What ARE they doing?

Posted on Oct 31, 2014 by headinablender

I want to know if this happens to anyone else.

Sometimes I’ll send a message to a friend on Facebook regarding plans for a catch up or something. Well, actually it’s usually regarding plans we’d planned to plan, but hadn’t actually planned anything except planning to message each other about planning to arrange plans.

It’ll be something like:

“Hiya. So what’s the plan for tomorrow then? I was thinking we could head into town around 11am, and then go for lunch around 12:30 at Pizza Hut afterwards. What do you think?”

Simple enough.

I don’t use ‘textspeak’ BCOZ I H8 IT WEN PPL TXT IT 2 ME TBH. FYI. LOL.

So I send it and wait to a) make sure it sends and b) see if they’ve read it.

Soon enough this icon pops up…

…to show they’re typing a response.

Great; not only have they read it, they’re replying.

Then it disappears.

Eh? Where did they go? Did they decide not to reply after all?

It pops up again.

Aha! Maybe they got interrupted for a second. It happens.

The icon sits there for a bit before it disappears again.

Maybe they don’t like my suggestion for tomorrow and are thinking about what they would prefer to do instead. That’s fine with me, I’m pretty easy going; I’ll go with the flow.

It’s back again. They’ve thought about it and now they’re typing their counterproposal for tomorrow’s plans. I’m sure whatever they suggest will be absolutely….

….oh wait, the icon has disappeared again.

Did they change their mind? Are they now worried that I might be offended if they don’t go with my suggestion?

They don’t need to feel that way. I’m happy with whatever we decide to do. It’s really all about us catching up anyway, so we can do whatever they want.

Or maybe they just stopped to think about how they wanted to compose their message and now they’ve found the words.

Sentence structure is important in a sentence that you’re typing on a text that you really want the structure to be right in.

The icon disappears again.

Seriously? What’s going on over there?

Maybe they’re driving. Yes, that must be it; they’re driving.

Or skydiving.

This time the icon is gone for a longer period of time.

Maybe they’ve given up.

Maybe they want to cancel meeting up tomorrow but can’t bring themselves to tell me so have instead chosen to ignore the whole conversation and come back to it later.

Oh wait! Never mind; it’s back.

This time it’s around for a lot longer.

Maybe they’ve found the words to let me down gently for tomorrow, which sucks. I was really looking forward to it.

Or….

Maybe they’re looking forward to it just as much as me and they’re putting together a string of ideas and suggestions for tomorrow that will blow my mind.

There are so many possibilities out there and, now I think about it, my plans were pretty normal and boring. I can understand why they’ve taken the time to really consider how best to utilise the time we have together so we can both have a fulfilling and enjoyable time.

It’s nothing short of embarrassing to think about the message I’d sent. I wish I could somehow take it back, but it’s out there now and there’s nothing I can do about it. My friend is basing their whole elaborate and comprehensive reply on my recommendation for ‘a bit of a wander around the shops followed by a pizza’, but as I said earlier it was never about WHAT we do, but rather about us catching up.

So, actually; who the fuck do they think they are? Who are they to suggest something else as if they’re so bloody special? What’s wrong with some shops and a pizza? Hmm? Are they too good for that? Are they too good for me!? Maybe they’re not the friend I thought they were! Maybe is should be ME cancelling on THEM!!

Oh.

When nerds collide

Posted on Oct 28, 2014 by headinablender

Today in Forbidden Planet a couple pushed past me; bickering over which of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is the best.

He said “Leonardo obviously” and she insisted it was Raphael.

They were deadly serious.

Come on guys; they’re just fictional characters. They’re not real!

Pfft…nerds.

Besides, everyone knows R2-D2 is the best.

Occupeed

Posted on Oct 27, 2014 by headinablender

I finish work at 5.30pm, so at 5.25pm I thought I’d nip to the toilet to empty my increasingly aching bladder before the 2 hour journey home.

2 cubicles. Both in use.

Alright, that’s fine. I’m clearly not the only one who’s had that idea.

I waited for 3 or 4 minutes before deciding the occupants were clearly masturbating or dead and gave up. There are another 2 cubicles near the entrance to the building so I thought I’d use those on my way out.

Both also in use.

I waited outside for about 5 minutes, calling out loudly to my wife sat in reception that “I won’t be long as I’m just waiting for these people to finish using the toilet!”

Despite there being noises from within, including flushes and the washing of hands, they weren’t taking the hint or showing any signs of emerging.

“I think they’ve fallen in darling, they’re taking forever!”

Still nothing. I think I heard one of them re-sit down for another performance.

What were they doing in there?

I decided, with bursting bladder and a wife reminding me that we could miss our train, that we should leave the office.

A full bladder is one thing, but proving my wife right is another!

