Tuesday, April 24th, 2007, 12:33 pm
A couple of years ago I was living in San Diego, California. I use the term 'living' very loosly......struggling by on a diet of 1 jar of mayonaise and a bag of potatoes every week in a 1 bedroom flat with 10 other people - is probably a more apt way of putting it.....but thats another story.
As a couple of us were under 21 at the time, we were very limited as to which bars would accept our fake IDs so we decided a trip to TJ (which isnt too far from San Diego and the drinking age is only 18) was in order.
At the time there was about 7 girls and 8 or 9 boys in our group and the boys decided that they were'nt quite ready for TJ so us girls thought we'd fly the flag for girl power and all that jazz and off we went to mexico in our sparkly shoes, short skirts (and leather trousers in my case)...
We arrive safe and sound to the culture shock of all culture shocks - we payed 5 dollars on the door of the nightclub and got free drink all night, there was a vollyball court in the middle of the dance floor with sand and everything.....lots of neon glow in the dark paint etc. etc.
So we proceeded to get plastered and had a ball (no pun intended). So about 5am we teeter back towards the border...somewhat dishevelled but sparkly shoes still in tact and come face to face with a border police officer who looked to be about 10 foot tall and 5 foot wide (you can imagine everything was a bit bleary at this stage so our perspective may have been slightly impaired)...anyway he was huge in comparison to me and my gaggle of little irish girls.
So he checks my passport and asks the few rudimentary questions which I just about manage to answer in between hiccups and off i trot over the border to the US of A. After a while it became apparent that my friends were having a spot of trouble with the documentation and it transpired that although they had their visas and passports - they didnt have a copy of some other form (that i had stapled into my passport) and there was "NO WAY IN HELL" they were getting over the border.
{(Big scary policman shouting + gaggle of drunken irish girls) @ 5am in Mexico} = floods of tears.
So its decided that me and my leather trousers would make the trip solo back to our flat to collect all the necessary documents and then come straight back down to Mexico to save the day....
So after about a 3 hour round trip Im back in mexico, document'ed and visa'd to the rafters and go in search of my friends. When i find the holding cell i left them in (yes can you believe that in the US of A they find it necessary to temporarily incarcerate a group of irish girls at 5am on theyre way back from TJ??? ) I find that theyre not there and it transpires that a little after i left they were in fact released as they actually didnt need the document that the Hulk was demanding of them.....they presumed that theyd catch up with me on the way back but no such luck....
So i get on the train AGAIN (its now 8am and i have work at 10am) and the hangover begin to sets in. Im surrounded by all the Mexican communters on theyre way to work and the inevitable happens....the eyes well up and the lip starts to tremble and theres no stopping it now.......yep...im balling crying on my own, drunk, clad in leather trousers, in Mexico.....if my mother could see me now.
The tinyest woman ive ever seen sits down next to me and pulls a wad of tissues from her bag (which was pretty much bigger than her) and starts saying in broken english "dont cry senorita, dont cry" and of course that just makes my cry even more.....the shame of it.
I get to work at 10am, hungover, big red eyes from crying and no sleep and have to spend the next 8 hours lifting kids onto a carousel that plays the same tune over and over and over and over..........
*Note to self - When being deinied access to a country (at 5am when flaming drunk and wearing leather trousers), its probably best to take the kind gentlemen at border control up on the offer of a few hours kip in the nearest available holding cell....
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Wednesday, April 4th, 2007, 3:28 pm
I used to own a hamster called Kev. He was a rather un-orthodox but very much loved present from my other half. He more-so resembled a tiny brown mouse then a hamster and i got a lot of pleasure from taking him out of his cage and letting him run up and down my arms.....some times the cheeky bugger used to make it under my top......(although i cringe to admit it was a somewhat enjoyable experience so he was never scolded for achieving first base).....although other half was none to pleased about his furry replacment.
I digress.....
One such day Kev was going for a stroll on my person (bits) and i was proudly showing my guestes how clever (perverted) he was.....we had ordered a takeaway and when the deliverey guy arrived i put Kev back in his cage and went to sort out the nosh. What i didnt realise was that i never shut the door on the cage. So an hour or so goes buy and i suddenly notice that i havnt heard any rustling coming from Kev and so i go over to have a look. To my horror i realise whats happened and proceed to tear the house apart looking for him.
No sign of Kev....
So we mourn the loss of our dear friend Kev and other half scolds me for being a terrible pet owner.
Two months pass. Im lying in bed reading and i hear a strange scuffling noise coming from behind my bed. I eventually cop on that in fact its coming from inside the walls - as i ponder what kind of creature could make this racket i have a eureka moment - KEV! So I'm in bed awake plotting how i can get Kev from inside my bedroom wall back into his caged haven downstairs.
The next evening i concoct a serious trapping device - namely an old basin balanced on a pencil, tied to a stick of celery - so kev eats the celery, inadvertedly moves the pencil, the basin falls trapping him- ingenious! And would you believe it worked! You bet ya!
A week after returning the prodical Kev to his haven i find him dead in his bed.
* Note to self. If an animal in my care manages to escape my clutches, his life expectancy in the wild has probably doubled and is best left alone.
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Monday, April 2nd, 2007, 5:28 am
A week or so ago I was woken up at 5am by the sound of my other half choking, gasping, spluttering and gererally being very disruptive. He said his throat was sore.........and being a bloke i presumed he was just being a bit of a drama queen so I got him a nurofen and told him to go back to sleep. So 8am arrives and the alarm wakes me and I find myself alone in the bed and theres a faint noise in the distance.....sounds like coughing and wretching .....coming from the bathroom. On closer inspection I find himself doubled over the sink complaining that theres somethign stuck in his throat.......so I peer inside his gob to have a look.
I was greeted by the sigth of a severly swollen throat coupled by a uvula (although we were referring to it as the dangly thing that hangs down at the back of your mouth) that had swollen to about 7 times its regular size.....so much so that it was dangling down the back of his throat and he was quite literally choking on his own gob! He had to hold his head in a certain way so that he was constantly looking at the ceiling just so he could breath comfortably!
So off to the doctors we went. As he's only been living here just over a year and has never been sick enough to see a doctor hes not actualyl registered with a GP. So we went off to our local NHS clinic.....well what we thought was an NHS clinic....only to wait a half hour for it to open and then to be todl that it wasnt in fact an NHS clinic but a Mental hospital.....so we were sent packing. We eventually got to see a doctor at the Hospital who confessed that hed never seen anything like it! And proceeded to call his colleagues in for a look. After a lot of oohing and ahhing and a couple of Wows! (at this stage the poor sod was feeling like a circus freak) he was given a prescription for steroids (much to his delight) and some anitbiotics.
After a week of steroids, his uvula is still dementedly oversized (although he instsists hes used to it at this stage) and his dreams of 'iminent buffness' (that he was sure the steroids would cause) are shattered......
*Note to self.....swollen uvula & pot noodle is not a good combination.....noodles tend to get tangled in it leading to lots of choking and sporadic patches of half chewed noodles all over the living room......
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