Cognitive Behavioural Therapy
The media, the medical profession and everyone who has every heard of CBT tout it as a panacea, the one thing that will sort your life out, uplift your very being into functional happiness, cure teh Bad AIDS, and, as those wise Atomic Kitten birds say, make you whole again.

I waited 8 months for an assessment and a further 9 months for my first appointment on the NHS for CBT, with my psychiatrist waxing lyrical about it during the whole 17 month wait. I turned up at the hospital trembling with hope and anticipation and the promise of a more lovely me.

Here's the upshot:
1) lessons in how to breathe (slowly);
2) rate your moods and assign them percentages.

Motherfucking cunts! A bigger pile of snake oil peddling I've never seen.

That's 15 weeks of my life that made no fucking difference to my life.

Usual disclaimer about how it might work for some people, but it didn't for me, so that is indeed my disappointment.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 11:20, 28 replies)

I'm calling a strike
I went to the common room the other day to get a cup of tea. There was not a single teabag left.

Disappointed? I was acidic with rage. How can I be expected to work fanny about on b3ta under these conditions?
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 11:19, 1 reply)

Disappointment but not mine
Back in the early 90's I was desperate for a Commodore Amiga and thanks to general irritation from me and my 2 brothers it was looking like we would have one on Christmas day (if we behaved). A few weeks before Christmas my dad took our Amstrad CPC 464 (With green screen!) from my room and told me that he was making space for something and gave me a knowing wink. Christmas came around and lo and behold my 2 brothers and me received an Amiga 600 as our main joint Christmas present. Thanks to my dads inability to keep secrets me and my brothers had a load of copied games to play on waiting upstairs and rushed off to play Sensible Soccer (Cant remember if it was that or not but I'm making an educated guess).

A few days later and we find out what happened to my old Amstrad. My dad had sold it to a couple of people he knew who were wanting to buy a computer for their kids for Christmas. The kids in question were actually mates of mine who had spent the run up to Christmas bragging that they were definitely going to get an Amiga at Christmas with various original games so they didn't need copies (he was an annoying twunt who looked down his nose at me then and probably still does now- Joe you are an arsehole). I just wish that his parents had a video camera so I could have seen the look on his face when he came down on Christmas day, unwrapped the computer shaped present that was waiting for them under the tree and found the Amstrad with Roland on the ropes waiting in the casette drive.
(mon bison powered by magnets, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 11:18, 1 reply)

Castle? What Castle?
Inspired by a post from Chappers.

I had dragged the then boyfriend down to Dorset for a week's holiday and we were doing the normal out and about stuff. The bf suggested we go see one of the castles and being lazy, he wanted one close by.
I said "Maiden Castle's not far from here."
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry when we climbed up the hill and found nothing, just a set of signs saying 'We think 'x' was located here'
The bf wasn't impressed though. I bought him some biscuits for Moore's to make it up to him.
( VandenPlas can't think of anything clever - no change there!, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 11:14, 4 replies)

My biggest disappointment
Was the rather fetching bedroom play outfit that the missus said she'd bought.

"Short skirt, stockings, knee boots and a corset top" said the rather teasing text message.

What did I get home to? This (NSFW).
( bluemeat has been best of all the animals since, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 11:14, 19 replies)

University.
I am not one of those people who thinks that university ought to be about qualifications and job-hunting - I don't really care if my degree helped me get my job, since that's not why I did it.

My image of university before I got there was that it would be all about elevating discussion of fascinating subjects with erudite scholars, and lots of sex with interesting people in the evenings to round things off. Not having been all that good with the ladies before university, I'd decided that I could reinvent myself. These would be the best years of my life.

No they weren't.

They were just as dull as all the others. THe scholars' paradise I'd wanted and imagined simply didn't exist - instead of hanging out in the library beign fascinated and having my mind broadened by new things, I had endless exercises from glossy textbooks to complete. I might have been learning things - but this wasn't what I'd expected. As for the sex... nope. All the same people who'd been successful at home were successful here - all the conventionally good-looking, conventionally dressed, conventionally boorish beer-drinking twats got all the girls... and my attempts to reinvent myself failed.

