Friday, 11 January 2013

The Removal Of Wisdom

Good news for me, I got three views on my last post! No, seriously, three whole views! I am absolutely ecstatic! I was just sending my thoughts floating out onto the internet cloud more as a cure for insomnia, but I can't sleep now! Golly gosh my dear friends this is lovely isn't it? I'd sort of made up my own person who'd read my posts because I thought no one would ever read them. For some reason it was always a guy with dark hair and glasses who lived in the deepest darkest depths of Canada. (Clearly I need to get out more.)

So this has cheered me up terribly as I had my remaining two wisdom teeth taken out today. It was fine actually. I mean, it's never fine when someone is coming at your face with what look like torture devices from the Spanish Inquisition. What I mean to say is it didn't hurt a bit thanks to the anaesthetic!

The first time I was injected with anaesthetic at the dentist, I was not warned.  So when my dentist came towards me with the huge, like really MASSIVE needle, I shouted, 'HOLY SHIT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!' It was the first time I had been to that particular surgery so I was naturally overwhelmed by all the unfamiliarity. I had only met the man 10 minutes before hand and already he wanted to prod me with his instrument in my mouth, no thank you! (You see what I did there? Oh come on! It's funny!)  But needless to say, the rest of the appointment was incredibly almost unbearably awkward.

I generally find trips to the dentist awkward. Ones dentist is not someone you would meet on a daily basis, you wouldn't necessarily like to sit next to them at a dinner party or go for a pint with them. Yet we let them prod and poke our mouths in every way possible. Occasionally, you might even get the odd armpit in your face while they stretch across you. Then, they try and make conversation with you, while they have their instruments of pain in your mouth. And not just simple yes or no answer questions, oh no, lets not be silly. The particular breed in question insist on asking you about your holidays, your comments on today's weather and might even spring the odd dentistry joke on you (a 'Knock, knock' one of course, audience participation is always encouraged).

As if the whole experience couldn't get any more weird, try all of this when half of your mouth (and one nostril) has been numbed by the anaesthetic. Being British, I felt the need to be polite the whole time and so hopelessly tried to engage in the conversation being instigated. It mainly ended up with me just making a lot of whale like mating sounds, with my tongue hanging out of my mouth and caused my saliva to sprinkle over my dentist.

It was definitely a Mr Gumby moment.

Wednesday, 9 January 2013

Oh God, it's my birthday.

As promised, an entry about birthdays is here! Based on personal experience and it seems only fitting to post this on my actual birthday.

Like New Years, I feel the anti-climax of supposed new opportunity. Don't get me wrong, I love getting presents, like, I really LOVE GETTING LOTS AND LOTS OF PRESENTS MWAHAHAHAHA!!!

But as I am sensible and mature, I will remain calm *creepy smiley face*

Birthdays that have some cultural meaning are always more fun. In the UK for example, your 13th is when you are 'officially a teenager', your 16th is when you're legally allowed to have sex, buy a lottery ticket, get married with your parents permission, buy cigarettes, your 18th is when you're allowed to legally drink and at 21 you can officially rule the world!!! Well, not literally, but there are hardly any limitations (barring those of an insane gun loving maniac).

This year, my birthday, isn't a life changing one. Just one to pass the time as far as I'm concerned really. Celebrations I can deal with and immerse myself in, but at the end of the day, I'm just going to wake up the next morning feeling the same as I did a weak ago. Although I might just have an extra under my eye or buttocks.

Monday, 7 January 2013

One does begin to wonder...

Due to circumstance and coincidence, I have been offered the chance to work with and be tutored by an ex-drama school lecturer, for free I might add (And Sophia scores!) The lessons have actually been really interesting and insightful, in more ways than one.

Most of the work that we've been doing has been very focused on voice and how you have to warm up the whole body in order for your voice to work to it's full potential. An actors instrument is their body and so it needs to be warmed up in all drama-ry ways possible (50% of which could cause others to question ones mental health)

Of course, I think to myself as I'm asked to massage my whole face. Why not?, I think as I'm asked to walk about the room as if I have a tail that's dragging on the ground behind me and supporting me. Alright this is a little strange but it's probably normal, I think as the he puts his hands around my lower abdomen and upper buttocks (cheeky), applying pressure to feel my breathing, he's a drama person, this is all rather intense arty farty shit, and if I'm serious, I must commit! 

Then, rather abruptly I was asked by the same creature in question, 'Have you ever been taught about vaginal breathing?' Now, I'm not one to jump to conclusions. My parents always told me that assumptions were the mother of all fuck ups. However, for someone to come dangerously close to fondling my bottom and then asking about my personal experience involving vaginal breathing, well, you do being to wonder...

The thing to do would have been to act casual and produce some witty response. Yours truly did not do so. Instead, I proceeded to giggle like a school girl with, 'Umm, haha, well, hahahahahehehehe, no, not really anyway, teehehehehe!' Could I have been more immature or idiotic? I was then reassured with 'Oh but don't worry it's much worse for men. For men it's anal breathing.'

You can imagine how much that comforted me.

Friday, 4 January 2013

Happy (Nothing) New Year!

The celebration, the champagne, everyone is dressed up waiting for that moment. The moment when it is believed you are allowed a clean slate, to start something new, to become a better person. That moment when you know everything will change. And before you know, it the fireworks rocket to the sky, bursting with colour and excitement and all with the hope that this year won't be as shitty as last year. 

To be quite honest, I hate New Years Eve.

Not the most optimitistic of ways to begin, but I feel it should be said. Many people love it, go out clubbing, generally go crazy for what I think is the biggest anti-climax on this earth (apart from birthdays but I'll get onto that at a later date). I can't be the only person who thinks it's the most overrated celebration since World Bicycle Day (not sure if that's actually a thing, however if it is, it should be reconsidered). 

Yes, I understand it's a new year, and that you can be filled with the anticipation of a better future for yourself, your family and the world.

When I wake up on January 1st, I feel no different. I don't wake up with a smile on my face and get ready and dressed with the help of my magical talking animal friends (cue music from Enchanted) and as far as I'm aware I still put my trousers on the right way round.

'But you must have felt some change?' I hear you ask. Well if you must press me, I shall answer thus: the only changes that I have encountered are that my kettle has started whistling the theme song to Blazing Saddles and my paintings have started giving me advice on how best to strategically shave my armpits. But that happens to everyone right? Right? Anyone there? Ahem... lets move on...