Luck Out

Sometimes I just have to look to the skies and say "Can I please catch a break?" I am not a surfer (don't have the balance, fitness, thighs or wild hair for it) but merely an unlucky person, born into an unlucky family.

The legend goes that my Great Grandad was once cursed by a Gypsy when he refused him water (he wasn't being tight - he had bent over backwards for him but this guy was basically leeching as much as he could) and that bad luck has remained with our family ever since. I wholeheartedly believe this to be true.

We are so unlucky that Dirty Harry wouldn't even bother asking. He'd simply lower his Magnum...which would probably miraculously go off, the bullet would ricochet off a nearby tin bath and clank into the back of my head. No Harry, I certainly do not feel lucky.

Is luck simply the act of reward? As with karma - whatever you put out in this world, comes back to you? I find the theory of karma irksome, nay, lets go for a stronger feeling...infuriating. Celebrities are often quoted in magazines as believing in karma, mainly as a justification as to why they are so stonkingly rich - because in a former life they cleared pheasant juice out of Henry VIII's sizable beard. What about me? What about that time I found a card in a cash machine and instead of rinsing it of his savings I went running after the dozy git to return his card. Where was my karma-kash for that amazing, selfless deed huh? I was granted with nada.

So as I sit here pondering all the magical ways of this unfair world I am going to put out THE MOST positive vibes that I can muster (like Robin Williams did in Hook "HAPPY thoughts Peter!!") and will await the good times to roll in. I may also google "breaking gypsy curses" just as a back up plan.

The Gaggle

The Boss sat still, quietly eyeing up his surroundings. His two minions waddled around nervously, hopping from one foot to the other, heads flicking in all directions, not knowing which way was safe to focus their gaze to. One thing was sure, they would never look directly at the Boss. Instead, they would continue to employ their searching gazes and wait for the sign.

Dark clouds huddled overhead, as if they were watching and waiting for the sign too. A stream of eager rain beat down on the two nervous, and one solemn, figures below.

Through the grey atmosphere a two lights became visible. Steadily the lights got closer and closer to the Boss and his minions, until they could make out the shape of a car.

The minions ceased their nervous activity and froze into position, mimicking the granite-like demeanour of their Boss. The car pulled up close and the driver's side window wound down. The Boss didn't flicker, and without saying a word the minions positioned themselves behind the Boss, backing him on either side.

They couldn't see who was in the car but a familiar object was thrust out of the window and then it began. "Ooh look at these geese! Let me just take a picture." said the driver. A succession of flashing lights startled the minions. The driver spoke again, "now what do you call a group of geese? It's a gaggle isn't it?" Just as the 'G' word was uttered the Boss let out a hiss, and the minions reacted accordingly to the planned sign. They charged the wheels of the car and hissed and quacked. The startled driver put down his camera and drove off. The Boss looked on triumphantly and said, "we ain't no gaggle mate. We are a gang!"

I don't want to worry you but...

A random thought hit me as I lay in bed last night - does my old bedside dresser contain asbestos? Random. Irrational. Most likely completely unfounded (hopefully). This led me to think more about my habit of worrying.

If worrying was an Olympic sport - Lord Coe, work your magic - my family would have gold medals coming out of our ears (surely a medical condition? Make note to Google later). The anxiety gene has been passed down through many generations and I haven't disappointed the family tradition, in fact one of my early primary school reports stated that I "tend to worry over silly little things". I beg to differ. Not having the right shade of green for my tree painting isn't what I'd call a silly little thing!

Prime time for The Worries to commence is at bedtime. The irrational thoughts start to swirl around my mind like a vortex of the bizarre and hellish under the cover of darkness. Many a time I have had to jump up out of bed to try and block the crushing tide of negativity - what will happen to people when the World is finally sucked into that black hole in the Solar System? Will Lindsay Lohan ever get off the crack? Things of that nature.

The Earth suddenly falling out of the sky (yes I know technically it is the sky - this is panic speaking), snakes loitering in my toilet (the day I don't check is the day it gets me) and Perfect Storm-like super tsunami's (in a residential area) are an example of my recurring fears.

A few years ago I was discussing the Saw films with my colleagues when one guy piped up that his absolute worst fear was being thrown into a pit of used needles. Ha! The freak! I laughed at the pure unlikeliness. Then I remembered that, whilst stood at a bus stop, I was convinced that a rather blustery day was in fact the beginning of a hurricane. I kept one eye on lookout for the arrival of my bus, and used the other to scout out the friendliest looking houses that I would run to for shelter.

According to studies, people who worry are far less effective than those who don't, they get less work done and are less happy. Well I could have told them that for free.

Now I think it is time for bed...once I've checked under it first.

LOL

Everyone has one of them. There are a great variety of them. Loud, annoying and those that take you by surprise. Comics spend a great deal of time and effort trying to drag them out of their audiences. And through the powers of an acronym, we can now do it without even opening our mouths. I am talking about laughing. Laughs. Laughter and LOLing.

I am an avid collector of unusual laughs, storing any anomalies in my vast library of the weird and wonderful, and irritating.

Within that dark chasm of stored laughs are the airy-fairy sniggers (that suggest a certain snidey nature from it's bearer), the one-second blasters, the say it don't spray its, the work-fakes (which range from the brown-nosers and simple people-pleasers), the curious ones that make no noise at all, the squeaks, the squawks and the down right primal.

I was unfortunate to be cursed with an undesirable laugh. It is loud. Very loud. Too loud in fact. It teeters between an amateur dramatic member's attempt at a witches cackle and Sybil from Fawlty Towers [insert snort here].

