D add 9 - I DEFY YOU!

I have been practising the chord that stumped me yesterday (it is a good way to procrastinate intstead of marking essays). While my hand is blurry like The Flash, you can see when I deftly move up the fret bar for the D add 9 bastard chord. I WILL NOT BE DEFEATED!

A Mix of Old and New

I love my new little coffee table, 'Bookworm' (TM). Just right for my laptop and some magazines. I had a full sized coffee table in my bedroom and I was always having to shove it out of the way. I have more bedroom furniture ordered from Nood too. Watch this space! A sideboard. Very grownup.

Other People

My flatmate resigned from her job because it was more stressful than it was worth. She works in the education sector.

I can understand her reasoning.

If you're in education, it's generally 'cause you like the kids. Most people who leave a school will say, 'I'm not leaving because of the kids - they're great and I'll really miss them....' with the underlying message being that they're leaving because of the staff or systems at that school.

Stress is other people.

(And kids don't count as 'people' - it's a rite of passage for them to try and rile me and up and keep me on my toes.) Kids never really upset me. I have never cried because of something a kid has said or done - they're almost always transparently hormonal or testing out the limits. It can be explained away.

I like my job in many ways because I work really autonomously. Within a set of rules, I can do what I like, when I like, as long as I follow the right systems.

When other people don't follow the systems at work and when their projects encroach on my reasonably well-planned autonomy, it's annoying. If I stuff up, I'm totally willing to wear it and fix things and not complain. It annoys me when other people's stuff ups ruin my plans.

I hit my wall at work yesterday. I'd had a week full of people pushing their own things onto me - I was having to use all my non-contacts (and some after-schools) doing 'urgent' admin I'd only just received or found out about.

I used the 'f' word.

That's how annoyed I was.

Other people. Bleh.

I think my patience is a bit thin at the moment. I don't know if my work-place is any worse than any others - people are just people.

Luckily my class's plays were so humorously bad that I had a fun afternoon after my 'f-word' lunch.

One group hadn't properly rehearsed their costume changes, so kept exiting the wrong side and having to crawl 'discretely' across the stage in the middle of a scene. And one girl was left on stage by herself for an awkward amount of time, so she just started laughing manically (kinda in character).

Another girl is a great comedic actress, but unfortunately she was playing a relatively serious role (Viola in 'Twelth Night') so during her rehearsals I'd kept telling her to cut out the over-dramatic acting and remember she was supposed to be a servant ..... so somehow that translated in her mind as 'talk in a monotonous robot voice'.

Ah, the comedy of Shakespeare being done by Year 9s. Just as Shakespeare intended it.

* * *

I'm liking 'The Big C' (the TV show).

* * *

Yay for the Hobbit staying in NZ.

Boo for an odd precedent of corporations negotiating specialist treatment from the government. And boo that I am not studying the film industry this year with my class - would have been exam revision gold!

* * *

My cooking hobby continued with a successful ratatouille experiment. Roll over, pilaf, I have a new favourite dish. The only trouble with this one is that cutting up pumpkin is boring and stink. But it felt really healthy and was tasty.

Again my second attempt was more successful (though the first one was good enough) - I roasted the pumpkin a bit more and the taste and texture was superior. Also I cut the red onion up a bit more chunky.

* * *

I was bored the other weekend so reactivated my profile on a dating site. I haven't had any inspiring messages .... but for the first time ever, I got sent a random mean message.

It was really weird. This guy sent a one sentence message saying he didn't like the expression I had in one of my photos (except in words not so nice as that). It was overtly rude, rather than 'cheeky'.

I was taken aback in that a) this is a site this guy was paying to use (so he wasn't a teenager or anything) and b) why would he feel the need to randomly message a stranger that??? and c) if you're going to insult someone, you'd think you'd at least say something better than 'your expression looks dumb in one of your photos'.

So I had a quick look at his profile and saw that he'd come across as really pretentious and had said he was a 'sophisticated' guy and sent back something like 'Wow, can see your claim to be sophisticated is not false advertising'.

Today he sent back another message saying 'Well, you don't look sophisticated in your picture - you look like a retard'.

Maybe Paul Henry is masquerading as a 30-something year old single Wellingtonian now that he has extra time on his hands, trolling dating sites. Maybe he could be my new boyfriend.

Odd.

Today's Song

Today I am playing this song, one of the ones I found a couple of days ago. Notice I did a fancy 'special effect' so it looks like I'm in the olden days. I had to hum to keep the time properly. That's what the pros do! I also had my screen tilted down to focus the camera-thing on Larry, which meant I couldn't really see the lyrics and chords on screen that good.

