Birthdays
I don't know why it is, but my birthdays are always either unbelieveably fantastic, or complete non-starters. Since the question is about disappointments, the answer is going to have to be rather on the negative side. Sorry about that.

The biggest disappointments so far have been:

My 20th.
I was married at the time. Christmas was a bit... flat... despite my then-husband having come into some extra cash, so mutual friends decided to talk up the idea that he hadn't spent a load on Christmas because he must be saving for something really spectacular for my January birthday.

After Christmas he asked for ideas. My first ideas were too generalised, he wanted specific items. I don't tend to window-shop if I don't have the money to spend, so all I could think of was that I needed some more eyeshadow. He asked me to come into town with him and choose some.

We went into Boots, I found my eyeshadow and handed it to him.
"I don't have any cash on me," he said, "can you buy it and I'll pay you back?"
It was all of about £3.50 so I did. Then we went home for tea.

My birthday came around, just like every year. He tossed me the eyeshadow. It wasn't even wrapped. "Happy Birthday" he said. It was the only present he gave me. He never paid me back the £3.50, either.

My 21st
Having learned my lesson, I started explaining in November that I wanted a party rather than presents for my 21st, but that I wanted nice surprises, so I wanted him to organise it. He agreed, so I made a list of about 20 friends and their phone numbers and left the rest to him. It started quite promisingly, that very evening he started brainstorming with a friend, even telling me to leave the room while they discussed my party.

Birthday rolled around. No presents, as requested, although at least this year he managed a card.
"So, what's the plan for tonight?" I asked.
"Oh. I forgot to phone any of your friends."
"Okay, I'll phone them, but I need to know where we're going and what time."
"Well... where do you want to go?"
He hadn't organised anything at all.

I spent the evening of my 21st birthday sitting alone at the bar of my local wearing a lovely short red dress, watching my husband playing pool with his best mate and flirting with our flatmate's girlfriend (who is now his wife). Four of my own friends managed to stop by for half an hour. I went home at 10pm.

A week later I left him.
( Batsgirl, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 10:44, 8 replies)

Whilst not my
Biggest disappointment, it's a bit rubbish when the QOTW is slow on a Monday.

Especially after I've been away from my dear, sweet b3ta for an entire weekend...
( Cawl, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 10:28, 168 replies)

F.E.A.R
Mate of mine went to see Ian Brown Live at Sheffield earlier this month (13th June to be precise). About an hour after the gig started he gave me a call to tell me it had finished early. Turns out that Brown had just finished singing the stuff from his new album and was getting into the older stuff most people recognise when he was knocked off stage by some twat of a fan. Brown was rushed to hospital and the crowd were sent home.

My mate was disappointed at having to leave early but told me that the first thing that came to his head was "I'll piss myself if the bloke in the crowd turns out to be John Squire".
(mon bison powered by magnets, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 10:08, 1 reply)

For the F1 fans
I was at the 2005 US Grand Prix in Indianapolis.

All but 6 cars pulled out because of tyre problems. Of the remainder, two were Ferraris and the other four were the guys who usually finish at the back, driving for Minardi and Jordan.

I've never seen Formula 1 fans throwing beer cans onto the track before.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 9:53, 6 replies)

Knights of the Old Republic...
Was awesome.

Knights of the Old Republic II - The Sith Lords was gash.

Loads of obviously planned subplots that went no-where, crap story. and worst of all NO ENDING! I played it for hours and hours and then it just stopped! Bam thats it no more game go away. I've tried light side, dark side and neutral, theres still no ending, you either fly off that planet or you don't.

Its been explained to me that Obsidian Entertainment were rushed to get the sequel out but my science it was poor, I paid money for an unfinished game.

I hope they make a KOTOR III and I hope its made by Bioware.
( Peej, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 9:49, 10 replies)

Shegetz has reminded me... (WARNING - THIS IS FUCKING LONG)
I started my course in international development full of optimism for saving millions of lives at the head of my own NGO or something. Unfortunately, I must say that so far I am very disappointed with my hopefully-to-be-one-day MA. Not because of the uni, but because of what I learn through it.

So now at the age of 20 I've turned into a cynical cunt already. It's a depressing course, because you can see that the vast majority of foreign aid is utterly, and I mean utterly, useless and sometimes aggravates things. This ranges from governments to charities through to NGOs. There are so many vital things that don't get taken into account and often of course these orgs have their own, not necessarily well hidden at all, agenda. That needs to be achieved at any cost. A good one would be food aid. What an incredible crock of shit: I'll take USAid because it's the easiest to lambast, so here goes:

The Org has sources all over the world (especially Africa of course) who predict where there is going to be a food crisis, so that they can get their shipments ready. A good example would be a province in Zambia a couple of years ago where severe draught killed off nearly all crops. The media blows the whole thing out of proportion and says that EVERYONE IN ZAMBIA IS GOING TO STARVE TO DEATH IF WE DONT DO SOMETHING NOW!!!! à la Bob "the know-it-all" Geldoff. Tons and tons of surplus mais and corn get sent to Africa, where it is sent to the region. Woohoo everybody lives.

The problems with this are these:

1) Zambia could have handled the crisis using the other 8 provinces it had. There was enough food to go round. They didnt need or want lots of food to be sent to them.

2) The HUGE amounts of food dump the prices. Simple economics here: not enough demand, the prices fall. The farmers there can't sell anything, because although the USAid bags say "strictly not for sale", no one really aderes to that - walk into any market in africa and you'll see Uncle Sam's rice. No kidding, his face is on it (sometimes). The salesman got it for free, why should he buy it?

3) It makes the US look like such a kind country, when all they're doing is buying off the surplus crops, allowing their stupidly massive amount of farms to survive. They'd get in trouble with everyone if they burned it, so they give it away.