I don't regret university. But it's not what I wanted. I'm left indifferent about it. And so the biggest disappointment in my life was that.

Length? About three years.
(Gravity's Raincoat, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 11:13, 3 replies)

Black Dog
When I started uni, I hated it. I didn't make friends easily, and would spend my lunch hour outside the school gates reading or curled up in a toilet cubicle, tears trickling down my face and wishing I could go home. When I got home at the end of the day, I would lie in bed, sobbing into my pillow because I was dreading the next morning when I would have to go back.
When I dropped out, my mum said "I just thought I brought you up to be the kind of person who would go to university." Which made me feel lovely.
I'm disappointed in myself for not being stronger. I'm disappointed for letting the Black Dog win. Again. I'm disappointed that I looked at the knives in my kitchen and thought of them as my Plan B, in case things didn't work out.
I go back again this year, after a year of working full time, actually looking forward to it. I think it'll be better this time around.
(reducedfatLOLcat, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 11:09, 10 replies)

IT was my biggest disappointment
Being a bit of a computer geek when I was young, I had dreams of working with computers when I got older.

I had images of working in big huge computer centres with giant computers all running software that controls weapons etc and one flick of a switch would throw the world into world war 3.

I did end up working in IT, but Microsoft ruined the whole f**king thing for me buy making IT boring and business like.

that was my biggest disappointment. My interest with computers now extends to playing Neverwinter Nights and watching DVD's on my Macbook Pro :(

Edited: as did Wargames as if gave me a false idea of what working in IT was like.
(scotsbloke, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 11:04, 1 reply)

Stairs...
No I'm not disabled, and this isn't so much one huge disappointment only many minor disappointments. You know when you're going downstairs, and you think there's an extra step...

THAT readers is one of the most soul crushing things that can happen.
(Mart'n has managed to not be obscene since, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 11:02, 1 reply)

Leaving things behind.
For various reasons I was a rather solitary child and spent most of my formative years immersed in books. Before I'd even reached the juniors I'd read most of Andrew Lang's fairytale books - each with their bright fabric bound cover, the Red Book of Fairytales, the Yellow Book of Fairytales, the Blue, Green, as many as my local library could find for me - yes, that really marks out the passage of time - I went to the library and it had books I wanted to read.

Whenever my dad had a day off from catching robbers (in my young mind this was what my dad did, that and give people the correct time or directions; the Fire Brigade rescued cats from trees and hospitals were staffed by nurses in pretty uniforms and doctors in long white coats with stethoscopes) he would take me into the nearest town and buy me a book from WHSmiths - always a book of fairytales.

It was in this way that my head was filled with Grimm's tales, Hans Christian Andersen, Sherherezad's 1001 Arabian Nights - despite being a good Catholic girl the Bible stories just didn't cut it for me. I wanted to know about flying carpets, trees and birds that spoke, small girls and boys who had strange mystical powers, evil uncles, wizards, vizirs and witches.

I believed that there still existed wondrous places that sold magic carpets and lamps, potions and dust. I so wanted to visit Baghdad, Samarkand, Persia, the deep dark forests of Europe, the barren wastes of the Steppes.

And do you know? I still do.

I still want desperately for these stories to be a true reflection of a world…maybe not The World, but a world…a world where I can still dream.

But the greatest disappointment?

Father Christmas.

I must have been about nine years old and for as long as I could remember I would look out of my bedroom window each Christmas Eve to see the Star - the one that the Three Wise Men had followed. And finally when I gave up looking and listening out for sleigh bells I'd climb into bed.

This particular year I was beginning to doubt the existence of Father Christmas - never Santa, he was always Father Christmas to me. So I had left a note out for him asking him to sign his name so I could prove he was real.

Christmas morning I awoke early and found a filled stocking at the end of my bed - tangerine at the toe, a board game and usually some bubble bath - main presents were for after breakfast.

But where was the note? I searched around my room and found it on the floor.

It had been trodden on.

It had the muddy imprint of a boot on it. Father Christmas's boot.

He *was* real after all.

Well, for at least another year or so....





Before I knew it puberty hit, boys became interesting and I left poor old Father Christmas behind, unloved and unwanted.

