teaandotherdrugs

[teaandotherdrugs]

Be kind to your mind

When my dad visited my grandad for what he didn’t realise would be one of the last times, he asked whether there was any life advice he could give him.

After thinking about it for a while, grandad said: “just be kind.”

Kindness comes in many forms. It might be being patient with someone because you don’t know what kind of day they’ve had, or it could be helping someone out for no reason other they look like they could use a hand.

For me, kindness can be as simple as honesty.

I’m not referring to the kind of blunt honesty that gets you in trouble. I’m talking about being upfront with people because you want answers and you don’t want your mind to fill in the gaps. People may talk to each other about who they’re sleeping with or what they did at the weekend, but having a candid conversation about exactly how they’re feeling is not something all of us can do.

My parents, for example, never seemed to work through anything. They would argue constantly, and it only got more fierce as the years passed. I’d never see either of them apologise to each other, or tell the other their feelings about what was bothering them. They would quietly seethe about minor issues, until one of them would set the other off, causing them to throw every single unresolved conversation over the past decade of marriage at each other.

Blame took precedence over any sort of compromise. Cyclical, pointless arguments were favoured over a simple conversation laying out the problems at hand. Subjects were suppressed and would only come up again when the rage boiled over and couldn’t be contained anymore.

I lived in a house where conflict was terrifying, and I grew up thinking that any conversation could spiral uncontrollably. You could be as careful as possible with your words and it would still result in dishes being thrown, or my dad driving away in his car. Fast forward several years, when I discovered “boys”, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I struggled to be honest in any of my relationships.

Over the past two years in therapy I’ve discovered that’s largely because of the barriers my mind put up for me. To avoid the screaming and the fear, the best option was to pretend there was nothing wrong. Whenever something upset me, I would have a mental block about how exactly to go about it. To me, any issue I raised would cause irreparable problems, and would never be resolved because the furious battle would stand in the way. The solution, my brain thought, was to bottle it up.

Of course that isn’t healthy, but it’s hard to go against the tide of what’s comfortable. There’s a reason people keep repeating the same mistakes over and over again. Familiarity feels good, and so we keep acting the same way and finding ourselves in the same situations until we break.

In terms of my mental health this has been a catalyst in anxiety, depression, and frustration. In terms of my personal life, it’s meant compromising on myself and ignoring what I really need.

The alternative is to start breaking down these barriers, and to do this I had to start with friends — the people who I believe know me the best. I'm not sure how to explain the shame and embarrassment I felt the first time I was completely honest about my feelings, but the relief afterwards was undeniable. There’s no other way to put it. I put myself out there and I was vulnerable, but I wasn’t rejected. I wasn’t shouted at, I wasn’t laughed at, I wasn’t dismissed... I was listened to.

After that moment, coming up to two years ago now, I took small steps to becoming where I’m currently at.

I’m not fixed yet. I’m still not at the stage where I can be completely honest in romantic relationships. I know I’m getting there but it’ll take a few more awkward, painful interactions to be able to express myself freely.

I’ve always been really jealous of the couples I know who have the ability to calmly discuss the times they are upset with each other. There’s no screaming or insult throwing. It’s a mature, honest conversation, and they end up coming to a compromise.

I used to believe they had some magic, secret guidebook to look through. Now I realise they just don’t have the same barricades that I do. Maybe they already got to a point where they broke them down, or they weren’t there in the first place — either way they give me hope.

By having the ability to turn your thoughts into words that don’t cause harm, relationships are opened up. They’re no longer superficial and full of guess-work. They can be deeper and you can end up showing more of yourself to someone. I don’t think everyone understands this yet.

I haven’t met anyone since my abusive ex who has given me enough respect, space, or patience to get to know me properly or be honest with me from the get-go. It’s taken me a long time to realise that isn’t my fault.

Men tell me there is “something missing” quite often. It’s so uncanny it would be funny if it didn’t hurt so much. Comedy equals tragedy plus timing, so I’ll be laughing about it soon enough.

I suspect it does actually have something to do with me, but I’m not going to blame myself over the fact the men I go for don’t seem to realise I require effort. You can’t sow two seeds and expect a meadow.

My suspicion of intimacy and showing my full self are still standing in the way of being where I want to be. I’ve made a lot of progress, just perhaps not enough.

I wrote this post a year ago, and reading it back now I can feel the pain in my words where I said I apply the warning signs of an abusive person to everyone I meet. I’ve more or less stopped doing that, but I’m still vigilant as hell.

I’m not going to pursue anyone until I know where I’m really at, and I know I’ll be able to be honest straight away: I’m not disposable, I’m not a bit of fun, I’m a person who’s looking for someone to be real with, and if that’s not for you I’m not going to get to know you well enough to fall in love with you.

The only saving grace is that each time I have been hurt, the pain doesn’t last as long. I’ve learned more about myself in the past two years than I ever have, and that can never be a bad thing. Taking a step back is not me giving up, it’s me being kind to myself.

And ultimately, it would be great if the next person I meet, whoever or whenever that might be, would be kind to me too.

#relationships #love #mental health #psychology #dating #abuse #emotions

[teaandotherdrugs]

Dream a little nightmare

I used to have a lot of nightmares when I was a kid. My mind was an expert at conjuring up monsters, or turning real life situations into something warped and terrifying.

I was never that child who ran for my parents when I woke up frightened in the pitch darkness. I just seemed to get on with it on my own. I’d sleep with my face buried under the covers, frozen and too scared to move, until morning came.

I haven’t had nightmares for years. When I grew up, my mind started getting preoccupied with daunting adult thoughts about relationships and responsibilities. The proverbial monsters under my bed didn’t haunt me anymore, because they no longer had a purpose. Real life was scary and problematic enough, so they disappeared. 

But a few months ago, I had a nightmare. One that made my blood run ice cold. One monster made his way under my bed, and it was only when I thought he was gone he surfaced and came for me again.

The specific content of the dream isn’t particularly important, but the main theme was a feeling of helplessness during a violent attack. A rendering of my ex, or perhaps an amalgamation of a few of them, appeared in my room. He had gotten in without me inviting him, and he was angry. He was a massive shadow, full of fury, and hatred. I was exposed, in my bed, with nothing to protect myself. If that’s not a metaphor for our relationship, I don’t know what is.

He tried to rape and strangle me to death.

I woke up, again alone, again in the pitch black, and again frozen. 

The fuzzy confusion of coming out of a dream made me question reality for a few seconds, which felt like an eternity. I thought he was really in my house. I regressed to childhood, and my head was under the covers again. I remained still as a statue until my alarm went off several hours later.

The dream haunted me over the following days. Both the experience and what it meant. It wasn’t just that it was disturbing, but it made me feel like I’d gone backwards. 

It took me a long time to get over my ex and what he’d done to me. For him to appear in my subconscious was both scary and disheartening. I’ve moved on. I really, really have. I never think of him... unless I have to, to try and figure something out about my past. But even then there is little to no emotion attached.

For him to invade me in this way was frustrating. He got me again. I was violated. After all this time, he can still make me feel like I’m nothing, that I have no-one, and I only exist as a punching bag for his outbursts.