4) Interestingly, the food aid industry in the states is massive. Everything is produced in the USA: from the cooking oil barrels to the food bags. Trucks need to be bought, drivers for these trucks, an entire port who's name escapes me (hey I didn't sleep last night!) survives on just sending out food. This has become such an powerful force that it regularly lobbies for more food aid. Not for the starving though...

5) The receiving country is forced to take whatever they get. I'm unsure about GM crops, but that time Zambia gave the excuse that they couldnt possibly accept the food because it was GM. I think it was just a ploy not to get flooded with unneeded corn mais and rice though. Although that's just my opinion.

6) In the long term, it cripples the receiver's economy. USAid carries on sending food for years, when the crisis could finally be over. Why should the farmer farm if he's getting food anyway?

Don't get me wrong, food aid is useful as a short term option but now it's frankly just ridiculous. There is no need for these cargo ships laden with useless food going back and forth between the states and "starving" countries. Really, they only need to make the journey as few times as possible.

This is where I have respect for the EU, because they finally realised that they weren't helping this way. Instead they send -very tightly controlled in comparison to the way money is usually thrown again- cash, with which a country can buy crops from a neighbour. Three advantages:

1) He gets it quicker - it's fresher!
2) It's doubtful that they would cripple their own economy on purpose this way.
3) They're strengthening the region.

Basically, that's what I'm disappointed about: opening new markets or diplomatic pandering thinly veiled as an act of charity. Let them sort it out themselves, advise them but don't force them. They'll come to you if they need help...

There are countless other examples: genital mutilation banned in one area, unfortunately now the girls cant find husbands anywhere, because that's the way they know it in other villages where there wasn't a campaign. Of course genital mutilation on girls is a horrifying practice, but if you start a project like this you need to look at the bigger picture. Organisations you pay too much money to for them to give you a placement somewhere to teach little african kids. Face it mate: you really are probably making no difference at all. I should know, I made that mistake in my gap year. I'll never do something like this again. I paid 3 grand for three months (standard price!) and found out that my host family was getting 40 quid a week. That takes the piss really. With all the other "volunteers" money, they managed to raise the cash for a fucking plastic tank for the school to collect water in. They cost 200 quid. A fucking joke in my opinion. Oh and a couple of books and pencils.

So there you go: all the optimism has dissipated, I'm very disappointed with the world and if that cunt in the front row keeps asking inane questions I'll stab the shit out of him with my pen. And now the chinese are throwing cash around like a euromillion winner, ignoring inside politics. Which doesn't help.

Getting tired now, so I'll just say one more thing:

There must be a way to make the world a better place, but I think that'll be for when aliens come or when we stop - as developed nations - exploiting other countries' resources and then have a go at them for being shit at developing in the space of two months. Because most of all, these things are going to take years.

Length? When I have an itchy bellend I need to reach down to my ankles.
( morrybyte made a subtle namechange at, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 9:30, Reply)

Absinthe
Christmas Eve 2002.

After twenty minutes fucking about heating brown sugar(?) and the rest of the premilinary bollocks, me and two mates worked our way through a bottle of the green crazy juice.

The wackiest thing we did was use my mates gramaphone, which wasa bit creepy.

We didn't stab anyone (including ourselves) break anything, or have an existantial experience. We just got a bit drunk.

Rubbish.
( Joe Scaramanga with a G-double-O-D vibration, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 8:31, 5 replies)

I'm not Jesus Christ......
.... I've come to accept that now
(Howling_Mad Gave God the finger on:, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 8:03, 3 replies)

my recent ex
gave off the vibe of some sort of super fantastic sex goddess sent from above to show us mortals how it's really done.
in reality, she was akward, boring and never cut her nails. not once.
i was both highy unimpressed and in pain from this discovery.
(charlottebronte stalking through the moors, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 7:46, 5 replies)

Humanity.
I realise that's a bit of a big subject to be trying to cover, but I'm going to give it a crack anyway. I've just spent last night in the pub with a bunch of people younger than me, and their enthusiasm was a depressing foil for my own miserable cynicism. I've just posted this to my ever-so-typical 'blog' thing, but I'm going to rewrite it here for you lovely people, as it seems very appropriate. That and it's quarter past 7 in the morning, I'm now stone cold sober and I still can't sleep.

I hate people younger than me. They have absolutely no idea how to interact in a social setting. Or, rather, they do, and they do it far too fucking well, which is the crux of the issue. I was happy spending a quiet evening in the pub yesterday watching the football, only for one of my regular drinking companions to bring along his 'mate from work', a curious entity who is almost guaranteed to be some sort of cunt. This 'mate from work' swiftly found his 'mates from college' and proceeded to get them all drinking with us as some sort of scheme to him chatting one of them up. He worked his short-arsed effeminate charm and copped off with her while I missed most of the football and the closest I got to anything all evening was a very pretty woman telling me I have a Jewish nose, which I'm not sure is either a back-handed compliment or a precursor to genocide.

Then someone was sick on a table and it was all over.

It may have dawned on people who regularly interact with me that I don't like people very much. Drinking and football, yes, but people tend to rile me up a bit. I wouldn't disagree with that assumption, but I have to admit that I reserve a special, gilt-edged place of carefully-selected loathing for this precocious little shit and the sheer joy in the world view that is "People around the world are getting killed. We should end the violence and strive for world peace".