So maybe I'm his greatest disappointment.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 10:52, 5 replies)

The Dark Truth behind B3ta
B3ta was once a place of wonder for me. Introduced to me by an old dalliance, I remember my eyes opening in sheer wonder that here, finally, was a place where those who dreamt about Sephardic Jews doing the conga, of kittens taking over the world and of who would win in a fight between a T-rex and a giant Brian Blessed could congregate freely and without fear of reproach.

But...something evil lurked....

A place where the most crucial intellectual discourse would compete with the most inane japery, where names of legend roamed (whatever happened to stusut?), and especially where no-one ever would dare mention the primary sin of all Interweb users......

But...something evil lurked....an evil festered at the heart of B3ta.

For one of B3ta's pillars had become corrupted. The QOTW, formerly a place where one could read happy tales free of the threat of being reminded.....of one horrible truth. But then, in one fateful QOTW, I was reminded twice.....


about the Game.

*I am truly truly sorry.*
(chrisdalby, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 10:49, 5 replies)

Sorry I have to
I got a call from the Department of Internal Services and had to meet with 3,000 people.

It was my biggest DIS appointment....
(Bluffboy South Africa! World Champions!!!, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 10:47, 2 replies)

Rugby - So typical
Yes yes my team lost but how was very sad.

The Super rugby competitions in the southern hemisphere consist of Australian, New Zealand and South African clubs playing against eachother. Its a hotly contested tournament and produces fantastic rugby.
The Sharks are my life, I don't even care for the Springboks its only the Sharks. They were the most successful SA side in the history never having won it, but been on more finals than anyone. I'd seen them lose a few finals so it wasn't all bad. As long as we were better than all other SA sides, namely the Stormers or the Bulls.

So last year the Sharks were unbeaten after 6 games. They were playing such fantastic rugby it was like a dream. They played so well they ended up on top of the log, the first SA team to do so. It was a great season, we had a home final secured.
The Bulls however, were just keeping up and needed a huge win just to make the semi finals. They did it in supernatural style, beating the Reds by more than 70 points nad getting a home semi, then played the Sharks in Durban.
The final was tense, and the Sharks had just scored to be in the lead by 6 points. In Injury time the ref missed a vital foul by the bulls and Habana (ptui!) dashed through and scored which was converted and the Bull won by one point in extra time.

AAAAARRRGH!!!! I still am bitter about it. The whole room was quiet when we watched it. The whole of Durban was disappointed and took us until the World Cup final to get over it.

Although I never did....
(Bluffboy South Africa! World Champions!!!, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 10:46, 1 reply)

Mountains
I have never got to the top of a mountain bigger than Snowdon. It's not for want of trying.

In 1995, for example, I had a go at climbing Tungurahua. A couple of hundred metres from the summit, I couldn't face any more. I untied myself from the ropes and told my companions I'd meet then back down at the snowline. I took two steps, my crampons fell off, and I slid back down into the crater. My friend grabbed my ice-axe and threw it down to me: it missed my head by inches. Landing in the crater, I fell asleep: well, it was warm. The compensation is that I can legitimately claim to be one of the few people to have fallen into, and fallen asleep inside, an erupting volcano.

Or take my attemt at Kilimanjaro in 1999. I knew all about the need to go slowly, and had what I thought was a lovely pace. Arriving at the last hut, I felt great, and sat looking out over the silent moonscape where every sound fell from the soft sky like a leaden snowflake. And then I began to feel ill. Within minutes, I felt like I had fallen off the floor. I crawled to bed, where I spent the next 12 hours vomiting and clutching my head and cursing the thin air.

I'd just finished my (unfunded) Masters at the time, and was about to start my (unfunded) PhD. I had no money at all. I didn't need to waste my precious funds like that.

Disappointed? No. That comes nowhere near it. Flying home a couple of days later, I could see the peak of Kili above the clouds. It sneered at me from behind its mask of victory. But, oh, Kilimanjaro: one day I shall return. And I shall walk on your head. For you are merely a lump of rock...

...and I am a fool who seems unable to learn that he's just not good at altitude.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 10:42, 3 replies)

The Matrix
I avoided it for ages, "Yeah yeah some crappy movie about a fake reality whatever its probably crap"

Then one day I was dragged to the afternoon showing in Redruth for only 3 quid.