It was like every step I’ve taken to make sense of what a cowardly monster he was had been for nothing, because he could still abuse my mind if he wanted to.

I just kept thinking... Why now?

There’s been a huge conversation about sexual violence against women recently, in the news, and just among people. So when you think about it, it’s not hard to make the connection to why my mind went to that dark place. I think for a lot of women, the past few months of news have been exhausting. Every day there was a new story about a woman who had been pestered, cat-called, abused, harassed, stalked, raped, or killed. 

At the forefront of my mind, the #metoo movement might be the most influential few weeks I’ve ever lived through. It was empowering in ways I can barely explain, seeing so many women’s stories being listened to, as well as the surrounding support from men and women who said enough was enough. What I didn’t expect was for it to take such a toll on my mental health.

My job is closely linked with social media, so I barely take a break from the noise. When suddenly all of those voices are talking about emotionally exhausting topics, you might not realise the impact it’s having on your brain. I certainly didn’t. 

I spoke to my therapist about the dream. She almost laughed about the connection because it was so obvious. Afterwards, I felt marginally better and after a few days I went back to normal with the promise to be kinder and more understanding of myself.

Over the past few months I’ve realised it wasn’t just a blip. The nightmare taught me something new. Rather than a manifestation of the literal person, I think the monster represented something else I’d buried deep.

I think he represented the side of me who can’t let go of the fact she was trampled.

(I’m not entirely sure how to explain what I think is happening in my mind here so bear with me.)

Over 2016 and 2017 I dated quite a lot. I met a fair amount of new people, and although not all of them were right for me, I learned something from each of them about myself and what I wanted. 

But it’s easier said than done to break down your barriers, especially when you know the dangers that are out there. 

I said in my last post how I struggle to stop myself from applying the signs of abusers to everyone new that I meet. To make things even worse, I’m a walking contradiction. I’m scared of how someone will treat me, but I’m simultaneously eager to drop everything and fall head over heels for someone — even if they are completely wrong for me. 

This isn’t me being cautious. I know I attract people who are wired to hurt me. But my heart has a tendency to rule, and I let these men in, and I fall for the tricks. I fall for the lies. I fall for the people who disarm me. I just fall for it. 

I fall for it every. god. damn. time.

The only feasible answer to this is to take a massive step back and tread carefully. Although every fibre of my being gets excited when I meet someone I like, and wants to spend every waking minute with them, I also have a voice inside my head who acts as my protector. 

She’s always there now. She’s been there for a while, but I haven’t always taken her seriously. But since I woke up, choking for air, tears on my face, thinking someone was going to kill me, I’ve told her I must listen to her more. 

I don’t want that nightmare to ever be real.

So I have started to listen. I’m not allowing my heart to get carried away. I have to suss people out before I let them completely in. And that will take some time. But honestly, if someone is worth the wait, they are simply worth the wait. 

I am worth the wait. I know that now.

I am quiet. I take time to think. I sometimes need long periods of time to work out how I really feel about a situation, or a person. That can be frustrating for me, so believe me I know it will be frustrating for them too. 

To some people this means I’m “damaged.” To others, it makes me a flight risk. I just say it’s something akin to fucking wisdom. 

Wisdom comes from experience and most of the time it’s what we learn when we’ve been hurt. Through pain comes sagacity, resilience, and the capacity to care a hell of a lot.

I’m not ignoring my inside voice anymore, because I know she has learnt so much. She probably knows what’s going on better than I realise. 

The nightmares are scary, but I haven’t had one since. All that’s under my bed now is a load of post I haven’t opened, and odd socks.

But I have to take care of my heart and my voice. If the monsters come back, in whatever form, I must take stock and change something. Slow down, stop, think, take a break, or simply spend some time asking the right questions. I owe them both that much.

#relationships #psychology #mental health

[teaandotherdrugs]

A rare glimpse of emotion

It’s not often I write about my emotions so transparently. But as a word of warning, I’m going to dig deep into my mind and reveal some things that might not be all that comfortable for you to read if you don’t know me that well. Not that I think many people will read this. It’s just some of the things I’m going to write I haven’t told many of my closest friends or family.

With that disclaimer out of the way, I’m going to start by telling you my favourite band is Jimmy Eat World. Deep stuff I know. This often makes people laugh because it sounds like I’m stuck at a mental age of 14, refusing to grow up, and longing to be back in the past. That’s sort of true, but it’s mostly just because I’m hugely nostalgic. I live in my head. I always have. It’s probably something to do with being an only child and being comfortable with being alone.

My release and passion has always been writing, and I’m so lucky that I’m able to do it for a living. But I barely ever write about myself. I’ve never kept a diary, I just keep everything locked up inside. This is not healthy.

So this is me, getting out of my own head for once.

Anyway, I’m totally fine with admitting that Jimmy Eat World probably aren’t the greatest band in the world. I also know they probably haven’t released the greatest songs in the world, or are going to be that popular with many other people my age. Whatever — that’s not the point. I started listening to them in my early teens and their songs spoke to me in a way I couldn’t speak or connect to people. Jim Adkins’ lyrics seemed to line up with exactly how I felt about so many different situations, mostly involving heartbreak of some kind.

Whenever I needed to be told everything would be okay, Jimmy Eat World appeared to be there for me. Their albums got me through my intense teenage relationships, my loneliness at university, and finally dealing with the breakdown of an abusive relationship last year. The latter is the most important.

In November 2016, I was a complete mess. Not many people were aware of how much I was struggling, because I’m a compartmentaliser and I’m really great at pretending I’m okay — until I’m not. The previous June I’d been dumped by someone who had become my entire toxic world for over a year, and I’d lost a lot of myself over that time. I couldn’t eat for weeks. I cried, a lot.

In November, I found out he’d started doing the same thing to someone else, and it destroyed me. I’ve never dealt with that much emotion before, and it ate away at the self-esteem and self-worth I’d been working so hard on over the last 5 months in therapy. I started seeing a therapist after the break up because I had completely lost a sense of who I was, and I didn’t know how to motivate myself to do anything. I also knew somewhere deep inside myself I was still there, but I couldn’t connect to her, and I needed help to rebuild myself. 

I stopped eating again.

So yeah, I took the setback pretty hard.

Then I heard this song:

I realised my favourite band ever had released an album and as ever, there was something to comfort me in the lyrics:

Honey, you are free

As much as you can stand to be

You are free

And it's anything you think that means

You are free

To be who you want

What you need, yeah, who you want

What you need, baby, you are free

I went back to my home in Hertfordshire to put myself back together, and I attended my next therapy session with a new perspective: I was free.

It was like I finally saw him for what he was. A narcissist, an abuser, selfish, inconsiderate, cruel, mean, controlling, and manipulative… It was as if I finally realised I had nothing to miss anymore. Maybe I never had anything to miss in the first place.

It’s a confusing place to be in because I’d more or less been obsessing over whether or not I could get him back since he broke up with me. I thought me and him were the same identity, because he’d made me feel like I couldn’t live without him.