The hardest things in this song are
a) The Dadd9 chord - you will note I just ignore this and do D instead :) Dadd9 is on the 6th fret and it just slows me down way too much with my beginner skills.
b) The 'dead or alive' bit at the end - there are three really quick chord changes here on DEAD or A LIVE (C/F/D). I messed up the last chord the first time but got it better the second (right at the end).

This is the only take I could be bothered doing because it is very long. YouTube thought I was playing a banjo! Silly YouTube. I would love to play a banjo, though. That would be ace.

THE END

My New Uke - It's not yellow and its name is Larry

As a footnote, if I ever learn to play 'Tapestry' by Carole King I can retire fulfilled (that sucker has 27 different chords in it - that's the most I've seen in any song by miles).

Retail Therapy

So being on holiday in Wellington leaves me open to the temptation of the retail trail. Other people are going for 'treks' but I prefer short walks with coffee stores and bathrooms nearby. I can handle carrying a few store bags, but not a pack.

So that's my first week of holidays.

Chores and shopping.

Today I had an admirably early hair appointment to start the day. I bought it online as part of my year long experiment to find a new hairdresser. I have tried my local salon and three that had $50 online deals. Today it was one right in the city. I was given the choice of 9am or 10am and I went for the latter. I couldn't quite bare the thought of being on a bus with worker-bees. I am a lady of leisure.

My hairdresser was David. The first ten minutes of the appointment I tried to figure out what part of Europe he was from and whether he was gay. He eventually mentioned having a wife and being from South Africa (ok, my accent detective work is not strong). I have an oddly good record of getting all of the non-gay male hairdressers in Wellington.

He did a full consultation with me about my haircare routine. It was shameful and I did not enjoy it. I had dyed my hair in a rush last night (when I called up and realised they had an appointment for me within 24 hours and my hair had about an inch of grey showing - having got a bargain I was not going to be talked into paying extra for a colour job, as the man on the phone had suggested). While I said I was 'happy' with my colour when he asked, he later commented that whoever had done it didn't do a good job and that 'a lot of natural highlights were showing through'. I thought that was a good thing, but his tone suggested otherwise.

I pretended to use more products than I actually do. It felt heathen-like to admit to how little effort I put into my hair. I do use salon conditioners, but last time the hairdresser criticised my choice of using Redken (it's apparently protein based and dries out the hair) so I was vague about the brands this time. I said I sometimes use a 'serum thingie'.

All the while I was sitting in the chair staring at my hair in the mirror. It was hideous. How could I have been going around with this for so long? To be fair, I had dyed it the day before and hadn't had time to dry it properly, so had worn it up for netball and then had another shower and gone to bed. No products, no hair dryer, no straightening and barely even a brush in the morning. I like to come to the appointment as a blank canvas. But admittedly it did look a little mane-like.

Then he said, 'So what do you want today?' I said very confidently (having rehearsed it on the way to the salon on the bus), 'I would like a shoulder length bob - I would like a lot of the length off.'. They like it when you say you want length off - hairdressers are obsessed with taking 'weight' off your hair.

And he said, 'No.'

He said it would be 'wedge-like', much like my hair was as I looked in the mirror. He said I would have to straighten it every day. He seemed to doubt my ability to be this proactive about physical appearance. I meekly said I'd had one before and had managed..... he didn't believe me.

He went into an elaborate description of what he'd do instead and managed to criticise my previous hairdresser several times in the process.

I was convinced though. I do like an assertive hairdresser. My old favourite was much the same (though he did allow me to have a bob - and it was very good). I figure I know bugger all about hair (as evidenced by what I saw in front of me) and he seemed to have some good theories. It sounded drastic enough to at least be different, which at least makes it feel like it was worth the trip.

He described every product used in great detail (a pet peeve of mine, especially since I was a mystery client at Rodney Wayne that time and realised mentioning each brand was part of their check-list). And he commented on my flaky scalp (even physically pointing out the evidence to me at one stage to which I again, meekly nodded my head and apologised). Apparently this is exacerbated by my horrible habit of going to bed with wet hair.

He showed me a simple way to blow dry my hair without having to use a brush. I appreciated that. I watched with quiet interest.

He commented on how quiet I was (another pet peeve - so what if I like to be silent during a haircut? do they all have to small talk? even the men?).

He commented on how it had taken a lot longer to straighten than he thought it would and how it was so thick it made the claw-clip thingie 'groan'. The stubbornness of my hair made me proud.

The end result was ok. I think it'll be good. It certainly is less mane-like. More mullet-like. But mullets are cool now, aren't they?

They tried to book me in for another appointment in eight weeks time (having already told me off for leaving it three months since my last appointment anywhere). I said I'd call them. But then, they have all my details on their peice of paper now, so I'm sure they'll call me first anyway.

I figure if this hair-cut grows in ok I might go back. And if I put a lot of effort into caring for it better he may praise me or pat me on the head or something.