Here's the thing: There won't ever be world peace, because people enjoy being shits to each other. Like it or not, there will always, always be some cunt wanting to bomb some other cunt for some stupid cunty reason. It has been going on since the first time one primordial hunter-gatherer whacked another primordial hunter-gatherer around the head with a bone for stealing his fire, and so it has progressed down the ages through rocks, spears, crossbows, trebuchets, flintlocks, muskets, cannons, machine guns, howitzers, tanks and tactical smart bombs. Deep down, on the same prehistoric level that tells us who to fuck and when to shit, there is something that loathes all other human life, because, well, they might steal our mate, or our food source, or might run faster than us next time the sabre-toothed tiger popped in for another round of toast and spleen. When resources are plentiful we can mostly behave ourselves, but we still fight over religion, we fight over territory, and we'll even fight wars over football matches if we really run short of things to have a scrap about. When resources aren't, like with oil at the moment, we fight over every last drop until it all runs out, and then we'll probably fight over who wasted the most.

See, this is the reason humans are the dominant species and not guinea pigs - guinea pigs are happy to live in the jungle making little burrows with their tiny front paws and eating flowers with their giant heads, and they squeak and they jump and they're happy little bundles of fluff and wonder, and then a snake eats them. We're ugly sinewy polluting little shits, but snakes don't eat us, because we've got knives, and we'd kill the fuckers. Then we'd go back to killing each other, probably now using the snake as some sort of makeshift flail to beat back the enemy until he goes right ahead and invents the Glock semi-automatic and shoots us in the tits. I'm not saying it's good, I'm just saying that it Never. Fucking. Ends. The only way you could stop war, stop shootings, stop stabbings, etc is if you took everyone's arms off at the shoulder, and even then there'd only be a lull in the fighting long enough for one side to work out how to fire a machine gun with your tongue or beat a man to death with your eyebrows.

This goes all the way from continent fighting continent, right the way down to two blokes having a punch-up in a pub. It will go right up to planet fighting planet if we ever find anyone out there ready to have a barney with us. It's just in our nature. It's what we're good at. Some precocious little cock organizing a few thousand people on YouTube to declare that world peace might just be a good idea means absolutely shit-all, because everybody wants world peace on their own fucking terms. There are people out there who will only accept world peace when we've all converted to their particular brand of Islam, there are people out there who will only accept world peace if we all just stop eating meat, there are people out there that will only accept world peace when we're all fundamentalist Mormons living fifteen to a room in Salt Lake City, and there are people out there that just won't accept world peace at all. As great an idea as it is in theory, the first country that lays down it's arms in a declaration of world peace will promptly be invaded by every other country on the planet, will probably get it's population killed for being so stupid, and will deserve it for being the first country to ever be conquered by Vanuatu. It might be a nice concept, but like many nice concepts, it is one that is ultimately, forever, doomed to fail.

Admittedly the boy is 16, so he probably doesn't realise this. Also, all my concerns at the fact that when I was 16 all I could think about was where I could sneak off to have my next wank rather than trying to organize world peace can be left for another post. At 16, you really don't have the mental faculties to rationalise the idea that the only reason we're not all still cavemen clutching rocks and leading charges at the next tribe over is because we've made the tribes bigger and now call them countries, or religions, or football teams, and have delegated the charging and the killing to what we now like to call 'armies'. At that age, world peace still seems like an attainable in-our-lifetime goal.

In many ways, I'm jealous. In many other ways, this entire post is about that jealousy. Jealousy of the teenager in the pub, for whom everything is attainable and nothing is impossible. For whom life is but a constant roundabout of the proverbial wine, women and song, where the sun is always shining and there is no sign of the great yawning chasm that is the daily grind, the Black Dog that can and will slowly consume us all. Jealousy, too, of Trevor Dougherty, the boy from the Youtube story, for whom the same thing applies on a much larger scale. For whom the impossible dream of world peace can be attained if enough people can just see that we don't need to kill each other.

For whom the sad but inescapable truth hasn't yet dawned: We don't need to, we just seem to really fucking like to.

We're all bastards.
( Shegetz Chris Kamara's comedy moustache, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 7:15, 14 replies)

What a waster, What a fucking waster
My story begins in the crazy days of 1990 when I was only eight, the good old days when I could piss the bed freely, didn’t have the complications of intimate female company to tend with and money was never an issue. Anyway, I remember it was Christmas day and my parents had bought me the biggest top loading Video player you have ever seen. This huge thing must have drained the national grid every time I turned it on, it also got dangerously hot very quickly and made satanic noises that you only hear in David Lynch films.

To go with this electrical monstrosity various family member bought me a bounty of videos. The usual shit of the day prevailed, Disney, Star Wars etc... But my uncle Jim (Dad’s younger and more interesting sibling) bought me JAWS, my parents thought it might be too gory and frightening looks of disgust were past across the room to Jim. After some heavy and persistent negotiations (Screaming) from a young and budding Kofi Annan a deal was stuck and I persuaded them this was a film of clarity and worthiness and not the mindless gorfest they believed it to be.

I fucking loved it, especially the gore, and watched that bastard tape till I ruined it and had to buy another. From these feted moments on my mind, body and soul i was hooked on sharks. I read every fucking book I could get my hands on, from ladybird books to the academic mumbo jumbo they read for zoology PhD’s, I read the lot and was fast becoming a font of knowledge far beyond my years. I even had the local library get books in from abroad so I could indulge in my little shark fetish. My biology teacher was so impressed with my constant shark babbling they had some university lecturer come talk to my parents at parents evening about my shark interest and I was only 12 at the time. That meeting was the shareholders meeting where the company’s (me) future, my future, was strategically planned, I was going to become the world's foremost leading expert on sharks.

