Saturday, February 12, 2011

How I got my broken hand

Ooooh, 2 posts in one day?? I'm on fire!!!! And in pain. Because of my broken hand. And my hand is broken why??? And no, it's not from that..... It's because I'm an idiot.

So, me and my friends went to an Irish speaking pub last week called Club Conradh na Gaeilge and had the craic there, had some drinks, spoke Irish, played trad music and all, and eventually it came time to leave and the only option of transport back to the town where we're in university was the first train back in the morning.... at 5.30 am. And so we decided to go on a photograph-documented adventure around our capital city!! Yaaay!!

Along this journey, at the Central Bank in Dublin to be precise, two of the friends jumped up on these benches to pose, and not to be left out, I followed. However, I mistimed my running jump (obviously a bad idea to begin with), landed badly, and after a failed balancing act worthy of the stair-scene in Hitchcock's Psycho, fell over backwards and landed on my hand- a moment captured perfectly on camera to haunt me for the rest of my days. Needless to say I did a little bit of pained moaning about how I'd broken my hand until one of the friends, recovering from her laughter told me it wasn't broken and to get over it. And so I believed her, and we carried on.

And obviously, in a logical follow-on step, as we crossed the Ha'penny bridge over the river Liffey, I jumped up, grabbed onto the arch and proceeded to swing out of the arch as my friend took a picture, all the while as I complained that my hand and wrist were really sore and they were definitely sprained from that fall. But hey, I'm not one to quit on an adventure for a little bit of pain, so on we went, climbing into a stolen trolley we found and carting round in it til we saw a garda and decided to dispose of the evidence down an alley- hey we didn't steal it in the first place! In addition to this, I hung upside-down out of a lamp post...very strong legs, good gripping ability y'know. However, the cherry on top was to follow.

At the Spire in Dublin, guess who decided it would be a genuinely brilliant idea to do a handstand up against it?? Of course it was me. And so I did. And rather than the elegant gymnastic display which I'm sure you assumed followed, my injured hand and wrist buckled underneath me and I crumpled spectacularly. Rolling over just in time for another photo to be taken.

Hungover and in agony the next day, I made my way to the doctor who told me she couldn't send me for an x-ray in Dublin because it would be hectic and I'd be in there all day, unless I really had nowhere else to go. And so I rang my dad, in a conversation that went.

"Hey Dad, what're you up to?"
"Oh nothing much, not busy at all really...."
"Oh good. Can you collect me from college and bring me to hospital, the doc thinks I have a broken hand."
....silence...."oh.....ok then...I'll be there in an hour"

One week and a half later I am sitting here in pain in a soft cast- one of those splint things, waiting for Thursday morning when I will be getting the x-ray redone in my hand because apparently there was too much swelling and the couldn't see the suspected broken bone properly in the x-ray...which doesn't look good for the intactness of the bone...obviously...

The moral of the story is. If you're drunk and in Dublin time your jumps better....or just don't jump.
..also, handstands with broken hands hurt.

My mother thinks I'm a dirty slut

....hmm.... well, maybe not entirely accurate. I'm pretty sure she has her suspicions about all of us... (I refer of course back to my earlier post about her discovery of my younger brother's cum-rag) but she definitely thinks for sure that I'm a slut. She might be right.

It all began with a 40minute drive from a nearby town home which she spent the entirety of talking about sex and condoms and making sure I was aware of their importance. Yes, I know she's an Irish Catholic, but she doesn't wanna be a grandmother yet!! Basically, the summation of this traumatic conversation was that she "was young once too and knows how it can be, you get drunk at a party..." oh God, too much information mother... but I should always make sure I carry condoms coz I can't be sure the boy will have them. Upon reaching our home, I made my disturbed way to my sisters room and told her what had happened, expecting the normal 'oh yeah, I remember getting that conversation' reaction. Instead, what I got was a stunned sister who told me that she'd received no such conversation and in fact had heard that my mother had freaked at the discovery that an older sister was at it with her boyfriend...hmm....schizo much??

