Sharing is......caring?

On an update note, I am done one of two of the giant banners I was whining about in my last post save for last minute touch ups (and though the urge did strike me, I didn't resort to finger painting it, or degenerating into an infantile level tantrum). On that note, the one that I haven't finished....might still be incomplete due to some MEDDLING of someone not to be named.

Said meddler, and the subsequent fixing of my banner that I did NOT allocate time for, led me to an important realization (that fell about 30 feet from an epiphany since I had already figured this out at my job last summer, and then paced off how far away another realization of the same nature would be to the epiphany I had already had. Wait...what am I talking about? Oh yeah...)

I. Hate. Sharing. My. Work. When I'm given a job, I like to see it through. Alone. For reasons I am about to ramble about.

Now, I don't say this in the childlike way of "MY TOYS, I HIT." because I think most of us are past the stage where our first instinct is to clobber someone over the head (or sometimes in the face, depending on what exactly it is the person is reaching for) when they touch something of ours with the intention of asking to borrow it. Note I said most.

And yet, and try this on someone you maybe don't know SUPER well, but well enough to ask to borrow something, when you ask that person to borrow something? There's always that ".....*indrawn breath*....Oh, sure." "Are you sure?" "Oh....yeah, of course." Moment. In case you haven't ever been asked to loan something out, or are still in the phase of clobbering people to make them share with you, what's usually going on in a persons head (or at least mine) is "Oh. No. They're going to destroy it."

Because even though we recognize that we won't get clobbered for NOT sharing something (though we all feel strangely obligated to say yes to the borrowing question as long as whatever the item is isn't being used to keep you alive or isn't large wads of cash) since we realize none of us are infants anymore, we seem to think that as soon as the other person has our item in their possession.....they will in fact, turn into said infant and proceed to willfully (or negligently, it all depends) destroy the item they just borrowed, returning it to you either in pieces or worse yet, in apparent pristine condition externally that falls apart as soon as you touch it.

It seems to be human nature to feel like no one can take care of our stuff as well as we can.

Well, I feel the same about work I'm given. I usually don't expect people to push themselves to the same expectations I push myself to, at least not in daily life things, but if they horn in on my task and try to act like they know what they're doing, and then end up just creating more work for me to undo what they did? CEE GET MAD. CEE, CLOBBER.

So it's a really good thing I'm not 3 anymore. Because seriously. It would have been clobbering time. To the MAX.

Clobber clobber.

Art Project

So a couple of weeks ago, at the place I'm working at, this co-op.......I hesitate saying the word student since she's 31 with a 13 year old daughter, but nonetheless, student ends up getting offered a better job that actually would PAY her, and give her a full time job afterwards. Since our place is a registered charitable organization, fat chance of that happening (though understandable. There's a reason that people VOLUNTEER at charities. Charities rarely have money for themselves. Because they are CHARITABLE. Meaning they give it away to people who need it more. With me?)

However, this particular....student....was the assistant events coordinator for this huge event (huge is relative when you're in the boonies. If the 3,000 people we're expecting actually show up? It'll be a mad-house) and the volunteer coordinator.

But now she's gone. And would there really be a reason for me to blog about it if this story didn't somehow involve me? No. So with the other student out of the way, her titles, and workload, now fall to me. Which honestly? I'm counting as a good thing. Sure, they don't pay me NEAR enough to put up with the people I have to deal with, but it's something credible for my resume, and I kind of like planning and bossing. Being volunteer coordinator means I'll have upwards of 60 people to boss around. For my first semi-management position? I'm good with that.

What's got me in a tizzy right now, is the Art Project that came along with this. We're partnering up with a local business that has two big storefront windows that I'm helping to fill up with schtuff and kerfluffle about our event to let the local yokels know what's going on. So I figure, a bit of manoeuvering, some froofing, fabrics, bright colours, a couple of...whatever you put into a display window.

Nope. She wants hand-painted banners. Hand-painted. Oooookay, blood pressure normal with potentially a slight hiccup of elevation. Oh yes, and how are my drawing capabilities? Cue long pause and hesitant intake of breath, which is completely ignored and filled with her own reassurances that I must be excellent or I wouldn't be standing in front of her, staring out of a huge window, blinking aimlessly into the sunlight and wondering why the heck I decided to volunteer for this particular task. Oh yes, and here's what she needs me to draw. An illustration. Done by a MUCH MUCH better artist. On the cover of a book. That the author is coming to promote.

Oh dear lord.

So now my bedroom has become a painting studio, with my 5 foot banner sprawled out across the floor as I attempt to paint a very complicated illustration so that it looks SOMETHING like what it's supposed to, and not like a junior kindergarten finger painting. My sister is less than encouraging in the matter and is more concerned about whether or not the smell of the acrylic paint will disrupt her SIMS time.

Unfortunately, acrylics don't smell like anything and so there shouldn't be any sisterly irritation in the future.
Shame. I have to get my kicks from somewhere.

Wish me luck.

Useless P.S.: If you're interested in learning about blood pressure, even though it won't help you understand why the thought of art makes mine blow through the rough, check out this article by a commenter. He's blog-stalk promoting. I think it's the new craze.

Chameleon

I mentioned previously, that I have a small attention span. Which is partly true. I have a lot of patience for things, but I get bored doing them very quickly. And since I look in a mirror at least once a day, (because putting eyeliner on blind usually leads to stabbage of the occular variety and a look that I affectionately call raccoon on crack), I tend to get bored with my appearance.

