Wouldn’t It Be Quicker If …

Let me preface this post by saying that I’m as eager as anyone to learn new things. When reading on you might find yourself thinking I’m a bit judgmental, perhaps impatient. But hey, we’re all friends here, right? Warning; a quiet yet important rant is about to ensue.

Do you ever find yourself needing to explain to someone how to do something, only to discover that it would have taken you half that amount of time to just do it yourself?  In a scenario where you are training someone else – teaching them how to do something that is imperative to their success – is excluded from this grievance I am raising; for example, teaching a child how to tie their shoelaces is rather important despite the time taken in comparison to tying for them. My frustration lies in when I am placed on the other side of this situation; when I’m the one being (unnecessarily) taught.

 I get annoyed when I have to sit and be taught how to successfully complete a task that could be done in half the time by the person teaching me. If it is something useful or necessary for me to know then fine; frustration sets in when the reason the ‘teacher’ is palming the task off to me is so they can work on something ‘more pressing’ and the task being taught is not actually in my job description nor does it register on my interest radar. Don’t you think it would be more efficient to just do the task in question yourself, whereby allowing you to get onto the more pressing matters sooner?  Meanwhile I could be working on the other tasks piled in front of me that I already know how to do independently? Seems to me this would result in a lot more work getting done in a lot less time. Is anyone hearing what I’m saying here?

This whole time efficiency grievance applies to so many things. Would you write a note saying “The letter on your desk needs to be addressed to Mr and Mrs Smith at 6 Smith Way, Smithville”, or would you just address the bleeding letter?!

I rest my case.

Image Credit: http://www.landingnet.co.uk/blog/internet-time-wasting/

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Just a Quick ‘Tip’

High Heels

I have two pairs of black heels. One are Saturday night, 6-inch-high killer stilettos, and the other are modest, pointed-toe low heels for every day office wear. Needless to say these two pairs of shoes are my staples; I wear them more often than perhaps any other pairs in my collection (which is unfortunately not very vast due to my student wage).  My only real grievance with wearing heels (I’ll skip the sore balls, blisters and aching ankles for now because this applies to low heels as well) is when the lovely clip-clop sound of you walking into the tiled floor of your office building turns into a somewhat embarrassing clip-CLACK. Or when you look at your stilettos Sunday morning to find one of them is missing that little rubber tip.  You let out a sigh, making a mental note to stop by Mister Minit next time you’re at the shops to get them fixed. Alas! I have found another way! Enter www.heeltips.com.au

I stumbled across this little web site courtesy of my sister and thought I’d share it with those who may not have encountered it yet. You can purchase a whole range of heel tips in varying sizes and shapes and they even provide instructions on how to repair your precious heels at home (it’s, like, really easy). Oh and the bonus? You guessed it; it’s way cheaper than paying Mister Grubby-Hands Minit to repair them.  

You’re welcome.

P.S Once your heel tips have arrived in the mail and you are ready to follow those instructions I mentioned, just a small piece of advice; make sure you use a large, actual, dad-would-use-them pair of pliers. The petit ones you use for jewellery making just won’t do. Believe me, I tried.

Image credit: www.ypsilondresses.com

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Rhubarb, Rhubarb

Rhubarb Rhubarb

Just a few weeks ago I attended my first music festival. It was really a great way to start the New Year; hanging out with good friends, catching up with old ones, sweating more than I have in a whole year at the gym and dancing in the misty rain after the sun went down. Although there were perhaps a few things that are oh-so-2009 lurking around, I was able to really let my hair down (I put it up again once things got sweaty) and have a genuinely great time before heading back to work this week.

People are funny though, aren’t they? It’s not every day that you are grouped into a park with hundreds (perhaps thousands? I have terrible estimation skills) of other human beings and given the opportunity to observe. While joking around, piggy-back rides, posing for ridiculous photos and rolling in the grass (oh, and watching the bands) grasped priority for the day, I can’t say people-watching didn’t get a look in for me. When amongst the sweat-infused, mind-numbingly loud raucousness of various mosh pits over the two-day festival, I noticed two things that made me laugh: the ways in which people try to cover the fact they don’t know the lyrics and the shameless opportunities taken by the male species to grope. The latter is a given really, so do let me elaborate briefly on the former.

If I said I am not guilty of this I would be lying. The old “Rhubarb Rhubarb” trick worked a treat for me back in my school choir days, but I’m not so sure it served me very well in this instance. I’m lucky though, I have long hair so I can just hide my face a bit (in the style of ‘dancing’) and only pop up on a long “aaa” or ‘ayyyy’. Yes, yes, I know you’ve done it. But we all know you’re not a true fan unless you know every single word, right? Boy did I get some funny looks from the Indie kids. All I could do was laugh, especially because I could spot fellow Rhubarb-ers from a mile off. The ones that just kept their mouth shut (or deceptively busy with food or drink) could probably teach us a lesson, but where’s the fun in that?

