Over it...

You know what? I’ve had enough. I’m absolutely and completely over trying to be accommodating of other people. I know that the general idea is that we’re supposed to strike a happy balance between looking out for the needs of others and looking out for numero uno. But to me, everyone seems to be a completely selfish being.

I’ve put up with all sorts of shit from other people; I’ve counselled relationships, I’ve fed egos, I’ve been the shoulder to cry on, I’ve sympathetically listened to utter crap for literally hours on end. What I want to know is – when the hell is it my turn??!!

Do I have to scream louder, be more obnoxious, or simply become hysterical? All I want (all most of us want) is someone to actually listen and give a toss on my behalf. I want someone to acknowledge my problem is important without putting it down to ‘that time of the month’. If I hear one more person say to me: ‘well I’m glad you’re over your bad mood now,’ I think I’m going to spiflicate someone.

So I seem to have two choices. I can either bottle my frustrations up until they explode all over me and everybody else, or I can become a self-righteous, self-obsessed twat and force everyone to deal with my crap. Some fucking choice.

The Eternal Question...bloody why??!!

I’m really rather cross at the moment. I’m cross at whoever it was that started the trend in which human beings cannot simply trust each other. We all seem to have this crazy tendency to deny, reject or question everything that is put to us. This is particularly the case when people give us compliments or generally say something nice about us or to us. Many people (myself included) immediately think:

“is that for real?”
“are they just saying that because they want something from me?”
“are they just saying that to placate me?”
or, “are they just jerking my chain?”

It’s not surprising that it’s girls, in particular girls with lower self-esteem, who are generally the ones asking these questions.

Though I admit to suffering from periods of fairly heavy self doubt (what woman doesn’t?), I wouldn’t say my self-esteem is unusually low. I know some people who perceive my self esteem to be quite low, but I think I am actually more into myself than many think. While I recognise my flaws, I’m also (believe it or not) aware of what I can do and some of the good things about myself.

Anyway, to cut a convoluted point short, the big old’ question I’m trying to put out there is:

Why the hell can’t I take a compliment?
Why the hell can’t I simply accept when something nice is said about me and not worry that there’s a hidden agenda?

Ahhhh!!!!

The New 'Do...

Let me talk about bleach.

I have just (perhaps stupidly – yet to be determined) had my hair dyed quite blonde. I had an interesting encounter with a fairly aggressive hairdresser who thought I’d look ‘totally hot’ if I changed from my fairly dark reddish brown hair colour to something a bit more Annie Lennox-esque.

I'm still getting used to it. Actually, I'm still recovering from the emotional and literal physical scars that are part and parcel of the whole bleaching process. Apparently, according to my hairdresser, bleaching ‘bloody hurts’ at the best of times. Now I have quite a sensitive scalp – it tingles and hurts when I dye my hair normally.

May I just say that the pain was excruciating.

I actually had to ask the hairdresser to take the bleach off, it was that bad. My jaw was aching from twenty-five minutes of clenching my teeth in pain. My scalp is raw, bleeding and scabbing. Needless to say, this is not a process I will be repeating in a hurry.

And the outcome? Well, I'm not sure that I'm sold on it. Some people like it, some people don’t, some people have taken awhile to get used to it. I'm still undecided. Sometimes, I feel like I'm really digging the kind of rock chick look that I’ve got going on; other times I just feel like a blasted pansy. Still, when all is said and done, it’s just hair and it will grow (won't it??!!).

And I can always dye it back. If I can stand going through the process again.

Dream Jobs...

I guess it’s only fitting that at this time of year, it’s natural to start thinking about the future. I’m not talking about New Year’s resolutions. Not: “In 2007, I will give up (insert vice here), lose weight, get fit and help feed the poor in my third world country of choice.”

No, I’ve been thinking about dream jobs – that is, career paths that I could take if looks, skill-set and ability weren’t an obstacle. Here’s a few ideas…

Professional Shopper:
PROS: I love to shop, on the proviso that it’s for someone else, not myself. And what could be better than spending copious amounts of someone else’s money? I reckon I’m pretty good at thinking of gift ideas for others as well; I haven’t ever given a gift with a “Gee thanks – what an interesting (read God awful) present!” response.

CONS: I’m simply not glamorous enough. I can’t do the whole air-kissing thing (mwah darling!) with the right amount of insincerity and come to think of it, the superficiality that the retail world represents would get on my goat pretty quickly.

Bookshop Owner:
PROS: There is something horribly and romantically Meg Ryan about owning your own bookshop. I love reading and owning a shop means I could surround myself with books. I’m it would be a prerequisite to hire a couple of overpaid but endearingly quirky shop assistants, and we would fill our days with conversation, drinking coffee, stacking books and changing window displays. Sounds boring to some, sounds great to me.

