I believe in the power of the Voodoo....Who do? You do? What?

Sometimes, I like to tell myself that everything happens for a reason, because you have to put up with the rain to appreciate the rainbows. I tell myself that when things don’t work out, it is because the universe is trying to steer you onto the path that you are meant to walk, not the one that you think you are meant to travel. Of course, I am not so tainted in view, that I can’t admit that not everything happens for a reason, for example, cancer, dictators and sudden deaths...people suffer such almighty pain and trauma and sometimes you can’t justify it, except by saying that’s life.

As a child I was mystified by the possibilities of the unknown. I remember staying up late on a Wednesday night to watch ‘Strange but True ‘with all of its ghostly apparitions, and out of all the books my grandparents bought me as a child, my ‘Mysteries of the Unexplained’ has always had pride of place within my bookshelves. I loved the idea of magic powers, spells and horoscopes. I remember once finding my mum’s set of tarot cards thrown in the back of a cupboard in our dining room, and being so terribly excited, as there and then, I held the map to the rest of my life...of course, I don’t remember what I asked them at the time, it was probably if the boy I was so totally crushing on fancied me back...you know, all the essential questions one can have in life.

Well, hurtling towards two decades on, and I still cling onto promised spoilers. I salute magpies, look for white feathers and in times in real need of a ‘fast-forward’ button, I even read my horoscopes. Now, being a stubborn creature, I seldom take on opposing views in my world, so if said ‘spoilers’ fail to give the answer I want, then fortune telling is merely an outcome of chance; however, should they agree, then heck, it’s practically gospel. Hypercritical-much?

Last year, after wanting to make the visit for as long as I could remember, I finally went to see a psychic. I had been meaning to go for at least three years prior, but being contented with my life during that time span, I’d never got round to doing so. This by no means meant that everything was rosy, but I guess out of all of the stresses and ups/downs that life can throw at you, there has only ever been one area that I truly care about – Love. So when I found myself suddenly single and slipping back into old habits, I decided to check out ‘some spoilers’ and find out if it was the case of my life’s happiness had now passed or whether there was chance of life after divorce.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I have studied NLP, my job teaches me to read people and the signs given from their body language, and yes, I too, watched Derren Brown’s programme on the so-called predicting of the future, but, the way that I see it, is if she could tell me that everything would be alright (whether true or not), it gave me the optimism to get through the next six months. And, I guess, at the end of the day, that’s all that everything boils down to, that glimmering shard of hope, that things will be ok.

Some of the things told to me bore no relation, the names and possibilities sounded alien, but I nodded politely all the same. However, something’s told, must have come from somewhere, things about my past, and my world, that others didn’t know, it was these insights that made the promise of happiness a possibility. She had told me about the entrance of one of my now very close friends (whom of which inspired me to begin blogging), and despite me vehemently disagreeing at the time, she also correctly predicted my job change.   

Nearly four months into the new year and I am only two months away from promised happiness, and I sure hope it’s coming, because I haven’t stopped looking for it for a second. Part of me believes, you make things happen in your own world, because no-one can do things for you, but that doesn’t mean that we all look for that little bit of magic in our lives. So I will continue wishing on stars, looking for 11:11’s, and clapping after someone sneezes, because, if it doesn’t get me carted off to the Looney bin, it may just help.

The future is bright, incredibly lazy and generally weird

Being a vintage kind of girl, it’s not too surprising that I am a lover of the old fashioned things; well, there are some modern day exceptions, my Iphone for example...could not live without Iphone, but most of the things that I love are from years past by. Yesterday I went to the Ideal Home Show, and watched a presentation regarding the house of the future. I think I must have missed a beat, because, I just didn’t see the appeal.

 

It begins with front doors no longer requiring keys, as the lock is operated using face recognition technology. Yes that’s all very nice, but what is you have been attacked by a swarm of bees and your face is badly stung, you finally get home, only to find out that your very own house will not let you in. Is it really that much effort to turn a key in a lock?

The show continues with an array of kitchen appliances - Yes, yes, very nice. I’m sure that’s lovely, but they didn’t rock my world..maybe that’s because I’m such an appalling cook, but maybe it’s just because, I missed the point.

So then they stepped it up a gear – reminder notes. Instead of writing a shopping list, or memorandum, you show the house the item you need to replace or take with you and it reminds you by text, email or siren as you leave without the item. I don’t want to be told off for forgetting things...especially not by my home. Oh, and on return it will tell you what you are missing – well what use is that? If I get home and something is missing, then I will have to go out again to get it!

But it doesn’t stop there; you can control your house by being the remote. You can point at an object and state ‘on’ and the item turns on. The example they began with was ’Kettle On’. Ok, so the kettle is on, but you are still going to have to walk to the kettle to put the water in initially, so why not flick the switch yourself? Even if you had the water ready and waiting, you can’t then say ‘teabag into cup’or ‘milk into tea – not too much-yes that’s enough – stop’. So you will still be walking to the kettle- so what is the point of an automatic kettle switcher-on-er?

