Of course, duets means partnering up with someone and in high/secondary school, and the majority of duets tend to be love songs or send out a particular message about the participants relationship....Oooh, this is going to get interesting!
Tuesday, 8 February 2011
Glee Recap: Season 2, Episode 4
Of course, duets means partnering up with someone and in high/secondary school, and the majority of duets tend to be love songs or send out a particular message about the participants relationship....Oooh, this is going to get interesting!
Wednesday, 2 February 2011
Challenges Galore!
Everyone seems to be posting a challenge nowadays!
Well, okay, not everyone, but there are three challenges currently going on that I'm acutely aware of that other people may be interested in:
Nikole of Moptop Maven was having a healthy hair challenge based on different product usage: Homemade/D.I.Y, traditional store bought products and Ayurvedic herbs - unfortunately, she is ill in the hospital at the moment according to her blog comments and has been for a month, so obviously the challenge is suspended, as we pray for her recovery. Get well soon, Nikole!
Loo of Healthy Hair and Body is having a 3in6 twist challenge that I'm also a part of (Challenge Junkie!). The aim is to retain 3 inches in 6 months
Check ins are every two weeks and it lasts for - well, 6 months.
The challenge is more in depth than simply treating your hair from the outside - as well as keeping your hair in twists, there are conditions including and healthy eating.
I don't know if battered fish, chips and beans is healthy eating.
Probably not.
But that was yesterday! Back on the wagon! *shifty look*
She has an entire Twist series on maintaining and caring for the hair whilst in twists if you want to have a look at it too!
And now Curly Nikki is having a Grow Out Challenge in association with Kim Coles and Jessicurl, who are sponsoring monthly give aways to people who are taking part in the challenge. However, it is not twist based, and Curly Nikki has also posted up tips for creating your individual regime for the Grow Out Challenge.
It's going to last for 6 months
I'm not a part of it, because the rules are pretty similar to Loo's challenge and I'm too lazy to keep up with more than one - plus being held more accountable will not shame me into doing right :)
So I guess fortnightly updates are on the cards may be on the cards - and I'll link to other people, so you can see how they're doing too!
Well, okay, not everyone, but there are three challenges currently going on that I'm acutely aware of that other people may be interested in:
Nikole of Moptop Maven was having a healthy hair challenge based on different product usage: Homemade/D.I.Y, traditional store bought products and Ayurvedic herbs - unfortunately, she is ill in the hospital at the moment according to her blog comments and has been for a month, so obviously the challenge is suspended, as we pray for her recovery. Get well soon, Nikole!
Loo of Healthy Hair and Body is having a 3in6 twist challenge that I'm also a part of (Challenge Junkie!). The aim is to retain 3 inches in 6 months
Check ins are every two weeks and it lasts for - well, 6 months.
The challenge is more in depth than simply treating your hair from the outside - as well as keeping your hair in twists, there are conditions including and healthy eating.
I don't know if battered fish, chips and beans is healthy eating.
Probably not.
But that was yesterday! Back on the wagon! *shifty look*
She has an entire Twist series on maintaining and caring for the hair whilst in twists if you want to have a look at it too!
And now Curly Nikki is having a Grow Out Challenge in association with Kim Coles and Jessicurl, who are sponsoring monthly give aways to people who are taking part in the challenge. However, it is not twist based, and Curly Nikki has also posted up tips for creating your individual regime for the Grow Out Challenge.
It's going to last for 6 months
I'm not a part of it, because the rules are pretty similar to Loo's challenge and I'm too lazy to keep up with more than one - plus being held more accountable will not shame me into doing right :)
So I guess fortnightly updates are on the cards may be on the cards - and I'll link to other people, so you can see how they're doing too!
Tuesday, 1 February 2011
Ungrateful Salon Venture
I went to the salon last Satuday.
It was the 3rd time in my entire life that I have sat down in a hair stylists chair in a hair dressing shop.
Before I continue, I interrupt the ordinary flow of this post to bring you a Latin Proverb:
Replace 'foolish man' with 'Simple Thing' and you can kind of see where this is going, yeah?
I only went because I was so darn tired of being blonde. It wasn't even funny, and my student newsletter said this salon do a student discount of 20%. I'm saving money! I thought, so booked an appointment at the salon, had a patch test and set off later that week, in a rush and late to get to my 11:45am appointment.
The Wonder Thing made me run for the bus, goshdarnit. Where does he think we are? London?! Luckily, I knew where the salon was, so was only 5 minutes late. So my first point:
1. Do your research
I'd looked up the price of the treatment I'd wanted, I'd inquired to confirm that the student discount was intact, made sure they knew that they should not expect someone with blonde and silky hair to turn up on the day and I'd also looked up where the salon was, to prevent me running around the city centre like a headless chicken. So that was good.
However, I was cold, because I'd left my house in such a hurry, I didn't even have a coat.
And it is still winter here in England!
Which brings me swiftly to point number 2:
2. When going to a salon, be prepared!
Because I was in a rush, I forget everything - my micro fibre towel, my conditioner (especially as I'm picky about ingredients), my coat and my dignity behind. And I was naive. I thought they were simply going to put the colour on my hair, rinse it out and let me go on my merry little way.
Nope.
Not only that, I'd been testing out a twist out the previous day, so my fringe was a bit tangled, and he went at it with a wide tooth comb. But it was nearly a fine tooth comb.