I kinda like an arrogant hairdresser as long as they come through with the goods.

* * *

And then, since my haircut was practially free ($48 - a voucher I'd paid for a few months ago, so it seemed free today) I went shopping.

I bought some more chocolate covered coffee beans from the Kirks sale because they made me feel HAPPY!!!! And I got a new scarf. That may have been a mistake, brought on by the happy beans.

And I got a fat-sweater with birds on it and a demure skirt from Karen Walker. Both under $70 at her sale. They're essentially plain things I could've got from Glassons for all you can see but I feel so much flasher being able to say it's Karen Walker (in my posh voice). Marketing works!

And then I went into Kate Sylvester because she was also having a sale (as was everybody else in town). I like that she has my name. And I like that her things marked 'Large' actually are. I made the mistake of trying on a blazer, just to see what it fit like. It fit real good. Long arms, button in the right place, shiny slip-on lining. So I bought it. Eveyone needs one good blazer, right? The shop lady said I'd wear it all the time. She wouldn't lie to me. It was a little bit on sale. Half price. But half of a very large price. The other things I tried on were under $100. This one wasn't. I hate when you like the most expensive thing you try on.

And that was my shopping day!

Phew. No more shopping for me for a little while.

And I'm off my high horse.



Kids are cute when they just want to silent read. We went to the library today, just to issue the book we're studying as a class. And I told them they weren't to get any more books - just get out the class text and come back to class ('cause we didn't actually have the library booked and I wanted to just pop down quickly to electronically issue them).

And I caught one kid who'd snuck down the fiction end while the rest of the class were queueing at the desk. She'd gotten two more books! BOOKS! For personal reading! She looked so guilty when her friend pointed her rebellion out to me. They were probably about vampires or something.

Getting out extra books is about the weirdest thing I've had to tell a kid off for this week.

Next thing you know, she'll be trying to read it under the desk while she's sposed to be listening to me lecturing! Kids these days.

Maybe I was just using reverse psychology all along. Maybe next lesson I should tell them they are under no cirucumstances allowed to proof read their work. No corrections! No spell-checking!

Partying and Film Festing

I went to a fundraising quiz last night at the police station with my basketball team and some others.

Highlights were
- $5 wines
- unlimited sausage rolls (maybe etiquette was supposed to dictate some kind of limit, but we ignored that)
- I was able to identify Zoe Bell in the picture round - I would not have thought that was one of my trivia talents

The main one, though, is that I won a spot prize. About 50% of the people there did, so the mere fact that I won one is no bragging point. But I was one of the earlier ones.

My table was the 'loud' table (we were called the Jalapeno Hotties) and when the number 39 got drawn I was in the middle of texting someone and didn't hear it. But the girl sitting next to me hit me and yelled, 'That's Becs!' (long story, but that was my name for the night). My table went literally wild and I actually jumped to my feet with both fists in the air.

So I wandered up to the prize table and my eyes went straight to the Smiggles highlighters. Oooooh yeah! Highlighting goodness! I may have already had them in my hot little hand when my eyes glanced at the beauty products hamper. I stopped mid-grab and said, 'Oh, is that one of the choices too?' and yes, it was. Over $150 worth of Trinity products. So I put my $15 pack of highlighters down. What a close call. Toner, moisturiser, cleansing cream and a lip balm! They all want to see me in a few weeks time for an 'after' shot of my skin once I'm using all the fancy schancy stuff.

The next girl at our table who went up chose the $2.49 king size Cadbury's bar (which was not anywhere near the most expensive thing left on the table which still included, for example, big jars of sports supplements or protein powder and bottles of wine). We mocked her a lot. $1.99 on special, even. How much was mine worth? Over $150, is that right?

Then we went to Apartment and one of the girls (the one that hit me) pretended it was her house and everyone there was just visiting. Hours of fun in that premise! We eventually nabbed the bedroom area and lounged on the bed while sipping a yellow version of a rosebud cocktail (more passionfruit and some egg white). Every photo that came up on the flat screen TV she had to pretend was a holiday pic and tell us the story of what was going on. And she kept calling after the wait staff, 'You're doing a great job! Go home early! (That's my maid.)' I'm sure that never gets old with them. Apparently there was at least one All Black there (the one called Israel or Isaiah something).

We ended up at Hope Bros, where I couldn't quite get comfortable. I just kept remembering that girls in my seventh form class had said it was the place that's notorious for letting in under-age clubbers. Everyone there looked about 15. I kept picturing going to the bathroom and running into a gaggle of girls I teach (while still clutching my Trinity products closely). Let me note that out of nine girls in the quiz team I was one of only two white girls. So I was feeling very uncoordinated and gumby already, let alone being surrounded by teenagers on the prowl.