I’m not going to say the song changed my life. But somehow, finding out about his new relationship and hearing the song coincided perfectly, and it was like a lightbulb turned on. Actually, it was more like being hit by a bus. Or a toxic fog lifting so I could see clearly for the first time in months. I realised he was doing the same thing to somebody else and I should be thankful I’d gotten out while I could.

His words suddenly took on a new meaning. I kept a mental diary of some of them.

“Go fuck yourself”

“You did this”

“You’re a manipulative cunt”

“Seriously you’re such a bitch”

“It’s your fault I’m acting like this”

“You’re so selfish”

“You only think about yourself”

“I’m going to leave you here if you don’t shut up”

“Lower your fucking tone”

“Entitled bitch”

“You need to stop being so selfish”

“Shut the fuck up”

“You’re a bad person”

And finally:

“I treat you so well.”

Because being an abuser doesn’t just mean you’re totally fucking mean the entire time. You also have to create the illusion that the person you’re abusing has something to lose. I consider myself pretty mentally strong, but he really hooked me.

I believed nothing I ever did was good enough for him, because that’s what he thought. He didn’t work for much of our relationship so I spent a lot of money on him, but nothing I did was ever enough because he “treated me so well” and he obviously deserved more than I could give him.

Have you ever heard of love-bombing? Here’s a quick summary:

Someone bombards you with compliments, text messages, wants to see you all the time, promises or buys you gifts, showers you with affection, and makes you feel like the luckiest person in the world. Things between you progress really quickly because you think anyone who’s treating you so well must be the love of your life, so why wait?

It’s a psychological trick manipulative people use, and it’s also seen in religious cults. Well, that’s what happened to me.

I was in a serious relationship far quicker than I’d intended to be, and after a few weeks of dating this guy was confessing his undying love for me. I was so different, I was the one, it must have been fate we met. Actually no, it was Tinder, which makes it sound all the more predatory doesn’t it?

It was nice to hear because I’d never been given this kind of attention before, so something primal in me fired up and told me I shouldn’t lose what we had, even though we barely knew each other in reality.

Then of course, all the promises fell through. All the things I thought he was quickly dissolved, and I was left with someone who looked at me with contempt, used intimacy as a weapon against me, and called me things nobody has ever called me before.

The first time the mask slipped was after he told me he loved me for the first time. We’d met 3 times by this point.

“If you don’t love me I’ll go and find someone who does,” was pretty much the climax of the argument. I felt this panic inside me which was so foreign to everything I thought I knew about myself. What if he was the one? What if I was fucking up something amazing? I told him I did love him. I didn’t mean it. But it didn’t matter, because I then started to believe it and I was sucked in even further.

The mask slipped more and more after that. Everything I did from that point was an attempt to try and get the person he was when we first met back. That never happened, because that person never existed.

Once, he left me crying in a hotel room alone on my birthday because I’d asked him if he was going to be late to my party. Once he yelled so aggressively in my face on the Tube that a stranger had to come up to him to tell him to calm down. Many times he left me in the street alone crying because I couldn’t work out what I’d done wrong. Many times he would be aggressive and mean to me and later deny it, just so he could blame my sadness and bad mood on me. He would make plans with me only to cancel them last minute so he knew I couldn’t see anyone else.

To give you more of an idea of how frightening he could be, narcissists are incapable of something called “object constancy.” This is when you have the ability to love somebody and be angry at them at the same time. Usually in relationships, you can argue, but you don’t want to really hurt the person you love and you work it out. With us, he really, truly hated me in the moments he was abusing me. He honestly didn’t care at all how much he hurt me or how much damage he was doing.

He never physically assaulted me, but his touch got more sadistic over time. If I opened my mouth to yawn, he’d poke his fingers down the back of my throat. He’d prod my sides, hard. He’s hold onto my hand so tightly that I couldn’t let go and he’d pull back my fingers so they clicked. It was painful and I told him to stop because I hated it. He told me not to whine. I was overreacting.

He gaslighted me. He made me think I was crazy for being upset. He made me feel like I was losing the plot, and I must have been doing the things he said because he loved me so much. He made me believe I was losing my mind.

Countless times he made me feel small and insignificant, and made me apologise for things I didn’t really understand why I was apologising for. Over and over again he threatened to leave me if I didn’t act a certain way. Time and time again he would punish me with silence or no affection because I’d said something wrong. Thousands of times he told me to shut up because I disagreed with him.

Because a narcissist is never wrong. You can argue and defend yourself as much as you want, but if you believe something even slightly different, they see it as some kind of attack. Your feelings don’t matter. They have zero empathy for you if you’re upset. It’s only when you agree out of exhaustion that they start to be nice to you again. They’re conditioning you like a pet.

It’s a confusing way to live because you know you have values, but you find yourself compromising on them time and time again. You treat yourself with the same amount of respect the abuser does — which is none. So many times in an argument I’d be struggling to understand how we got there, what I’d said, or what I’d done wrong. 99% of the time I couldn’t work it out, and I’d be stuck in this alternative reality where nothing made sense.

Have you ever been in a situation that’s so hurtful and confusing that you don’t know what to do with your body? I have, and I still struggle with that. It happens with gaslighting sometimes. It’s like you know what’s real but you don’t. I used to just pace and sit down and put my head in my hands. I tried to make myself as small as possible because I wanted to disappear. This still happens unfortunately. I tense up and I don’t know how to relax.

There’s a weird hypocrisy abusers live by. They often claim to have certain values too, such as being a feminist or very caring of other people. But you soon come to realise none of this care applies to you.

I was sucked into this cycle of desperately trying to please him, and walking on eggshells incase what I said would set him off. It was like Jekyll and Hyde. One minute he’d be talking about how much he loved me, the next minute he was replaced by a monster who seemed to hate everything about me.

But I didn’t tell anyone. I let him treat me this way and I stayed, because I honestly thought I deserved it and he must be right. Maybe I am selfish, maybe I’m not a nice person, he deserves so much better. It’s me making him upset.

I lied to my friends, a lot. Many of them never met this guy. This is probably because he knew they’d suss him out a lot quicker than I managed to. I told them I was sick or something urgent had come up when he forced me not to see them. 

I questioned myself constantly: Am I pretty enough? Am I thin enough? Am I outgoing enough? Am I selfless enough? Some of those questions still haunt me, and the fear of eating in front of people I’m intimate with is not gonna go away any time soon.

But when I found myself again, it was an immense feeling of relief to finally release all the self-blame and realise it wasn’t my fault. This became my mantra and I’d repeat it to myself over and over at work, or at home, or at the gym whenever he entered my head and I felt myself getting upset. It wasn’t my fault.

It wasn’t my fault he treated me like I was nothing. It wasn’t my fault he shouted at me. It wasn’t my fault he gave me no respect. It wasn’t my fault I’d felt like crap for over a year.

I do not want pity — at all. This past year has been one of the most influential of my life and I’m thankful I went through it in a weird way. One good thing is that all this has made pain a lot easier to deal with. I really know how much things can suck. Even if something is hard, or somebody hurts me, I know I’ll get through it, because I truly believe I’ve seen what evil looks like.