A while later, my younger sister acquired a boyfriend and at the dinner table one day let slip that while staying at her boyfriends family home they had shared his bed. My mother let her cutlery drop immediately with a loud "Merciful hour!!!!" and didn't resume eating for a while. Later, I went upstairs to find a traumatised younger sister. Just as she opened her mouth to tell me her woes, an older sister came up, managing to force out a strangled, 'you'll never guess what ma just did'. Basically, in short, the mother went up to my younger sister after dinner in a frightful state and managed to finally get out

"I've been feeling sick since dinner just thinking about this and I need to know the truth, so I'm just going to ask you straight out....have you been having sex with your boyfriend??"

and as had been the case at the time with a more innocent sister, she replied, stunned,

"have you had sex with any boys????" my mother went on, and with my sisters reassurance that no she had not, my mother breathed a sigh of relief, "oh thank heavens, I've been so worried!" and started out the door, pausing only to ask in a more sinister tone, "you wouldn't lie to me would you??" to which a disturbed sister put her mind at ease again, and off the mother went downstairs........ an older sister, where she immediately launched into, "I'd be a fool to think you were still a virgin, but just tell me this, are you being careful?????" to which a slightly more innocent sister assured her, to her surprise, that she would not in fact be a fool because she was still one. Relief flooded through the mother as that glimmer of hope that maybe there was still a chance that only her eldest was sullied became more possible.

And then we realised. That out of her daughters who were home, there was only one left to ask. And it was me. And she was about to be crushed.

And so it happened, that evening as myself and the younger sister sat in the kitchen watching tv, my mother entered and asked my sister to kindly change the brothers bed. Of course I immediately offered to help but was betrayed by the sister who refused!!!! "hardly a 2 person job", my mother smirked as the sister headed out of the room, pausing only to shoot me look of realisation as she figured what I was about to be asked.
"I assume you know what I'm about to ask you then, do you?" the mother began.
And I laughed. And I laughed. And I laughed. Not because it was in any way humorous, but because there really was nothing else to do in that situation.
"I just hope you were careful" was all she could say. Bless her cotton socks.

One would be forgiven for assuming it was all her own fault that she would assume I was slut- a result of being nosy or the like. But one would be wrong for thinking that. For some reason, my siblings delight in informing her of my exploits, both to embarrass me and to shock her.

For example, at that same dinner table as I stirred shit about the sister sharing the bed with the boyfriend in his family home, she remarked in a false innocence,
"but you used to share a bed with your ex all the time up in college, even though ye only lived across the road from each other!"

Another sister derived great pleasure in letting my mother know that at the end of year party for the Drama society party I'm involved with in college, one of the (joke) awards I had won was the 'Bike of the Year'* award, and it took all of my convincing skills to make her believe this referred to the amount of boys I had kissed.....
[* Bike of the Year, i.e. everyone gets a ride... it's not true though!!!!]

This Christmas, the younger sister delighted in informing the mother of a local boy my mother knows who I kissed at Christmas. My mother looked at me in my severely hungover state and sighed,
"oh Dear, who's left?"

The icing on the cake came when recently, I stayed at a boys house after a gig in the local town as it was less expensive than getting a taxi home and although we kissed, when I got home it was my mothers first instinct to sigh in a much disappointed way,
"oh, you didn't have sex with him, did you??"

No. 1) why would that be your first thought??? ..should be thinking I'm lovely and innocent!
No. 2) like I'd have told her.....( and no, we didn't!!!)

To sum up, in general nowadays, my mother thinks that I am a slut, who is careless with the use of protection and who she now needs to constantly remind that she doesn't want to be a grandmother yet and to make the point clear to that if I do get knocked up, she's not going to mind the result and I'll have ruined my young life forever- cue a list of all the things I'll never get to do. Thanks ma, love the vote of confidence..

Although, it could be worse. In recent times every time she sees the younger brother sitting thinking or staring into space, she sits beside him and asks in a very concerned manner, "are you ok love? haven' a girl pregnant have you??" He doesn't know where it's coming from either... apparently your mother's impression of you changes drastically after she finds your cum-rag....