 Happy Rhubarb-er spotting at your next festival.

Image credit: www.musicfeeds.com.au

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Negative Nelly

Negative Nelly

To be surrounded by people exponentially more creative and fashionable than you can be overwhelming. Despite your best efforts to fit the dress code, you fall short in the ‘flair’ category because your headpiece isn’t quite big, colourful or weird enough (in fact you’re not even wearing one). “Oh is your top from insert-generic-mid-range-label-here? It’s so cute…” a girl says to you as she shimmies away in a one-of-a-kind organic shift dress she made herself, complimented with bold red lipstick and a “I’m so unique it’s ridiculous” attitude. You become suddenly aware that you look prissy and feminine in a room full of quirky and fascinating, and that your Tiffany & Co jewellery isn’t making an impression on anyone. To top it off, you’ve worn your cutest heels only to find walking in them two hours later an excruciating experience possibly worthy of an ambulance ride home (while everyone else had sandals, boots and flats so interesting they didn’t need a heel to look chic). The disillusionment sets in; heck even tears threaten to make an appearance.

One day you decide to branch out, wear something just a little bit whacky and colourful. You look good; the floral vest you found at an op-shop works well with your skin tone and the skirt you’ve chosen hides your unsightly thighs quite nicely. Some chunky beads and stacked bangles add some flair and your hair doesn’t actually look that ridiculous in a bun on top of your head. You feel you’ve done well to step out of your comfort zone and yet still resemble yourself. You leave the house and feel like a hippy in a world of Audrey Hepburns. You find yourself surrounded by tailored jackets and skinny jeans, shiny hair and expensive handbags. Oh help, you just can’t get it right.

Every morning; the agony over what to wear, only to choose something that you regret with some (or every) part of your sanity later in the afternoon when you have a rash from your tights, you’ve been sweating profusely all day because the top looks awful without the jacket, or because the skirt you sucked your gut in to get zipped up in the morning looks simply tragic once you’ve had lunch. Aside from your clothes, your skin is too pale, your makeup too thick (or not thick enough) and you really should get your eyebrows seen to. Oh and you can’t ignore the fact that you promise yourself daily you’re not eating M&M’s again until you have legs like her.

The truth is that sometimes no matter what anyone says you still think you’ll be infinitely happier if you just owned that $400 skirt or lost 10 kilos. It’s a stupidly vicious circle of negativity. And it really is both of those things; stupid, and vicious.

November 2010 – I just had to edit this:

Having stumbled across a charming article by US mother Dara Chadwick the other day, I remembered this post and started to ponder how to truly break the cycle. Wise words, Chadwick Junior – “Just rock it”. I also came across this story about an inclusive fashion show in London. My conscience laughed hard at me, pointing a finger with a big sneer on it’s face; “… and you’re complaining your legs don’t look good in shorts? Well boo-hoo sweetheart, at least your legs can walk!”

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Well here goes nothing…

When starting a blog, is it really obligatory to introduce yourself? I think not. Instead I’d like to acquaint you with my reason for becoming a ‘blogger’. Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves though; I am uncertain as to whether this whole blogging caper will be the outlet I have craved to express my idiosyncratic, inconsistent, and probably sometimes offensive views on life or if this whole burst of writing energy is simply a passing phase. I guess you’ll have to stay tuned to find out, but knowing me (and I think I do that better than anyone else) I’ve got my money on the latter. So I tread carefully when introducing myself to you as a ‘blogger’ just yet. But here goes:

There has got to be literally thousands of blogs out there and I feel excruciatingly overwhelmed trying to read all of them, so I figured I would have a go at writing what I would enjoy reading. I can’t sit here and tell you what my blog is going to be about (because I really have absolutely no idea, to be honest); all I can tell you is that I find myself pondering life’s big (and sometimes heartbreakingly tiny) mysteries… all the time. I guess this blog could be a way for me to ponder ‘out loud’ and hopefully let someone, anyone, know that they’re not alone if they’re wondering/considering/feeling the same thing. I have included the word ‘crooked’ in the blog’s title not because it will be anything shady, illegal or corrupt, but because it will probably be a bit wonky from time to time, a bit off-kilter.

While I expect some of my posts will be about fashion, some about health, some about beauty (okay and probably more than some about traffic), I can only envisage that this blog may become as mundane as it is interesting, and as hatred-worthy as it is likeable.  So all I can say to you is this: you’re not alone. That is the point of this blog in a nutshell (“Help! I’m in a nutshell!” – Oh yeah, I also come out with movie quotes at quite random intervals). So, do check in from time to time and if you like what you read, please let me know. If you don’t like what you read … well that could make for interesting conversation at least.

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