When it happened in June 2016, I was ripped apart, but I managed to channel it into getting the job of my dreams. Somehow.

Even better, in November I realised I liked someone. I had a few awful dates but I met someone who reminded me what it’s like to have a crush. It didn’t amount to anything but it felt great. It was like the final step to realising I wasn’t a bad person, I was just controlled and manipulated into thinking I was. People can and will like who I am.

I just have to make sure I’m in the right place for a new relationship, because although I feel so much more myself, I’m carrying around the baggage of the past and it can be pretty obvious I’m not totally back to normal. That was a bitter pill to swallow. I’m still pretty oblivious as to how a normal relationship is supposed to progress. I know the early signs of a sociopath so it’s difficult not to apply them to everything that someone new says or does. I’ll get there in time with someone who’s patient enough.

Long story short, I then went to go see Jimmy Eat World twice in November, on my own. Both times were amazing. 2017 has had its ups and downs so far, because I’ve been hurt, but you know what? It’s great to know someone else could hurt me, because it means I have the capacity to care again.

My abuser doesn’t control me anymore. I am “free.”

[teaandotherdrugs]

The pseudoscience paradox

This was going to be a thread, but it got a bit lengthy, and I wanted to cite some sources. So here’s my rant:

There’s a weird paradox of supporters of pseudoscience and conspiracy theories, in that they dismiss 'experts' unless they find someone who agrees with them that also happens to have a degree.

It's bizarre and no climate change denier, anti-vaxxer or homeopathic medicine fan seems to be able to see the hypocrisy.

Myron Ebell for example — the guy who headed Trump’s Environmental Protection Agency transition, who also happens to be a climate change denier and a puppet of the fossil fuel industry — just yesterday said that the American people have had enough of scientific experts, because they represent the 'bi-coastal urban elite.'

When asked where he actually got his information from, if not from scientists, he said: 'I get my information from experts but I tend to be very skeptical of the expert opinion when it becomes groupthink.'

That means absolutely nothing.

What exactly makes Myron Ebell superior at judging which experts know what they’re talking about and which don't is a mystery to me, considering he doesn't have any scientific background, as my colleague Rafi has looked into at length.

In other words, Ebell is saying he has a better understanding of climate change science than 95% of scientists in the world, including the entirety of NASA. Make of that what you will.

I’ll bet you anything that he gets his information from someone who has a lot of impressive letters after their name, regardless of what they've actually studied or have expertise in.

A good example of this is the petition against climate change, that deniers love to cite. The OISM Petition Project supposedly has 31,000 signatures from climate scientists saying that climate change isn't a thing.

Quite simply, that isn’t true. Many people have debunked this petition a lot better than I, but to make a long story short, barely any of the signatories have any background in climate science. Many have links to fossil fuel industries.

Also, I found from choosing names at random from the list, a lot of them are literally dead now! Try it, it’s fun. 

Even if they were all legit, so what? 31,000 people equates to about 0.3% of all US science graduates. That's probably less than the percentage of scientists who are also conspiracy theorists. That's how irrefutable climate change is.

Anti-vaxxers jump on expert bandwagons too. One of the more recent champions I've seen mentioned is Tetyana Obukhanych, PhD, because you can't forget the PhD when you're an expert in professional bullshit.

She published this book: Vaccine Illusion: How Vaccination Compromises Our Natural Immunity and What We Can Do To Regain Our Health which is 53 pages long and makes absolutely no sense.

Skeptical Raptor dug into this way further than I have, and the TL;DR version is that Obukhanych gets even the most basic immunology wrong, has no serious credentials in the field of immunology and has never published any papers in peer reviewed journals about vaccination.

It’s yet more cherry picking, strawman arguments, outright lies and misinformation covered up by false authority. Just because someone has a PhD, it doesn’t make them a fountain of knowledge. Science does. 

Let me remind you that Gilian McKeith (yes, the poo lady) got away with calling herself a doctor for a long time. On TV! Ben Goldacre cleared up this mess a long time ago.

And finally, homeopathy. There's no lack of evidence of doctors supporting not-at-all-better-than-placebo treatments like homeopathy, and I won't go into it now. A while ago I ranted on Twitter about one of the most cited papers that supposedly proves homeopathic vaccinations work, so you can look at that here if you like. (TL;DR, it doesn’t AT ALL.)

Anyway, teething gel containing belladonna, or deadly nightshade (yes, the poisonous plant) has been in the news over the past few months because 10 children have died in connection with using the products.

This week the FDA has said it found elevated levels of the toxic substance, belladonna, in the gel.

Dr. Janet Woodcock, director of the FDA’s Center for Drug Evaluation and Research said: 'the body's response to belladonna in children under two years of age is unpredictable and puts them at unnecessary risk.'

And yet, the maker (Hyland’s) is refusing to recall the products, and has called the investigation 'fear mongering.'

I’m sorry, but it’s not fear-mongering when children have literally died. 

What’s most worrying is that parents are going to keep giving their children a 'medicine' that could kill them because a friendly doctor on the packet says it's okay.

There’s a lot of work still to do. Sigh!

#science #research #homeopathy #anti-vaxxers #pseudoscience #rant #climate change #trump

[teaandotherdrugs]

Vodafuck

Here’s a tale about how Vodafone treat a customer of 6 years.

This November, I was due for an upgrade which was welcome knowledge because my HTC one mini had practically dissolved. I looked around on the Vodafone site for the best deal, but also to other networks to see if there were any better options. Funnily enough, there were. For several pounds LESS on EE or O2 etc I could get significantly MORE OF EVERYTHING, so I decided to switch – fine. Got my PAC code from an adviser over the phone after some sweet talking, but the deals he made me weren’t even close. Again, I’ve been with them 6 years.

I went onto an online chat because I didn’t feel like being harassed over the phone. Adviser gave me suspiciously better deals. Long story short, I decided to stay with the offer he gave me, which in hindsight was my first error.

My new phone was supposed to arrive the next day – didn’t.

Chatted to someone to check up on the delivery.

“There was an adviser error, but I’ve sorted it now :)”

Great.

Next day, still no phone. I checked online to track the order to see: “order processing” which I figured was a bit strange.

Explained this to yet another adviser. He said that there had been an error, but not to worry, he had put it through now and I’d receive my phone tomorrow.

Did I? SURE! No.

This went on a while.

This was a chat with person number 3, and I decided from then on to keep my transcripts. Of course IT NEVER SHOWED UP.

Two weeks down the line I’d had enough. Decided to ring up and cancel the upgrade. This took four different people on the phone, each of which I had to explain the situation to all. Over. Again.

But finally they cancelled it. At least I presume they did, the phone never arrived either way.

Aaanyway, as I said, I’d had enough so I decided to get a new phone from a different network.

I was able to upgrade with Vodafone because my contract would be up in January 2016 (It was November 2015) but I refused to stay with a company that treated me like this, never warned me when I was going over my data (which was always) and had absolutely no respect for me as a customer for another two months.

