Procrastination

I have lots of things to do. Lots. I have a very busy full-time job, a degree to complete, a separate foundation degree to embark on, writing projects to work on, some really important paperwork to get started with (speeding fine if you must know), a pretty healthy social life, as well as the day-to-day drudgery of running a home and a family.

So why, on a free evening when I have the house pretty much to myself, do I find myself in front of the TV watching the home shopping channels??! I could be doing anything, writing, studying, ironing, housework; something productive at least. But no, I decide that watching (frankly odd) TV presenters demonstrating activities like steam-cleaning a dirty hob, or making chips in some giant-hot-air-frying-thing is infinitely better than say, reading a Psychology text-book or actually ironing some clothes.

Now I have a lot of guilty pleasures as far as TV is concerned. I love a bit of trash telly; Ashley Banjo’s Secret Dance Crew, America’s Next Top Model Allstars (really doesn’t get any better than that, believe me), throw in a bit of Big Fat Gypsy whatever and a dollop of pretty much anything on the Crime and Investigation channel and you’ve got a pretty good idea of my secret TV watching habits. But this home shopping stuff….this is a new low. This is procrastination at its very worst. (I have to point out, very firmly, that I have never, I repeat never, been even so much as tempted to buy anything at all from these channels. HONEST!)

So, tonight I’m doing some productive stuff. I think it’s time for some resolve. I bought a new notebook and two lovely pens yesterday. Instead of trying not to get excited about the new range of Liz Earle skincare on QVC (this stuff is actually very good. I kid you not!), I will use my new notepad to make notes for future writing projects. (I’ve got blogs in my head that need writing, maybe a longer term project as well as a co-writing thing). I’ll also enrol (successfully this time) onto my foundation degree course. I may even get round to paying my speeding fine and opening the ever-growing pile of post that is sitting on my desk.

Oh...but I’ve just noticed that The Apprentice is about to start…

The resolve starts tomorrow…

Ugh! Adele!

I don’t like Adele. Not as a person. I don’t know the woman or know enough about her to make that judgement. But as a recording artist, I absolutely hate her. Her music is what I like to call ‘music to slit your wrists to’. Harsh? Maybe, but come on – this woman does not know when to stop bleating on about her broken heart.

It was brought to my attention recently, that she’s successfully tapped into the vulnerability of women – and I whole-heartedly agree. This particular song frankly makes me want to perforate my ear-drums with a rusty nail. I. Can’t. Stand. It. Most of me hates it because I think it implies that women (or maybe just Adele, seeing as she’s the one singing it…?) spend lots of time thinking about ‘the one that got away’. We mostly don’t. Honest. (And if we did, we wouldn’t want ‘Someone Like You’ – we’d want you. And we wouldn’t be wishing you the best. We’d be wishing you a horrible time with the new woman – who would turn out to be the mad-psycho-bitch-from-hell, clearly). But…there is the tiniest part of me that hates it because it touches a nerve. (LJ thinks I’m kidding myself. She thinks I hate it solely because it touches a nerve…..Yeah LJ. Whatever!)

We were chatting in work the other day about exes and anyone who there’s been a ‘history’ with, and we agreed that we all get that catch in the throat when we run into, hear from or hear about an ex. (Admittedly, there were no men involved in that conversation though…) That sort of heart-stopping moment that catches you off guard. And it’s made even worse if you see them with another women, or hear about how blissfully happy they are with said woman – their latest girlfriend, partner, wife, whatever. It’s just kind of weird and sort of hard. I’m not sure that ever goes away but I guess after time, you just sort of stop thinking about it. The one thing it does leave you wondering though (or maybe it’s just me?) is; ‘Why wasn’t it me? Wasn’t I good enough?’

In my case though, I’m fortunate enough to have Husband No 2 in my life who has very generously told me (many, many times) precisely why it wasn’t me (and no, clearly I wasn’t good enough!). I’m still in the dark in a few cases though. And does it bother me? In my saner moments, no. When I’m feeling insecure, yes probably. But I don’t want to hear Adele whining on and on about it. So she’s had her heart broken? Haven’t we all?

I’m all for reliving the pain of a nasty break-up through music. After all we’ve all done it. But why Adele and her self-pitying nonsense? Why not The Buzzcocks? (A personal favourite) That’s nice and rant-y and angst-y, as well as being heart-breaking. Or even the current No 1 from Gotye? Even that’s more interesting.

Maybe I should be applauding the woman. She’s made a fortune by bemoaning her lost love – making the best of a bad situation I guess. However, you’ll never hear me mourning ‘the one that got away’ by singing along to Adele. Not ever. Nah….it The Buzzcocks for me everytime. After 3 everyone – all angst-y now;
‘Ever fallen in love with someone?
Ever fallen in love?
In love with someone
Ever fallen in love? (Love…)
In love with someone
You shouldn't have fallen in love with'

That's much more like it! 

