to mention the additional pain? Do I need to mention I've only been shaving a few weeks facially, so this whole "razor" thing is a new game to me. How I didn't perform the surgery on myself there and then is beyond me, but I managed it. Of course, everything was so swollen and tight down there, it wasn't difficult - aside from the agonising pain.

Within minutes, I am on a trolley being whisked into the bowels of the hospital, a porter trying to make me chuckle by telling me that "more girls in the emergency room have been my bits than anyone else in Basildon" and "won't your mates be gutted when they see the nurse that's been playing with you" motioning to Sexy Nurse who is accompanying me down.

We're met on-route by the anaesthetic guy, and as they are walking, the nurse discusses me - regardless of who is around. "Daniel English, torsion of the right testicle, very swollen, lots of pain. He's testicles have been examined, left seems normal, right testicle is highly abnormal" The porter chuckles and says something like "All the girls say that"

The journey through the hospital seemed to be filled with doctors and nurses telling everyone about "Daniel English's testicle" and was indeed a marvellous occasion for me. Needles were put in, surgeon was friendly and reassuring, telling me he will try to save it if he can, nurse wished me luck and gave me a kiss on the forehead, and I had to start counting back from ten.

I think I reached 7.

When I woke up, I was on the ward. My legs were open, but thankfully I was covered. A new - but still very pretty - nurse was checking my obs and smiled at me. My mum and John were sitting beside the bed talking quietly. I didn't speak, I didn't say anything. I just moved my hand down between my legs. I hadn't been castrated. I hadn't neutered. The nurse came back.

"Don't worry Daniel, they are both still there" she said to me with a smile. She had caught me touching myself.

Over the course of the next twelve hours, I had the doc tell me they had "untangled it all" and "appear to have saved it". They wouldn't know if it was still fully functional unless they "tested" it, which I declined. I'd take my chances, and didn't fancy having to play with myself and present someone a cup to be tested. Nurses came and went, checking me, checking "my wound" which, with the aid of a mirror, was quite impressive and well stitched.

Dissolving stitches, thankfully.

On being discharged home with two pairs of "special underwear" I had hoped that would be the end of it, but I failed to take into account one thing. I was home, I was safe, and, mores the point, off school for the last three weeks of term. However, I forgot the all important Sister Factor.

There's me thinking to myself "Just tell everyone you had an operation on your leg" when in reality, my darling little sister had told pretty much everyone. And of course, everyone had told everyone else, who had told their friends... Rumours were spread, stories circulated, and if it wasn't for the fact that it was the last year of school, I think I would have been called One Bollock English for the rest of my days.

But the ray of hope, the single, tiny beacon that kept me intact... The "special underwear" was size Extra Large.

Defeated

A few days back, I blitzed the house. Middle to bottom. Cleared the floors, hoovered, picked up everything, put things away, washed up, tidied up and, not to mention, completely screwed myself three ways from Christmas. I was, for want of a better term, as busy as a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest.

And, mores the point, I completely knackered myself doing it. Today, two days later, my legs and back are screaming at me, and my pain killers are doing diddly squat to make me feel better.

Yesterday I had another quick tidy - I picked up stuff, I washed up more stuff, but couldn't do much more because I hurt too much.

Now, today, I've gotten up and much to my dismay and failure, I just can't do any more. The living room floor is completely covered in toys and stuff. The washing up is already mounting. The laundry had been pulled off the table and admit, I refolded it. There is dog food and kids cereal all over the kitchen floor. The dogs water bowl is full of tissue paper....

But I quit. I just cannot do it today. I'm going to try kicking the kids asses into touch to get them to sort the lounge, but otherwise, everyone else wins.

At least the sun is out...

Housework A-Go-Go

There is something about this house that just generates rubbish. Rubbish, Junk, Toot, Crap, Clutter - not to mention the dust, fluff and hair, all on top of the laundry and dirty dishes and what-have-you.

While I am a very organised person, the chaos in this house is generally organised. I say "generally" thanks to people moving stuff and not putting stuff away. It's the kids mostly, but Jo isn't a neat freak, and when I'm having an off-day, I couldn't give a crap where I dump stuff. Add in the animals, and you've got the perfect mix for a shit-hole.