Music is another thing you can control. By making a twisty movement with your hand (reminiscent of Roxy Harts impression of her husband’s boob groping carburettor technique ‘I love you hunny, I love you’ in Chicago) you can turn the music up or down. Now, forgive me, but if you are making twisty movements in the air, why not do it on the physical stereo?

They also have speakers that create a ribbon of sound which you can only hear when directly opposite- now this I thought was quite brilliant, so if one of you wants to go to sleep, whilst the other wants to watch telly, you wouldn’t be distracted by the noise...but then I began thinking, what if you both wanted to watch tv? Must one of you use subtitles, or would you have to sit on someone’s lap? Another concept that made a lovely whoosh noise as it went over my head.

Finally there is an egg shaped bed. It’s from America and is called the Transport Perceptual Pod and I think it costs about £12,000.  It’s a waterbed that also plays music, vibrates and wakes you up with sunrise emulating lights. Yes, yes, save your ‘oohs’. Being egg shaped, it would be a bugger to get duvet covers for it, there is only a small entrance into it, so it’s no good for claustrophobic sufferers, really tall people, or rather round people, and ok, I  may be lowering the tone, but what if you wanted to do more than sleep? Think it through...there was barely enough room for one person, let alone two.

So there you have it, the house of the future. Your house decides whether to let you in, you then talk to the appliances to save that sheer effort of switch flicking, and bed times are strictly for sleeping – in an unborn chicken like method. What is there possibly not to love?

Elvis where are you when I need you most? White comp sequin jumpsuit ghost

Do you ever notice little birds when they haven’t quite mastered the art of flying? One minute they are sweeping over your head effortlessly, but in the exact same slot of sky, the graceful gliding is replaced with frantic flapping. I often think this is how I am. Many people liken themselves to a swan – peddling like mad under the surface, but not me, I noticeably fly or visibly fall.

Recently I have been falling. You see, I’m not sure where my jigsaw fits at the minute. Normally, as a typical right brain thinker, I hate to be tied to logic and reason, but, right now I am not too sure where my place in the world is. I feel like a movie that has gone out of sync with the soundtrack. My god that is annoying when that happens.

So how does one deal with the sense of lost-ness? They turn the music up so incredibly loud that thoughts cannot be heard. It’s a bit like the moment in Bridget Jones ‘I choose Vodka and Chakah Khan’. Well no vodka for me, tis a school night after all, and I’m not a lover of Chakah Khan. Uh, so maybe not like Bridget Jones after all...

Vodka is all well and good, but the next morning not only have you consumed a ridiculous amount of calories (and probably embarrassed yourself horribly), but you also have a mouth like a wet dog and the head of a hollow tree hosting a woodpecker convention. It’s at times like this you realise all you actually need, is some ear-splitting stompy music. In fact, I am getting so good at music therapy, that I even have playlists on my ipod entitled ‘Pain’ and ‘Fun stompyness’.

At this point I am listening to Imelda May’s ‘Smokers Song’ and I can’t help but notice that my fingers keep attempting to roam from the keyboard, into some twenties style finger waggle. Ah heck, am ending this post now for full on     dancy-ness.

The power of music.

Men...menly men...their men in tights...

There isn't a day that goes by that my dad and I don’t manage to fit a ‘Robin Hood – Men in tights’ quote in to conversation, so am totally chuffed, that I have even managed to use it as a title. This post is nothing to do with Robin Hood, or men in tights, but I like the abstract idea to which you will understand by the end of this post...or maybe you won’t. Who knows?!

Ok, so I read an article in the paper yesterday, ah, ok not quite in the paper... I read it on the news app on my phone...yes, what a thoroughly modern millie I am. The article was about a study that revealed that women prefer this men clean shaven. We do? I may be alone in saying this, but I really really don’t like freshly shaven men. I love a bit of stubble. I love beards. I like men to look like men.

This got me thinking, you see, I like men to be men, but there is such a shortage of manly-men. You know the type, the type that drink beer, do DIY, ride motorbikes, have beards and have rough hands. Men today drink cocktails, get their eyebrows plucked, have smooth soft hands and hairless jaw lines. They sing to pop music, and have massages. Hims used to joke about the oestrogen in the water making men more effeminate, and do you know what, for whatever reason, he may be on to something.

I was in the office on Monday, and the radio was on. Whitney Houston’s ‘I wanna dance with somebody’ was playing, and people were singing along...when I say people, I don’t actually mean the women – the men were the ones singing along, and it was at that point in time, that I thought ‘yup, modern men are most certainly not manly’.

I’m not a Gurley-girl (despite not owning or ever wearing trousers), I spend most Saturdays with my dad doing up my house, wielding hammers, climbing up and down ladders and putting up shelves. Hims was never into DIY, so it was always me to do home improvements, and since hims’ exit last year, I have met a steady stream of men, all equally adverse to hammer wielding. I don’t understand when men stopped doing DIY. When you look at Fathers Day cards they are all related to hammers, nails and wood glue...so why do modern men have such a lack of home improvement skills?