It changed my life it was amazing I spent the next few months jumping off walls and kicking my brother in the head, I bought a coat just like Neo's awesome coat. I was severely beeten by my father when I cut the arms of my glasses in DT class to be like morpheous, my life was complete, I discovered myself, I stopped being a spotty computer geek and became a cyberpunk spotty computer geek but I was suddenly popular. People wanted to be my friend because I knew how to make their computers do funky things and I was one of the first in my class to get the Internet. I was nearly expelled from school for refusing to remove the cyberpunk clothing that went against the uniform policy. I met life long friends, chose my career, met my wife and learned kung fu all because of that movie.

Then Matrix Reloaded came out.

Bugger.

Neo's now a cassock wearing, superman wannabee nonce.
( Peej, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 10:42, 1 reply)

Why-oh-Y2K-bug?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~Wavey lines signifying flashback ~~~ wooo!~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s 1999 and the news is choc-full with shock stories and ‘expert’ consultants warning us of our impending doom…

The problem was achingly simple. The world was on the brink of destruction. Computers couldn’t count to 2000 or something you see, so come the actual year 2000 they wouldn’t know what to do…and when computers don’t know what to do…they crash. Our friends from the media decided to convey the message to the public in the following responsible, not-at-all-sensationalist-way:

'ON THE STROKE OF MIDNIGHT, EVERYTHING IS GOING TO SHUT DOWN OR EXPLODE! THE STOCK EXCHANGES WILL COLLAPSE!... IT’S GOING TO BE ANOTHER ICE AGE!...WE.ARE.ALL.GOING.TO.DIE!’

Basically, It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I didn’t feel fine. Far from it in fact. I quite liked the world as it goes, and also owned quite a fair bit of technology-related trinkets that I was rather fond of; and didn’t much like the idea of my precious gadgets imploding up their own micro-crevices

Therefore, I fell for this news hook, line, sinker, boat, reel and tackle.

Clinging to my dignity, I decided the best option at this juncture was to shit my pants, running around in circles doing frantic jazz hands and screaming inanely.

I couldn’t believe how calmly some people were taking our impending armageddon. Not one of them took the sandwich board I regularly wore seriously. As doom-day rapidly approached, some hapless fools, blindly ignorant to the oncoming destruction of the planet carried on as if nothing was wrong and some actually started party plans! Why wasn’t anybody listening?

I had better ideas. I wrote my will. (Well I say wrote, I carved it into a stone tablet that could survive the imminent blasts and world war – not that I had many possessions to leave because I sold everything – what was the point of materialistic goods when we’re all blown to smithereens and the insects have seized control?)

Christmas passed with great sorrow and eerie silence – I couldn’t get excited about presents etc, when our lives were to be extinguished in a mere matter of days? Some of my moronic family and friends had actually bought me things containing microchips! The sanctimonious bastards! I cursed their impudence and sent them packing.

December 31st. Dressed head-to-toe in a bio-degradable suit forged from pages of "Computers in Crisis" (by Jerome & Marilyn Murray) and with my tin foil hat firmly in place, I bid farewell to my family and the human race; before hammering crooked bits of wood against the windows and sealing myself into a concrete bunker; 2 miles below sea level with just a wind up radio for company. I waited for the inevitable as the final countdown relentlessly began…

10…9…I put my head between my knees and rocked gently backwards and forwards…

8…7… I question religion, find faith, lose it again, contemplate the beauty of life, the waste of existence, how it all went wrong...and cross my fingers hoping that my Tamagotchi somehow ‘evolves’ and survives…

6…5… A single tear streams down my face as I reminisce about the things I have never achieved in my life…whilst contemplating a possible new world order in a kind of ‘Planet of the Apes’ way…

4…3…I think of the people I will never see again (I couldn’t let the family in to the bunker – there wasn’t enough room for them and the 7000 tins of Millenium bug-proof beans…Besides, they didn’t seem to be that bothered about the whole ‘annihilation’ thing. Ha! Soon they will see who was right...

