Eight Legged Freaks

When I was little I used to go to the local underpass after school and hang out with my mates. This was a time when it was okay to go out alone as a kid and not have the fear of just about everything keeping you indoors and playing video games.
As soon as I finished school, I would get to the underpass and climb up on one of the sides as high as it would go and  tell my mates about my day. There were about fifteen in all and I had names for all of them. They would all sit quietly and listen about my day and then I would choose the "best" one and pick it up and play with it.
The reason I loved my friends so much was because I thought they were beautiful. They built the most amazing homes, had eight black long legs and not all, but most, had a red spot on their back. Not for one second did I think my friends would hurt me, even though most of them were some of the deadliest spiders in the world. I loved my friends because they didn't pick on me or bully me and I imagined that they loved me as much as I loved them. Then my family and I moved and I had to say goodbye to my friends.
This was before I had read Charlotte's Web (and when I did I could relate to having a spider as a friend).
My love for spiders has continued into my adult life and I still think they are incredibly beautiful. I still pick them up and I would never kill one.
So when a nicely sized black spider decided to set up camp just above my head in bed a couple of nights ago, all I felt was proud that I still had friends that wanted to hang with me. For the next few nights I would look up as I read my book and see my new friend and was happy he was still around.
After a few nights I think my new friend decided my bed must have looked comfortable because I woke up to find him crawling across my face. I must admit I was a little in shock. I mean he was cute and all but we weren't that stage of the relationship yet.
The next night was the same but rather than wait for me to fall asleep I looked up to see him coming down on his web and landed square on my face again.
There had to be a few stern words after that, as I didn't want him coming down and spooning me and then I roll over and squish him.
So after the third night of jumping into my bed I decided it was time to let my new friend go. I appreciated the stalking and the love but I could see this ending very badly.
Because my friend was so beautiful I had to share him with you. (Now kids don't repeat anything I have said in this blog. Not everyone can be a Spider Whisperer.)

The Blue Box

I can hardly believe that it has taken me so long to figure out what I am really meant to be doing with my life.
Like all great mysteries it took me a while to figure it out but now that I have the answer I need, I can start on an action plan.
I must admit that I should have been more aware of it when I came home from school and watched Tom Baker in his scarf but I guess I was no different to David Tennant also coming home from school and watching Tom Baker and look at him now. He actually became the Doctor.
So what am I on about? Please pay attention and keep up, as this is going to be such a wild ride. You see I have a TARDIS to find and then the Doctor himself. I am hoping the Doctor I find I am attracted to, as it would be boring to be the Doctor's companion and not want to pash him on every planet we visit.
I might have to get over to Great Britain as my first move, as that is where all good companions live. I think next step will be to find a Darlek, as where ever there is a Darlek there is a Doctor.
Next problem may be that Doctor may already have a companion but I can surely bribe a Darlek to exterminate if need be.
Then life will be great. I can visit planets as I travel through time. Telling any alien who will listen that they must try pizza if it is the only thing they do on planet Earth and because pizza never fails I will be loved all around the universe. Through pizza we may even have Universe Peace.
Then the Doctor and I can retire and live happily ever after.
The TARDIS is so big I can even get a horse.

Halloween

One upon a time, a long long time ago a little girl called Paula sat down and watched a film that had been taped on her families Betamax machine.
The little girl sat and watched the whole film through, not understanding that this film would change her life forever.
No matter how much she wanted to look away she could not. No matter how much she knew that she was too young to watch this film she still watched it until the end.
A new icon would come into Paula's life and with him a soundtrack that would haunt Paula every time she heard it.
His name was Michael Myers.
Now years later another film star would come into the picture with an almost identical name: Mike Myers. Yet this film star was funny and had no problem farting his way into roles such a Fat Bastard.
No, Paula was not fearful of farting and Fat Bastard but kitchen knives, navy blue King Gee overalls and a mask that once looked like Captain Kirk.
Every Halloween Paula knows that Michael Myers comes out to play. He never dies and seems to be able to walk through walls. No matter how fast you run, he can get you. No matter where you hide he knows where you are.
Paula is not entirely sure if she may or may not be related to Michael Myers (one never knows these things even if they have seen their birth certificate) and Michael Myers is always looking for his relatives to slice and dice. Even if you are not a relative you may just be in the way. So leading up to Halloween there are some very strict rules:

Don't leave the house.
Don't stay in the house.
Don't walk in the street.
Don't get in your car.
Don't look out of the window.
Don't babysit.
Don't have your boyfriend around.
Definitely don't have sex.
Don't get into spas that will burn your face off.
Don't hang around Dr Loomis.
Don't hang around Jamie Lee Curtis.
Don't wear white nighties.