When my new phone arrived and I’d finally switched the number over, I thought I could pay the exit fee and move on with my life.

Incorrect!

Last week I received a bill in the mail for exiting my contract early.

It was £426.80.

You can imagine my horror, but by this point I wasn’t even surprised or angry. Just tired.

After some online research, I found that they usually charge the remainder of the contract. Unless I was unwittingly paying £213 every month, then something wasn’t quite right there.

Back to the advisers I went. Explained the situation to someone online who asked me:

“Can I confirm you upgraded your phone to HTC one mini?”

Seemed like a trick question.

“When?” I asked.

“In March 2015.”

I had not.

It didn’t come to any fucking surprise that they had something as simple as a date wrong, but I held my tongue/ fingers.

“No. I sent my phone in for repair in March?”

Silence.

SLIGHT DETOUR – Yes, my phone broke so I sent it away for repair last March. This was a total fucking ordeal in itself. I got a crappy courtesy phone in the meantime. The assistants in the shop managed to transfer my sim to the sim in the courtesy phone, but when my new phone arrived at the shop, they managed to fuck up trying to transfer it to the new one. Thus, I had a phone that didn’t work for over a week and after two trips to two different stores and about 80 phonecalls I finally managed to sort it out. It wasn’t easy though, they kept telling me it was blocked and some lobotomised fuckwit in the shop told me to do a sim swap myself. Myself. In a phone shop. I did try that in the end, but it didn’t work. I received an email about three months later from Vodafone telling me it didn’t work. (Y)

Anyway, after being passed around a bit, one guy actually found out the problem.

“AAaahhh!” he exclaimed. “I see the issue.”

“Yeah? You get it now?”

“Yes you have been billed for an upgrade date of March 2016.” He said.

Genius.

He then said something incomprehensible, we exchanged a bit of talk, mostly me saying: “so you’re fixing it yes?” and “So I won’t be billed that, right?”

I have no idea what he said but he put me on hold.

I waited on hold for a few minutes, but by this time it was 8pm (the time advisers stop working at Vodafone) and realised he probably wasn’t coming back.

I got a text this week from Vodafone:

“Just to let you know, we haven’t received payment for your bill yet – so it’s now overdue.” Etc.

I ignored it.

Until today. I got a weird automated phonecall from Vodafone saying I had a message on my account. Great.

Tried to log in, but of course my account has been deleted because I switched networks, and thus I can’t see their message.

Being in a sort of mood where I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, I went onto the chat to ask again about what was happening.

Long story short, I don’t know if the guy knew what I was on about, but he said he would fix it and I’d receive a new bill in 24 hours.

About an hour later, I get this text from Vodafone:

So, after a “thorough investigation” they have found that the obvious error that an adviser admitted to me on the phone that they had made is not an error at all and the charges are correct.

This text is also a bit odd because it implies that I still have an account.

Just

Ugh.

Now what?

Can someone help me? I want to sue someone. Who can I sue?

#vodafone #vodafoneareshit #phone #company #bill #call #centre #dickheads #wankers #fuckwits #whocanisue

[teaandotherdrugs]

Steve Jobs Reincarnate

I'm a sucker for a pun, and 'Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2' really outdid themselves. The foodimals are outrageously and unashamedly hilariously named (su-sheep, shrimpanzees...etc), and the ridiculousness of it all is just too much to take at times. Who cares though, as the main character Flint actually says at one point: "It's best not to think about it too much".

What transferred this movie from top ten to possibly all time favourite animated film was Chester V - a charismatic cult leader of inventors, who sells the world his 'food bars', numbered to represent their newness and inventiveness. Sounds familiar. He is totally Steve Jobs.

I'm not an Apple person, so it would be easy to argue that I'm seeing evil dictator comparisons where there are none, but let me convince you otherwise. Here are some direct comparisons I saw with the two worshipful inventors....Make your own mind up.

1. They both have glasses and a beard

Ok, so I'm starting obvious and small. However, this is undeniable. 

2. They number their all consuming products

(wonderful image from http://www.deviantart.com/fanart/?view_mode=2&order=5&q=apple+steve+jobs

Just as the latest iPhone becomes the centre of Apple, the newest edition of the 'foodbar' (Foodbar 8.0) becomes Chester's everything. His evil pursuits and decisions all stem from his belief that the new foodbar is the greatest thing ever invented. Nothing could ever be as good as this invention, not the products before it. Hence the numbering.

3. Namaste

Both these men appear to be serious practitioners of Zen Buddhism. Chester often uses the greeting "Namaste!" and can often be found chilling with his holograms in a weird state of meditation. Steve Jobs often engaged in lengthy meditation retreats. I wouldn't put him past having holograms either.

4. Inspirational quotes

"Can your ideas change the world?!" The creepy Chester V inspiration pod exclaims time after time in the Live Corp headquarters. Jobs didn't exactly have a catchphrase, but he is certainly one to look for if you want an inspirational quote or two. Google them if you care.

5. Loyal following of idiotic consumers

Steve.. I mean, Chester is Flint's idol. He foolishly hangs on Chester's every word throughout the film, not recognising the evil undertones of his words. People queue up for days to buy the first Apple shit. To some, Steve Jobs could do no wrong.

6. Angry tendencies

Chester V Often loses his temper, and exclaims "MONKEY" at his sidekick. Jobs was famously cruel to employees and critics, and pretty damn bad mannered. I don't have any pictures for this. It's too specific. 

7. The Company

Ok, the logo doesn't look anything like Apple and the name is totally different. They couldn't exactly call it Orange could they? Or Grape? You have to do some of the thinking yourself. 

Regardless, the high tech facility where Chester resides is minimal, nerdy and ridiculous. Part of it is also shaped like a lightbulb. I don't think it's built yet, but this isn't much less absurd as a hq.

I could go on and on about blue jeans and weird squiggly limbs, but I won't. I've made my point. I don't think Apple are going to embark on a weird mission to scramble a load of animals and transform them into iProducts in Steve Jobs' memory, but the general idea still stands. The genius mind behind a corporation may be bright, but he may also be EVIL.

Think about that!

#apple #livecorp #cloudy2 #cloudy with a chance of meatballs 2 #steve jobs #chester v #comparison #cartoon #fruit #veg #animals #tv #film #movie #funny

[teaandotherdrugs]

My Twitter Experiment Pt 5: Clutching at straws

Reg is getting a bit of a name for himself. Or so he hopes.

I’ll assume the latter one is a statement rather than a creepy demand.

Too right he does.

Follow back dog knows what he’s talking about.

Alas, yet again Reg has reached his following limit and can’t commit to following back 100% right now.

Never fear, there’s always the follow trains and this time Reg is having slightly more success.

I don’t know if these are the kind of followers that have heart strings I can tug on, but let’s give it a go. Now to Google pictures of sad looking ducks....

There’s no shame in turning to old friends for help.

How will everyone still love Reg if he can’t follow any of them  back? How will he let them all know that he truly loves them too? If not through the medium of twitter following, what the f is he supposed to do?!