2…I shit my pants (again)

1…I close my eyes….. HERE WE GO!!!


…

…

oh.

…

fuck

What a bollocking wheelbarrow full of green, burbling, wanky anticlimax that was!

Boy, was my face red. I don’t mind admitting that I did look a bit of a twat. But it’s not all bad…at least I’ve now learned my lesson…

Subsequently I now ignore all these so called ‘warnings’ I get from the media. Climate Change? Fuck right off. Running out of resources? Yeah..fucking RIGHT! Ozone Layer? Load of twaddle. Terrorism? My hairy arse!

I’m not going to fall for that shite again.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 27 Jun 2008, 10:35, 7 replies)

Respect to "SickBoy"
Pussy Galore (from "Goldfinger").

What a blatant infringement of the Trade Description's Act.
(smells-like-victory-v's, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 10:29, Reply)

It was Constantinople, y'know...
A couple of years ago I saw a Call for Papers to be presented at a conference in Istanbul. "Kickass!", I thought, and began to work on a terrible pun to serve as a title. (I'd worry about the content of the paper later. It's the title that really counts...)

The bulk of the conference was of no interest to me, so I devised a plan: I'd show my face at the conference centre occasionally for the odd paper that looked relevant - and, obviously, to give my own - and for the free lunch. Beyond that, I'd spend my time exploring the city that I'd heard was one of the jewels of Europe.

Hmmmm.

It really isn't all it's cracked up to be, is it? The Blue Mosque is - frankly - plain, having nothing on (say) the Mosque at Cordoba, the Masjid-i Sheikh Luft Allah in Esfahan or the Vakil Mosque in Shiraz - all of which are stunning. Hagia Sophia and the Topkapi palace are worth seeing but not worth going to see... The Cistern is more interesting, but a large underground puddle really isn't enough to earn the city's reputation. You can't walk over the bridge to Asia - which I discovered only after having been told that you can, and walked all the way there from Sultanahmet. The food was OK, but I fail to see how Turkish cuising can legitimately be hailed as one of the world's greats.

Whinge, moan. Had it not been a freebie, I'd have been gutted.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 10:27, 2 replies)

Product Placement

there is a new sex drug on the market- "VIAZAC."
Half Viagra, half Prozac. If you dont get a fuck, you don't give a fuck.

Hope this helps
(smells-like-victory-v's, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 10:26, Reply)

First pron
Summer holidays after GCSEs were a heady time.

First time to drink cider in the park. First time to smoke substances you can't find at the newsagents. First time to really make a serious effort to chat up girls (the failure of which was often blamed on the first two rather than the fact that we were spotty little herberts with the social skills of a dead newt).

It was around the time that we first realised some of our number were able to get away with purchasing booze, some bright spark pointed out that in theory we could also get away with buying pron.

It started tentatively. The odd jazz mag here and there. But then one day my mate suggested that we bite the bullet (so to speak), club our money together and purchase a proper, real-life, full length porno.

The money was gathered (c. £30 between 4 of us) and one sunny Tuesday we popped up to Soho. A seedy enough looking shop was selected and Mike was despatched to complete the mission.

We waited outside with bated breath, but not 20 minutes later Mike re-emerged with a video-shaped brown paper bag. Success!!

When we got back to Mike's parents house we all crowded round in his room (this wasn't a mutual masterbation thing, yes we were private school boys but we were far too innocent for that sort of thing), and settled down for an hour of good old-fashioned filth.

The first scene was of an empty bedroom (good start). Then the door opened and in walked a rather large man who looked to be in his mid-40s (fair dos but where's the girl?). He then stripped bollock naked (erm ok, girl now surely?), looked at the camera and started happily wanking himself off....



...for 45 fucking minutes!



We were not too impressed. Mike claimed he'd had a minor panic attack and couldn't remember anything that happened in the shop. Fortunately it didn't actually put me off porn for life. Lucky escape though.
(Milo Minderbinder, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 10:17, 4 replies)

Magners Cider
Piss
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 10:14, 4 replies)

Is it me
or is this QOTW turning out to be rather depressing?