Now when I was younger, ie: in high school, it was rare to see my hair the same colour for longer than.....I'll say 3 months at any one time. I got away with colours there that were actually against the uniform code. Orange, dark brown, purple, plum (yes there's a difference), black, platinum, red, reddish orange, gold, pink, so on and so on. It was'nt always that my whole head was that colour, but usually enough to make people go..."Cee??.....Is that you?"

There was no particular reason for it. Hair can be cut, dyed, and if totally screwed up? Covered with a hat. It grows back, and there's enough potions and hair voodoo supplies out there to fix almost any mistake. Including leaving bleach in it for too long because the male doing your hair is kind of an idiot.

In a nut shell, I love hair dye. I love changing how I look, shaking people up. It's just fun. That is all.

Jogging

So I'm trying to get an exercise routine going, but I have the attention span of a blueberry muffin and have yet to find anyone willing to torture themselves with me, and so exercising gets pretty boring, pretty fast. I live on a giant hill, so lately that's been where I walk. Down first to fool my brain into thinking this'll be a walk in the park, flat for a while with some beautiful river scenery, and then a grueling hike all the way back up.

This was going all fine and dandy with my fancy shmancy i-pod bouncing around in my pocket and my impromptu dance sessions frightening the neighbours. But then....DUNH DUNH DUHHHHHH...I got bored.

How did I cure this boredom? I decided to jog.

I know, I'm special. And this is what I realized....I really hate jogging. First off, I've got a decent amount in the chest department, and I curse the invention of a sports bra, because unless it's as tight as a corset to flatten those bitches down....it's doing squat all to stop the bouncing.

Second, I'm asthmatic, which I normally don't let get in the way of anything, but with all of the above forementioned bouncing going on, plus the general exertion...I'm huffing and puffing like a chain-smoker running a marathon.

And all this would be tolerable if the cars on said road (which is gravel by the way) didn't travel at the speed of just-slightly-slower than light, kicking up dust and gravel to create horizontal tornados that leave one feeling rather like they just crossed the sahara and leaves me finding small stones in such uncomfortable places as my ears.

Yet despite all this, I think I'll keep the jogging aspect in. Until I get bored. Then maybe I'll disco. That'll be a sight.

Rainy Days

The part I love and yet despise about living in South-western Ontario, is the COMPLETELY unreliable seasonal weather patterns. Each and every summer, things are different. Last year was cold and wet, the summer before that was scorching hot and dry as the desert.

Lather, rinse, and repeat with a completely different bottle of shampoo because consistency is for suckers. Right?

Well it seems like the weather has FINALLY got itself in right. It's hot when it's dry, but it rains more or less regularly. Which is good because as much as I love the plants in my garden, renacting a scene from Little House on the Prairie by lugging pails of water out to them is not my idea of a fun summer day. At least not without the gingham and double braids.

A girl's gotta have standards.

But the one thing about rain I find difficult, is driving in it. I mean, besides the fact that people turn into giant morons who probably have trouble navigating a rubber ducky in the bath tub, let alone drive their behemoth of a vehicle on a slippery road of course. And at night, those pricks who refuse to turn their high-beams down, creating this wonderful double sucker punch in the occular region of glare from both their own car and off the puddles on the road.

No. What I find difficult? Is that rain very much makes me want to curl up and go to sleep. Which hey, at home watching a movie? A snooze is totally warranted.

But driving my familys' 7,000-pounds-when-empty, original-model-steel-frame-and-undercarriage, drives-like-it's-a-boat-already, GMC Suburban? It wouldn't be me overly concerned about curling up for a nap at the wheel (partially because I'd be asleep, and it's pretty difficult to consciously feel negative emotions when you're warm and snoozy). It's every other living thing out there on the road.

Which is why this morning, I was incredibly thankful for the freezer creating abilities of my air conditioner, and whatever ear-splittingly loud cd I jammed in there this morning.

Rain, rain, go away. Come back when I'm ready for bed.

Leaves and Bridges

Everybody always says that burning bridges is bad, because you n ever know if one day, you'll have to cross them again. Which I suppose, usually I can agree with. Like, telling your boss he's a big a$$face and then throwing a handful of mud in his face, probably not a good idea. You never know when you're new boss might fire you for being, oh, I dunno, incompetent, or just plain crazy what with all the mud flinging and you have to try to go back to your old boss and attempt to explain away your insanity.

But we humans also have this concept of "turning over a new leaf". Which sometimes strikes me as sad that our most well-known metaphor for life (besides it being a highway of course) is that it's a leaf. And if you're able to turn it over, probably means it's already fallen off the tree and is just waiting for the snow to fall on it so it can rot into the ground and be used as food for the tree to survive and grow new leaves. Which, is fine if that leaf rotting on the ground is your old life. But not the new one. I think the term should be "grow a new leaf", but that's just my opinion.

Anyway, I digress, so, turning over a new leaf and burned bridges. There are some things in life that you just CAN'T go back to. Like that crazy man down in the subway who gave you advice about the mud throwing? Yeah, not a good idea to cross that bridge again. Burn that shizze down!

So in a nut shell (.....do you know how little would actually fit into a nut shell? Thumbalina, that's about it), in turning over the new leaves of your life, sometimes bridges must be burned. But contain that fire ok? Because smokey the bear gets really sad when your burning bridge ends up igniting the tree shedding the leaves of your new life and then starts a forest fire that ensures you won't find a new leaf for miles and miles and maybe forces you to come full circle and realize that burning bridges is really just a metaphor and shouldn't be taken literally.

Burn baby burn.

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Paragraph commenting the will's and won'ts of the blogger

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Pointless rambling to not post something too short

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Total fail.


Check out BriTANick, this level of awesome can only be parodied.