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These are some wise words from Marilyn Monroe which I think sum up relationships. I came across them courtesy of a friend.
“I’m selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.”
You can replace ’selfish, impatient and a little insecure’ with any description you like. Personally, mine would be “I’m selfish, childish and extremely stubborn. I can throw a tantrum and my mood swings can be hard to handle. But if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best”.
Kiwi sure as hell does deserve me, but he has some bad traits of his own that I have to content with too, so we’re even. And that’s a partnership, people.
Sooo, the internetz are freakin’ freaky sometimes. I have a blog that I read regularly, by Dayna at Songs in Blue. When I checked my Facebook account today, I have a ‘friend suggestion’ – the very Dayna whose blog I read. Now, how does Facebook link my blog reading to its millions on millions of profiles in order to ’suggest’ friends to me?! It was the same before I deleted my Twitter account – several of the people I followed on Twitter would turn up in my Facebook friend suggestions. It worries me a li’l bit – I mean, what other information of mine is stored in the internetz galaxy to be searched and used? The web is getting a little bit too clever and a bit too integrated. I’ll wake up one day and find that if I update my Facebook status to “I wish I had a Lamborghini”, then my status will link to some Lamborghini website which will then link to my online bank account which will automatically debit tens of thousands of $$$$$s to the Lamborghini company who will deliver the Lamborghini to my front door. Don’t tell me I’m being ridiculous and exaggerating – if I can pay for an item on Amazon and have it delivered in just ‘one click’ then anything is possible and WHERE WILL IT END?!
Another thing that made me wonder, is the poll I am currently asking people to partake in. How do you know me (or how don’t you know me)? One of the options (‘Other’) allows you to comment on how you know me. One person has said they know me from HK. Now, by HK I assume they mean Hong Kong. I went to Hong Kong on holiday with an ex-boyfriend in 2005. We stayed with his brother and brother’s girlfriend. I don’t remember meeting anyone else in Hong Kong so by the powers of deduction that means one of them has found my blog. (Am I right?!) That weirds me out – remember me telling you about the time I was apparently a “psycho” ex-girlfriend? Well, that’s the same ex-boyfriend – which means the person who reads this blog probably has a biased viewpoint on the person they think I am, based on how my ex has portrayed me. Or maybe not and I’m worried for no reason. It shouldn’t matter to me what people who don’t really know me think of me, but it does because I wasn’t proud of how undignified I was about the break-up and I know I’m better than that. It still makes me cringe even though four years have gone by.
And on that point, how do people I vaguely know come across my blog? Accidental chance? If it is then it’s a funny ol’ world. Millions of blogs out there and they find mine.
Of course, if HK doesn’t turn out to mean Hong Kong then all this pondering has been a waste of time. But what else would it stand for? Happy Kangaroos? Heated Kids? Hello Kitty? I doubt it.
Check out my new page. It’s there to add a little excitement to your visit when you have some time to kill and perhaps I haven’t updated in a while. Push the button and it’ll take you to a random post in my archives; there’s nearly 1 and a half year’s worth of posts to delve into and my journey of thoughts has been interesting to say the least – in that time I have considered relationships (past and present), anxiety attacks, novel writing, body confidence, my time in Newcastle UK, emigrating to Wellington New Zealand, job hunting in a recession and a newly discovered obsession with small and furry critters. Definitely so random.
*POLL CLOSED – I got freaked out when I found out who people who are reading my blog might be, and I figured I’d rather not know who’s reading it otherwise I’ll start to censor myself.*
It’s self-explanatory really. Please take the time to take my poll, just look to your left and click on the link which asks HOW DO YOU KNOW ME? (Don’t click the link (polls), click the line above it)…
I’m interested to know the percentage of people who come to this blog that know me, or don’t know me. And how you know me, or don’t know me… If you’re family or friends then this task is obligatory. If not, then it’s just of a case of me asking you very nicely, pretty please, take a minute to take my poll.
Thanks all x
People who qualify for the password to the previous post include:
Family
Close friends
Select bloggers
Just email me or leave a comment below and I’ll let you know if you qualify 
My wardrobe has always been the bane of my life. I never own enough clothing so that I can find an outfit for any occasion. Nothing looks like I want it to look, all my clothes are dull because although I love colour I can never find colourful clothing that I think suits me or it’s too expensive, so black is the safest bet. I love dresses but I only ever see dresses I like on other people, never in the shops, so I never wear them. I had serious wardrobe envy – I’d get green-eyed around girls who have their own unique style and a wardrobe full of endless outfit combinations – until now.