A reflection on the mood of the nation?
(Errorist, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 9:58, 3 replies)

Step Forward please
Mr Richard Morgan.

you very kindly wrote 3 of the best sci-fi books I have ever had the pleasure to pick up, Takeshi Kovacs fucking rocks! You re-invigorated my love of reading, got me into Alastair Reynolds, im happy again so could not wait to read The Black Man.

You utter cunt, what a total giant steaming pile of shit piss and discarded abortions that book is, awful, staggeringly its even worse than Market Forces, its almost as bollock clenchingly bad as a Dan Brown Book. How the fuck did you manage to write something so bad?

I could have done better frankly.

Very Disappointed indeed.

Thank god I only borrowed it.
(Halfy By light alone, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 9:52, 2 replies)

Dylan Moran - Like, Totally
I do appreciate part of the genius of the man is that so much of his set is improv.

I've also seen the official DVD of the tour which is also brilliant.

However having paid 20 squid to see him at the Hammersmith Apollo and for the second half of the show to be shorter than the interval was a bit much. Again it wouldn't have been so bad but he patently couldn't be arsed (think it was either the last or the penultimate night).

Went with my girlfriend at the time who'd never heard of him and I blame the crushing disappointment of that evening entirely on our subsequent break-up.*



*May not actually be true
(Milo Minderbinder, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 9:49, 6 replies)

Resignation
My friends in general. They aren't going to be happy, they aren't going anywhere in life, and they don't understand the world around them at all.

Oh wait, who's single, depressed, and going out maybe once or twice a month?

I should probably be my biggest disappointment. Fuck potential.
(Sco smokes crack often., Fri 27 Jun 2008, 9:40, Reply)

My Inlaws
Advance apologies for length.
I quit a good job in Victoria, because my BiL and his dad convinced me to work with them in the property development business. "You'll be making £80k within 2 years," they told me. "You can do your photography of our properties, you can manage all the tenants, and help us run our fledgling business." I lent them £3,500 of my own money to help them get off the ground. Not alot of money; more than I could afford, but I thought it to be a good investment.
I'm rather organised, so the idea of creating an entire system for an office sounded bril. I looked forward to bringing order to what I knew to be a chaotic approach to running an office.
They hired a wee office, where I sat behind a desk with lots of paperwork, a computer, and had a balcony overlooking the marina. "Okay," thinks I, "this could be good."
I worked hard. I organised them. However, at every turn, and every suggestion I made, I was blocked. I had run offices with far more people, coordinated larger projects than a few little property refurbs, and run accounts. With my BiL's business, I saw horrible, glaring errors that could only end in expensive visits from the VAT man, the CIS man, and every utility supplier within miles of *town where properties are*. I went to them, gave them ideas, told them they NEEDED to let me sort this out.
"No, we've got other things for you to do," I was told.
I returned to the office, searching for MiL's car tax form and MOT.
I was constantly reminded that the company had no cash flow - creditors, contractors, suppliers were constantly on the phone to me, demanding payment. BiL's response? "Just tell them we'll pay them later. And because we have no money, we can't pay you what we we said we would."
Humph.
A few weeks later, I'm entering the monthly purchases of the company credit cards. What's there? £2k worth of B&O televisions and stereo equipment. I confronted them, they came up with excuses. I asked for my money back. They said okay.
A month later, there's a new Lexus in their driveway. "Where's my money?" I asked. They hummed and hawed, giving me no real answer.
I gave up. I wanted to give them the benefit of my skills, and give them a good start to their business. I got the bum's rush. I left.
I'm just so disappointed with them. I wish them success, but I wish they weren't so arrogant to believe they can do no wrong and will never get caught.
Length? I haven't spoked to the inlaws for three months.
(w4I4q1O1 was hard at work on, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 9:34, 1 reply)

Tramadol Disappointment
Just over a year ago now I was in hospital for a week, having been knocked off my motorbike and given a compound elbow break for my troubles. I did recount it on the 'Why I Was Late' qotw.

Anyway, once I was out of surgery they put me on some lovely lovely drugs. IV morphine, I pretty much feel normal, then my brother presses the button on a little keyfob thing, I start yelling at him and fall asleep before I finish the sentence. Repeat for roughly 5 days.