Now this is where it starts to go wrong (Cue saddened and melancholy john Williams Leit Motif). Like every teenager who ever let their innocent mind wonder, I became attracted to those forbidden fruits that I was denied due to my prepubescence. Goodbye sharks, hello women, drugs, drink and very loud music. Five years must have passed in a haze of fucking around like a mong with teenage angst until one day I was flicking around the shite satellite channels and found the Discovery channel was running a shark week at the time. Those old flames of interest were starting to be rekindled once again and I found myself thinking with the knowledgeable authority that I once had, I think I even got a semi. It was like Maradonna coming out of retirement for one last game, he skins everyone and buries one in the top corner with the heel of his boot. But like Maradonna I was a mess at the time, my life had turned into a daily struggle just to get out of bed and I was stuck at college doing a very boring computer course which would fail to inspire a convict on Death Row. Did I do anything about my state of affairs after watching that program? Did I pull myself from the flames of disappointment? (Drum Roll) .............................. Did I fuck! I sat on my arse thinking I was better off as I was. What a wanker of cuntish proportions, that’s teenager’s for you.

Nine years later and I am on the other side of the world searching for a career and inspiration, to little avail I might add. Just as my demons seemed to be leaving me alone I flicked on the TV last night to see another shark documentary hosted by the very same lecturer who came to speak to my parents when I was 12. What are the chances of that? I’ve seen better odds given on saintly resurrection at pedophiles funerals. I have never felt so disappointed with myself, what could have been? Where would I be now? A restless night curtailed as all these questions and more plagued my dreams. So when I click on B3TA this morning and find this question, again my brain says what the fuck. I pointed my pan fried ponce towards the sky in a post intellectual conversation pondering manner and mused over the realisation that I am being truly fucked with from above, I am sure of it. So I have now given my confession to you all in the vain hope that this might be the start of a new captaincuntybollocks. Don’t hold your breath though.

Length- far to fucking long for any women to take.
(CaptainCuntyBollocks the man who can with a frying pan full of lamb, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 6:00, 1 reply)

Since people are belittling Asperger's below, I thought I'd come out of the shadows and educate you a bit:
This is a repost from my blog, which I wrote some time in September.

So. Yesterday I went to see a psychiatrist for the first time, because I'm trying to get a diagnosis for Asperger's Syndrome or potentially another disorder on the Autistic Spectrum. Since birth I've had some highly unusual difficulties with social interaction, behavioral instincts, spatial awareness, perception of physical interaction, and other things that ordinary people take for granted. Some three months ago I learned of a recently-discovered condition known as hyperlexia: essentially the opposite of dyslexia, i.e. a preternatural ability to read from an early age, to such a degree that it effectively pushes other parts of the mind aside. Those who have hyperlexia are without a doubt on the Autistic Spectrum. Well, I could read at adult fluency - and I mean, I could read a page from a science fiction novel without pausing to think - by my third birthday.

This, plus the other clues in my perceptions and behaviour, lead me to believe that I suffer from Asperger's Syndrome. With close analysis, it's a no-brainer. These elements, when added together, create a pattern of symptoms that can only be interpreted as an ASD by somebody who knows what to look for.

Recent events following my move to Lancaster have convinced me that I need to get this thing diagnosed and find a way to deal with it. My inability to break the ice socially, to present myself without appearing nervous or "creepy", to hold down a job without becoming intensely frustrated; my paranoia and depression resulting from my failed human interactions and the general negative reaction of the public towards my seemingly awkward and intangibly strange body language; all of these things create barriers that I cannot penetrate alone. At least without knowing for sure what they are or what causes them.

Some three months ago I visited my GP with these worries, and received a referral to a psychiatrist. I waited out the twelve weeks or so - which, by the way, is an incredibly long time to wait when one is worried about one's mental health - and finally I made it. I could not sleep a wink the night before, for fear of missing the early morning appointment (incidentally, that's another symptom), so when I arrived I was not at my most alert. I had, however, faith in the system. After all, psychiatrists are qualified professionals, right? They are trained in their field and prepared to ask specific questions in order to diagnose the particular disorders pertinent to the patient in question . . . right?

Apparently not. I decided that I should allow her to take the lead, assuming that the questions she asked would be the right ones based on my goal: to assess whetheror not I have Asperger's Syndrome or another Autistic Spectrum Disorder. The first warning sign was that the doctor - who shall remain unnamed - had never heard of hyperlexia. Okay, this was a little offputting, but hyperlexia is a reasonably new discovery. Old enough that there is already an American Hyperlexic Association, but still, relatively new. Stick with it.

She then continued to ask me a series of questions based purely around my friendships: whether I made friends in pre-school (I didn't go to pre-school, I took one look and told my mother "too many people!" - *ahem* - could this be a clue?), in infant school (one friend at a time, never kept hold of one), all the way up through secondary school (very few friends, treated as an outcast, never understood why, developed a desire to make new friends but never became good at it), and whether or not I have friends now (yep, lots, but breaking the ice is still extremely hard). This fixation took up nine-tenths of the conversation.

Had I realised she was fixating so hard on this, I would have tried to steer the conversation towards other symptoms - lack of spatial awareness, inability to
read facial expressions, ritualised nervous habits, dislike of eye contact, etc. I managed to mention a large number of these other symptoms, but because she kept steering the conversation back to the friendships thing, I barely scratched the surface.

In the end, within a couple of minutes of the end of the session when she wrapped the whole thing up, I learned why. She said, and I paraphrase: "I don't know very much about Autistic Spectrum Disorders, and I don't think anybody else around here does, but they tend to be characterised by a lack of desire to socialise, so I don't think you have one." She then asked me to describe in great detail the depression I suffer as a result of the effects these symptoms have on my life, and prescribed me anti-depressants (and a referral to a psychologist, which I don't hold out much hope for) as a quick fix.

If it weren't the end of the session, and I weren't exhausted from lack of sleep, I might have stuck around to argue with her.

Firstly, she is a practising psychiatrist. It is her duty to keep up with developments in the field of study, such as the diagnosis of hyperlexia as either a separate disorder or a symptom of other ASDs.