Mine is not the sort of laugh that would be described of as lilting, or girlish. In an interview with Vanity Fair magazine (it so could happen) my impressive wit would be overcast with the horrendous sound and the interviewer would punctuate sentences with "...she snorted...like a pregnant whale". In time I hope to send my laugh to bootcamp and be presented with a delightful giggle, or a Jane Austen-esque titter. Teeheehee, oh Mr. Darcy how you make me politely and in a very lady like manner, err...split my sides? Hmm, some further work needed there. Until then, LOL SNORT HAHAHA LOLOL *BREATHE* HA!

Do A U-Turn!

Although I am not old enough to be wise or full of stories that begin with "well when I was in Qatar..." I do know some things. The kind of things I see myself sitting my grandchildren down by the fire and imparting to them. Then, when they are adults this kernel of knowledge will pop into their minds and they will say "Ah yes, Grandma was wise".

So brace yourself for this rocket revelation...Sat Navs are shit.

Sat Navs will abandon you the minute you creep into new territory where you have no clue where the one way system begins. It will bark orders like "DO A U-TURN NOW!" and "TAKE THE THIRD EXIT" when the third exit clearly bares a "NO ENTRANCE" sign. Is Sat Nav trying to send me to a certain death? Was my Sat Nav created in a factory infiltrated by terrorists who chose one single console to reprogramme to give clear kamikaze directions to the owner?

I will my Sat Nav to be kind. Take pity on me! I really don't know where I'm going. Help! I try the quivering bottom lip and as the tears start to prick at my eyes I look longingly at her, hoping the sacred flag will magically appear. She continues to ignore me and requests that I "TURN LEFT" only for me to "TURN LEFT" again - taking me in a circle. What. A. Bitch.

Finally the red mist descends and the expletives spill out quicker than D-list celebrity's boobs at a photo op. Maybe this is part of the kamikaze programming and if operation 'do a U-Turn on a dual carrigeway' fails then plan B is to enrage the driver so much they actually self-combust from pure fury.

No, don't thank me. Please stop with the praise! I know, I know, Woman Writes is wise.

Horror-Scope

I want to come clean. I am an addict. My vice? Horoscopes. It started off as just casual fun then one thing led to another and now I can't start the day without them. Sometimes three or four times a day.

Every morning I feed the habit by checking my online horoscope to find out whether it was worth me getting out of bed this morning or not.

Today, a very reliable source (MSN) told me that I would be very lucky in the property field and therefore should invest. Damn. I only have a few hours left of today to fulfil this prophecy. I mean how many more times is the moon going to be properly aligned with Venus in my income sector?

Choose your horoscope guru wisely. MSN seems quite friendly to Capricorns this year, which is nice after years of growing up with Bliss and Sugar magazine who showed their blatant HATE for Capricorns by the fact the celebrity they would use to represent all us fellow goats was Gary Barlow - post Take That - when he was eating a lot of pies and a national joke.

Geminis take note, the unusually short-armed Russell Grant is not a fan. Best to stick with MSN who today predict that "joining forces with a group of activists gives you courage." Right on brothers and sisters, or rather twins.

A word of warning, Yahoo horoscopes hate everyone. This is their wisdom for me today "Negativity and a critical tone will only serve to alienate you from potential allies." Shut up! What do they know?

If MSN is crack then Michele Knight is Heroin. Although she is a complete life-tease, correctly identifying that you are pre-occupied with a certain issue (bah! Michele would be more specific than that) Let me try again so, your thoughts are pre occupied with those blue shoes you spotted on Wednesday, should you buy them or not? Well Michele? Should we buy them or not? Michele? She's gone. Shoe dilemma guidance can be accessed through a premium rate telephone number. The Knight is wise, and obviously minted.

In the Morning

Another grim morning crept up and over the warm duvet of the sleeping figure in the bed. The morning's cold fingers reached out and tapped the nose of it's unknowing victim. The figure stirred slightly and turned her head to face the wall, in hopes that somehow the morning would retract it's advances and wait until she was good and ready. There was silence. Both the morning and the girl in a state of stasis, wondering which would crack first. The battle of wills was abruptly shattered with the intrusion of the alarm. Three beeps in quick succession rang out, followed by another, and then another. It was too much to bear. The girl flung out one arm and wrestled the alarm off the dresser and fumbled to find the off switch. Success, and again silence. Sweet, sweet silence.

The girl pulled the covers up around her, making sure to cover her face. Her eyes peeping over staring blankly at the ceiling. A million thoughts ran through her mind, but one shouted louder than the rest. Can I get away with another few minutes lay here, she pondered. She looked to the clock for reassurance. The clock wasn't having it, time to get up.

She kicked one leg out from under the covers as if in hopes the cold air would jolt her into action. It didn't work. She retracted her leg and pulled it back under the duvet, hugging it more tightly around her. Another hopeful look at the clock. Nope, she really did have to get up this time. She swung her leg out again but this time she followed it with the other leg and planted both feet on the carpet. She sat there momentarily before standing to switch the light on and quickly running into the bathroom before the bedroom light could catch her and burn itself into her sleepy eyes.

The routine began. She wrestled her long mane of hair, quick slap of make up. Trundling downstairs she hunted for some snacks. The fruit bowl looked uninviting but she thumbed her way through several possible apples before selecting the least bruised  one and popped it in her bag.

A quick check for her keys and she was out the door on the way to her car. The air was cool and nipped at her face. She yanked the car door open and hurried to close the door behind her. She turned the key in the ignition and was greeted with the familiar sound of the morning radio DJ blasting out of her stereo, a rare comfort she received on her way to work. Like an old friend she picked up from where they had left off and laughed along with the DJ as she made her way into work. The day had begun.