Dean Saliba Dot Com

Meeting The Owner Of The World’s Naughtiest Cat!

2012-01-18T17:18:27Z

I woke up today with a hangover, I drank a total of 5 cans of Fosters yesterday and there I am lying in bed with a fucking hangover! Is this what happens as you get older? You lose your ability to absorb alcohol?

I had no football today, the manager sent a text saying the game was off and that he would let everyone know about training later. I was grateful for this because it meant I got a few more hours in bed.

I got up about 12 and got myself ready to go to Highbury & Islington to meet Francesca as we were going to watch the Swansea/Arsenal game in the pub next to the station. I’m not sure why she travels from Oakwood to see the game there, I know there are nearer pubs showing it as we have watched them in them before.

I was late, I know I was late because as I stood in the pub looking for her I could feel her glaring at me and when I turned around I was met with “You’re late!” I pick up on the little signs very quickly.

Again it was a rather fun couple of hours which were only cut short because she wanted to go home and get an early night. Having a highly demanding job, a money-demanding 19 year old son at university and a cat who likes to attack her at 4am, she is looking incredibly tired these days.

When I got home I did have a look online to see if there were any tips on how to deal with her naughty cat, the poor cow gets woken up by him attacking her face or feet at 4am every morning!

She lets him out but he goes around terrorising the neighbourhood. He goes into the houses nearby and eats the food they have left out for their own cat. One of her neighbours does home massages and he attacks her clients through the hole where they put their faces. He has had his balls cut off but that just seemed to make him worse.

Oh Nero, what is to be done with you!

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QPR Might Have Lost But I Took The (Verbal) Beating!

Even Perverts Have Standards

2012-01-18T17:11:51Z

2012 has been rather kind to me at the moment, to the point where I’m finding myself eyeing him up with suspicion, just what are you up to? You’re never normally this nice to me, come on unveil your true intention you utter bastard!

Since the turn of the year I have found that I have stuck to my working routine with relative ease, work is coming in thick, regular and fast, I am training with three football clubs and play for one of them again and my social life seems to be taking a sudden rise.

Tonight I went to watch Custom House (one of the teams I train with) an away game. They seem to be slowly coming together, if only they didn’t have to go 2-0 down to start playing then they might actually get something.

Half way through the first half I had to pee. All the toilets at the ground were locked so I went off to find a bush or a tree at the far end of the ground to relieve myself behind. I found one eventually and after making sure nobody was around I did my business.

It wasn’t until I was zipping up that I heard someone yell “Oi!” at me. I turned around and across the road was a woman looking out of her bedroom window with a pair of binoculars, she had seen me pee behind the tree and was now yelling things like “you dirty filthy cunt!” at me as I waved at her and walked back to the pitch.

I love how someone spying on people in a park can suddenly take the moral high ground when she was doing something I’d consider much worse. I know pissing in a park isn’t nice but I was desperate and all four toilets were locked. What was I meant to do? Tie a knot in it?

After nipping home for a quick wash and change of clothes I headed out to Watford, I had agreed to mind the door for some friends who were holding a joint rave-themed birthday party. I got paid £100 for two hours works and as it was an invite only event I got to say “your names not down, you’re not coming in” more than a couple of times.

I only stayed about an hour after I finished working the door, I got a call from my friend Julie who lives in Watford and when she found out where I was she insisted I come over and have some beers. I jumped into a taxi to her place where I was promptly attacked by one of her vicious cats.

It was a nice couple of hours, we sat on her bed watching Live At The Apollo, drinking beer, insulting each other and playing music from our youth. It was like being a teenager all over again! I only had to leave when her boyfriend got upset that she had a male friend in the flat and said he was coming over.

So she quickly booked me a taxi to the station and ushered me out of the flat fearing her fella might turn up and kick off. As it turned out he never came over, he just said it to get her to get me to leave.

Why do all my female friends have boyfriends who are so fucking insecure?

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Double Standards?

Should Have Stayed In Bed

2011-12-30T00:46:22Z

I was hoping that I could get to the end of 2011 without any more shit being thrown at me, but Mother Nature must be a monkey of some kind because she really enjoys throwing her shit at people and me in particular!