Secondly, she knew - almost three months prior to the appointment - that the reason I was seeing her was because I believe I have Asperger's. Would it have been difficult to do a little research into what, exactly, the symptoms of Asperger's Syndrome are? No, it would not. Again, it is a matter of duty. Psychiatric disorders are diagnosed using a checklist of symptoms, assessing the patient against said criteria. If a majority, or a specified number of those criteria, are met, then an initial prognosis can be made and work can begin.

I don't necessarily expect a spot diagnosis; I do, however, expect the psychiatrist who has had three months of preparation time to at least possess a copy of the criteria for assessment! At no point did she ask any questions pertinent to the diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome, aside from repeated queries regarding whether or not I have any friends. Even my body language and speech patterns during the session should have given something away.

From the website of the Natonal Autistic Society: "Unlike the person with 'classic' autism, who often appears withdrawn and uninterested in the world around them, many people with Asperger syndrome want to be sociable and enjoy human contact . . ."

It took me minutes to find that quote. Minutes.

As for the anti-depressants: I asked immediately about side-effects, and she became quite evasive. She ran her finger down a large paragraph of text in the manual, and mumbled (again, I paraphrase) "possible increased blood pressure and heart rate, nausea, and lightheadedness when you stand up too quickly". I asked her if it could potentially exacerbate the symptoms of depression during the adjustment period, because I know some anti-depressants can do that and it can be dangerous if you're not prepared. She said "oh, yes, that can happen". Clearly she was ready to let me find out about that part for myself.

So I left and begrudgingly took the prescription to the pharmacist, seeing as that's clearly the best I was going to get. The pharmacist mentioned that sertraline takes two weeks to build up effectively in the system, and I'd only been given a fortnight's dose. Fair enough, we're playing it safe. Upon arriving home I check the actual list of side-effects: wow. It includes, but is not limited to: dizziness, vomiting, diarrhoea, tremors, change in sex drive or function (!), effects on the skin and nervous system, and so on.

Okay, most medication lists a lot of side effects. No big deal. I take one - a day's dose - and within half an hour I feel sick and get the shakes. Nice. Time for anti-depression to kick in: a fortnight. Time for side-effects to kick in: half an hour. Brilliant.

Looking up sertraline on the internet, I find the potential is far worse than so far indicated, either by the psychiatrist (no surprise there) or by the packaging. For a start, the actual benefits are highly debateable. In test subjects the inpatients reacted exactly the same way as to the placebo, and only the outpatients received any (actually unspecified in any layman's terms that I could see) positive effects at all. Secondly, an abnormally intense reaction - quite plausible for somebody of my body mass - can cause mania, hallucinations, and, yes, an initial exacerbation of the symptoms of depression, manifested in the form of thoughts of self-harm and/or suicide. Especially, and the packaging itself mentions this, in the 18-29 age group. For those keeping score, I am twenty-six years old.

Here's the good part: withdrawal. Withdrawal symptoms, after a Seratonin Re-uptake Inhibitor such as this, has built up in the system can - and likely will - cause sleep disturbance, violent and vivid dreams, and all kinds of other nasty symptoms including long-term or even permanent sexual dysfunction. The jury is still out as to whether or not this happens in a majority of cases, but the statistics seem to put it at between 40% and 65% of cases (clinical trials don't follow these things up after the test period is over, you see - go, science!).

Think about this. The underlying reason for my depression - which really isn't that bad, I'll have you know - is because of my long-term problems with social interaction, manifested partially but prominently in my inability to initiate romantic relationships. How is losing my ability to perform sexually going to help with that? "Not" is the answer. Here's to short-term solutions, and fighting the symptoms without addressing the causes! Hip-hip . . .

The moral of the story? I don't bloody know, but "go private if you can because the NHS is useless" seems to be a good starting point.

Okay, so the medication thing isn't that big a deal. Irritating, and clearly just a way of getting me out of there and claiming to have done something. I'm not going to take any more of the damn things because it's clearly going to do more harm than good. The part that really offends me is that an hour of my life was wasted with this useless, amateurish attempt at psychotherapy, at the end of which the doctor admitted that she knows nothing about the subject at hand, and then diagnosed me anyway with a patently false assertion!

What was the point in the whole thing? Why did she bother? Could she not have said this at the start? Maybe then I could have presented my symptoms better, rather than letting her take the lead in a dance to which I knew the steps far better than she. That's one hour of my life gone, nothing gained, and my faith in the professionalism of the NHS and the educational system destroyed.

She booked another appointment for me in two months' time. I won't be turning up. I will, however, be complaining heavily and seeking out a psychiatrist who knows what they're doing and can assess me properly and in an informed manner.
(The Ghost of Stephen Foster, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 4:06, 13 replies)

My most recent disappointment was when I got my braces fitted
All the shit I'd heard about braces was stuff about bands and getting them tightened every two weeks.

My schoolmate had hers tightened every two weeks, and when she started working her boss let her have the day off when she got them done, due to the fact that her face would HURT! She said a few paracetomol and she had a happy, whole day off! A few other people reported this.

When I got mine fitted, there were no bands like everybody else. Oh, 'funny' thinks I. My orthodontist then said to me 'see you in 10 weeks time'.

Ey?

Well, I have this new(ish) type of brace that attaches to the wire by clips and doesn't need tightening, as the wire does all the work. I get the wire changed every 10 weeks or so.

No day off every two weeks.

Meh.
( Methylene Blue - electrohead, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 2:54, 1 reply)

I expect
to be disapointed by the last episode of this series of Doctor Who. Once again Russell Davies will no-doubt find a piss-poor way to end the series, just like he did with the last series. The sooner Stephen Moffat takes over the better.
(fibonacci_cunt cunt, cunt, cuntcunt, cuntcuntcunt,..., Mon 30 Jun 2008, 2:51, 8 replies)

Damn.
Slinky + Escalator = A right fucking Let-Down.