So we left and joined the throng of London commuters and their inept sense of direction.

I tell you, attempting to navigate heaving crowds and packed underground trains with a hairpin bladder is an adventure. A nervous, sweaty adventure.

We made it to Victoria station and straight onto the train. Unfortunately, because we’d left the office so late, the train was really busy. Thankfully there were 2 seats available at a table, so my wife and I grabbed them.

I removed my shoulder bag and put it on my seat like a tourist with towel on a sun lounger.

“Watch my bag, I really need to use the toilet!” I said, hopping from one leg to the other.

I walked through to the other carriage and found the cubicle.

In use.

Fuck!

I waited.

I waited longer.

I looked at my wife in the other carriage in disbelief.

I even asked some kids I’d they’ve seen anyone go into this toilet (in case it’s out of order).

“Yeah, a girl went in there, innit”

Eventually, after 10 minutes I gave up and joined my wife.

We’re still sat on the train and the toilet is still occupied. We’ve been on this train for 45 minutes.

I’m about to test the absorbency of these seats.

Let me ask you….

Posted on Oct 22, 2014 by headinablender

Why does only one square of toilet paper come off in a crisis?

Wait! No! Oh shit!

Posted on Oct 21, 2014 by headinablender

Aaaaaaargh!!!!!!!!!!!!

That pretty much sums up my feelings right now, but I realise that doesn’t really explain my anguish in much detail.

I’ve just realised that if you delete images from your media library in WordPress, it actually deletes the pictures from the posts they were featured on.

I did not realise this.

This means that I have a lot of posts without images; a lot of which were photos taken by me that have since been deleted!

It’s a sickening feeling when the gravity of the situation hits you, like jumping out of a plane and then realising you’d emptied your parachute the night before. However, the gravity in THAT situation hits you a little harder.

It still results in an “Aaaaaaargh!!!!!!!!!!!!”, but it inevitably ends with a ‘Splat!’

I now have to (somehow) replace all the images in the following posts:

Thoughts from a non GQ reader

This paint can be used on metal. What about iron(y)?

Are you being followed too?

Getting under my skin

Biting the hand that feeds us

‘Faeces’tious and ‘Poo’dantic

Guzzling gas and soda: A comparison

Getting your fear on track

When intelligence goes backward

Waiter minute!

What I really think of Pandas

Any I’m unable to replace will just have to be substituted with a link back to here to explain myself.

If any of you find any others, please let me know.

I’m such a twat.

Thoughts from a non GQ reader

Posted on Oct 20, 2014 by headinablender

I once flicked through an abandoned copy of GQ magazine in an airport lounge. Have you ever seen one of these behemoths?

I was bored and it was just there on the table I was sitting at, so obviously I was going to leaf through its pages.

At first I wondered why anyone would buy a brand new magazine and then leave it in the departure lounge.

Then I picked it up. This was a heavy magazine! Maybe the owner was worried it might prevent their flight from leaving the ground and left it behind.

I turned over the cover and was greeted with an advert. Fair enough, plenty of magazines start with an advert. This was followed by an advert, then another advert before moving on to numerous pages of adverts and adverts. By ‘numerous’ I mean 22.

That’s right; the ‘Contents’ page was on page 23.

By this time I had this overwhelming urge to grow back some stubble, head back to duty free and buy a suit/watch/aftershave whilst pouting and looking intensely into the distance. Maybe THAT’S where the owner of the magazine went?

I kept turning pages and eventually I found an article, on page 37.

This was ridiculous. I was being bombarded with more images of men in various states of undress than I’d like. I have a limit. That limit is roughly 0.

I decided to test a theory. I closed the magazine and then let it open at any random page.

Advert.

I tried again.

Another advert.

I flicked the magazine like a flipbook and stopped it randomly.

It was an article about a man who, whilst walking through the autumn leaves in his coat had decided to….oh no, wait, it was another advert.

What a infuriating, pointless and really, really, ridiculously good looking waste of my time.

This paint can be used on metal. What about iron(y)?

Posted on Oct 16, 2014 by headinablender

Seeing stuff like this makes my day.

Are you being followed too?

Posted on Oct 15, 2014 by headinablender

319.

It’s following me.

I know, I know, I sound a bit crazy…but I’m serious, I see it everywhere.

It all started with the awesome song by Prince called….yep, you guessed it…. ‘319’.

I didn’t think anything of it (except for it being a great track) until I starting noticing the numbers popping up from time to time.

I’d say, “Ha, it’s like the Prince song”, but that was it; just a coincidence. However, over time I noticed it more and more.

