Oh My Word! (Well, not anymore)

The other day I was talking to my family on Skype and I encountered a horrifying moment….I mean, more horrifying than having to speak to my family.

Am I right?  Huh?  Anyone?

Nope….not even a little bit

Ahem….moving on….

So anyway, we were chatting away and I had a moment where I nearly said ‘parking lot’ instead of ‘car park’. This was the first time my English brain didn’t automatically filter out the American version of a word. Usually I can separate all my Americanisms when I speak to friends and family back home, but this was the first time I slipped.

My heart sank.

Two years ago when I was about to move to the US, a lot of my friends mocked me, saying I would have an American accent within a year.

WRONG!

Although I did admit that I would no doubt take on American versions of words because, well, I wanted to be understood.

Use English words; get this look

This got me thinking about all the words and phrases I have actively adopted to be better understood in this land of burgers, guns, and self righteous entitlement. With that in mind, I’ve compiled a list of words and phrases that I’ve started using to blend in seamlessly with my surroundings.

Let’s start with the inspiration for this post:

Parking Lot – This has replaced Car Park and, frankly, I don’t care.  Both work.

Trunk, Hood and Fenders – These have replaced Boot, Bonnet and Wings respectively. To be honest, I miss the English versions of these words but if I were to use them here, most people would think I am talking about some weirdly dressed bird (aviary, not ovary)

Gas – This has replaced Petrol.  I stubbornly resisted this one for ages; plumping instead to use the word ‘fuel’ as some sort of workaround.  This was initially because Petrol is liquid and Gas is, well, gas…and that’s just stupid.  Then it occurred to me that, in the same way that Petrol is short for Petroleum, Gas is actually short for Gasoline and I’m actually stupid (short for Stupid Twat). However, ‘Gas’ is also used to describe farting which is incredibly confusing when someone announces they have gas.  That never happened with ‘Petrol’.  Not once.

Just saying.

Anyway, moving away from cars; let’s move to clothing…

Pants – This has replaced Trousers and is still as funny to me today as it was the first time I heard it being used on TV when I was a child.  I realise it’s short for ‘Pantaloons’, but that doesn’t make it any less funny, because the word ‘Pantaloons’ is simply farcical!

Pants has always been, and will always be, underwear…or English slang for ‘worthless’, ‘crap’ or just ‘a little bit wank’.

Mind you, if I say Trousers I AM understood in America, but then I’m mocked for being all hoity toity like I’m drinking tea and eating crumpets.  After all, isn’t that what all us Brits do all the time apparently? (rolls eyes)

Sneakers – This has replaced Trainers.  I hate this adjustment because not once, EVER, have I sneaked[1] anywhere in my sneakers…but I have trained in my trainers.  Still, I need to be understood, so sneakers it is.

He he he….’Pants’.  It still gets me.

Sweater – This has replaced Jumper.  To be fair, this isn’t a big deal.  Like a reverse example I gave for sneakers, I have sweated in a sweater but I’ve never jumped in a jumper…unless it has a high nylon content and I’ve touched something metal.

There are other clothing differences like ‘Suspenders’ which is the US word for the braces that hold up your ‘pants’ (snigger), whereas that word exclusively refers to ‘stockings and suspender belt’ in the UK and braces are those things used to straighten your teeth, but I haven’t adopted any of that shit because…seriously, who’s having conversations about suspenders, or braces, or pants.

He he, ‘Pants’.

Aaaaaaaanyway, here are some other words and phrases in no particular category…

Z – This has replaced Z.  Yes, I’m talking about the American way of pronouncing it as ‘Zee’ instead of ‘Zed’.  I do that now.  Deal with it.

At least now the alphabet song rhymes at the end.

Soda – This has replaced Soft Drink.  To be honest, I love this one!  If I were to say ‘soft drink’ I would be understood but I just love using the word ‘soda’.  That said, I won’t use it around my English friends as I don’t want to be accused of becoming a yank!

Limeys eh? Pff!

Elevator – This has replaced Lift…and my brain processes this one slightly different to the others.  This one I have to consciously think about because my brain still desperately wants to use the word ‘lift’.  In fact, I thanked someone for “holding the lift” for me yesterday. They smiled, but they also gave me that look.

Erm…..what?