Let's face it you can't do anything...so just play dead (in a coffin may even be wise) and wait for Halloween to come and go.
Paula has been following these strict instructions since she was 12 and so far so good. (She has also had three missing person's reports taken out on her but clearly worth it.)
Then just when Paula thought it was safe to watch another film on her Betamax, little did she know that this film would also change her life forever.
Lucky the rules were simple.
Don't go into the water.
And she never did again.

We're gonna need a...

Right. So decided that today something new and exciting needed to happen.
I wondered what it would be like to live in a movie and if so what character I would be. Well I would still be me but what would it be like if I was playing me? The temptation of course is to jump to the end of the film where I live happily ever after but that would be too predicable.
Instead I decided to re-enact the next best thing:
The Montage.
All the cool stuff happens in a montage. You lose weight, you get a new job, you paint walls, there is lots of laughing and water fights and all in the space of minutes. Then the montage finishes and you come out the other side ready to "get" your happy ending.
If a normal montage takes minutes then surely I can do my whole montage in a day.
Great start. Laughing heartily with cute guy making my morning coffee, opening up shop where I work and pumped up the music. Danced to music as I set up, imagining that song was theme track for montage scene. Greeted customers with big smile. Laughed. Cuddled children. Was having a blast.
Weight was coming off. Walls were already painted. I had a job. All I needed was a water fight. Maybe I wasn't clear on the brief as one of the words got mixed up.
In my happy montage state I had made a small error and gave a customer the wrong product. He came back and was VERY upset by my mistake. I apologised. He yelled.
I was starting to get confused. I don't remember bad stuff happening in montages.
Then I thought maybe this is where my Prince comes and saves me. Had to be. Because in my montage I only want fun stuff.
So then my customer says to me, "You are so lucky you are not a guy or I would punch you out."
Hello? Any day now Prince.
No?
Dead air ensued.
So I looked into the face of a 70 year old cranky pants who wants to punch me because he had to come back (god forbid!) and I did what any montage film star would do.
I cried.
Slight distortion on montage brief with water fight turning into water works.
Oh well. Montage done. Well almost.
Will dance to Britney in cute little panties and sing into my hairbrush in front of the mirror before bed. That would end montage nicely (especially given that this is a movie and my Prince will be watching through window whilst realising he must have me.)
Okay so happy ending now please.
(Pretty please with vanilla ice-cream and sprinkles on top?)

Feeling Blue

Growing up with red hair and freckles isn't exactly a bundle of laughs.
I grew up in the era of "baking yourself in the sun to get a tan was cool". I couldn't get a tan to save my life. Sure I could go a bright shade of pink, even red, then my skin would shed itself like a snakes only to reveal the same ultra white with freckle wallpaper all over my body.
Someone told me if I lay in the sun long enough all my freckles would join together and I would have skin like a super model (I was also growing up in the era that that term was coined and Cindy Crawford was who you wanted to be when you grew up). Needless to say my freckles didn't join up. Sure I got a hell of a lot more freckles than I had before and no doubt a heavy dose of skin cancer but unfortunately none of them seemed to want to hold hands and come together.
Tan lines were something I would have put on my vision board (alas this was not the era of The Secret).
Pippi Longstocking was my bible but because she had super strength and a cool horse I decided that Pippi would never get teased about her looks and even if she did she would beat them up. Oh to be Pippi.
If only I had Lindsay Lohan (early years) to look up to but by the time I watched Mean Girls I was too old and crusty to care. Gone were the days of wearing clothes from under my chin to my big toe to cover my revolting skin.
Now before I continue I must confess something, you see I am not really a red head. I actually have mousey brown hair that I have been dying every colour known to man since I could say "Mamma".
Now it took me a long time to discover that red hair was in fact cool and it did in fact suit me and I could in fact be like Pippi Longstocking because eating pizza did give me super strength and I went on trail rides on the weekend. And as for my freckles they were there and they were like my multiple personalities - they weren't going anywhere anytime soon.
So I am work one day I serve a little girl and her Mum. The little girl is whispering to her Mum furiously until her Mum says, "Well just ask her."
"Ask me what Honey?" I say.
The girl is shy and says nothing. She would be no more than seven years old.
So her Mum speaks for her. "She wants to know if you like your hair?"
I had just chopped most of it off and wasn't sure about the new cut but looking at the girl I realise not only do we have exactly the same hairstyle but exactly the same colour. This girl could have been my daughter.
"Yes of course I love my hair. Why don't you?" I ask the girl.
She looks up at me with tears starting to well up in her eyes. "No. I hate my hair and I hate my skin. Everyone teases me. Do you have that problem? Do you have friends?"
The girl is in tears and all of my childhood floods back like I have peed myself.
"Let me tell you something," I say. "I love my hair so much. You know why? Because we are unique, there is hardly anyone like us out there and that makes us cool. The only reason people make us feel bad about our hair is because they are jealous they can't be as cool as us. Instead they have boring coloured hair like brown or blonde. Imagine that? Imagine being boring!"
The girl looks at me through her tears and whispers, "Really?"
"Really. Just remember anytime someone picks on you about your hair it is because they wish they could be as cool as you and not be so boring. Don't get upset, just be happy that you know their secret."
The girl's pink face lights up and she says to me, "You are so pretty - do you think I will look like you when I am older?"
"You already look exactly like me. So you already are pretty."
Her Mum gives me a hug and says that no one has been able to talk to her about this and she thanks me profusely. The girl is all smiles and my heart breaks for her.
Didn't have the heart to tell her or her Mum (who has brown hair) that I actually pay good money to have my hair this colour just so I can't be boring.
Regardless, Pippi would be proud and I am sure she wouldn't mind if my next book is called Paula Longstocking.