Often, when I look at the time it just happens to be 3:19pm.
A few times I’ve woken up in the night to pee and when I come back to bed my alarm clock says 3:19am.
I once took a walk into town during a late lunch break and wandered into a store that sold household furnishings. As I passed the section that sold clocks I noticed they ALL said 3:19pm (I could’ve walked past or looked up at 3:18pm or 3:20pm, but no)
Many times I’ve loaded up a video game from my last save and noticed I’ve had 319 coins, or 319 experience points, or 319 health, or 319 bullets left etc.
Usually when I visit the supermarket to pick up something specific like, I don’t know, a roast chicken or a cheese grater; the price will be £3.19. And it will be the ONLY item at that price.
Last night I was fast forwarding through an American football game (because I was only interested in the final score) and I needed to pee, so I pressed pause and the game clock was at 3:19.

I remember the time I first told my wife about this oddity. At the time she was still living in America (in Nevada to be precise) so the conversation was over Skype. I was using my phone because the charger for my laptop had died. There was a problem with the version of Skype on my phone which meant the video didn’t work so we were forced to speak the old fashioned way with just audio.

Just audio! Can you imagine?

What next? Drums and smoke signals? Maybe we should just grunt and throw our poo at each other.

Anyway, as I was telling her about this number stalking me I could hear her tone of voice becoming that of someone slowly backing towards the door or reaching for pepper spray. I couldn’t blame her; I know how insane it sounds.

During this conversation I was also looking for my laptop because I needed to find out what the required voltage was so I could buy the correct replacement power cable. It was then that I noticed the serial number on the back of my laptop.

It was something like HP759187564-319.

I was actually mid conversation about this number and there it was, as clear as day. I felt like Hurley in ‘Lost’.

(Oh, and by the way, Nevada is home to State Route 319).

Is it just me or do others have this weird thing with numbers?

Am I seeing it because I want to see it?

I mean, I work in travel, so should I be concerned about this?

Surely others see 319 everywhere too, but they just don’t pay attention to it because, well, they have a life? I see lots of numbers every day but that doesn’t mean they’re stalking me.

Am I going crazy?

Should I be taking medication?

Earlier this year I decided to have 319 incorporated into an existing tattoo I have on my shoulder.

When I told my tattooist and long term friend about it he was understanding (at least that’s what he said from the doorway whilst holding pepper spray). I recall going home later that day and then something happened with 319 that made him say “Bloody hell, you’re right!”, but annoyingly I can’t remember what it was!

He was a bit freaked out.

Anyway, here is what it looks like.

I actually had it done on March the 19^th (3/19) at 3:19pm exactly. Of course!

So why am I telling you about this now?

Well, this is my 319^th post.

Seemed fitting.

Getting under my skin

Posted on Oct 10, 2014 by headinablender

Following a tattoo session earlier in the week I’ve been wearing Bepanthen (nappy rash cream) and cling film on my arm for the last few days.

Not the most comfortable of attire.

Well, today is Friday which means the dress code policy at work is relaxed, so I’m in a t-shirt.

As a result, people have noticed my arm is trussed up in cling film. This has led to an exercise in stating the bleeding obvious.

“Your arm is in cling film.”

“You’ve had another tattoo.”

No shit.

But in all honesty, I’m not being fair. Of course I’m aware my arm resembles a beef joint in the fridge; it’s just a typical way for them to start a conversation about it; one I can’t wait to have, over and over again.

The conversation always starts with:

“What have you had done? Can I see it?”

Sure, no problem. Let me cut away the strategically placed tape and peel off all the cling film that took ages to put on this morning with one arm so you can see it and say “Oh, right. Cool”.

Maybe I should reply with “You’re wearing make-up. Can I see what you look like underneath?”

Maybe not.

I attempt to show them through the layers of cling film which looks like a black and grey Jackson Pollock and I still get the “Oh, right. Cool”, so that’s good. Then the conversation moves on to include one or more of the following:

“What does it / they mean?”

Unfortunately this is unavoidable. After all, I have two full sleeves on display. To me, tattoos are not about how they look or because it’s ‘cool’, they’re very personal and they all have meanings no matter how small. I choose my tattoos carefully because I’m going to have them for a very long time.

So am I going to disclose everything to just anyone? No. I have my life on my sleeve, not my heart.

If it’s a close friend or a family member, I’ll talk them through every line and every detail, but to everyone else I tend to glaze over the question with “Oh all sorts of things”.

This is because I know that, deep down, they’re keen to move onto the next question.

“Did it hurt?”

No, it was like being licked by kittens.

This question is not to be confused with “Do they hurt?”, which is a dead giveaway of a person who doesn’t have tattoos. These ink virgins then follow up with:

“I don’t like needles.”, and/or “I couldn’t have a tattoo.”.

Well, I don’t like needles either. It’s not the same thing. Having a tattoo feels similar to a hot scratch across the skin whereas a needle feels like you’re being punctured right to your very soul.