Napkin – This has replaced Serviette.  The first time I ever visited America, my girlfriend and I went to a restaurant and I noticed my place at the table didn’t have a serviette, so I asked the waitress (sorry, ‘server’) for one. She looked puzzled for a moment and said “Yes, that’s me”. It was my turn to look at her puzzled before asking her again, “Have you got a serviette?”.

There was another pause.

“That’s me”, she repeated.

Er, what?

So I picked up my girlfriend’s serviette and held it up. “A serviette, do you have another one of these?” (shaking it passive aggressively in her face)

“Oh!”, she said, “You mean a napkin!  I thought you said ‘Have you got our server yet!'”

I’m pretty sure that sentence is grammatically incorrect, but nevertheless…now I use the word ‘napkin’.  It’s a little change that means I get to wipe my mouth when I get food everywhere.

I’m a messy eater.

Nom nom nom!

Vacation – This has replaced Holiday.  I knew this change was coming; it was inevitable. In America, the word ‘holiday’ refers to a national holiday like the 4th of July (no, we don’t celebrate that in the UK; stop asking!), Thanksgiving (no, we don’t celebrate that in the UK; stop asking!), Martin Luther King day (no, we don’t celebrate that in the UK; stop asking!) and Labor day (no, we don’t celebrate that in the UK; stop asking!).

If you’re going away for a trip, then you need to use the word ‘vacation’ otherwise you simply aren’t understood….no matter how much context there is!

“My wife and I are going on holiday to Hawaii”

Whaaaa…?

Cellphone or Cell – This has replaced Mobile Phone, or Mobile. Now, this one is more of an issue with phonetics rather than not being understood. You see, Americans DO use the term ‘Mobile Phone’, but they pronounce ‘Mobile’ like it rhymes with ‘Noble’, and I REFUSE to pronounce it in the stupid way they say it.

Yes, I said it’s stupid. That’s because I have friends here who argue this with me and I like to get the final say.

Ha!

So now I say Cell, or Cellphone.

Get it?

Line – This has replaced Queue. When you’re waiting for your call to be answered by a call centre (center) and “your call is important to us”, you’re in a queue. When your printer has a lot of print jobs to process, it’s in a queue. When you’re stood at the post office behind everyone else, you’re in a line.

Wait, what?

I’ve tried addressing this with my American chums and, apparently, it’s because you are literally in a line. I suppose that makes sense as you’re also in a line when you’re dancing the conga at someone’s wedding. But on that occasion you’re not waiting to be served; you’re awkwardly holding the waist of some stranger in front of you as you shuffle along, kicking out your legs and clocking a child or two in the face.

Laundry – This has replaced Washing.  Now THIS is something I can get behind. I love using the word laundry as it specifically describes the act of washing one’s clothes

He he, ‘Pants’.

It makes no sense that we call it ‘washing’ in the UK, especially when it’s done at a Laundrette (or Laundromat in the US).  A clue is in the name LAUNDRette.

Groceries or Grocery Store – This has replaced Food Shop and Supermarket respectively.  Like ‘Laundry’, I love this change in my verbiage.  I’ve always disliked the fact that when someone in the UK says, “I’m going shopping”, it’s not clear if they’re buying food or a gimp swing.

This is usually remedied by the phrase, “I’m going to do a shop” which is exclusively supermarkety.

Now, moving away from English verbiage that has been replaced with their American counterparts, and onto phrases that have I have adopted and use regularly, much to my shame.

A.F. – This is an acronym (because America LOVES acronyms!) that literally means ‘As Fuck’.  For example, “It is hot A.F. today”, or, as I’ve heard some people say but I can’t bring myself to say it yet but i’m sure I will at some point in the future, “Bomb A.F.”.

This loosely translates to “My word, that was amazing”.

Hot Minute – This means “In a long time” or, as we Brits like to say, “In donkeys’ years”. Some drop the word hot and say “Yo dawg, I haven’t seen you in a minute”, but not me.  If the minute isn’t hot, it’s not worth mentioning…apparently.

Hot Mess – it’s the same as ‘Mess’, but hotter and used to describe someone rather than somewhere.  Allow me to elaborate….

If your bedroom is untidy, it’s not a hot mess…it’s just a mess.  However, if you’re drunk with vomit down your shirt, your trousers (he he, pants) around your ankles, pissing on your shoes whilst singing abusive songs at the clergy, you’re a hot mess.  In fact, you’re the hottest of messes….and you really shouldn’t be in church right now.