Every Day

Everyday someone gets married but that doesn't mean they are in love.
Everyday someone gets divorced but that doesn't mean that that is their choice.
Everyday someone becomes pregnant but it doesn't mean they can make someone love them.
Everyday someone becomes a parent but it doesn't make them a family.
Everyday someone becomes rich but it doesn't make them happy.
Everyday someone cries but it doesn't mean they are sad.
Everyday someone dies but that doesn't mean they are dead.
Everyday someone makes us smile and sometimes that is enough.

Robots 101

Apparently I am "good with children". In my life that could mean anything.
"Thanks for coming to our wedding! Because you don't have a date and you are so good with children we have put you on the kiddie table. The kids are going to love you!"
"Oh why do you have to leave the BBQ so early? It has been great having you look after all 20 of our kids while us parents have been getting trashed. You are soooo good with children."
"Because you are so good with children Angelina Jolie would like your phone number."
The funny thing is that I am good with children. Probably because I relate to them more than most adults and they serve as my scapegoat at social functions. At least if I am running around with kids or sitting at the kiddie table no one seems to notice that I have rocked up alone and usually the only one to do so. I would much prefer to hear, "Wow you are so good with kids" than..."So why are you almost in a retirement home and still don't have a boyfriend?"
So when my bestie calls and says she has a job for me that involves looking after kids all day and building robots, I get very excited.
All the parents are bringing their kids in to see where they work and I have the station called: How to build a Robot.
I have five different groups of kids, ages ranging from 4 to 16.
The teenagers are my hardest audience, as building robots out of duplo blocks is not exactly "cool". I have an hour with these kids and after 10 minutes they are done. All eyes are on me as I wonder what to do for the next 50 minutes. Needless to say it resulted in me making an ass out of myself as the kids taught me dance moves such as the sprinkler and dared me to do the splits (which I did and freaked them all out when I could actually do it -even though I am very old!)
Younger ones were much more impressed, as I take my building robots very seriously. The kids had to come up with names for their robots plus pass a gruelling Q&A with me about facts on their robots such as what kind of weapons they have, where was the robot born, who are its enemies and of course what was the robots weakness. The kids had some great answers.
One of my fav's was when asked if their robot was good or bad the child replied, "Well it is both. At night it is bad and at day it is good. But when the sun is coming up or down it can't decide as it can either be angry or happy. A bit like my Mum really."
Lots of fun!
"Thanks Paula. Kids had a great day. Did anyone ever tell you before that you are so good with children?"
That's great. Now if only I could be as good at dating as I am with kids.
Could always build my own robot and call him: Husband. He was born in Spain, weapons are oven mitts for pulling out pizza from oven and his one weakness is me.
Might just upgrade me from the kiddie table.