» DIY disasters

DIY Tree House
This would prob have fit into last weeks QOTW as well, come to think of it.

I grew up in the Far East courtesy of the parents moving about and always wanted a tree house the likes of Enid Blyton's descriptions in her many books. Problem was that we mostly lived in the city without much greenery around us.

Fast forward to one time when we moved to a property with a sloped garden and a massive tree with spaced out branches that was perfect for said treehouse. So, father decides to indulge us with a treehouse, and sets about sketching lots of pictures, followed by a trip down to the timber yard. Back at the house, lots of sawing and hammering ensued, with lots of fatherly Man-grunts. Finally the work of art was unveiled, and the gangplank to lead up to the entrance was put in place.

My sister excitedly ran across and entered the tree house, followed by Timmy, our overweight retriever, who finding herself unable to squeeze past the entrance, poked her head through the tiny window on the side with both her paws on the sill. From here, everything settled into slow motion:

Timmy's paws slipped and she lurched herself through the tiny window where she got stuck and started to panic. Her hind legs flailing managed to kick the gangplank out of place. Her bulk then shifted the balance of the base of the treehouse, tilting at an angle because my wonderful father had only balanced the planks between the branches and forgotten to hammer them in to secure them.

So, dog half stuck in the house, and house is moving. My sister screams and tries to get out, house lurches onto its side. My sister is now stuck clinging to the other window for dear life. Her legs are dangling out of the door and you can see her cotton undies rapidly filling up with scared crap. My dad runs over, positions himself below her and tells her to let go as he will catch her.

She does, falls into his arms, smearing him with shit. Then Timmy the dog who is howling away, still dangling above them, decides to empty her bowels too. All over my father, who is cradling my sobbing sister. My mum runs over, grabs sister from dad, instructs him to recue dog and walks off in disgust. So dad has to try and recue dog, but finally the planks give way due to weight of dog and she comes crashing through. Dog falls on dad, dad goes under like a sack of potatoes.

Then the front of the treehouse falls out onto the both of them.

Luckily after a visit to A&E and the vets (after both of them had been hosed down) there was no damage apart from bruised ribs and a bruised manly ego.

We had a bonfire a few days later and we stayed playing indoors and never requested dad to build us anything again.

[EDIT: There was the doghouse...]

Apart from the doghouse which he built for said dog a while later, with a one way hinged door that opened inwards to keep out the tropical rains. Dog went in, turned around a few times and in the process shut the door on herself. Given that dog was fat, she couldn't really budge, and because the door opened inwards she was essentially stuck. Lots of howling and fouling later, dad set her free by prying the top of the dog house off.

Another bonfire. No more building.

EVER.
(Fri 4th Apr 2008, 13:41, More)

» Mix Tapes

Indulgence
Going back a few years ago before I met the current BF, I had a spectacularly bad breakup with the Bastard Ex who had put me through a very difficult time, including mind games and what else.

After the break up, I used to sit around in the kitchen with my German and Small flatmates, smoking joints and cigarettes and drinking lots of cheap wine, bemoaning the fact that we'd never find true love. We used to listen to Heart 106.2 and loved it when the heart wrenching power ballards came on.

After a number of these evenings, we decided to come up with the mother of all break up compilations, and each went away with our own lists and a few days later the German comes down with her music on a USB key. I plug it into iTunes, and then copy it into a folder where I've already dragged my selection in. Most of the tracks aren't named, and are called generic Track 01, Track 02 etc so I don't think much of it. Then once its all done I burn her a copy and label it on my iPod as Indulgence.

A few days later as I'm walking into Uni, I stick the playlist on. After a couple of the goodies (Nothing Compares 2U, Against all odds etc) a track comes on with a bit of interference. Thinking it might be a pirate version I turn the volume up, nothing.

I fast forward a few seconds, still nothing, so I fast forward it a bit more and suddenly through the headphones I hear ' SCHNELL, JAH JAH JAH JAH... NEIN NEIN NEIN...' and it was the German having it off with her boyfriend, and the sound of the headboard banging against the wall. To make things worse, it was muffled slightly to when I remembered having been recording this with Small flatmate one evening when we were particularly drunk, and you could hear our stifled giggles and muttering while 'JAH JAH JAH' was going 'NEIN NEIN NEIN' on behind 'OH MEIN GOTT, MEIN GOTT' doors...

Ashen faced, I quickly skipped to the next track, and it was a contribution from the German and it was (wait for it) David Hasselfuckinghoff singing a cover of Always on My Mind.

Later that evening, the German came back and immediately came up to me and said, 'Zat vas not fery indulgent for you, vas it?'

We both bust out laughing and all was forgiven.

Length? About 5 mins 23 secs long including the silence at the beginning.
(Thu 7th Feb 2008, 16:49, More)

» I'm going to Hell...

One way ticket...
I was seeing this guy and we walked past this sidewalk preacher condemning homosexuality. So we held hands and made out in front of him and I kept nodding excitedly and going 'OOOH' like some idiot. Then I turned to the ex-shag and got him to take a picture of me next to the God-botherer while I gabbled away in fake Japanese and did the Japanese picture-taking pose of peace-sign with both hands while the ex-shag directed me in posh English. Then after that I gave the man a pound coin and tried to kiss him on the cheeks but he walked off.

Then he stumbled and tripped and fell with his sandwich boards, and I took another picture.
(Thu 11th Dec 2008, 14:48, More)

» Ignoring Instructions

Twinkley Lights
At the time I was 10 and I had just received a new present from my mother a couple of months before that came in the form of a lovely sister (although after when she started talking I kept making enquiries if she could be sent to an orphanage because she was seriously pissing me off, but that's another story). I wanted to make her very first Christmas a memorable one so when my mother was out with her at the doctor's I decided to put some fairy lights up around the house.

I was living in the Far East at the time because my father got transferred there for a job and as a result the only fairy lights we had were those from 3 Christmas's ago, and these were antiquated fuckers that didn't have their own transformer or plug or whatever the fuck that makes them work, just a little dongle that had two copper spots that looked like it fitted into a bayonet light bulb holder. So, off I went to look for a lamp base where I could plug these into. Found the most suitable size that happened to be one of those old Black Tower bottles converted into a lamp base and unscrewed the resident light bulb and directly plugged it in. Bear in mind that it said 'DO NOT PLUG DIRECTLY INTO SOCKETS, USE TRANSBLAHBLAH', but no, 10 year olds know everything.

As soo as I plugged them in I felt a massive jolt and my hand was glued to the bottle base and I flew arcoss the room, unplugging the lamp in the process. My mother came back 15 minutes later to find me on the floor, clutching a Black Tower bottle for dear life and a string of (fused) fairy lights and the smell of singed hair emanating from me. Not a pretty sight.

I was smacked to within an inch of my life by my very livid mother, who kept telling me I could have killed myself.

And she very nearly killed me...
(Fri 5th May 2006, 11:52, More)

» Common

Common misconceptions.
Personally I believe that pronouncing something being 'common' or not is just another of those stigmas that leads to further segregation in society as well as enforcing the class division when we should be really striving for cohesion.

Who really gives a fuck if you're sitting on a sofa or a settee? Be grateful you've got something to slump down in when you get home from work. Dinner, tea, lunch, supper - who gives a fuck? Be grateful you have food to eat. Lavatory or toilet? At least you're not defecating al-fresco and risking contaminating a water source from which you'll have to live from.

Now something being tacky and tasteless, that's a different issue and one that I'll happily contribute to.

No length joke to end, because that's common.
(Fri 17th Oct 2008, 15:07, More)