Proof

Numerous people have recently accused me of having no Christmas cheer. In an effort to disprove this misguided assumption I decided to decorate my bedroom.

So here it is, proof that I am indeed filled with the Christmas spirit. As you can see I pulled out all the stops when decorating my room.

I had to cut off the head of a small stuffed toy to get the Santa hat for my artist's dummy.

Excludes Albinos

Being the whitest person on the face of the earth* is not easy. Especially when you are not blessed with a ‘milky’ white complexion like the flawless Cate Blanchett. Rather you are bespeckled with odd clumps of freckles, bags under your eyes and blotchy red patches of skin. My mother is Italian and was blessed with olive skin, a blessing that she passed on to my two siblings. On the other hand I tend to look I’ve just been rescued from a child predator who kept me locked in a basement away from sunlight for the past 11 years.

This all changed recently. I accepted a last minute invite to the Derby Day races with a group of friends. Having retained at least part of the ‘Slip, Slop, Slap’ message taught to me by Sid the cartoon seagull in the late 80’s, I applied what I thought was sunscreen before heading outdoors. Clearly the campaign, and more specifically Sid himself, did not care about people with poor eyesight. Having to remove my glasses to ensure effective application of sunscreen to my entire face had disastrous results. What I actually applied liberally to my face was in fact moisturiser, not being the type of guy who uses moisturiser or sunscreen regularly it was an easy mistake to make. I blame Sid the seagull. Instead of ‘Slip, Slop, Slap’ the catchphrase should have said:

Slip on a shirt, Slop on some sunscreen- but if you wear glasses make sure to check what you are actually applying before you smear moisturiser all over your face, and slap on a hat.

In the hours that followed I basically fried my face in the sun, all those pigs that I have fried up over the years to provide my breakfast plate with tasty tasty bacon must have been looking up from piggy hell laughing hysterically- but I suppose my face frying in the sun is hardly as bad as frying them up and eating them… I digress.

My face was so sun-burned that I had to visit a doctor, who prescribed me medication to combat possible skin infections, recommended an ointment to reduce the redness once the skin had healed and actually had to place a dressing over my nose because it had shed so many layers of flesh. Having an important event coming up four days later increased my stress levels dramatically and my anger towards Sid the Seagull grew each morning as I looked in the mirror and was confronted with a face that looked like a Spanish omelette.

As time passed my face healed and the burns left me with a slightly darker complexion which seems to have lingered for the past month. Just the other day three different people commented on my ‘healthy’ complexion. Each time I replied, “Thanks, I have a great moisturiser.”

*Whitest person on earth claim excludes albinos.

Sid The Seagull: The ugly face of eyesight prejudice.

The Heart Of The Matter

It was my first time so I was a little nervous about it all, I suppose everyone is a bit scared of the unknown. She dimmed the lights and gently guided me through the whole process and before I knew it we were finished.

"How are you?", she said as she stood up and slowly walked away from the bed.

I replied, "Great. You did all the work and I just had to lay back and relax."

She smiled politely, threw me a box of tissues and told me to get cleaned up and put my clothes back on. As soon as I was dressed she put her arm around my shoulder and ushered me into the brightly lit room next door.

When my eyes finally adjusted to bright white light I scanned the room and realised she was gone, I was in an office and a grubby little man was asking me for payment. I handed over the cash and left quickly.

Slightly dazed and confused I strolled back to my car- feeling every beat of my heart more than ever before.

I suppose now is an appropriate time to point out that I had an Echocardiogram (ECG) this morning.

My test today involved a woman, who I can only assume was a doctor, squirting some gel on my chest and prodding my ribs with an ultrasound camera. Clearly this isn't as interesting as my initial description may have led you to believe.

Despite my melodramatic self diagnosis of a broken heart I have been assured everything is fine.

Lesson #3: Don't Ignore Chest Pains

When I decided to stop blogging back in September I had no idea that life was about to get so interesting. Had I realised that the next few months would present me with endless opportunities to exploit myself for other peoples entertainment I would never have shut down the blog.

So where did I leave off?

Oh that's right, I left with the promise that when I eventually returned to the blog I would no longer be censoring myself. Clearly that was a lie, partly because I dont want to incriminate anyone who happens to stumble into my life, and partly because I'm lazy. One hundred percent honesty is too much work.

This post was supposed to be full of all the hilarious stories about the events of the past few months but after eating enough pasta to feed a family of four I'm feeling bloated and lazy. So instead I'll follow the tradition of the 'MichaelWho Blog' and summarise. Here are some of the lessons I have learned recently.


Lesson #1: No one likes a drunken skank.

After three solid months of frequenting 'A Bar Called Barry's' on Thursday nights for their Queer & Alternative night I felt myself turning into someone I didn't like. That sounds pretty deep but actually its quite simple, I was beginning to act like a skank. Which is just like being a skank but without all the sex. Anyway, I took a break from the Q&A scene and spent some time tormenting myself for being an idiot, soon thereafter I vowed not to be an idiot ever again.


Lesson #2: When the going gets tough, I become a towel throwing expert.

For those of you can't translate my odd mixed metaphor, let me explain. Since leaving high school I have taken up numerous academic pursuits, but every time the pressure became too much, like when I actually had to do something besides drink coffee and have pretentious conversations, I would quit and move on to something else. Through the latter half of this year I was faced with an unrelenting workload that beat me down like a polar bear bitch-slapping a penguin. After seriously contemplating faking a nervous breakdown to get out of yet another course I decided to burry myself in study and actually finish the year. When I finished I proceeded to pat myself on the back, it wasn't as rewarding as I had hoped.


Lesson #3: Don't Ignore Chest Pains

I'm not going to turn this into a lung related complain'a'thon. I'll break it down- my lung spontaneously collapsed, the doctor yelled at me for not taking it seriously and the nurses thought I had an eating disorder. I spent 5 days in hospital, the lung was fixed, I feel fine and people continue to subject me to random seemingly unrelated tests which are sending me bankrupt. Stupid lung.


I haven't spent this much time typing since completing my last assignment- I'm having unwelcome flashbacks so I'm going to stop here. Please enjoy this completely random photo of me with a helmet stuck on my head.

(PHOTO REMOVED 2012 - WHAT WAS I THINKING?)