Should I be offended....part two

Last week at work we had one of the days we all fear. (when I say 'we' I mean the staff not the students....they seem to love anything that means they get some attention). It was Yearbook photo time.

The whole team hate this with a passion. The photos for the preceding two years have been nothing short of hideous. In the 2010 edition, I was going through a brunette phase. (What the hell was I thinking?!) I'm sure the 2011 photograph was taken shortly after a fire-drill. In the rain. The end result was that I looked about 67. And to be fair, no other female staff member fared that well either (the men, for some reason, look perfectly normal....how does that happen??).

So this year, I was determined things would be different. There was absolutely no way that I was going to be immortalised for a generation of Sixth Formers as some frumpy old woman. No way on this earth. I got up a full 20 minutes earlier to give myself time to put in contact lenses, apply more than the usual amount of make-up (the flash on those things is so harsh!) and to run the straighteners through my already pretty straight hair.

745am rolls around and I make my way to work. So far, so good. I can see, I have eyeliner on and I have proper straight hair. Excellent! By 815, I've already been spotted by a couple of students. 'Hey miss, your hair looks nice', 'you look good without your glasses' etc etc... You know the sort of thing...

All was going well until I see Ph. 'Oh my god Pfeiffer! You look like a girl!' What?? 'You look like one of those girls in the movies who's like a speccy nerd…you know the one who falls in love with the hot jock. He won’t go out with her because she’s a geek…’ I’m not enjoying this comparison. It has to get better surely?? Ph continues; ‘She then takes off her glasses, shakes her hair and we all see she's like the hottest girl in the school!' he announces, looking very pleased with himself. (Admittedly, he does tend to overstate things rather enthusiastically). I do?? Surely this is a back-handed compliment of the highest order? I wasn’t quite sure how to take it to be honest. My initial reaction was ‘Charming – cheeky bastard!’ However, when reciting the story to C later, she sighed; ‘Aw…what a lovely thing to say!’ Is it? I thought it was slightly insulting. Maybe that’s why C is much more cheerful than me – willing to see the good in every situation…

At break time, I make my way to the staff room where I collect more compliments about the way I look. Everything from; ‘Wow! You’ve got such lovely eyes – you really shouldn’t hide them behind your glasses.’ (I like this one) to ‘And you’re wearing make-up…’ (this one, not so much. I wear make-up everyday. Every single day. Clearly, some of my colleagues have me down as some scrubbed-face frump). The compliments in general are fantastic (I’m not great at hearing them, but who is? It’s still lovely when they’re around) but it also got me thinking…What the hell must I look like every other day…??

So I faced the Yearbook photographer with a little trepidation. I probably looked ok (ish) in the flesh, but stick a lens in my face and a harsh flash-bulb and who the hell knows what could happen?! The photographer himself was about 12. He didn’t seem to understand the concern of the female members of staff and our absolute need to see the image before he sent it for publishing and he refused our pleas for a viewing. That’s, frankly, more than a little mean. We have to wait until the inevitable CD of photos lands on my desk. Of course, it’ll be too late by then. The book will have been printed and our images burned into those pages for students to smirk over for years to come. Why our idea to use our own (vetted and very possibly photo-shopped) pictures was disallowed I’ll never know…

Anyway, this whole event caused me to think long and hard about my appearance. I’m still not sure if I’m a little bit offended by the reaction to my slightly more ‘polished’ look. But I am more than a little concerned that my contact lenses caused such a stir. Who knew that my glasses were making me so unattractive..?! What troubles me even more however, is the fact that clearly, I go to work every day looking an absolute mess…! I can’t really be offended by the lovely comments made by my friends and colleagues can I? But the fact that 20 minutes work on my appearance can have such a dramatic effect is somewhat telling…I obviously don’t make much of an effort for the average working day (I make much more of an effort for playtime I can assure you)

Offended or not, I’ve decided that I will make more of an effort. I’ve started a new exercise regime (WWMD? is coming in very handy there), am getting up earlier to sort out the make-up on my seemingly geeky-looking face (since the nice lady in L’Occitane told C and I that your skin ages by a week each time you sleep in your make-up, I’ve also religiously scraped it off before bedtime. Every little helps…) and I’ve vowed to wear my lenses to work at least twice a week. Sure, I’m not going to get compliments every day of the week, but if I’m going to be anyone in Ph’s little story, I’m certainly not gonna be the speccy nerd girl…………I hope!