Spread the word. Raise awareness for poor old Reg before it’s too late and the followers slip through his little webbed yellow feet.

In the mean time.

#twitter #followers #follow #tweet #retweet #experiment #duck #train #celebrity #bored

[teaandotherdrugs]

My Twitter Experiment Pt 4: The followers

I left Reg to his own devises most of this weekend. I’ve come back to check on him today and the feathery fucker has only gone and hit 1k!

I assume this will do only good things to his Twitter rep and increase his credibility in the twittersphere immensely.

I think it’s time to bring out the big guns, and stop puss-footing around the point. If you want followers, now is not the time to be subtle. I’ve hunted around twitter high and low (sort of) to find the most popular words, trends, celebrities, names and hashtags to fill up Reg’s profile to really get the point across. There is no room for delicacy in this world. I realise that now! Bit much?

Reg has also found that with great twitter following comes a great deal of SPAM.

I haven’t read any of these, but I have no doubt they’re incredibly personal. In my five years of twitter usage, I don’t think anyone has ever ‘DM’-ed me. Now I have 124 personal messages from friends I’ve only had for a maximum of 4 days. As suspected it’s mostly advertising, and messages concerning my ‘penis’ from accounts like this.

Seems legit.

With so much concern going into the amount of followers Reg can gather, I’ve forgotten the absolute gold that some people put on this site. I had a look through the masses of tweets the hundreds of nutters and promoters share, and came across some pretty insightful stuff.

You might got beef, you never know.

Daym.

Who are these people?!

I’ve noticed some other cheeky tricks people use to gain followers, but many of which are incredibly dishonest. It seems the majority of young girls on the internet lose all sense of reason when 1D or Bieber are involved (if they had any in the first place.)

Also seems legit.

In other news, this guy is following me. Yay!

Not the celebrity status I’d hoped for, but we’re clearly on the right track.

Off to do more weird trolling, check back tomorrow!

#twitter #experiment #trolling #troll #followers #follow #followback #funny #bored

[teaandotherdrugs]

My Twitter Experiment Pt 3: Going up in the world...

So, the twitter train failed miserably. Reg still needs to up his twitter credibility before he tries that one again. Still, it was retweeted by this guy.

Poor sod. Attempt two – slightly more aggressive, yet still light-hearted and to the point.

We’ll check back with that one tomorrow.

Reg has come across some pretty questionable people thus far. Particularly this individual.

She seems really nice. She seems to have the right idea though. 278000? Now that’s a number Reg can get on board with. Let’s see if she is as kind and considerate (not forgetting classy) as her name suggests.

Brushing off his feathers, Reg launches straight into new tactics. Tweeting celebs! All it takes is a few shout outs from the rich and famous, and apparently this makes you 100 times more interesting and followable to everybody. It might be hard though, as nobody really cares about ducks.

Some aren't so well structured, I'll admit.

Not forgetting the mighty J-Biebs, Reg jumps on the bandwagon and furiously tweets some hilarious jokes at him.

I really hope some insistent celeb tweeting is going to help Reg out here. 800 followers just isn’t enough for him, and I’m worried he might start selling his little feathery body. I’ve seen enough weird porn on Twitter over the past two days that I’m not entirely convinced someone wouldn’t be into it. Of course, there's always this....

Check back tomorrow! 

#twitter #follow #mania #followers #bored #train #followtrain #duck #Reg #celeb #tweet #promotion

[teaandotherdrugs]

My Twitter Experiment pt 2: Reg's twitter train

In 24 hours, Reg the duck has already managed to rack up more than double the followers my own measly account has in about 5 years. Through retweeting rubbish from various “follow back” accounts and mindlessly following back every account, he is well on his way to becoming a twitter-hold name. Especially in Arab countries it seems.

Hardly an hour into the experiment Reg hit the 100 mark. It was an exciting moment, and I soon realised I wasn’t going to stop any time soon. Yay!

Checking just now, we are at a cool 650. Have I really clicked follow that many times in a day? That’s fairly soul-destroying information, but I will continue for the sake of Reg and all of us who wish to make a name for ourselves one day.

Not only have I probably incurred some sort of repetitive strain injury, but clicking the follow icon over and over again is pretty damn tedious. I also received an error message from Twitter that I wasn’t “allowed to follow anyone else right now”. Buzz-killington much?

So I decided to let Reg tweet for a bit.

So on to other tactics. For a start, the tweets themselves need to be more engaging.   

Reconsidering this tweet, I’ll go along the route that many of my followees are and Reg is going to start a follow train!

I think how it works is one person tweets some gibberish about following everyone that retweets or whatever, so that’s what Reg will do, including some of the popular hashtags I’ve seen lying around.

I’m unsure whether Reg is actually in the team yet or not. It turns out the ‘Team Follow Back’ isn’t as selective as I first thought. Seems like any old Tom, Dick or Harry can join, which is probably handy, considering the lack of effort I’ve put into Reg’s twitter self thus far. Maybe his celeb status has to be greater for this to work. Who knows?!

Obviously if it doesn't work Reg's twitter trains can get steadily more aggressive.

Check back tomorrow for the results!

#twitter #experiment #retweet #train #follow #followers #duck #Reg #bored

[teaandotherdrugs]

My Twitter Experiment Pt 1: The Following Begins...

There is a positive correlation between how interesting and appealing you are and how many thousands of Twitter followers you have, right? Nothing screams intelligence and wit like hundreds of thousands of mindless drones cluttering your newsfeed. Who doesn’t want to litter their lives with ridiculous amounts of people they don’t know? What else is this oddly competitive social media for, if not to brag about your popularity to the extent that anything you might actually want to read is buried among the sheer mass of “RT FOR FOLLOW BACK” and “WANT TO GAIN 500 FOLLOWERS A MINUTE? CLICK HERE!”

Curious about the agenda of so many people to rack up as many followers as possible, I’m conducting an experiment to see if it as easy as they say. I’m going to discover just how many shameless retweets and promotions it takes to sell my cyber-soul completely, and become a member of the exclusive and enigmatic ‘Team Followback’!

Using the most popular techniques, I’m going to see just how far to twitter-stardom I can get in a week.  My life is bound to have found its meaning by then!

First step, pick a name. I don’t particularly want to be dragging my own name through the dirt of the twittersphere, so I’ll pick something inconspicuous like Reg. Yes, that will do fine. Next, fill in an email address I no longer use. Check. Now I need to create a username. I suppose this is what other twitterers will see, so it’s got to be something subtle yet poignant.

Looks like Reg is already taken. Who knew? Suddenly an epiphany, what tugs at the proverbial heart strings more than a picture of a cute animal? Reg is now a duck with the unobtrusive username duck_Reg.

And it’s that easy! Reg is created, and has been given some, lets say, interesting suggestions of who to follow.

But Reg has no time for Schofe. He’s on a mission to gain millions of followers. Sorry, Tony Bellow. Better luck next time.

Now for an enticing bio and picture. Sorted.

Reg has gone live! Now all that’s left to do is rifle through Twitter land for the people who will get Reg where he wants to be, and retweet nonsense to his heart’s content. 