I was awoken this morning by my dad calling me, normally he wants me to get him a glass of water but this time he just kept shouting “come here”. As I walked into his room I could not be prepared for what I saw if I had been 100% awake. His bed had given up and collapsed underneath him.

As I approached the shouting mound of pillows and bedding my sleeping brain was still trying to figure out what had happened. I eventually found him and pulled him up and then went back to bed for about 30 seconds before I heard a crash.

He had forgotten about the broken bed (despite only getting out of it 30 seconds earlier) and had sat on it to get dressed and fallen through it again. Later on when I had a look at it I found that he had split the long piece of wood that ran along the middle of the bed holding in the wooden slats.

The day got worse, I went to the Post Office to pick up my dad’s money for him, while I was in there I paid his rent as well. I stupidly wasn’t paying attention and it wasn’t until I got home that I realised I was £120 short.

I kept recounting it and wondering if I had left some money in another pocket but I hadn’t. I then thought that two things had happened:

1. I had paid £120 on the rent card instead of £12.00.

2. The old man at the Post Office short changed me by £120.

When I go to the Post Office for him I always ask for a balance first and then I take out what he asks me to so I then have two receipts to give to him, one before I take the money out and one after. I don’t know why but I didn’t watch the old man count the money and I forgot to ask for a receipt to prove money went on the rent card.

I won’t know for sure until I have phoned the council tomorrow to check. I phoned them today but they told me to phone tomorrow as the transaction hadn’t gone through yet.

I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings now…

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I Hate Boxing Day

2011-12-27T22:12:31Z

Boxing Day has to be the worst and most boring day of the year, nothing happens, the presents have all been opened, the useless POS Hardware present has been returned to the store, the buzz & excitement of Christmas Day has come and gone, and it seems such a long way away until we can all get pissed at New Year’s Eve without people calling us names (like alcoholic).

The highlight of my day was sending text messages to everyone thanking them for their presents and scanning my collection of DVDs for something I had not watched more than twice.

Merry bloody Christmas!

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The Perfect Christmas Day?

2011-12-27T21:49:31Z

What did you do for Christmas Day? I spent the day laying in bed watching rubbish TV and stuffing my face with food that never seemed to run out. I didn’t even get out of bed to open my presents until about 9pm. I’m not an expert but I’m pretty sure this is what Christmas is all about.

I received some nice presents this year, normally I receive nothing but deodorant and socks (are you bastards trying to say something? Eh?). I received some jumpers, a pair of trainers, about £200 in cash and a lovely robe that Derick Trotter would be proud of!

At 10pm I lit a cigar and had a glass of brandy. I have done this little ritual every year since my friend Will introduced me to the pleasure of doing it one Christmas. It was a nice way to end a perfect day of slobbing and eating.

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Scaring Hungarian Women With A Helicopter

2011-12-27T20:52:51Z

My sisters and their children laid siege to our flat last night I made plans to escape and visit a friend of mine who lives in Leyton with her 6 year old autistic son. I get a bit of a kick out of visiting them because we always have a laugh and an enjoyable evening.

Nobody had bought her a Christmas present so before I popped round I got them both a present each. She is Hungarian and apparently it is their tradition to put up their Christmas tree and open their presents on Christmas Eve.

Her son (who is called Reece) was very excited when I walked through the door, before I could enjoy the nice warm feeling of having someone pleased to see me she shot me down when she told me that he was high on chocolate. Bitch!

I gave him a helicopter (I bought a couple because I thought a few children would like them that I know) which he seemed to like, it took me 30 minutes to get it going and when I managed to get it to fly his mum screamed and ran out of the room.

We went outside to have a cheeky fag leaving him to play with his new toy, a flashing dancing truck, when we came in we heard it making a noise in a cupboard. It had annoyed him and he didn’t know how to turn it off so he stuffed it into a cupboard.

Wouldn’t it be great if we could do that to people? Someone irritates you and you lock them in a cupboard until you are ready to tolerate their bullshit again. In practice this would be awesome but in reality I’m sure there is a criminal offense linked to that and I’m even more sure those pesky do-gooders would have something to say about it.