I have a friend who is a plumber, he knows a builder, and the two of them are what I would call ‘menly-men’. They work hard all day with pipes and plaster and they don’t fuss about their nails breaking, they don’t have hand massages and when one of them recently fell off of a ladder and dislocated his shoulder...he carried on with plastering the ceiling. You could begin to argue – there you go, modern men who are manly...but these examples are Generation X not Y. Modern men yelp if they get a paper-cut!

So when I see articles stating that men should be clean shaven, is this not just another down grade of men and their manly-ness? Stubble and beards are an attribute to males, why are we turning our men into women?

I know that psychologists say that daddies-girls choose men like their dads, and I guess in this respect, it’s true. I want a man to be active, to do DIY and to not moan about it if I ask them to help me dig a hole (which, for all my feminist beliefs, I do concur that men are better at hole digging than women).

Oh and if you haven’t seen Mel Brooks’ Men in Tights, this is to what I was referring: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0lUjhEHlh7s

...and slightly less interesting, this was the article:

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2110758/As-study-reveals-women-prefer-men-clean-shaven-lifelong-beard-hater-KATHRYN-KNIGHT-asks-stars--Sexier-whisker.html

I don't need it, I don't need your blah blah blah

The more times you get hurt, the harder it is to pick yourself up again, and even when you do manage to restore yourself to a vertical posture, you find yourself a little less trusting of the world. I am aware of how horribly cynical this sounds, but sometimes, I guess a little part of me suits doom-cookie-ness.

My mum always says it’s easier to spot a thief because you can see what they have done, but with a liar, you never know. I know the world is full of deceit, and that’s the problem. If people have lied to you in the past, it not only wobbles your faith in them, but also in others...and I hate that. Why should I doubt an honest person, because of what a dishonest person has done to me? And yet, before the day has even begun, that there point has formed the stormy raincloud that I assume will follow me all day. 

With teeth

It has been stated many a time that I am possibly, ok scrap the possibly, I was trying to sound slightly cooler than I actually am. I am the biggest whimp on the planet. I mean, for someone who works in a hospital, I am really really not good with pain. I had to have my first blood test last year, and that involved a heck of a lot of numbing cream and being frog marched into a poised and ready phlebotomists chair of drainy-blood-ness.

Today was the day that I have been dreading for the past four months. You see four months ago, I broke part of a tooth, and after ten years of not going to the dentist and having chipped a tooth, I forced myself to go. Dentist was lovely, not at all the torturer of death that I was expecting, however, underneath the welcoming smile and the charmer conversation lurked an evil statement...you need a filling. Oh and the worst part – it wasn’t even on the chipped tooth that had lead me there. Woe is me.

Anyhoo, today was the day. Today I got my first filling.

I hardly slept last night, I have been deathly silent today and by the time I got home, I was shaking like a leaf, and desperately interviewing everyone who I know has had a filling. The answers varied from ‘drill of death’ to ‘it might not be as horrific for you’. Nice one support network.

So, in utter despair, I did something, that all neurotics know not to do – I googled fillings. Initially I have to admit, it freaked me out ever so slightly, but then I thought lets go for gold, so I YouTubed it. Luckily there wasn’t too many horror stories, my so called friends and family had told me worse. 

Eventually I found this guy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=57lrZ5MRZuU&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Figured, if weird American kid could survive then heck so could I. Yes, that was my bravado – my bravado that lasted the grand total of two seconds before the shaking returned. I decided to call the receptionist to find out about the anaesthetic. Turns out they do a gel. Woohoo. But then the advisor continued  ‘We do a gel for children’. CHILDREN!!! WHY DO SPROGS GET OFF EASY? Hung up phone and grabbed keys.

Arrived at dentist, tried to look nonchalant, sat there with my headphones, attempting to look cool...not entirely convinced that I pulled it off, and if I did, then I certainly ruined it when they called my name and I looked hastily towards the door.

Lovely dentist asked how I was...not sure if this was genuine question or sarcastic, I mean, how can I be? Am about to have my mouth drilled! Anyhoo made enquiries about the anaesthetic, and wonderful lovely fabulous angel of teeth confirmed that she was going to use a gel before the infection. Wonderful Wonderful.

Turns out when you are armed with numbing gel, a blind fold and a really strong pair of headphones then fillings aren’t that scary. In fact even managed to smile, because let’s face it, having your mouth drilled whilst listening to Wyonnie Harris’ Good Morning Judge or the Ditty Bops ‘Your heads too big’ is actually rather hilarious.

It was all over within twenty minutes as wonderful dentist promised. Am now home again, and after laughing at myself in the mirror (due to the anaesthetic half of my mouth is like a Picasso painting, and the other half is like ‘the joker’) I am much calmer than I ever thought possible.