With Jo being poorly, I'm trying my damnest to keep on top of the housework, but am losing.

Losing badly.

I got up this morning - still armed with my stinking headache - and tripped & stumbled out the bedroom, tripped & stumbled to the loo, stood on sharp things in the hallway and lounge, and had to clear the sofa off before Jaysen could sit on it. Now I am back from a cold grey school run, the harsh light of the day is showing how much crap there is that needs doing today. I've made of the list I should do, but will update it as I get stuff done - armed with my trusty laptop. Suffice to say, Dan will be a busy bunny in Chez 0ddness today...

• Sweeping the downstairs (1: Check - done and done)
  
• Mop the downstairs (2: Check - Done and hurting! Not a good start really)
  
• Vacuum the stairs (11: Check - - without pulling the hoover down on top of me!)
• Put away Tams toys (3: Check - again)
  
• Put away DVDs/PS2 games (4: Check-a-roo)
  
• Vacuum the lounge (5: Check - and no toys sucked up)
  
• Vacuum the landing (6: Check)
  
• Vacuum the up-stairs (Seriously cannot face the kids rooms)
  
• Clean the loo (7: Check - you can now eat out of it... If you want)
  
• Washing (8: In progress... Forever!)
  
• Folding laundry (9: Check - Jo got up and did it while I did #10)
  
• Drying up/Putting away (Screw it - it can dry itself)
  
• Washing up (10: Check - and I look like I've pee'd myself)
  
• Feed Jo & Tam (And done)
  
• Carry laundry downstairs (5: Much hefting, but ouch. Er, Check)
  

And no doubt, all this will be punctuated by phone calls, texts, generic pain, headache... I can't wait...


Edit: Nearly done... for lunch...
Edit2: Done, done and... well, if anyone has a tranquilliser handy, may I point your attention to the large target that is my arse. And it's only 12.10 in the afternoon. Yay School Run in less than two hours.

Manly Skin

Being a man (Hey! I AM a man!) I do what most men do on a daily basis, but I do it every now and then. I shave. Of course, when I say "I shave" what I actually mean is I drag blades across my skin, rip off the hairs, make my skin red and sore, and then leave it for several days before I do it all over again.

Now, a few years back, I had a goatee, which I hate to say, was the source of much comedy. Mainly because most men can grow facial hair. Most. Not Dan. My lack of facial hair was (and still is) a source of much amusement, even to she who claims to love me. I hate to admit this, but at one point to make my goatee stand out a little more.......

I used mascara on it.

It has to be said, the goatee - while I like it because it hid a couple of my chins - was not the most universally liked item of my person. When Bethy was in hospital, I used to rub her hand on it and she's smirk even though she was heavily sedated. I shaved it off for her in the long run, and promised I'd not grow it back. But I digress.

Now, some guys shave in the morning, and by the late afternoon, they get a proverbial five o' clock shadow. I too get one of these, but it takes several days to be noticeable.

Anyway, this morning I shaved, and looked like I'd been slapped in the face. With a beetroot. And I have to say, I've tried almost everything. I've always had crap skin, and even today at a manly 31 years of age, I still get acne. As a teen, I tried everything to fix it but failed. Including a Chinese remedy which contained swallow droppings.

I think the guy sold it to me just to see if I used it.

I've tried blades, electric razors, the round philishave types, I've tried moisturisers, creams, sensitive this and that, a shaver that dispenses cream while shaving... And yet, here I am with a sore face. Again.

So next time you women moan that our skin is "a bit prickly" or "you look like you've been lost in the woods" remember - it hurts some of us!!

And if you have any ways of preventing this, lemmie know - and don't say "grow a beard" because I won't!

It's A New Year

So, finally, we're out of 2007 and into 2008 proper. How do I know this? The fact the boy is back at school. Yes folks, three days in, and he's back in education. On a Thursday, no less. Two days of school, then it's the weekend - which, as you can tell, has me slightly bemused. The school says it's to get the kids "back into the routine of school". Of course, it's more like they want to improve their numbers for the powers that be.

Anyway.

With germs being rampant in me through Xmas and into New Year, the cold has finally left. Of course, others out there aren't so lucky. Lane was sick all through Xmas Week, and spent New Year in her PJs. Mand was ill New Years Day and ended up in hospital. Jo spent most of New Years Day in bed (self-induced, no less). Steve has developed Man Flu. Amber and Pete have stinking colds. Plus a few friends out there had some real hassle with family, friends, partners...