When I got home I was starving, thankfully my siblings and their pack of rascals hadn’t completely eaten us out of house and home, they left me four small sausage rolls and two cocktail sausages.

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The Boys Are Back In Islington Town

2011-12-27T20:02:57Z

I have discovered a secret trick to getting plenty of work done, it is called ‘getting up at 3am in the morning’. I had a cup of tea and some toast and sped through about three days worth of work by 1pm. It had been a few days since I’d last done any work, a side effect of having bipolar, so I was pleased to be able to put some serious dent into my workload.

And at that time of the morning there are very little distractions, it was just me and the LBC radio station, no games and nobody to talk to on Facebook. I wrote 23 articles, edited all my blogs, upgraded the blogs to the latest version (3.3) of WordPress and checked & answered all my emails.

The side effect to this though is that by about 4pm I was flagging hard but as we all know, nothing is 100% foolproof – even the best medicines in the world have some dodgy side effects. I didn’t need this tiredness hitting me now as I was due to meet my main man Reiss at 6pm.

Thankfully a 30 minute nap had me back on track which was great because I don’t get to see him as much anymore so I really didn’t want to have to phone him and cancel. It might have been a while since I last saw him but we hadn’t forgotten our ritual Friday nights.

Things have changed though, when he came towards me he handed me a poncy beer that had the flavour of a rose wine and he now drinks ale just like me! This means that my beers are no longer safe from him on nights out. Reiss is one of those people who regularly misplace their pints and will taste other pints until they find theirs. Oh how I miss the weird face he would pulled after mistakenly sampling a pint of Black Sheep followed seconds later by a very high-pitched ‘Ewwwwwwwww!’

We went to Angel for a quick pint at The York where I split my attention between listening to Reiss and observing (I don’t perv) the barmaid with her tit hanging out. The Mucky Pup was calling us. There was hardly anyone in (something I’ve been told is a regular thing down there these days) but it was still an enjoyable night.

Someone (I think his name was Kevin) was in a very generous mood and bought a load of us two rounds of jagerbombs, the night got even better when Reiss told me he was not going home at 10pm as he had been instructed. It was an old fashioned Dean & Reiss night out, only without the violence.

We stayed until chucking out time, Reiss was weird on the bus, we got food on the way home and neither of us had sex. Oh I’ve missed those nights out.

I hope we can do it again, if his missus refuses to allow him out more often then I shall have to go to her home and steal her shoes again. Don’t call my bluff, Emma! I’m just crazy enough to do it.

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Dean The Hero

2011-12-11T18:28:14Z

I met my mum at the bus stop yesterday because she had some things from my Nan’s flat that she was giving to my dad and she couldn’t carry them on her own. As we were walking along, and she was filling me in on the punch-up that happened the day before, she started pointing.

There was an elderly man kneeling on the floor by the side of a car. At first glance it looked like he was looking under the car, like we did for our footballs as kids, but at about 55+ I doubted that was the reason he was looking.

My mum said he looked like he was trying to get up and sent me over to ask if he was OK. As I approached I could smell the unmistakable odour of cheap white cider in my nostrals (the kind of cider that has never been anywhere near an apple) and as I got to him I saw a puddle of blood on the pavement.

It was obvious he had fallen in his drunken state and had smashed his nose into something. I offered to get him an ambulance but he said he didn’t need one so I pulled out a pack of tissues to mop up the blood from his face.

And that was when one of my exes turned up.

It turned out that she was a friend of his so I went on my way leaving Tracy (why do I date a lot of Tracy’s? I’ve dated three!) to phone the ambulance that he didn’t want or need. He had a bloody nose for God’s sake.

My mum then gave me a stern lecture that when we get home I should thoroughly wash my hands because I had some of his blood on me.

No hero medal for me then? No reward? Those packs of tissues are not cheap you know, and I’ll never get the blood out of this white jumper that I’ve had for five years but only worn twice because I secretly dislike it.

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Not Your Typical Funeral #2

2011-12-11T12:40:58Z

As we left the church things got a bit too much for my mum and she slumped into a chair and started sobbing. Her husband didn’t know what to do but I have many years experience of upsetting women so I waded in and put my arms around her and helped her out to get some fresh air.