I have mentioned before (here and here) my inate tight-arse tendencies and the fact I love a bargain. Before we moved to New Zealand I was squirreling all my money away into savings so I’d have something to live on once we arrived. As a result I became so obsessed with not spending a single penny that I ended up wearing the same outfit everyday. I was well overdue a shopping trip as my cheap Primark clothing fell apart one by one – I had just jeans and black singlets or black t-shirts to wear, with the choice of two cardigans (one black, one pink) to alternate and ’spice’ it up a little. On packing to move over here I ended up throwing the worst of my clothing away, deciding that I’d replenish it when we arrived in New Zealand. So during my first month here my wardrobe was somewhat lacking in choice of outfits (I could never find the right clothes for the right occasion) and I had nothing of any colour expect black and blue denim. And in a country where the sun shines what seems like each and every day, black doesn’t feel right. I wanted some colour in my life.
Having no full-time job means that I have taken to shopping from end-of-sale racks and more often at second-hand clothing stores – called ‘op-shops’ in New Zealand, otherwise known as charity shops in the UK. A favourite of mine is Save-Mart – a recycled clothing superstore. Save Mart is a giant warehouse with racks upon racks of clothes, all grouped in order of colour, size and type of clothing so it’s easy to find what you’re looking for. It’s not just the cheap price tag which I love about Save Mart, it’s the fact you know you’re unlikely to bump into anyone wearing the same item of clothing as you, because it’s last year’s (or even last decade’s) fashions, so by default my outfits are unique. Obviously the price tag also helps – on one trip I spent NZ$47 (about £18) on three jumpers and three pairs of shoes. Some other bargains I have found whilst op-shopping have been a little black dress for $10 (£4), a Levi’s denim jacket, as new, for $15 (£6) and a pair of black shoes with a gold buckle for $8 (£3). After all the bargains I found I seem to have made my name as the Bargain Queen, which has a plus side as I was the first person a friend asked if I’d like to take home the clothes she’d just cleared out of her wardrobe. Of course I was ecstatic – going through bin bags of other people’s clothing is almost a fetish of mine. I hate to see good clothes go to waste, and what’s old to them is new to me.
Kiwi is less than impressed that I have taken to wearing second hand items from other eras – he particularly dislikes an 80s jumper I bought, complete with sequins and shoulder pads which teamed with leggings and black heels looks cute, feels warm and everyone else says they like it, even if it does reminisce the days of Wham! or Boy George. Amongst my friend’s clothes was a 70s style purple patterned dress which I team with footless purple tights and one friend remarked that Barney would find me attractive (think big, singing, purple dinosaur if you’re not sure what I’m referring to there). Kiwi doesn’t see the fun side of my clothing choices – he’s obviously too cool for school. He’ll get used to it… I hope.
So between Save Mart, the local Hospice shop, the Salvation Army and my ‘friend’s-Mart’, for the first time in my life I have a complete wardrobe. I get excited every morning about what I could wear today; I ummm and aaah about what colour to wear – it’s now a rarity that I wear black; I live for pink, purple, turquoise, jade and sky blue. I have a wedding to go to next weekend and I can’t decide which of the dresses in my wardrobe that I could wear – a few months ago I’d be worrying that I couldn’t find the right dress to buy – now I own four, and that’s just my ‘dressy dresses’! And I feel good that I’m not giving my hard-squirrelled cash to the kings of consumerism – it’s like sticking my finger up at the companies which are using the recession as an excuse to either put their prices up ‘because the cost of production has increased’ or try to attract people to buy things they can’t afford and don’t need by putting their prices right down and calling it a ‘credit cruncher’ discount. Arses.
Let’s just get this out the way first. I stole this post from Shop Girl’s blog, I Heart My Shoes (http://blog.iheartmyshoes.com/). It’s a little philosophical tale with an important meaning to it which I felt was too good not to steal (ahem) re-post.
The Mayonnaise Jar and Two Cups of Coffee
A Professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.
So the Professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.
The Professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with an unanimous “yes.”
The Professor then produced two cups of coffee from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the space between the grains of sand.
“Now,” said the professor, as the laughter subsided, “I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things–your family, your children, your health, your friends, and your favorite passions – things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full.
The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, and your car. The sand is everything else -the small stuff.
“If you put the sand into the jar first,” he continued, “there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you. Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out to dinner. Play another 18.
There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal. “Take care of the golf balls first, the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.”
One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the coffee represented. The Professor smiled. “I’m glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there’s always room for a couple of cups of coffee with a friend.”
Thanks Shop Girl, this is the kind of story that sticks in your mind and reminds you what’s important in life, for whenever you lose perspective. 