All Day, ErrDay – This literally translates to “All Day, Every Day‘, but is a little more ghetto and a lot fucking lazier.  That said, ever since Carl the sausage said it in Sausage Party, I’ve been loving this phrase and I use it….

….you guessed it….

….sometimes.

[1] Or ‘snuck’ as the Americans like to say.  It’s funny how ‘leaked’ isn’t ‘luck’, ‘peaked’ isn’t ‘puck’ and ‘freaked’ isn’t ‘fruck’….but hey, who am I to judge?

Oh, wait….

Chatty chatty bang bang! 

Just coasting on the back of my last post; the woman on the exercise bike next to me is having a full blown, animated conversation on her phone. She’s panting heavily which I suppose is… sexy? 

Unlike me,  she’s pedalling very fast and sweating lots. 

Also unlike me –  who is able to compose this post whilst pedalling  – she’s lacking the appropriate concentration necessary to multitask and has missed the pedals twice,  nearly giving herself some complimentary handlebar dentistry. 

Heavy breathing? Sexy. 

Heavy bleeding? Not as much. 

Period. 

FuckMonkey and the five things that annoy me about the gym

Gather ’round, gather ’round; I have a tale to tell……..the tale of FuckMonkey.

Now, before I tell this tale I need to get some stuff off my chest.  At first it will feel like I am never getting to the story of FuckMonkey, but believe me…I am.

All will become clear.

So, to begin, I would like to talk about the gym, again.  The last time I shared observations about the gym I hadn’t been in the country very long so my exposure was as limited as the brain power of…of…well, FuckMonkey actually.

More of that later.

I’ve noticed some behaviours in the gym here in Vegas that just need to be shared. This isn’t including the weirdos who pay a yearly gym subscription just to stretch and do mat exercises on the floor.

Just do that shit at home.

(shrugs)

Anyway, here are 7 baffling and annoying behaviours and practices I’ve seen at the gym, in between gawping at unnecessarily muscular girls’ bums.

1 – Massive Water Bottles.

I don’t really get this one.  These things are mini (but not THAT mini) versions of office water coolers.

water-bottle

Compensating for something?

Considering the gym has drinking fountains and bottle filling stations everywhere offering nice cool filtered water, why do you need to bring such a huge bottle and carry it around with you?  It’s like having a huge plate at an all-you-can eat buffet.  Yes you can put more food on your plate all at once (you greedy fuck), but the food will not be far from the preferred temperature long before you finish the plate.

Mmm, warm water.  Refreshing.

At first I thought it was for those crazy people who do cardio for what seems like hours – putting the rest of us to shame – but these bottles don’t fit through most doorways, let alone the cup-holders on the machines.

Maybe it’s because people don’t want to make the long walk to any of the various drink fountains, but surely that’s just counterproductive…like the dickheads from the car park [parking lot].

This need to carry around enough water to drown a small Hippo still amuses me, and I just want to point and laugh…but I don’t; some of these people are BIG!

Sm bodybuild

Me so THIRSTY!

And, speaking of water….

 

2 – Water Fountain Etiquette

This one is just plain hilarious.  To start, here is an actual photo of one of the water fountains in my gym.

fountains-gym

You’ll notice they’re at slightly different heights; the reason for which is a mystery.  I have seen a dude with dwarfism[1] in there, so is it for him?  I don’t know.

Now I think about it, I’ve never actually seen him take a drink from one of these fountains. He carries around a sensibly sized water bottle because a) he’s not an idiot and b) he has a clear grasp of basic physics.

But there’s something about the varying heights of these fountains that has people gravitating to the one on the left.  I have lost count the amount of times I’ve walked past 2 or 3 people waiting in line for the fountain on the left and quenched my thirst with the one on the right.

If anything, the act of bending down a little further is an extra workout for your abs.

Also, people have no idea how to drink from them. I once saw a mouth breather sucking on the nozzle like it was his mum’s tit.  There’s no way I was getting anywhere near that after him.

Plus, I’ve seen his mum.

(shudder)

Then there are those people who strut to the fountain – overly panting and wheezing (for attention) from lifting heavy things in the air and then putting them down again – only to lean on the fountain with both hands, pausing for effect (and more attention), before drinking.

They can see there are people waiting behind them (at the left fountain, naturally) and yet they stand there all important, entitled and ‘roided up.