It seemed to take forever to get to the graveyard as I had to endure the cackling witches that I like to call my sisters, gossiping about anyone and everyone while my 17 year old cousin sat next to me and kept ‘accidently’ stroking my legs, she well fancies me. I’ve still got it.

We had to huddle in the freezing cold for THIRTY MINUTES for the priest to arrive at the grave. How can he get lost? He has made that journey pretty much every day for the last two years. We were not even allowed to get back into the cars to keep warm because it wasn’t tradition. Everyone kept quiet but you knew we were all thinking the same thing “fuck tradition, I’m freezing!”

By the time he rocked up we all wanted to go home. He started rambling again and then sprinkled some powder onto the coffin, which went in my sister’s eyes because of the howling winds. He stopped talking for us to release two doves (they were meant to resemble the spirit of my Nan and her twin sister) and then rambled on a bit more because getting in his car and buggering off.

We went back to my Nan’s flat where everyone except me dived into the buffet that was put on. Everyone was still there at about 4:30pm (we’d arrived about 1pm) and my mum wanted to go home so she started clearing up around people who slowly took the hint and left.

We were breathing a sigh of relief that nothing serious had kicked off. That happened the following day when my uncle, his girlfriend, my mum, one of my sister, my aunt, and some family friends, returned to the flat to clear up and empty the flat.

An argument started between my uncle and my aunt over who would take the TV to the charity shop and my uncle’s girlfriend came towards my aunt with her hand out like she was going to hit her and screamed “don’t talk to my Michael like that!”

My aunt was holding a glass picture frame which she promptly smashed over her head. Apparently it took several people to hold my uncle back from attacking my aunt.

My family really is like an episode of EastEnders.

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Not Your Typical Funeral #1

2011-12-11T12:43:06Z

It may sound incredible for me to divulge to you that in 33 years I have only been to one funeral, that was the funeral of my Great Nan back when I was about 16. I’m not sure if this means anything, have I just been rather lucky not to have lost that many people who are close to me?

Today I had to attend the funeral of my Nan.

She had suffered from Alzheimer’s for a couple of years and earlier this year she had survived skin cancer. Sadly a check-up around 8 weeks later revealed that the cancer had returned to pretty much every part of her body. You name a part of the body and it was riddled with this horrid disease.

She was placed into a hospice where she was given a maximum of two weeks to live, the tough cow lasted two months and even then she was taking the minimal amount of pain medication which was even shocking the doctors and nurses.

I was worried about going to the funeral because my family can be volatile at the best of times, I just had this funny feeling that something was going to happen and there would be bloodshed. They could all start fights in a room on their own.

We met at Nan’s flat and it was actually rather nice to see some of the family again that I hadn’t seen in years. The last time I saw my 18 year old cousin was when he was about 8, and the last time I saw my uncle’s stepdaughter was when she was 4, she’s 17 now.

After everyone arrived we went down stairs with the flowers to get into the cars. We could only afford to hire two cars so a couple of family friends brought their cars. The front car would take my Nan’s three children and their partners and the second car would take 6 of her 8 grandkids.

Everyone else would jump into the spare cars.

Nobody complained apart from my great aunt. She was upset and very vocal that my mum and uncle (they arranged the funeral) should have put on a third car for her and her brother. My mum tried to explain that she couldn’t afford it but my millionaire great aunt just stormed off to the church on her own.

As my mum said later, if she wanted a car for her brother and herself then why didn’t she pay for it herself? My mum and uncle are still left with a £2200 bill and that is after they handed over the £1500 from her life insurance and the £1000 that she had in savings.

I was expecting to be asked to carry the coffin as I thought that is what you did at funerals, but the men who drove the cars, and the hearse, took care of that. I was actually quite sad that I didn’t get to do that.

The service was weird. The priest did not read any of the verses or sing any of the hymns that we put forward and he left it up to the regular churchgoers to tell the rest of us when to sit down. That was pretty funny watching a 70 year old man wave his arms around as he violently whispered “sit down!” He kept talking about Jewish weddings for some reason; we were in a catholic church having a catholic funeral.

Read Part Two Here

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