Monday, October 15, 2012

Not the only Wiganer in the room.........the 100th

Now to clarify, there were only two Wiganers, not 100, but it is my 100th Blog and has been a long time coming.

Man have I been stressing about this one. It has to be amazing. It has to be spontaneous, not planned, but it's impossible for me to blog as things are happening. So I resigned myself to the fact that if I wanted this to be epic then it would take some assemblage on my behalf, much like my stories. Luckily that's something I'm fairly good at.

And to clarify, the two Wiganers were in our office at work today. (Me being one of them of course.) I was having an area SENCo meeting and the woman taking it clearly had a northern accent. So I asked where she was from and she said, "Manchester." So I said, "Oh I used to live in Manchester but I'm from Wigan." And then she said, "I'm from Wigan too. I just say Manchester 'cause most people don't know where it is." Ha. So there you go. Two Wiganers together in our tiny office in Russell Square. Bizzaro!

And now down to business. Over the last few weeks I've been recording my rants in order to create the most epic blog ever. So here goes nothing.

Soiled nappy. Always a good one to start with and actually nothing to do with work. This was my first entry to blog. I came down one Monday morning to take the rubbish and there on the floor outside the bin store was.....yep you've guessed it, a soiled nappy, complete with wipe. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm. What a bunch of disgusting buggers that live in our neighbourhood. I mean, it wasn't even in a nappy bag. Who would ever just dump a dirty nappy?

And don't get me started on the morons that go to the trouble of opening the bin store doors but then leave the rubbish in the doorway instead of putting it into the bins. It's not freakin' rocket science you scummy beggars.

Crotch moment in the lift. Fairly self explanatory but nasty all the same. This guy got in the lift and turned round so he was facing me but my hands were holding my bag and it sort of coincided with his crotch area. Ewww. Why couldn't he just face the same way as every one else? Maybe that's how he gets his kicks.
But even worse than that was the fact that he was then breathing in my face. Argh! And no he didn't have minty fresh breath. Skank!

If one more person asks me about marriage................ (Don't think we need to elaborate there.)

The late 20's almost 30 crisis. Okay, so why does no one warn you about this? We've all heard about the midlife crisis, men in their 50's buying ridiculous sports cars and thinking they can date supermodels, but no one ever warns you about the crisis you have before turning 30. And practically everyone I know is having it simultaneously. If it's not a job/career crisis, then it's relationship crisis or a rush to get married, or a panic that we're not where we wanted to be, or dreamed we would be. Is anyone?

It's exhausting and in my case, bad for your health.

My particular crisis is in the form of lack of career and I know the longer I stay where I am the worse it gets, but how do you just quit not knowing if you'll have anything to go to? How do you overcome the fear? (I'm reminded of the Friends episode in which Chandler persuades Rachel to quit her job at the coffee house. She doesn't want to be 30 and still working at the Coffee House. Well I most definitely do not want to be working at the same place when I'm 30. It may just obliterate my remaining sanity and I'm down to critical levels as it is. So, it's all about plans and stress and depression at the moment.

Anyhoo, if you weren't aware of the almost 30 crisis, well you are now. So prepare. Plan ahead and try not to get bogged down with shitty jobs or crap relationships (I know, easier said than done).

Cultural differences. This was hilarious! One of our little boys is picked up every day by his grandma who is Chinese and speaks no English. Just recently he's been peeing his pants quite a lot. This particular day she came in the classroom, screaming at him in Chinese, which quite often sounds severe anyway, but when shes bellowing at the top of her lungs, Jesus. I was scared.

She burst in, didn't even say hello to the child and just started shouting at him, presumably about the bag of wet clothes on his peg. The poor kid was petrified. She then noticed he'd had to borrow nursery clothes and she stripped him, right there on the carpet in the classroom, trousers and pants together.

Meanwhile, me and the other member of staff were torn between laughing and crying. It was evil. Any British parent would think it bordered on child abuse. Any childcare worker would think of the implications of a child being stripped in front of the window. But of course, she just continued to shout at him, discard our clothes and redress him in clothes she'd brought with her.

Another thing which made the moment even more bizarre/spectacular was the fact that whilst all this was going on, all but one of the children had stopped to listen and wonder what the hell was going on. But not JM. No no. He was sat in the corner singing and pretending his hands were the Olympic flame. He he. What a bunch of cranks!

The students are back. Argos must be fresh out of value pillows and duvets, the amount I've seen walking around. They're just so young and giggly and care free. Makes you want to hurl really, but then I guess I was like that once.