Then they take the smallest of sips because the peak of their baseball hat gets in the way.

Speaking of which…

 

3 – Unnecessary attire

I’m not talking about those string thin muscle tops that are less ‘clothing, and more ‘shoelace’, no…I’m talking about hats and sunglasses.

Indoors.

Unless you’re Jake or Elwood Blues, I will always have issues with you wearing sunglasses indoors…you fucking twat.  But I’ve lost track of the number of heavily ‘roided bubble people I’ve seen wearing them in the gym.

bubbleman

“I’m forever made of bubbles….”

Maybe they think it makes them look cool, but they’d be wrong.  I thing I’ve got them sussed; they do all that shouting, grunting and slamming down of weights only to secretly look around afterwards to see if anyone is watching.

We’re not.

We don’t care.

And when these bizarre bumpy behemoths stand around high fiving each other and talk at a DECIBEL LEVEL LOUD ENOUGH TO BE HEARD FROM SPACE, we simply don’t give a shit.

Shut up, bubble people.

But they’re not the worst offenders of unnecessary attire; not by a long shot.  No, the award goes to the mopey teenagers with slouch beanies.  These fuckers really grit my shit.  You know slouch beanies right?  They’re what the smurfs used to wear before they become popular (the beanies, not the Smurfs)

I would normally insert a picture here of a mopey, slouch beanie’d bell-end, but it would fill me with so much rage I might not finish this post.

(breathe…breathe…)

I have lost count the number of fantasies I’ve had of pulling their hat down over their face and garotting them with their headphones.  I find it weird that people wear a hat in the gym anyway, but a big, flaccid woolly bag?

beaniegym

This coming from a man who has a cold head

The reason these skinny (and they’re always skinny), slow blinking, perma-texting Biebers are cold is because the only things that get a work out are their thumbs.  They just move from machine to machine doing half a lacklustre set – on the lowest weight – followed by sitting on the machine with their face in their phones.

Which leads me to….

 

4 – Hogging the machine

If you’re sat on a machine and can see someone waiting, either let the person know how many sets you have left, alternate sets with them, or fuck off.

No reading texts.  No checking Facebook.  Just fuck off.

That is all.

 

5 – Being on the phone

I understand that you may get a call when you’re at the gym; that’s fair.  I also appreciate that sometimes you need to make a call.  But some of these fuckers talk on the phone during their entire workout.

There is nothing more annoying that the person next to you talking constantly, and hands-free on their phones at a volume that is not loud enough to be overheard, but loud enough to piss you off.  Honestly. what is so important that you simply HAVE to have this conversation right now?

Now, the assumption you’re probably having is that all these social butterflies are talking hands-free; not so.  I saw one dude sat on an ab-crunch machine talking into his phone in that walkie-talkie style I despise so much.

Talking like this makes you look like a twat. Fact.

Talking like this makes you look like a twat.
Fact.

For clarity, the ab-crunch machine had overhead handles that you pull down as you crunch, raising your knees and grunting like a porn star.  It was both angering and hilarious to watch this utter penis struggle to maintain a conversation whilst crunching with one hand on his phone and the other holding one of the handles.

It was awkward and embarrassing, all at once.

So, how does all this relate to FuckMonkey?  Well, I’m glad you asked.

A few weeks ago I was in the gym and I was working my back.  Of all the pec-fly machines in the gym, only three of them double as a back-fly machine.

For the uninformed, these machines look something little like this:

fly-machine

Note – that is not Superman

On this day, two out of the three machines were out of service.

I had almost completed my routine and only had the back-fly machine left to use, so I walked towards the one working machine and was headed off by this guy who placed his towel on it and then went to grab some water.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present you with FuckMonkey.

FuckMonkey hit all 5 on the list.

After standing in line behind someone using the left fountain, he came back, looked at me blankly, put down his oversized water bottle, then adjusted the weight he needed and began doing chest exercises.  I couldn’t believe it, he could’ve chosen ANY of the other pec-fly machines that didn’t double as a back-fly machine, but no…he had to use this one.

Oh well‘, I thought, ‘he shouldn’t be that long‘.

I’ll wait.

He was on the phone (hands-free), mumbling some inaudible shit while he sorted out the height of his seat and began his first set.

I waited.

He finished his set – still mumbling – adjusted his stupid fucking hat and sat there on his phone for what felt like an eternity.