But hey, *I* don't have germs!

Of course, the last two nights have been so restless it's not even funny. Having to carry Someone home does wonders for a dodgy spine. Yesterday and today my back is giving me some serious shite.

But anyway, with it being a new year, I'm aiming to be a little more upbeat. Flicking back through the crapfest that was my blog in 2007, there just seems to be so much whining and whinging and "woe-is-me" rubbish, I hope this year is a bit better. I'm feeling pretty good at the moment - things going on in life that make me smile, staying positive and suchlike. The last few years, December through till March have been shit to the extreme. January and February are usually massively depressing - missing Bethy, her birthday is the 15th of this month, and she became an angel on Feb 21st - not to mention Xmas, New Year and all the stupid things I remember on certain dates.

So while it is usually crap, I'm a lot more focused and positive this year. I don't doubt for a minute that there will be shit days, but it's getting different. Not better, it will never be better, just different.

Aside from the alteration in my frame of mind, I'm also aiming at shedding a junk load of weight. I've set up another blog that is currently empty, that will have a track of how well I am doing in regards to become less of a person ;) Other than that, I don't do resolutions. They are too easily broken. I just WANT to lose weight.

And of course, I aim to make the blog a little more interesting. I'm not sure how yet. I am holding off as well as I can with messing with the template. I can handle it. I am still refusing to put ads on here of any kind - no google ads, no popups, nothing. Sure I might make money with it, but I don't want people to read my blog in think I am doing it for commercial reasons.

Of course, if someone wants to buy me a spanky new laptop or even a macbook, then who am I to complain ;)

Maybe I should make a resolution to become a toyboy to an ailing millionaire heiress and become a kept man.

Back on track, mind out the gutter. I am contemplating working on some Audio Posts or even Video Posts for the blog. I have a semi-decent webcam, which has a mic built in, so I might be able to manage that. There is, of course, the whole "EEEEEK" aspect of it - I hate my voice and especially hate my physical appearance so I need to deal with that first :D

Anyhoo - stick around, enjoy your stay, I'm sure something will happen at some point...

New Year Roundup

First post of 2008. Go me ;) Only sixteen hours into the day - think I need a prize or something.

So, I've been contemplating what to write for this post, but I figured I wouldn't go into too much detail until certain other "things" have been covered elsewhere. That is, I'm not going to spoil someone elses story. You will get the gist of it from my points here.

And in order to protect the innocent, I've not actually named-names of the guilty, bad or anything else. Because, you know, blackmail is sooo much better ;)

• Me, Jo, Steve, Amber and Pete got ready at ours last night. Fat Pirate, Wench, Skinny Pirate, St Trinian's, and Cross Dresser respectively.
• We got a little "lubricated" before we left.
• The pirates got more strange looks than the man in a dress-wearing-large-boots-and-fake-tattoos.
• We got to the party around 9pm.
• Aside from our host, Jim, it was quickly apparent that Me, Amber and Steve were the only people over 30.
• It was also apparent that our group of five were the oldest there period.
• Aside from our host, there were about 25 people at the party. A fat pirate, a skinny pirate, a cross-dressed-man, a monk, a clown, a gangster and a guy in his pants ("The Rock" apparently) making up the entire male population.
• The pole dancing kit was erected by three drunk guys.
• My words of "We should video this because it'll come down and hurt someone and be a YouTube classic" echoed around us as a girl span, the pole collapsed, and smacked a girl right in the face.
• I laughed.
• We were well tipsy by midnight and everyone kissed everyone else.
• "The Rock" received a near-perfect Atomic Wedgie, and was perfectly exposed to everyone.
• The Wenchs boobs kept slipping free.
• The School girls bum kept being flashed.
• Cleopatra fell asleep in the corner.
• Someone dared someone else to drink a copious amount of vodka in one hit.
• Several minutes later, the "someone" was very very drunk.
• It took two pirates to walk someone home - a fifteen minute journey took almost 45 minutes.
• Someone ended up very very poorly.
• A patrolling police car pulled up, and didn't ask about the poorly someone, but asked where our parrot was, and what dock our pirate ship was in!
  