Also, I fucked things up with the girl who joined me for this experiment tremendously.
(FurtiveBiscuit, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 2:16, Reply)

Once upon a time in america.
I ripped this film and decided I would watch it through the xbox and wouldn't you know, it seems to have ripped with the end missing.

I'm very disappointed as it was in the middle of a gun fight.

It may not be the biggest, it's certainly the most recent.
( Wildheart Baby. Drunken Mess In A Good Way, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 1:34, Reply)

Not yet, but soon...
I fear I'm in for a big disappointment when I come out of university, particularly as a great many of you lot are going with the rhetoric of it being a waste of time when you could've spent it getting work and going from there... Just a bit of paper, right? With several thousand pounds of debt? I accept the debt, but it seems so worth it now.

Speaking of employment, I am disappointed at how bloody difficult it is to get started. Well, actually I'm not, as I knew this would happen, but it's still aggravating. Particularly when most openings require you to be experienced. How the hell am I, or most of anyone, to gain experience if you continue to be so bleeding fussy?

To the ladyfolk. You can be sweet as a honey-glazed rose one moment, then as malevolent as plague the next. I say this in the context of relationships only, as I enjoy good friendships with female folk, but get little more than aggravation if I venture further. Too little reward and so on, so it's always disappointing when I think I might have got lucky, only to get the same again.

I'll stop my semi-inebriated rant there before I deviate too much. No apologies though, I guess it's just sheer bad luck on my part.
(Impuritan, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 1:31, 2 replies)

Chris Benoit

I wanted to be a professional wrestler since I was a little kid, I collected the cards, did the moves in the playground, and longed for it. I tried out for various holiday camp wrestling schools all with failure. The worst night of my life was when I realised I had neither the technical ability or the charisma to be a professional wrestler. I decided, with tears in my eyes, to go back to university. I read english Literature, but have always kept an enthusiastic eye on wrestling seeing parallells with it and with both greek morality plays and with victorian melodrama, but i digress.

Since my personal failure I've lived vicariously through Chris Benoit. He always seemed like a quiet guy, not a HHH or Rock. He didn't have the style or the outgoingness for being champion, he was quite a tiny guy and didn't have the natural agility or strengths that other wrestlers had. he just wrestled and worked hard. REALLY HARD. through sheer effort of personality he became one of the greatest wrestlers of his generation by the age of 40. Just 40. Imagine it, to be the top of your game at the relatively (these days) young age of 40. He was so respected, because of his talent and his work ethic at such an age.

And then....

To be honest, I still can't bring the two images in my head together. The talented professional with killer smile, the guy who would back up and help the younger members of the wrestling proffession like MVP, giving them the wherewithal to stand on their own two feet in the ring. to figt with pride and honour. and the killer of his wife and child.

it shouldn't of happened like this. not for Chris. Not for Nancy. Oh God, Not for Daniel.

What happened happened. Be it the 'roids, the stress or just the rage of a man frustrated, but still. I lost a hero, a Role Model and a father figure. I lost my faith in a man. A man whose life had been good until a point.

my life had been hopeful till that point.
(hot white cum, YEAH! i will show you 0wnage in a handful of posts, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 1:26, 4 replies)

Skateboarding...
After playing THPS2 on the pc, I became very interested in the whole skate scene, so I trotted out into the world with nothing but my new board and "can do" attitude for company.

It took me 2 days to realise that maybe it wasn't as easy as Neversoft had made out and give up. I recently flogged my board to a friend for £5 and I stick to playing EA's "skate" on my 360 instead.

Just as well i guess, there's way too much skating lingo to learn, and I have no sense of balance. Oh well.
(chrisdood Why yes, I am the shizzle, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 1:11, Reply)

The last 2 years. (Warning: emo, and some of it I've said before)
Although it's not really a disappointment if you go into something expecting it to be shit. That's more of a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Am I successful in the way the illusory 'real world' defines success? No. I still live with my parents, am a virgin at nearly 23 and never had a real relationship, no social life, £13K in debt, have been on happy pills, have quit a job due to cracking up, now have a job with no contract where I could be gotten rid of at a moment's notice, have no plan for my life, still get the anxiety, tiredness and general 'low' that I have had for the past 2 years for very little good reason.

Am I successful in my own definition? I can't really say, as right now I don't have much of a definition to go on. I'm not happy though, and I can't see how the next 50 years with less freedom than I've had before are going to change that.

2 years ago to the day, I was in my room in college for the last night having graduated earlier that day. Boiling hot day it was. Spent the day either trying to cry or trying not to cry, I'm not sure which. Mentally counting the remaining pills in my 'first aid' box. Noting that they were only fucking paracetamol, and in any case I lacked the customary bottle of vodka or scotch. My preferred description is that graduation was like going to my own funeral. As I've said before, I found leaving painful and still haven't moved on. I'm crap with moving on.

Out of 24 months:
About 6 spent in full-time employment
A few weeks spent in part-time employment
5-6 months on the dole
The rest doing close to fuck all.

What do I want? The only answer I have worth putting here is an impossible dream of going back, with the one person I miss most of all. And I'd rather sit here stewing than be part of the 'real world' I mention above because I don't know how. (Aspergers doesn't help with that.) Yeah, it sounds sad. Baaaaaaawwwww, call the waaaaahmbulance. I know that, it's still how I feel.