I waited a bit longer.

He pulled himself away from his phone for a for a moment to pout and flex his puny chest muscles in the mirror before looking up at me blankly and adjusting the weight on the machine.

He started his 2nd set.

I waited some more.

After his 2nd set – still mumbling some bollocks into his phone – he went back to texting and pouting and flexing in the mirror.

Again, he looked at me blankly, then adjusted the weight on the machine and began his 3rd set.

After 15 minutes (yes, FIFTEEN minutes) and numerous sets, I caught the eye of a fellow gym member (let’s call him Larry) who gave me a ‘Sheesh! How long is that guy going to take?‘ look.

I nodded back with my best I know, right?‘ look.

After a minute or so Larry walked over to FuckMonkey and did what any Brit would never do; he asked Fuckmonkey how long is is going to be.

Are you going to be long?  That guy behind you is waiting for the machine“.

FuckMonkey muttered something and Larry looked at me, shrugged and went back to his workout.

Now, usually I wouldn’t wait around, but this was the LAST machine in my routine for the day, and the completionist in me just wanted to get it done.

I waited another 10 minutes and FuckMonkey carried on pouting, flexing, mumbling and doing sets…all the time knowing I was stood there shifting from foot to foot and huffing loudly.

Us Brits might not have the balls to confront a stranger, but we sure know how to huff.

At one point, another gym goer asked me if I was using the machine I was leaning against.  I replied with “No, I’m waiting for that machine, right there” and pointed full on and passive aggressively at the one FuckMonkey was on.

FuckMonkey saw me.  FuckMonkey didn’t change his routine.

After a full 25 minutes had passed, enough was enough.  I walked over to FuckMonkey and interrupted his current pouting session.

Excuse me…” (I’m English after all, I don’t want to appear rude), “…how much longer are you going to be?“.

He mumbled something like “M gon’ do, li’, a som’ mo’ set’, li’, 20 o’ wha’ev

I looked at him for a moment, resisting the urge to garotte his weedy little neck, and said sarcastically (and a little aggressively), “So, what are you saying, 20 more minutes?“.

He nodded and said “Yeah“.

And that’s how he got his name.

newspaper

1 This is nothing derogatory about his size, or some cheap shot.  I don’t mock or berate people based on their appearance, but rather their level of sheer Dumbfuckery.  If you’re stupid enough for me to write about you, you’re fair game.  Plus, two of my friends have a beautiful baby boy with dwarfism. (Shout out to J and M!)

Are you talking at me?

I’m currently sat in the waiting room of the physical therapy clinic whilst my wife undergoes another session following her double ACL knee surgery a few weeks back.

Whew, that was a long sentence.

Anyway, I’m sat here reading crap on my phone (as usual) when I felt the prescence of someone sit down three seats to my left.

A miniscule fraction of a nanosecond passed before I heard a southern American drawl aimed in my general direction.

“That’s a lot of tattoos”

I chose to pretend I hadn’t heard her and kept reading whatever bollocks I was reading on my phone, knowing full well she was talking to me.

How do I know?  Well, because:

A) I have two full tattoo sleeves, and

B) I’m the only other person here.

I could feel her looking at me awaiting some sort of response, like a gormless child waiting for a firework display to begin; slack jawed and unblinking.

The act of ignoring someone does not come as easy to me as many would think, so I succumbed to literal peer pressure and looked up at her old, heavily tanned, heavily cheekboned (due to one surgical procedure too many) face.

I gave her a fake smile.

“A lot of tattoos huh?” she pointlessly asked, in case I hadn’t caught the gist of her last unwelcomed comment.

For a second I toyed with the cliché response of “Oh shit, where the fuck did THEY come from??”, but instead I lifted one arm, admired it for a moment and chuckled a friendly(ish) reply:

“Yeah. And a lot of pain too.”

That should be enough to end this unwanted conversation, I thought.

Wrong.

“Wow, gee whizz”, she continued with me now back to my phone, attempting to re-ignore her.

She then paused for a few seconds to, I assume, scan all my artwork.

Then she let out an audible shudder.

Have you ever heard someone audibly shudder?

What kind of reaction is that?

It’s impossible to describe the sound with the written word, but it was like she had spiders suddenly running up and down her sinewy but saggy, slightly hunched, leathery body.

Silent shudder.

Talking crap

I’ve just been for that first satisfying bowel movement of the day.  The one that usurps all others.

