DIY piercing

Yesterday, in a bid for some badassity I suspect, I decided to pierce my ears.

I recall having my ears pierced when I was four years old, only to have the holes close up because I played with the studs, they fell out and I was too lazy to put any back in again.

A few years down the line I started regretting ever letting the holes close whenever someone'd walk up to me and say, "Hey, I didn't know your ears aren't pierced! Why don't you get them done?"

I would then tell them that I was shit scared of needles, which I was.

That changed the last time I had a bladder infection, though. (had blood samples taken, then was precribed 'Stemitol' which made me develop a peculiar involuntary desire to look up all the time before I was placed on a drip)

One of my friends told me piercing ones ears by oneself involves less pain, since she'd tried it with ice and felt nothing (it didn't work though, because her needle stopped halfway in - so she went to a clinic instead).

So prompted by boredom, peer pressure, a dream to look like a fag and the slightly masochistic part of my persona, I stalked around the house to gather the following implements:

- a sock
- a packet of ice cubes
- a few plastic bags
- drawing pins
- safety pins

I boiled the pins in a kettle and let them sit in there for a while before picking them out. Then, wrapping my right hand with the sock and putting a few ice cubes into a plastic bag, I gingerly picked out a safety pin with my socked hand, cushioned my right earlobe with the icepack and poked.

It was remarkably pain free. The needle popped into the first layer of skin, but stopped there until I shoved it in really hard. After a yell of "motherfucker!", it finally came out the other end of my earlobe with a small pop.

Surprisingly, the hole didn't bleed. So I clipped the safety pin closed and started on the second hole (in the same ear), which involved the same method as that of creating the first.

Poke. Clip.

Left ear. Poke. Clip.

I then had three safety pins dangling from my ears in an odd garage-sale fashion, but I was relatively pleased with the results.

So, I went to bed.

The next morning my earlobes hurt like fuck. I ignored it and focused on how I could go to church without looking like a cretin. I then settled on taking the pins out and leaving them until I could buy studs.

After church I went to the mall and bought two pairs of sterling silver rings (the extra one could be a spare). And a trechcoat.

When I got home, I hastily tried to put the rings in, but to no avail. The blood clots had clogged up the holes and poking them delivered considerable pain and yet another couple strings of "motherfucker!". So got ice, and sought to re-pierce. Problem was, there was a total of 1.3 ice cubes left (with the crushed ice constituting the 0.3).

This time, I used my old computer prefects' badge. Due to the shortage of ice, this time I could actually FEEL the fucking needle going in and popping the skin. Grotesque pleasure at its finest.

Putting in the rings was still a task because the holes were too small - and skew because of the moving flesh. By this time I was on the verge of giving up. So I simply tried forcefully shoving the rings in. No avail.

I straightened all three rings at the bendy bits and tried again. Pop! Woohoo it worketh.

Blood everywhere.

I grinned in a satisfied manner and went off to enter "gay boys kissing" on Google Imagesearch.

Rich oldworld men

So anyway, my dad is a guy who installs satellite dishes for foreigners in South Africa, providing cable television from his potential customers' home countries.

As a result, our landline telephone number is plastered all over shady, seedy and not necesserily legal places including but not limited to pubs, street poles and public bathrooms.

We also happen to receive a lot of phone calls from said potential customers, and because my dad is usually busy, I take most of them.

One night I received a call from an immigrant who sounded at least 40 years old and spoke with a strange accent - in other words, just another one of my dad's usual customers. So after the mandatory "Sorry, Jason isn't available right now, please phone his cellphone or leave a message", I hung up quickly because there was this great new gay porn I wanted to watch as soon as possible (bikers, to be exact).

The following day, I was suprised to find that the man had called again. The conversation went like this:

"Good evening, is this Mr. Jason's wife?"

"Er, no, it's his daughter."

"Were you the one I was speaking to last night?"

"Yes. Yes I was."

"Ask Mr. Jason how much he wants for you. I like your voice very much, you must be my third wife."

It was at this point which I simply dropped the phone and gaped. Thereafter, I went through several phases:

1 - Surprise (Whoa wtf. Didn't see that one coming.)

2 - Feelings of being flattered (Lol I have a pleasant voice liek go me.)

3 - Anger (The fucking womaniser!! How can he expect to buy women like that?! Not to mention he has two other wives! Piece of shit!)

4 - Disgust (Eeeew...he's old enough to be my dad.)

5 - Balefulness (I WILL FUCK HIM UP THE ASS WITH A KNIFE IF HE DARES TO TOUCH ME!!!!!)

6 - Distracted (Oooh, my new gay porn just finished downloading! Mmm...schoolboys...)

So anyway, I left this entire ordeal clean forgotten. I had better things to do.

Still, mulling over what happened, the incident spawned several ideas for future careers...

Wouldn't it be a great conversational topic if I could say that I'm a phone-sex operator?