I'm leaving. Oh no I'm not. Parents messing with my head. I am told a child is leaving so therefore I have certain documents to fill out and files and reports to complete. So I waste my time at home doing this and then come in the next day and find out he's not actually leaving. He's staying to do two afternoons a week. Well thanks for the heads up. It's not like I gave up my precious few hours of free time to do all this extra work for him. And what's worse, even though he'll be at another nursery five mornings a week, I still have to do files, portfolios and all that jazz for him. So he'll have two lots of stuff and let's guess which one will actually have any weight with big school. Hmmmmm. Not mine. Freakin' waste of time!

The fuck tally. No, it's nothing dirty. And it's kind of lost it's meaning now. But the fuck tally is nothing to do with the bedroom, it was simply about how many times I said the word fuck over breakfast that day. Yes, I was particularly pissed off and it was only breakfast time. Shockingly, I didn't manage to tally up, but it was a lot!

The shower time warp. Do you ever have the feeling that you've been in the shower for ages but when you come out it's only been like five minutes? I feel there's some sort of shower time warp, in that time stands still a little when under the flow of a nice hot shower. It's just a theory but especially when I've washed and conditioned my hair, or shaved my legs or something, you get a guilty pang of, shit how much water did I just use, I must have been in there for at least half an hour. But then again you realise it's been about 12 minutes. It's like my perception of time is skewed by the steam and overall wet goodness of the shower experience.
Weird but true!

Extreme Scrapbooking. Been making the scrapbook from last year's Japan trip (better late than never), as I wanted to get it done before this year's very imminent trip to the states. But it's epic and exhausting. I filled one entire massive scrapbook with just five days in Tokyo. Eek. I'm now over half way through the second scrapbook and have five more days of the holiday to do. EXTREME!

I'm going through pritt stick like no body's business. And they cost a pissin' fortune. £2.19  for a bloody pritt stick. It's a good job there was an offer on a triple pack. Bankrupting myself for a bloody scrapbook.

The Miss Trunchbull Syndrome. Defined as: The actual desire to fling a child out of a window or swing them around by their pigtails and let go. .............Oh yes. I definitely have it!

Irritating woman on the tube. You can tap your fingers as much as you like love, but I ain't getting on the tube until the people have got off, so quit it!

Little Madams. New children with zero manners. Bearing in mind this child is two. I asked her to keep her voice down because the other children were sleeping. She turned to me, threw me this look of disgust and said, "I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to her." I said. I know you weren't talking to me but I was asking you to be quiet. To which she replied (and louder this time). "I said, I'm not talking to you!"

Ooooo. This definitely called for a Miss Trunchbull moment and what was even funnier is that the child's name is the same as the book from which the character Miss Trunchbull comes from.

My kids are all insane. If they're not twating each other with sea creatures, they're throwing themselves on the floor and having screaming fits. Little buggers.

And almost sackage. I won't go into this in too much detail but basically helping people is not all it cracked up to be. I did a favour for a friend, sort of going against a policy and I ridiculously unluckily got found out. Ooooo, my manager was pissed, but what was funny was the fact that upper management and the owners didn't give a shit. Still I'm getting a bit of attitude from my manager but honestly, I won't be helping anyone else in this way, so please, no one ask me.

Did this happen to the good Samaritan? Or did he die? Hmmmmmm. Can't quite remember, though I do remember playing the part of the good Samaritan in assembly at primary school. Ha. I digress.

Feeling uncomfortable in my own skin. Not ugly, just not right. Like someone is pulling the the rug out from underneath me, leaving that weird underlay underlay areeba areeba stuff. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Deciding on a fancy dress costume for our Salem Halloween Ball has been tricky, but I think I'm there. Obviously I want to look uber creepy and at least stand a chance at the fancy dress prize. He he. But watch this space. I have no doubt there will be a lengthy Halloween Ball Blog after the big night.

Well, It's been a week since I completed my charity half marathon. 13.1 miles of pain. I went way too fast in the first 6 miles and suffered in the remaining 7. For me it was a battle and not of fitness or distance, but a battle of wills. Me versus me. Evil negative me, versus,  positive me. And evil won out a lot, thus all the pain. I swear the full marathon two years ago was way easier. They say it's psychological and it is! Shame my psychology is fracked!

Anyhoo, I raised £460.00. No mean feat. And I finally got to meet a few members of the Nordoff Robbins fundraising team whom I'd been liaising with for over two years. Lovely. Oh and the little thing of beating my PB. Yes, I almost forgot to mention that. New PB is 2hours 15minutes and 52seconds. And I will beat day. Or maybe in my mind. Ha!

I told you this would be epic. Man this is long. Anyhoo. I hope it was ranty enough and fulfilling for the 100th. I thank you for reading. As always it's nice to have someone to hear my randomness.

Here's to a 100 more????????

Well I've got 8 minutes before Vampire Diaries Season 4 airs on ITV2, so I'd better go and prepare. Giddy!