There’s a fairly endless list of users who appear at the search of ‘follow back’ so Reg will follow all of them, naturally (particularly the weird foreign ones)

A whole load of accounts seem to be dedicated to Justin Bieber in some way or another. Is this a handy tool to pick up followers? Have I missed a trick here?

The first promotional tweet he sees, Reg jumps straight on like the little retweet slut he is.

Great! This will work a treat.

As suspected, 8 followers in the first fifteen minutes! Reg can barely contain his excitement. 

Looks like the mass following has paid off. There's not enough to be said about retweeting things that are in Arabic.

Oh Reg, you dirty Twitter whore. Check in tomorrow to see just how far he is selling his little feathery self. 

#twitter #followers #reg #duck #experiment #fun #bored #following

[teaandotherdrugs]

5 Things I’ve really hated about 2013 – and you should too

1. Moustache themed jewellery/ accessories: Now, these hideous pieces probably haven’t just come about in 2013, but similarly to the over-groomed, unattractive facial hair they represent, they have lingered into this year. There seems to be a spell cast upon around a third of the population that thinks that rocking a ‘tache’ is acceptable behaviour. I’m not convinced. Why anybody would want to wear the most unattractive of facial decoration around their necks, on their t-shirts, or i-Phone covers is beyond me. I just hope a load of snail-trail themed attire isn’t around the corner for Spring 2014.

2. Facebook giftcards: I do not want to send my friends Starbucks gift cards for their Birthdays. Even if I did, I wouldn’t make the gesture twice as impersonal by doing so over Facebook. I know the whole world is desperate to erase human contact completely, but let’s give out gift cards in person for a little while longer, yeah?

3. Snapchat: Yet another craze that iPhone users have been raving about that I am yet to understand. The whole idea of it being that you can send photos that can only be viewed by the recipient for a number of seconds. Surely the only benefit of this useless program is that sexting is now slightly less regretful, because those tasteful Miley Cyrus-style naked pictures you send to your beau can no longer crop up in later life to haunt you. Teens can now send each other sneaky, grainy photos of their parts, without any fear of them sticking around. Lovely. I think if you believe the whole babygirl pouting in your underwear pose makes you look desirable, you should probably rethink your priorities anyway. A simple iPhone app is hardly going to prevent further soft porn blunders arising in your future. So on seconds thoughts, perhaps Snapchat is entirely useless afterall.

4. Candycrush: While I’m on the whole App thing, I should give Candycrush a piece of my mind too. I’m yet to play it myself, mainly out of principle as it seems to function similar to a drug dealer. From what I’ve heard, you get a few levels for free, and then it starts asking you for money once it has you hooked. Sinister, no? There are plenty of other activities I’d rather spend my time doing, instead of bowing down to some confectionary-based hell game. The amount of times I’ve heard people going on and on about a level they’re stuck on, or how frustrating they’re finding it to try and release all the jellies or whatever. I just don’t give a shit.

5. Hashtags in songs: Just totally fucking stupid. Someone needs to be punished for this, and I think it should be Will.i.am. I’d blame him for most things if I could. In fact, if I had a list of everything I’ve hated since 2001, he would probably take top place. 

#will.i.am #2013 #hate #rant #candycrush #snapchat #facebook #moustache

[teaandotherdrugs]

Ruptured Spleen

I apologise for the lengthy gap in my essential updates on life. This may or may not be due to my decision to watch seasons 1 to 6 of Lost over the past couple of months. Undecided over whether that was worth it or not. It also may or may not be due to the fact I covered my last laptop in tea (irony) a few weeks ago.

Nevertheless, you can place down the box of tissues because I have returned, risen from the proverbial ashes to tend to my little garden of weeds that is my under-appreciated blog. Went a bit overboard with the metaphors there, do forgive me, it's been a while.

Over the Easter holidays I was lucky enough to contract a week-long tonsillitis based illness from a companion which could have been glandular fever, nobody was really sure. Now, I'd had a similar thing before which had lasted 5 days so I thought I'd brave it out and hold off on seeing the doctor. Fast forward 5 days and as sod's law would have it, there I was incapacitated and kicking myself for yet again stubbornly rejecting the wonder of medicine.

As you may have noticed, there are a lot of variables in this post, and another is that my lengthened disabling illness may or may not have been emphasised by the debauched night spent in London for another companion's birthday. The less said about that the better.

Anyway, on giving my mother the news, she decided to do some over-the-top research on the NHS website and came to the conclusion I had glandular fever and had to lie down otherwise my spleen would explode. I voiced my concerns about how a spleen could explode, and how I thought that was rather unlikely, but to no avail. I spent the next two days in bed or downstairs watching How I Met Your Mother.

I could insert a rant here about my atrocious internet connection at home rendering any attempt to watch anything online completely useless but that's for another day.

On doing some of my own research, I've come to the (amateur) conclusion that the beast that disqualified me from life for a few days was in fact the glange and I only got it for a second time because I insisted on living on Marmite for the last two weeks of term before I went home and hence was malnourished with a compromised immune system.

I'm back in Liverpool again now, so bets on whether or not I'll be soon suffering with scurvy are now on with great odds!

Until next time, faithful followers.

#student #glandular fever #illness #student life #tonsillitis #bored

[teaandotherdrugs]

Silence of the Gym

1. The equipment next to you can be broken, and you can know about it, but you will never interrupt your workout to tell anyone who tries to use it. You consider it, sure. But you'll ultimately just keep running and let them work it out for themselves. You are busy after all. 

2. The dilemma you face when you're walking towards a machine and you spot a gym buddy heading towards it too. Offer it to them knowing full well they will offer it right back. You win.

3. You do care if the person next to you can hear your music. On the off-chance Jedward sneaks into your headphones, you turn it down when anyone comes within 10 feet of you. Just in case. 

4. Everyone looks dumb on a cross-trainer.

5. Eye contact with strangers around you is never ever okay. Immediately feel like a pervert if someone gets in your view.

6. Notice someone you know? Pretend not to, they don't want to talk to you. They're in the zone and you're not. Feel ashamed.

7. If you want to know if someone is nearly done with a machine, for the love of God don't ask them. Just hang around like a lemon and pounce when you have the chance. If you merely ask, they will obviously think you're mental.

8. Nobody wants to use the bike after a fat person.

9. The machine needs an oil and squeaks  Rather than inconvenience others around you with the noise, change the settings to a less fulfilling weight, but at least it doesn't squeak anymore. It's not like everyone's wearing earphones or anything. 

10. Don't look at how long the people next to you have been running for, they are self conscious about it and will hate you.

TBC

#gym #rules #exercise

[teaandotherdrugs]

Quickie

This is a short one, but it has to be released from wallowing in my mind and set free to educate the masses. If you are going to use this phrase, common and unimaginative as it is, for the love of God make sure you use it correctly.