• I sat up till nearly 0430 this morning making sure someone was OK.
• By now I was fully sober.
• I dozed off in bed around six-ish, and was up again just after nine this morning.

So, as you can tell, an amusing party, some amusing costumes, and lots of laughter/drinking/fun. The falling girl was fine, the clobbered girl probably has a black eye this morning - it started going last night before we left. I only had a few drinks, no where near enough to get me drunk. "The Rock" was our old roommate, Dave. He looked most amusing in his pants, but the wedgie nearly cut him in two.

Despite being firmly entangled in her corset, Jo's boobs kept making bids for freedom, much to my pleasure. Added to this, Amber failed to take into account the shortness of her skirt, coupled with where her stockings ended. Every time she leaned or bent, someone got an eyeful.

My costume just made me feel ick - especially as the bottom-half of it were, and I hate to admit this - but they were jogging bottoms, an article of clothing I loath with such passion, I very very nearly refused to go out. Oh, you fellows across the Atlantic known them as sweat pants. Blergh.

So, here we are, January 1st 2008. Steve left for home, and I set to clearing up the house a bit - putting stuff away and pottering around when the phone rings. Another "Someone to remain nameless" had a computer problem. Yes, already. So I spent an hour on the phone, giving my not-so-expert assistance. An hour later, he calls back - still broken. He speaks to PC World customer support, and bearing in mind the warrenty ran out last month, AND bear in mind he cancelled the additional support thing because he has me, I wasn't sure what he expected. They told him to talk to the tech guys but it was up to the manager to offer any sympathy or whatever.

So, we head to PCWorld where we explain everything. They say "Hard Drive failure" so he gets a new hard drive. When deciding what he wanted in regards to capacity, e asked what size MY hard drive was. "250Gb" I reply. So he gets the 400Gb, discounted by the manager to £64.

We go back to his. I open the computer, swap the drives, and unamazingly, the same error. So I go through everything and place the error to be either RAM or the Motherboard - I'd stripped everything else out. Still nothing, so BACK to PCworld. Guy we spoke to before was "unavailable" so explained again to a different guy, who trys to tell me the error is my fault as I am doing the install wrong. Riiiight, a computer crashed, gives an error message, and the new drive gives the SAME error because of - get this - how I put the windows disc in.

He offers the only other solution - to book the computer in for diagnosis (£70), to have the Restore stuff put on the system (£30), and if it happens to be the RAM, the memory upgraded (£20 PLUS the cost of the memory itself).

So now I am home, trying to chill out, tired and hurting like an absolute bitch. Happy New Year indeed :D

So how was YOUR New Year celebrations, and what's your impression of 2008 so far?

Busy Bee

In the true styles of a certain lasagne-eating cat, yesterday was a constant crapfest. I had to face the town, so the less said about that the better for all. We didn't get back in till gone half two in the afternoon, which gave me 15 minutes to put shopping away, grab something to eat (a doughnut), and then run out again into the Arctic Wilds of Basildonia to grab the boy from school.

The house is a tip, we've got Cel stealing out laundry so we don't run out of the necessities - I mean, do you WANT me walking around naked, plus we're trying to deal with Xmas and everything else. Joy.

In other news, Jo's foot is now officially on the mend and she can walk about without much hassle. On the other hand, while she was at the erotica show on Sunday, there was a woman looking for volunteers to demonstrate a new tongue-piercing technique. Guess who now also has a hole in their tongue.

Some people just can't think of their own trend to follow.

Where her tongue is a little swollen she sounds like she has a bit of a lisp, but on the bright side, it's making her form her words properly so she doesn't sound like a common old trout for once. She sounds like a real Essex Girl most days, but for the time being, she is actually pronouncing words correctly.

And last night, in celebration of Lane getting a new job, the girls went out to Bas Vegas and partied. Which left me with the moody kids. Again. *huff*

Once again, I had issues coming up with a Musical Monday song, but I hope to fix that shortly with a bit of creative date editing and posting something. He says, hopefully.

Aside from all that, I've been dodging a migraine for the last few days - it keeps looming behind my eye, and I pop enough pills to push it back, but I can feel it building a while later. I think I might let the bastard just come out, get it over with...