Length? No complaints, but no positive reviews either.
( idonthaveafunnynickname Drink-Aware? Sure. I'm aware I want another drink., Mon 30 Jun 2008, 0:53, 30 replies)

My biggest disappointment
.... was finding out why george michael had brown all round his mouth.









he was careless with his wispa.


sorry.
(imallamallama looking forward to llamageddon on, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 0:17, 1 reply)

Religion
Now, I know this is going to be controversial, but the biggest disappointment in my life has to be religion. Simply because it has the potential to be so much better.

Religion, at it's most basic, is a moral code that we all should live our lives by. If there was ever a religion that stated, "Accept other people. It doesn't matter what you believe, as long as you're a good person. Do good things for others, and they will do good things for you" then I would sign up as a minister in a second.

There are good messages in most religions, but they are often mixed in with sexism, bigotry, fanaticism and racism. Modern day religions also seem stuck in the past - religion should be adaptable, it should be relevant. It certainly shouldn't make a stand on issues such as abortion. I firmly believe that all life is sacred, and that includes the life of the expectant mother. She should be free to decide what's best for herself - no-one should try and tell her what to do.

And the whole issue of sex before marriage is ridiculous. Why is that still relevant in today's world? And yet many religions have firmly-held beliefs that it's morally wrong. Beliefs should adapt with time - the whole of life is a learning process.

The whole issue with God pisses me off - I believe that if there was some kind of creator being, it would be too vast to comprehend. It would be like an ant trying to visualise a human being - it would visualise a giant ant, with ant-like tendencies and values. And yet people insist on giving 'God' human characteristics.

I genuinely believe it is time for a new world religion - one to fit the times. One that doesn't get hung up on what you actually believe, as long as you share a basic set of human principles, ones designed around helping other people and bettering yourself. 'The Church of Tolerance.'

Apparently, you only need something like 50,000 signatures to become a recognized religion (it's a fact I heard in the pub, so it may not be totally accurate). Anyone interested in joining?
(Pavlov's Frog figures no-one really reads sigs anyway, Sun 29 Jun 2008, 23:40, 12 replies)

Just a quick one, this...
The first time I got to Xen in Half-Life.

I mean, how badly can you run out of ideas?
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Sun 29 Jun 2008, 23:26, 1 reply)

Many Things
I am disappointed with lots, mainly about living in the era we do now.

I'm disappointed when I read/listen to/watch/hear people complaining about 'immigrants taking our jobs.' For a start, they're not 'our jobs' to start with, they're the jobs of the companies that provide them, and they can give them to whomever they like.

Secondly, the people you hear complaining about such 'injustices' are mainly lazy white English people, who sit and watch Jeremy Kyle, munch on junk food and read Hello magazine. They don't bother to get off their overfed arses and actually *get* a job themselves, they make a half-arsed effort in interviews and on applications and then complain because a Pole or an Afghan makes a decent effort to show up dressed for the occasion, or get some help writing their CV. Hell, if someone who barely speaks English can write a decent CV, surely they must be able to, having been to school here, brought up with English speaking family and friends around them. 'oh, but they give free help to immigrants, innit', i hear them say. Well guess what, fuck-knuckles, I asked for guidance on my CV and I got it, free of charge.

Thirdly, if an immigrant thinks he can do my job better than me, I welcome him to try (this is quite similar to a Maddox rant). Are these people seriously afraid that a foreign worker will show them up? What kind of moron is afraid of a little competition? I like to think that if someone of different ethnicity does better at my job than me, it's because I'm not working hard enough, or they are just better. Not because of some conspiracy by 'lefty liberals'. Why would anyone alienate the indigenous workforce on purpose? It's absurd.

Also, I hardly think the immigrants huddle in packs and single out people to 'steal their jobs'. How the fuck do you steal a job anyway? it's as ridiculous as stealing their morals.
the main culprits in the media are the Daily Mail and the Sun. individuals as Lowrie Turner and Richard Littlejohn.

I am slightly concerned about the effect that illegal immigration has on us as an island, and a small one at that (surely it's always been logical to go from the island to the mainland...), both socio-economically and culturally, but maybe my fears will be allayed by simply sitting back and looking at it from a different perspective. I certainly don't believe that blaming immigrants for increases in crime will help (surely if there are more people in a country then crime levels will go up anyway, it doesn't matter what colour they happen to appear), and I downright reject the culture of excuse that we have fostered in this country.

If the Mail etc turn out to be right, and we are 'overrun' with immigrants in 20 years time, (interesting comparison to a rat infestation, never seen that before of course...) it will only be because publications like themselves stirred up a feeling of helplessness and apathy among the British people. We would never have won WW2 if we had been fixated on the fact that the Germans might possibly win, and generated fear of German attack. By being positive, and finding a way to use the situation to our advantage, we can end up with things working out for the best.

A message to the next person who is tempted to swallow the crap that these scaremongers feed you: next time you apply for a job, there may well be immigrants challenging for your position. But show the employer that you are the best for that job, that no-one can touch your level of suitability, and that you are not afraid of anything they throw at you.

I'm also disappointed with local radio, and blowjobs.
(pacman_40 Pocket Kleenex: for the wanker on the go, Sun 29 Jun 2008, 23:05, 20 replies)

The day I realised I was old
In my eyes and my head, I'm not old and never, ever will be. I refuse to grow up because it looks dull.

However....some years back I was teaching at my old school. I'd been given a Sixth Former for the day who wanted some work experience and thought she may like teaching juniors....

I was ten years older than her and to my mind being 18 was just a blink away.

I told her how most of the teachers were the same and how strange it had been for me to go back and enter the staff room as a member of staff rather than a pupil.

I told her how much I enjoyed being a teacher but also how I'd pretty much fallen into it.

"Yeah." She replied.

"Well, back then you didn't have any choice did you? It was be a teacher, a nurse, secretary or mother for you. Things have changed now. We've got so many more opportunities than you had."