(shudder)

And, why couldn’t you have a tattoo? Of course you can. Just sit in a chair and get one.

I believe you meant to say you WOULDN’T have a tattoo, which is different. I’m assuming this is because you fear the pain, or is it because you simply don’t like or agree with them? For your sake I hope it’s the former because, as you may have noticed, I have a few tattoos and you’ll likely offend me (despite the fact I look like I bite the heads off kittens to you).

Then comes the classic “What about when you’re 70 years old?”

What about it? When I’m 70 years old I’m going to:

Be awesome
Not give a shit about how I look.
Be surrounded by a generation of other 70 year olds also covered in tattoos.

Don’t base your judgement on the elder generation of today with their tweed jackets and flat caps. When I’m 70 I will be part of a generation of old farts covered in tattoos and all sorts of piercings, punctures, modifications and randomly positioned flesh holes. If anything it’ll be YOU who will stand out.

“Look dad, that old man over there is a funny pink colour!”

“That’s called skin, son”

Having said all this, a majority of the time I get drawn into a conversation about the tattoo(s) they’re planning to have.

With women it’s usually a flower, or writing, or a butterfly, or their name located either on the wrist, hip, lower back (*cough* tramp stamp *cough*), foot or behind their shoulder.

Oh, and stars. There’s always room for stars.

With guys it’s ALWAYS the upper arm and usually over the shoulder. They demonstrate what they mean by running their hand along their upper arm and over their shoulder as they describe it to me, just in case I don’t understand what the upper arm and over the shoulder means, despite BOTH of my sleeves covering my entire arm and going over my shoulder.

On top of this it’s usually tribal, or a dragon, or stars (again), or a Koi fish with Japanese waves, lotus flowers, cherry blossom and clouds. Fucking clouds. Fucking mashed potato clouds.

I once saw a guy on the tube with a whole sleeve made up of stars and fucking clouds.

Why? Was he a meteorologist?

I doubt it.

Even if he was, at least choose something a little more imaginative like rain and meteors and comets and hurricanes and tidal waves.

That would be awesome!

Nope, “clouds and stars please”.

The famous tattooist Kat Von D has this quote on the sleeve of her first book:

“I am a canvas of my experiences, my story is etched in lines and shading, and you can read it on my arms, my legs, my shoulders, and my stomach.”

Or, if you’re just eager to get a sleeve to look cool, have clouds and stars.

What a waste of your body’s real estate.

In addition to all this, I sometimes get asked advice on designs and ideas. I’m happy to do this, but I usually find that as soon I start showing them where to look online for great ideas and inspiration, they suddenly know better and disagree with and/or reject everything I suggest.

Not enough stars maybe?

Sometimes they insist on showing me the online portfolio of the tattooist they’ve chosen.

Sometimes these tattooists look like they use an Etch-A-Sketch.

But they seem excited, so I play along. I then show them the portfolio of my tattooist in the hope they’ll see the difference between them. They don’t.

In fact, they often suggest I try their tattooist instead; a tattooist they haven’t even used themselves rather than the amazing artist I’ve been going to for 10 years.

Yeah, that’ll happen.

After all said and done, tattoos aren’t for everyone.

The one thing that some people (especially tattoo virgins) can’t comprehend is how much it costs to get a tattoo. These are the people that will have no problem buying an expensive LED 1080p 3D Smart TV which may last them 5 years or so. My tattoos will be with me forever.

THAT’S value for money.

And when I’m asked “Don’t you ever regret having them?”, I look the person in the eye and say:

“When you die you can’t take your money, your house, your TV, your car or any of your things with you; someone else gets all of that. My tattoos are mine. I’m taking those and my memories with me.”

Or…

“Fuck off”

Depends on my mood.

Biting the hand that feeds us

Posted on Oct 8, 2014 by headinablender

This morning I saw a packet of popcorn that claimed to be hand popped.

(accidentally deleted an image here – click to read what happened!)

How exactly does one ‘hand pop’ corn?

You would need some seriously hot hands.

This got me thinking about those shops advertising their sandwiches as ‘hand cut’. I assume this is to make them seem more appealing by conjuring the belief that love, attention and care has been taken over your particular sandwich by someone who really loves making sandwiches.

No-one loves making sandwiches.

To me this conjures images of someone manhandling and fondling my sandwich. I don’t want deep finger dents in my bread, thank you.

Also, doesn’t ‘hand cut’ imply the sandwiches are being cut using their hand and not a knife? That would just make a mess.

This madness needs to stop.

It’s assumed that sandwiches aren’t cut by a machine, and we’ve come to terms with popcorn being popped in some big heated metal contraption of some kind; you don’t need to tell us otherwise.

Oh and it’s not ‘real home cooked food’ if you’re not at home.

Just saying.