CONS: Borders.

Spy/Con Artist: (one and the same really – just working for different sides)
PROS: It’s all about the confidence – and the knowledge that you can kung-fu, hot-wire or sweet-talk your way out of any sticky situation. I’m leaning more on the side of con artist; more fun and definitely less possibility of being blown up.

CONS: I’m not confident enough, not glamorous enough, I get asthma attacks when I run for extended periods of time and I simply could not deal with having to be impeccably dressed all the time. Don’t spies ever just bum around in their tracky-dacks?

Hmmm…I think I’ll stick to my day job.

A work induced rant...

Ok, let me give prior warning that a rant is about to start…

As a secondary school teacher, I reckon I have one of the hardest jobs in the world. Oh, poor teachers, I hear you say. Yes, we do get lots of holidays and yes, the holidays are awesome – even if we spend most of them either cooped up in bed sick or planning for the new term.

But the responsibility that goes with the job sometimes hardly makes it worth the effort. When will parents admit that they have a responsibility in the education of their child? Why is it so difficult for parents to admit that their little darling is not the shining light of the world? And where the hell do they get off placing the blame for their offspring’s misdemeanours squarely on the shoulders of the teacher?

I’m not a parent, and I understand how easy it could be to believe that your child is intelligent, talented and brilliant – even when they’re not. After all, everyone only wants the best for those that they love. But please people, TAKE A BLOODY REALITY CHECK!

Newsflash. Guess what? Your child may not be academically smart. In fact, it’s highly likely that they’re a bit of a dope. Most teenage kids can’t think past their stomach or their genitals, it’s human nature. And yes, your child may painfully socially inept, a smartass or a plain old asshole. But even that’s cool – that’s what puberty is all about.

However, working in a private girls’ school as I do, I’m sometimes gob smacked by the way that parents refuse to acknowledge that their child is in the wrong in any way. Low grades? Must be the teacher’s fault for not teaching them properly. Too social in class? The teacher has clearly failed to discipline them properly. Too many detentions? The teacher’s discipline practices are overbearing.

What can we bloody do? The answer is: nothing. We have to sit back and cop it all. The nastiness and emotional blackmail from the kids, the threats and blame from the parents, and to top it off, like any other workplace, we have to deal with stupid bureaucracy and crazy office politics.

Take some responsibility people; don’t palm it off on us…

That is all.

Tis the season to be jolly...

Ah, the festive season.

Don’t get me wrong, that comment is not laced with some form of bitter sarcasm. I’m no Ebenezer - I love Christmas. I love the gift buying (not so much the receiving, believe it or not – no one ever seems to get it right when buying for me) and the Christmas carols and the twinkle lights.

But what I don’t love is the tempers, the stress, the blowouts and the crap that goes with the silly season. It’s the end of the year, everyone’s winding down and we all go through this time where we’re all so completely over it all that we snipe and bitch and get horribly depressed. We can’t stand the sight of other people and we tend to wonder where the hell our life is going. Usually, I’m a bandit for the pre-Christmas downer. I’m all for a good solid period of bitching and sniping – it makes me feel alive.

This year though, it’s all different.

I’d like to be stressed, but I can’t say I honestly care that much. I’d like to say I’m a little depressed, but happy hormones seem to have taken over my body and seem to be holding me hostage to a life of goofy smiles and spontaneous (and horrendously tuneless) singing to myself. I could say that I don’t know where my life is going, but that’s cool with me right now. I could say I’m exceedingly tired all the time, but I’ve combated that by simply curling up on the floor next to my desk and taking a snooze a couple of times a day.

I guess it’s other people that I’m worried about. It’s a little hard to watch friends and family do the pre-Christmas downer. I’m so used to revelling in my own depression that I sometimes find it difficult to help people out of theirs.

What to do? Bring on the beer and alcoholic rumballs I say…

Pondering the Hallmark factor...

What’s that old saying? A problem shared is a problem halved? Something like that.

Normally neat little sayings like that annoy me; life is never simple enough to condense into a quaint little phrase. I’m positive they pay some little hobbit-like old man to come up with and write down such phrases. He’s probably sitting in a dingy little cellar right now, trying to capture the world’s problems in one sentence. Then I’m sure he sells them to Hallmark, or some other corporation who make their money from cheesy inspirational quotations.

But every now and then, they ring true. And when that happens, you have a bit of an epiphany. I seem to be in the process of epiphing at the moment. My problem, now shared, has definitely lost much of its weight. As a consequence, I feel like I can deal with it far more easily than before.

Profound. Maybe a little cheesy (and definitely angsty), but profound. I should call Hallmark.