I stood with my mouth open.


Clearly my 28 years were in fact really about 58 in her young mind.

I tried to tell her that one of my contemporaries was now a civil engineer, another was ...erm...a nurse....and at least three of us were teachers...


Bugger.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Sun 29 Jun 2008, 22:17, 10 replies)

went to drinks
at mahiki the other night. you have to book tables weeks in advance. we hadn't. however, when a group left, we stole theirs.

all was well until about 3am when we got asked very abruptly to vacate the table. oooh, we thought drunkenly. must be a celeb. must be a pretty good one if they are tipping paying people off tables. as it's prince harry's favourite bar, maybe it's him!!!

agog with silly tipsy pointless excitement, we danced around on our toes until the famous celeb arrived.... and it was.... it was.....



IT WAS DAVID FUCKING GEST.



david gest. the world's crappest celeb spot. slung off a table in a nightclub for That! disappointment number one. he had also brought along a troupe of dancing thai midgets, which was very bizarre. i guess they were the only people who were shorter than he was.

he bought one of those 650quid "treasure trove" cocktails that prince harry likes to spunk the taxpayer's money on, and danced on the booth for a bit. surrounded by midgets. then fucked off. we dove in for the untouched giant alcoholic goodness, but the bouncers swooped in and took it. just took it.

disappointment number two...
( rachelswipe with a fork, Sun 29 Jun 2008, 22:17, 8 replies)

Reality in general.
I remember the moment implicitly: as a much younger cmdr, I'd just finished reading Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials Trilogy, and was walking down the hill to return the book to the local library (a quaint journey, with the Hovis music blaring quietly in the background) when I was struck with just how bland the real world was in comparison to the rich fiction I'd been indulging in. It must have just been that point in growing up when you realise none of the magic is real, a turning point in the cynicism to naivety ratio that comes at a certain age. It thoroughly depressed me, that stage of growing up where you realise 'this is it'. I'd also have to admit to still feeling an echo of that sensation of realisation every time I come to end of a particularly good book.

That and when Opal Fruits changed to Starburst.
(wing_cmdr I mean not real, but almost a real hologram, Sun 29 Jun 2008, 21:54, 6 replies)

All of me.
My biggest dissappointment is the hopes I had for this new chapter in my life. My husband (kissylips) died last summer. He'd been very ill for the past few years. I started seeing a lovely man in January which really took the edge off of my misery. I was swept off my feet. So handsome! What a body! Yum! A great kisser too! Best of all, he's a good, good man who works hard (construction), is caring and loyal. We love each other and get along wonderfully. He and my cat have adored each other since day one. He has a drinking problem which he warned me about. He doesn't fall off the wagon often and doesn't have a mean bone in his body. Being home together is comfort, sanctuary, time to be ourselves and for fun silliness. He always hugs and kisses me as he leaves for work and when he comes home. He always calls when he's going to be late.
Over the past six months he's changed. There's something very wrong. He sleeps on the couch. We both snore but no man has ever refused to sleep with me over my snoring. He claims now that he's not a lovey-dovey, touchy-feely person. No more long kisses, foreplay or cuddling. He won't allow my mouth on him *anywhere* anymore. Sex has become infrequent and the most impersonal that I've ever experienced. There's no physical contact at all before he gets in behind me. It's mind blowing sex but when it's over and before I can even turn around, he's vacated the bedroom.
This gorgeous man who I've grown to love wants us to stay together forever but he has severe intimacy issues. Gahhh! It's making me insane! He's so beautiful...I want him so badly....I could feast on his entire body. I put much effort each day and evening into looking nice for him and being patient but to no avail. Though he tells me he loves me and praises me as a 'a beautiful and good woman' and 'everything a man wants to come home to' I feel unattractive and unloved. I take good care of him, feed him copious amounts of good food, continuing to give 100% (for now) while feeling tricked by him and ripped off. I tell him that I love him, how gorgeous, delicious, intelligent, competent, wonderful he is and how even a single slow kiss from him sends me to the moon. My affection is usually met with a grimace and is shrugged off, claiming it's unwanted because of stress, fatigue or any excuse that's handy at the time, it seems.
He hates being an alcoholic and tries hard to overcome it. I don't want him to fail but I'm secretly thrilled when he comes in late after many beers.I bring him to bed with me when he's drunk. I make sure he lays on his side and I wake him up to have a piss a while after he's passed out. Honestly? I love to simply lay beside him with my hand on his arm, caress him and be close to him. I don't care that he snores like a grizzly bear. During the night he finds me there. Groping, he hangs onto my waist or hip and locks his legs around mine. "It's a caveman instinct to make sure your woman is there and she can't be stolen from you" he insists. I take that as a compliment. The luxury of laying in his arms in a full embrace in the morning is blissful. The more he wakes the more physically distant he becomes.
Being in this relationship with this important element missing seems like a cruel joke. I'm very passionate and affectionate. He has all of me yet he shuns that part of me that's only for him. When he pushes me away I hurt and feel like telling him to pack up his stuff and go. I try to make a game out of it by stealing a quick cuddle/nuzzle and peck from him on the fly. I'm frustrated but willing to work at this with him yet I don't know how. Both in our forties, after our rough pasts, we deserve to be happy....and whole.
Oh dear! Another long, sad story from OGH. Sorry but you asked and it was my chance to vent. A more amusing one next time - I promise!
(OGH, Sun 29 Jun 2008, 20:40, 9 replies)

Life begins when your 40 they all say.
Well I'm 43 and if my life doesn't get interesting soon I may have to go and get something pierced again.

And there's only so many things I can put rings in that my boss won't see.
( girlinthehole, Sun 29 Jun 2008, 20:00, 224 replies)