You are not "on route" home to whatever dismal pool of ignorance you crawled out of. You are not "on route" to the shops to get a pack of extra-safe Durex to inhibit or, preferably, terminate any idea of you ever procreating. You are en route. Think about it, on route makes absolutely zero grammatical sense. You are on your way to never achieving anything in life, sure, but on route? Where is the article? Surely you were taught in primary school the basic grammar of the language you so arrogantly speak every day? On a route to destruction? Fine. On the route to the seventh circle of hell? Also fine. On route - not fucking fine. 

If you're unsure, please just resist from using random French phrases in your daily life. You can probably get away with it in general conversation, but put it on Facebook and you'll send my blood pressure through the roof. 

I am by no means suggesting I am a master of linguistics. Au contraire I'm pretty shit at French (ha). It's more the massacre of my beloved English language that brings me up in hives. So in brief, if you're unsure, just Google it. Unless of course you really hate me and care to luxuriate in your own stupidity for the sake of my imminent heart failure. Ignorance is bliss and all that.

#angry #rant #grammar #french #english

[teaandotherdrugs]

Me, Myself & A Broken Shower

I got rained on today. Set me up for a hideous mood, so naturally I head towards my blog of hate. After being under the impression this weekend that December the 1st would bring about an unavoidable aura of Christmas cheer, it seems to have worn off fairly quickly. Instead, the devastating anticlimax has somewhat left me in a worse mood than usual.

I'd like to start with something that's been bugging me for a while. A pet peeve that's been niggling at my heels for at least five years. I'd like to point out that my opinions may not be correct and I by no means consider my views the be all and end all of everything. This is just something that really gets on my tits, justified or not. 

I was watching The Young Apprentice last week and it became fairly clear within five minutes that something was going to piss me off. Whether it was the sheer lack of common sense, or the fact that none of the contestants had a basic idea of pretty much any subject. I can forgive ignorance, I'm not a monster. No, what really pissed me off is the constant idiocy of the contestants that they feel they need to refer to themselves as "myself" rather than "me". Might seem a menial issue, but I've noticed this in the 'grownup' version of the show too. Don't get me wrong, the show is great. Somewhere along the line though, someone has decided that adding an extra syllable to their sentence makes them sound cleverer and therefore more professional. UH?

It is beyond me that nobody has picked up on this on the show before. Doesn't it aggravate anyone else? In team Obnoxious we have Karl, Petunia, Loud Scottish Girl and Guy Everyone Hates. Who was the project manager? "That was myself Lord Sugar". UH?

Referring to yourself with a slightly longer word than usual does not make you sound any brainier. Au contraire I think it actually makes you sound like a bit of a knob. God forbid you use normal human language and sound like you're actually making sense, rather than creating unnecessary lengthy sentences where, guess what, you don't actually say anything meaningful whatsoever.

Is it some sort of marketing gimmick? Before each series do the producers sit teams Obnoxious and Superiority Complex down and explain to them the show just won't get the same ratings if they use normal language. Instead, they must ooze a despicable sense of self righteousness portrayed by their inability to string a sentence together like a normal human being, and therefore ANNOY THE ARSE OFF EVERYBODY WATCHING. You might say that I'm being irrational, and as a matter of fact, referring to yourself as "myself" in the business world is considered protocol. To that I would say I don't care. It still sounds dumb. 

In other news, our shower broke last week. It's already taken the landlord about 4 weeks to "find the receipt" for the broken vacuum cleaner, so you can imagine the effort it took to get someone to fix it. When I say broken, I don't mean it just fell off the wall. It did fall off the wall, but we could deal with that. It was more the fact the metal tube exploded and water flooded out of that rather than the shower head which was more disconcerting. 

On ringing up out fabulously well organised estate agents (mentioned previously), we were told that we were on the contractors list and he would get to us. How long would that take, we asked? "Oh I don't know... It depends how far down the list you are really." Helpful as ever. Did they have a copy of the list? No. Did they give a shit? Nope. So as far as we were concerned, the shower was going to remain unfixed until the contractor appeared out of thin air. Marvelous. 

It's also quite funny how little manners mean up here sometimes. Twice now we've been told that we are having viewings of the house, and twice nobody has shown up without so much as a phone call. When we asked why we hadn't been told, the devastatingly stupid woman on the other end of the phone informed us that it's because there isn't a program in the computer system that would send a text out if the viewings got cancelled. No program. The computer doesn't do it for them. She can't pick up the phone and call one of us to say it's cancelled because computer says "no". UNBELIEVABLE.

I have a feeling the walls are going to cave in any day now. They have started leaking every time we have a shower. Unfortunately for us there isn't a program in the computer that generates a new house for us if ours falls into a flooding vortex of destruction and we're left homeless in Kenny, left to dwell with he resident tramps and toothless men. 

COMPUTER SAYS HOMELESS.

#rant #estate agents #student #house #the apprentice #tv #grammar #angry

[teaandotherdrugs]

Fix the fucking toilet seat

Worst. Landlord. Ever.  I'm afraid this is going to be a fairly banal post, but it appears the only thing that has made any impact on the ranting area of my brain is our new landlord. After having spent the majority of Summer not getting worked up about anything, and my loyal readers bugging me to update this thing, I thought I should ease you in with a little taster of what is yet to come. I predict a long year of this ventilation for my anger being a necessity before my head explodes.

First things first, I suppose it's a rule of life to have a few minor issues with a property when you move in. Now, I'm a fairly reasonable person (up for discussion) but a broken toilet seat should NOT be one of them. In my opinion, I think it's fairly obvious that such a device should need replacing. You would think that if said landlord had looked around their property once in the last 4 months, the fact that the toilet seat was on the floor and not in fact placed on the toilet would have been the first clue. The second would be the fact you can't sit on it.

As I said, I'm a fairly reasonable person (discuss). I am willing to look past this ridiculous error and, like an adult, mention it on the inventory.

Before I continue, I'd like to note that I'm not obsessed with toilets, and there are in fact many other problems with our house, but I won't bore you with them. Just keep that in mind.

Anyway, as I said, we had a look at the inventory and noted down all the many many issues we had. Sorted. Or so you might think. Turns out the estate agents we use to contact our landlord are absolute morons.

Let me explain. It appears that the office goons as said estate agents find it impossible to create a clear route of contact between landlord and tennants. We've been here two weeks now and the fuckers have yet to understand that we don't actually need to be in the house for the landlord to look at the sofa/ fence/ toilet/ lighting to look at it all and say... "Yeah..that's broken."

Nevertheless they sent them over when we weren't in (they knew this) and so placed the blame on us.

It seems estate agents are unable to pass on a message. Who would have thought it? One of them seems perfectly capable to poke us on facebook, call my housemate "minxy" and send her a billion text messages. (He moved on to Whatsapp because "the boss checks the amount of texts") How about get a life? Regardless of obviously being able to contact other human beings, you would think that arranging a time where tennant and landlord are both around would be a piece of cake.  NO THAT'S JUST TOO MUCH TROUBLE.

Well that's it for now. Short and sweet but as I said, I'm just getting the ball rolling for another year of angst. Brace yourselves loyal followers.

Til next time world. In the words of Arnie, I'LL BE BACK.

That was Lame. 

#angry #landlord #house #student #issues