Then J and M's. I only had a small fries, yet the layer of fat they produced coated my mouth and interior organs for the next 12 hours or so. Potent.

And I caught a taxi home and it was only $10 flat! That's the cheapest taxi I've had in years! Go the green lights!

And that was my night.

* * *

Prior to that I had gone with my dad to two Film Fest docos. The first one was on Bobby Fischer (the incredibly flawed genius of the 70s). He's got a fascinating life story. Inspiring and tragic. To be honest, he reminded me a lot of my brother (except for the genius, World Champion bit).

It's always disappointing when you realise someone who is amazing at one thing is actually a douche in every other aspect of their life. Not that it was his fault, to a large extent. From the age of two or so his mother left him and his sister at home alone, no father on the scene, so he started playing chess by himself at the age of six. By sixteen he had told him mother to move out and she (a cold genius herself) hadn't cared one bit. And after he got the title he was so consumed with not losing to anyone that he pulled away from chess, and I guess without that his brain was left to be consumed by other things and some kind of paranoid schizophrenia took over.

I liked the little snippets of Garry Kasparov. He's one of my favourites, I think because he's actually (by all accounts) sane and nice. Fairly rare for a chess genius. My other favourite is Tal who is crazy and was accused of trying to hypnotise opponents (I think that's the one). My dad's is apparently Korschnoi.

I thought there were some good little insights from people who were close to him during the time he was gearing up for the world title match. I'd forgotten how controversy-riddled it was.

The second doco was about the West Indian team of the late 70s and early 80s. The highlight of that was hearing Viv Richards talk. His voice is like velvety chocolate. The doco basically covered the time where they went from being one of the jokes of the cricketing world (the Calypso team - fun to watch, but not to be taken seriously) to a team that was undefeated in test serieses for 15 years.

I thought it was interesting that they had focussed on aggressive fast bowlers in response to having been humiliated by the attack of Lilly and Thomson in Australia (bouncers to the head and body all game). Then the world hated them for it.

It was amazing that back then people didn't wear nearly as much protective gear. Lots of them were facing Michael Holding or Dennis Lilly without even a helmet on. Viv Richards did it intentionally to show how tough he was - he'd get a bouncer to the jaw and just shake it off and stare down the bowler like Is that all you got?

There was one guy got a double fracture in his hand mid series, so it was in a cast, but he kept bowling (and even batting one handed). Awesome! Athletes just don't do that these days. Pansies.

Behind all the stories was the history of racism at the time. The crowds, and even Aussie players, would sledge them with racist comments all game. And even back home the cricket board were all white and basically shafted them in terms of wages. So winning cricket against England was their ultimate up-you to the colonists and slave-masters of the past.

Apparently Viv was good buddies with Bob Marley, so this features a little. One of the Wailers reckons if he wasn't a cricketer he woulda been a dreadlocked rasta himself.

Through all of this my father slept intermittently. He would eventually let out of a louder snore and jolt himself awake. I couldn't help but laugh every time, though I felt bad for anyone around us could have been slightly irritated. I know that when you're super sleepy there's nothing more annoying than someone continually nudging you awake. So I tried not to do that too much. I fed him chocolate and cola but it didn't help much.

And that was my Film Fest experience.

The End.

I am Sick Today

You may not want to read on. This is just me feeling sorry for myself and being gross.

1. Got home from a family-do yesterday, and hours after finishing my gorging on finger foods my tummy felt a bit 'funny'. Much like it does when I've had too much to drink. I ran through all the things I'd eaten that could've given me an upset tummy (mince nachos, chicken wings, saveloys....).

2. Induced vomitting to try to ease the quese. Three times. But it didn't go away. That was around 11pm.

3. Actual spontaneous vomitting started about midnight. Three times I ran to the bathroom. After that I just got a basin and stayed in bed. Seemed easier. And by then I was just bringing up the few mouthfuls of water I'd sipped since previous episode.

4. Vomitting continued pretty much on the half hour to an hour until 6am or so.

5. I stayed in bed sipping water until 2pm, when I thought I'd better get up and go to school to set some relief. Emailed my dad and he found out that a kid at the party might have been a tummy-bug carrier.

6. I got up, felt ok til I got to the bathroom, then had sudden cold sweats and woke up sitting on the toilet with my head resting against the wall, wondering vaguely where I was.

7. Sucked it up and went to the kitchen to get my day's supplies of water, smoothie in a bottle, yoghurt and brown bread.

8. Went back to bed nibbling on bread.

9. Have stayed in bed for four more hours. No more vomitting. But my limbs feel a bit like they're made of lead. And while I'd really like a lemonade iceblock still, I don't want to move.

10. Tummy bugs suck! This is the first one I've had as a grownup. It's no fun having to clean up your own sickness.

11. I will stay home tomorrow and keep my contagiousness to myself.