It was great.

But, unlike those I enjoy at weekends, this one was at the office.

A downside to curling out a fresh biscuit at work is that you’re not always the only baker in the bakery.  This visit was one of those times.

Now, a story like this isn’t unusual under normal circumstances, but this was far from normal.  As I entered the toilets [restroom/bathroom] I could hear that the occupant of the far cubicle [stall] was talking to someone.  He was on the phone.

I took the first cubicle because, well, no-one likes to poo within a foot of another person.  I don’t care if there’s a layer of wood between me and him; if I can see the shadow of his feet, I’m too close.

The toilets at work don’t have piped in music, nor are they located next to an airport runway so it was deathly quiet in there and therefore I could hear every word he was saying.

“I know”

“Yes, I heard you”

“Well, you hurt my feelings”

“Yes”

“Yes I know”

“OK”

There was a pause.

“I love you”

His call must have ended at that point because he then proceeded to wipe his arse.

Nice.

I finished my performance, flushed and then spent an unnecessarily long time washing and drying my hands.

Why?

Well, it could be because I believe in good personal hygiene, or it could be because I wanted to see if this guy had the bollocks to come out of his cubicle and reveal himself.

He didn’t.

I wouldn’t have either.

So, to respect his privacy and integrity, I left.

Then, out of respect for the guy, I didn’t hang around in the kitchen waiting to see who emerged.  I didn’t think it was right to make myself a coffee really slowly so I could check out if it was someone I knew (who may read my blog and somehow take this invasion of privacy personally).

After a few minutes he emerged.  Thankfully I didn’t know him.

It was just one of our security team; a massive bastard built like a brick shithouse.

This could be my last post.

picard phone loo

The cinema ‘experience’ (Part 2)

Following on from Part 1, here is the second category in why the cinema experience isn’t that great.

 2. The People

I can tolerate the extortionate prices of the food and over-iced drinks. I can even tolerate the uncomfortably stained and sticky seats.  It’s the people I have issues with. I could write shitloads about the people, but there’s only a finite amount of storage on the internet so I’ll break it down into categories.

Talkers

Why are you talking through the film? You’ve chosen and paid money to watch this film, so sit down, shut up and fucking watch it.  Are you so incapable of not spewing utter bollocks for 2 measly hours of the day?  If you can’t shut up, get out.

cinema talking

I have to go out on a limb here and include children and babies in this section. I realise it’s not their fault as they have yet to adopt social cinema etiquette, but come on!  If your baby is screaming and crying, take them outside.

They’re clearly not happy being in a dark noisy room surrounded by strangers.  After all, I’m not.

Take them outside. What are you doing in the cinema with a baby anyway? Either leave them with a sitter/friend/stranger or catch the film in a few months on Netflix.  It’s not fair on the baby and it’s not fair on me, er, I mean us.

As far as kids are concerned, have a word with them beforehand about not talking or at the very least gag your little treasures.

I’m joking of course, but there is a degree of responsibility here on the parents. When the child is asking “Daddy, what’s Shrek doing?  Daddy?  Daddy?   Why is Shrek shouting at Donkey, Daddy?  Daddy?  DADDY?  DADDY!?”, maybe consider quietly answering them, followed by a discreet “Shh, watch the film” rather than just ignoring them.

cinema shouting child

You might be able to tolerate their incessant babbling and running up and down the rows, but we can’t.

Kick my chair again you little bastard, I dare you.

Texters/Facebook fiends

I hate this above everything. Get off your phone!  If you’re doing it behind me, that’s ok (unless you haven’t muted the beeping/clicking sounds when you type), but anywhere else means I get a bright light in my face which can be as distracting as a punch in yours.

punch face

What is so important that you absolutely MUST send a message to someone or check your news feed RIGHT NOW? Then, when they’ve missed massive chunks of the film, they become a ‘talker’ and have to ask their friend what they’ve missed.

If I were the friend I would lie about it.

And punch them in the dick.

Or the vagina.

(I don’t want to appear sexist).

Loud eaters

Admittedly the cinema is somewhat responsible for a majority of this, but not entirely.

Firstly it seems ALL food packaging in the cinema is required to exceed the decibel level of a jet engine. It’s like bubble wrap being driven over slowly with a steamroller that launches fireworks and ball bearings out of its exhaust pipe, in a room with a lot of echo, during an earthquake.

loud noises

Secondly it seems that most people wait for a really quiet moment in the film to rummage shoulder deep into their popcorn, taking ages to grab a fistful to stuff in their stupid fat mouths.