Well I am getting slack on the blog front, but I’ve been feeling a bit despondent lately which doesn’t make for the writing mood. Oh it’s all whinge whinge whinge, woe is me, but that’s what happens when you get out of touch with life as you once knew it. I’m still finding it hard to deal with not working full time. I feel all useless and that makes me sad, which makes me feel worthless and then I get extra sad and so the cycle continues. I end up getting up late in the mornings because I’ve got nothing to get up early for, which makes me feel lazy. Then I potter about the house and spend about 3 hours just getting ready for doing more of nothing. Then I think I might just go back to bed and sleep my sad little life away, so instead I go out to see my friend, I shall call her Kiwi Girl, who lives down the street and around the corner and down the street some more. She’s my sanity at the moment, she keeps me from feeling down. She had a baby 3 months ago so she’s on maternity leave, which should really be called ‘Alex-ternity leave’ because she’s not off work to look after her newborn child, she’s there for my sake and me alone… At least that’s what I tell myself; I like to think she’s glad I’m around too, because I don’t think her lil’ poppet (who I will call Little Red) has quite as good craic on her as I do.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t go round there to talk about how crappy I feel, in fact I only seem to feel low when I’m sat at home. As soon as I’m anywhere else I feel absolutely fine. I simply need the interaction with other people and with other environments. Once I’m round with Kiwi Girl we just talk about anything, everything and nothing, go ga-ga over Little Red, go for walks, go shopping, do the things girls do. It’s so good to have someone I consider to be a best friend around; I didn’t realise how important my friends were to me until I left them behind. I thought I have my Kiwi, it’ll be fine, but sometimes I need someone external to our current situation who hasn’t got an opinion on it when I need to talk about things, other than supporting my point of view wholeheartedly and feeding me chocolate or cake to make it all better. That’s what friends are for. I’m so lucky that Kiwi Girl is around, otherwise I think I’d be criminally insane or clinically depressed by now.
New Zealanders don’t seem to take anything too seriously. I’m watching 3 News and they have a bulletin about Hot Cross Buns in the recent economic climate. Apparently this Easter the price of Hot Cross Buns will increase and this may affect the quality and quantity of ingredients used – cue lots of innuendos about the “currant” recession and how bun prices are “rising” – boom boom. Very Basil Brush, as we’d say in England. Actually we wouldn’t, per se. I would though, because I’m a big fan of Basil Brush; he’s a cheeky little fox with a big bushy tail and he tells outrageous jokes to children who wouldn’t have a clue what he was referring to. There was one episode of Basil Brush in which the co-host (a man, not a puppet), let’s call him Brian, is crying. Basil says “what’s wrong with you?!” Brian says “it’s my girlfriend, she’s dumped me. She broke it off because she said it wasn’t working.” And cheeky-minded Basil says “well if she broke it off, no wonder it wasn’t working, BOOM BOOM!” (Do y’all get it?!)
I like a bit of outrageous cheek courtesy of a puppet. I also have a gigantic soft spot for the Muppets – or anything Jim/Brian Henson related (yes, I could be found watching The Hoobs at 6:30am back in the day). It might be related to the fact I actually share my surname with a certain fluffy little fellar from Sesame Street, so puppetry is in the family genes (?!). I used to have an unhealthy love for Ed the Duck (I even had an Ed the Duck skateboard), Roland Rat and Gordon the Gopher when I was a kid. In fact, nevermind old TV puppets from the 90s, even at 24 years old (25 in May) I still get all giggly when I see Nev from Smile on CBBC. Of course if you’re reading this from anywhere other than Britain, you won’t have a clue who or what I’m talking about. Go to Youtube and search all names mentioned above, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed (unless unlike me you’ve got the IQ of an adult, in which case you will be very disappointed).
Apart from the fact their news stories are much brighter than those in the UK, New Zealand television is AWFUL. I can’t even begin to tell you how much I miss the channels E4, channel 4, Film4, BBC1, 2 and 3, ABC, CBBC, Cbeebies and Dave. There was never a dull TV moment. In New Zealand we get UKTV but it’s like a channel dedicated to the worst UK television ever made. I’m beginning to think it’s a propaganda method – as if it’s supposed to lure Kiwis into thinking that their TV is actually good compared to ours. It’s all lies people, LIES.
On the upside, New Zealand isn’t supposed to be enjoyed from indoors in front of the “goggle box” as my Dad calls it. It’s got big green hills and lovely green trees and lots of green plants and it’s very, very green everywhere, except for the sky which at the moment is blue 95% of the time (night time excluded) and there’s a big yellow burning ball of fire in the sky. If you’re English you won’t have a clue what this is all about – I think they call it ‘THE SUN’ over here. It’s amazing. It makes everybody happy and browner. Who needs television when you’ve got scenery and sunshine? Well, actually I also have the internetz to keep me entertained (don’t even get me started on terrible NZ broadband services which are nothing compared to, yep you guessed it, the UK!)
Well isn’t this a random ramble. I’m off to see another free movie, courtesy of my fantabulous job. Tonight I’m seeing Duplicity, on Tuesday night I went to see Confessions of a Shopaholic. And over the weekend and next week I will be seeing Hotel for Dogs, Gran Torino, Dean Spanley and The Merchant of Venice. It’s a hard life, all this sitting on my arse chowing popcorn.
He said, then she said...