The trouble with all this is that the IV was in my left hand, and my right arm was in a massive foam sling hung up next to me. As the days progressed, I got a bit more active and felt less 'mashed off my face'. As such, I was using my left hand a fair bit to do everything. Which resulted in the IV being yanked about a lot, and being ripped out. Trouble being I wasn't too disturbed by that either, because I was still, as they say, 'tripping balls'. Eventually though, I got fed up of it and pulled it out, announcing confidently to the room full of dying old people that I could do without their fancy-pants drugs. Why, I don't know. Free medical-grade opiates are definitely my thing.

So bedtime that night, I'm starting to waiver slightly at the prospect of a night with an arm with about 22 different pieces of metal in it, without the warm arms of morphine to sleep in.

Imagine my joy, when a nurse hands me a paper cup with 2 Tramadol pills in it. For those who aren't opiate fiends, Tramadol is a world-class addictive substance, and a derivative of morphine. I gulped those down and settled in for a trip in front of 24 Season 4 on the portable DVD my brother had bought me.

Woke up about 3 hours later. 24 still playing in my ears. Felt normal, but was aware of my purpose. Slowly manoeuvred myself upright in bed. Started unwrapping the bandages holding my sling on. Attempted to pull the drain connected to the back of my arm out. Very painful, decide against it for now; just carry the beaker the drain leads to.

Limp very slowly to the door (the seven hours I had spent on my side during surgery had caused a very bad haematoma in my thigh, which nearly required surgery itself!) and go into the nurses' station. The on-duty nurse looks a bit shocked to see me, but it's all fine, I know exactly why I'm supposed to be here. I limp up to her - "I've got a message for you." "What, on your mobile phone?" the on-duty nurse asks. I duly reply with the immortal line; "No - have you heard of Jack Bauer?" She hasn't, and looks quite bewildered. I decide this getting up thing is a really poor idea, and limp back to bed, after a bandaging sesh.

Except as I get to my bed, I see a black orderly walking past the nurses' station, which I immediately assume is my black boss(and I am aware of the slightly racist undertone behind this drug-induced assumption)and that it's time for work. So the nurses spend 5 minutes arguing with me about why I don't have to go to work. Eventually I realise my error and am coerced back into bed.

The disappointment in this story? The crushing knowledge that Jack Bauer didn't really need me to pass on his message. I LOVE Jack Bauer.

Apologies for length, morphine shrivels it.
( Rookie You'll have to speak up, I'm wearing a towel, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 9:13, 3 replies)

A dissapointment 10 years in the making
I loved the lion king when it came out, I mean really loved it, I was little enough for this to be acceptable, but I could rattle off the entire script if I had wanted to! - I realised at this point that I have a weird brain for remembering stupid things, but I digress.

the computer game came out and we got a copy, 3 floppy discs and I was amazed, the graphics were as good as a CD ROM! wow!

I loved this game, played it all the time, but I got stuck on the Hakuna Matata level. After much juvenile frustration and trying, I eventually gave up about a year later, I had made my peace with not finishing the game and realising that I never would, for me the game ended there even though I had been looking forward to seeing adult simba and using all his new powers, the game ended at hakuna matata.

the game got uninstalled and re-installed on many different computers through the 90s and I still never got past those bloody floating logs. then one day, about 10 years later, I pick up the discs again, and install it. the graphics were good, but I'd seen better by now. I remembered every move, every secret, and i played the game as effortlessly as I used to when I was little. then, hakuna matata came. the floating logs. I jumped, and jumped and jumped and before I knew it, I hadn't died, I had reached the platform with the stupid monkey boss on it who threw coconuts at me king kong style.

I ended the level, Finally I was going to see what adult simba was like, and perhaps, finish the game.

Now here is where the dissapointment sets in, adult simba was cool, but the level after was frustrating but easy, and then that was it.

The big finale of the game which I had been waiting 10 years for was pants! No, it was beyong pants, simba roared and plants grew. That. Was. It.

10 years.

I'll stick to monkey island when I next feel like playing retro games.
(Katzilla Follow Me! @Kat_Zilla (I don't promise funnehs), Fri 27 Jun 2008, 8:50, 6 replies)