RUSTLE RUSTLE RUSTLE!!!!

CRUNCH! CRUNCH! CRUNCH! CRUNCH!

SLUUUUURRRRP!!!

RUSTLE RUSTLE RUSTLE!!!!

CRUNCH! CRUNCH! CRUNCH! CRUNCH!

Can someone get this prick a nosebag?

Or me a gun?

twitchy eye

Seat etiquette

Don’t kick the back of my chair, or any chair in my row that’s bolted to mine.

Even if you’re gently tapping the back of the seat without realising it, don’t think I won’t gently tap your face with my fist without you realising it too.

Also, if you choose to sit with a space either side of you, don’t act like the victim and get all reluctant and huffy when my wife and I ask you to move over.  Do you seriously expect us to share popcorn across you?

We’re still going to hold hands.

And kiss.

That’s happening.

awkward

Last In, First Out

What are you doing turning up 20 minutes into the film?

Considering there’s usually half an hour of adverts and trailers/previews, that’s pretty fucking late to be strolling in. Did you forget what time the film was on? Was it a last minute decision?

And now that you’re here, please feel free to take a further 20 minutes to decide where you want to sit, preferably half way up the aisle so you can block the view of those who WERE on time.

Sit.

The fuck.

Down.

Oh, you need me to get up so you can get past my legs?  Of course mate, no problem; I wasn’t doing anything anyway.  No, no, it didn’t hurt when you trod on my foot.  It’s fine; adds to the whole experience.

late cinema

Then, when the film ends and the director’s name appears on the screen, most people are up out of their seats and already halfway to the exit.

This makes sense if the film was truly over, but with some films there are extra scenes during the credits.  However, the people who have already started leaving still continue to leave!

Fine with me.

It means I can finally let out that fart I’ve been holding in.

Aaaaah…..

fart cinema

To be concluded…

Are we becoming a nation of idiots?

In the past I used to believe that America was home to some of the dumbest people on the planet.  After all, they have no clue about anything outside America and their grasp of sarcasm and humour (or ‘humor’) is as tight as a slut’s vagina.

But after meeting my wife, who is from Las Vegas, I’ve had a lot more exposure to them (Americans, not sluts’ vaginas) and I’ve come to realise that this belief isn’t true.  I mean, it’s true of a lot of Americans, but it’s not fair to tar them all with the same brush.

Since my wife came to England I’ve started seeing the country through her eyes and cracks are beginning to form.  I’m slowly noticing that we are a lot more flawed as a nation than I realised, or cared to admit.  It’s like peeking behind the curtain at a magic show to see levers, pulleys and a white rabbit taking a colossal dump into a top hat.

England is also home to some of the dumbest people on the planet.

Case in point:

Last night, on the London Underground, my wife and I got off the train at Victoria station and shuffled with the masses towards the two upward escalators leading to the surface.  There were two guys in front of us and as we approached the escalators, one of the guys took the left escalator and the other took the right.

Neither of us paid any attention until one of the guys started talking to the other.  With a distance of around six feet between them and the combined noise of the escalator and the throng of chatting commuters, I should say one started shouting to the other.

Guy 1 – “So what happened next?”

Guy 2 – “What?”

Guy 1 – “I SAID, WHAT HAPPENED NEXT?”

Guy 2 – “Oh, right. Well she decided she was going to work Saturday instead”

Guy 1 – “She was going to what?”

Guy 2 – “PARDON?”

Guy 1 – “SHE WAS GOING TO WHAT?”

Guy 2 – “WORK SATURDAY INSTEAD!”

Guy 1 – “AH, I THOUGHT SHE MIGHT”

Guy 2 – “WHAT?”

I couldn’t believe it.  These two guys were together!  It wasn’t that busy in the station which meant they weren’t herded accidentally onto separate escalators; they’d CHOSEN to do that.

I looked back at my wife who was staring at them in disbelief.  She looked back at me, rolled her eyes and mouthed the words “Why the fuck?”

As we reached the top of the escalator my wife shared her thoughts with me.

For fuck’s sake England!

When an American living here rants about the sheer stupidity of people around her, it’s time to sit up and pay attention.

england fail