Which highlights my third point:
3. Please don't be afraid to tell them if you are uncomfortable
You are paying for a service, and hopefully you will get a good one in return. Stylists don't want to hurt you because then you will never come back and their business will shrivel and die and they will end up trying to sell their own hair for a couple of peanuts.
Not cool.
My lovely, lovely hairdresser, when we first started, picked up the smallest comb with the finest teeth I'd ever seen in my life. I freaked out (inwardly) and calmly asked if he had anything bigger.
A lot of people when talking about handling stylists are quite rude, and I'm not very confrontational with provocation and I'm also extremely empathetic, so I don't see any reason to be so aggressive.
Just a polite 'Excuse me, I was wondering if...?" or a "No thank you, I'd rather not" should suffice.
Don't make me get all Victorian lady up in this cottage.
I didn't enjoy the conditioning that I somehow ended up getting after my shampoo - the deep conditioner dried my hair out (a task I'd previously thought impossible) and my stylist kept going out my hair with a (thankfully bigger comb) from the roots downwards.
I told him not to, but occasionally he'd forget and I'd grimace but say nothing.
Hello, point number 4!:
4. Please don't be afraid to ask them what they are doing to your hair and, if necessary, how much it will cost. If necessary, be insistent (on knowing the details, or refusing a service).
I had checked the price before, and the woman at the desk had confirmed it, but she hadn't confirmed it with my stylist, who was lovely, but new, and thus a bit nervous.
And I was nervous as well (he had my head in his hands, you'd be nervous too) so I didn't want to say anything to nark him off and make him give me a green tint.
Green is not my colour.
So when he said "Would you like me to wash it out now?" I was like "Yes please!" I'd been there for an hour and was getting peckish.
But when he washed it out, I didn't realise he also put conditioner in.
And then he asked me if I wanted my hair cut.
I screwed up my face and said "Not really."
Stylist: "Just a small trim off the edges?"
Me: "Er, I guess if there's any split ends, they could get cut off?"
I'm mad paranoid about split ends, yo.
Me: "How much will it cost though?"
Stylist: "Eh, not much."
Me: *thinks* He knows I'm a student, it won't be much *is reassured*
But I didn't get a trim - I got a mini cut (yes, there is a difference). And yes, it got rid of the beach boy surfer from the 90s look I had going on, but I didn't ask for it. Hence, the ungratefulness.
And "Not much" is very different to different people. I thought £10 maximum on top of my colour (what? I'm naive, I know!) Plus, my point of reference is The Wonder Thing, who usually pays just under £10 to get his hair cut. But he is a boy, and salons charge it differently.
However, back in reality girl land, it would have come to £45 in total *jaw hits floor*
But my student discount came to the rescue and dropped it down to £36.
My colour (which I had originally gone in for) cost £15 before discount, and cost £12 after discount.
Which I was cool with.
But the 'Afro Shampoo/Condition and Cut' I'd also gotten was £30 on top of that, and £24 after discount.
So that was £36.
I said an extremely rude word when I stepped out of the salon and looked at my receipt. Which highlights my penultimate point:
5. If you have a problem, say it in the shop.
And be nice! I didn't say anything at all - I was so shell shocked, I just paid the money and left and commiserated about how I was going to eat for the next week and a half (yes, the money for the extras I hadn't asked for equals how much food I eat in 10 days).
But seeing as they're a salon, if you're brave enough to kick up a fuss, then they'd probably give you some sort of remuneration to prevent you bad mouthing them everywhere and potentially unnerving their waiting customers.
The thing is, the colour? I love it - it's a lot darker and richer than my previous one, so it's difficult for people to see, unless I purposefully do a style that allows them to see it. So if it had been left at that, I could have honestly and openly said it was an awesome salon experience.
And the cut is nice. I just didn't want it because I was growing out my front layers.
But the shampoo and conditioning which I hadn't asked for? And which hadn't helped my hair at all? And then I paid twice as much for the colour that I liked?!
But I didn't say anything. And because I like the colour, and the cut's okay but I hated everything else, I wasn't quite sure how to mention it.
In fact, I'm still not, so I decided to blog about it instead!
And my last point?
6. You make the salon experience, not the stylist.
Obviously, they have to do their best not to make it a nightmare, but if you know they don't know your hair as well as you - like when my stylist put the colour on my hair, the coils and waves were more defined, and he said "Oh, it'd look nicer it was left wavy!" I was side-eyeing like I was Zahara and someone had stolen my sweets. My stylist was sweet, though it wasn't a 'specialist' salon, so he was surprised when I mentioned that Beyoncé's hair was fake. I pointed out that Solange had cut all her hair off, and he said "Yes, but Beyoncé's lighter, isn't she? So I thought her hair wouldn't be like that."
The idea that lighter skin = looser curled hair is just - I just - what! *froths at mouth*
I also saw a baby having their first hair cut =/ He was bawling his eyes out, and some of my friends later remarked it may have been better for the mum to do it at home, rather than taking him to a foreign place and plonking down in front of a stranger wielding sharp and deadly scissors.
But in the end, the salon is a business, and they have to make money. There are ways to be polite as well as assertive - I just need to work on the assertive bit a lot more.
If I had realised how much more the cut was going to cost me, and the fact that I was being charged for the conditioning, rather than naively assuming it was 'part of the service' I'd have walked away a lot happier.
And I think that's why I haven't complained or anything.
Because, you know:
Which is apparently an English proverb, which I'm a bit narked about, because nobody told me that before I went and got my hair done. So it looks like extreme DIY-ing for me, since that salon trip completely and utterly blew my toiletry budget out the water for the next 6 months.
Ooohh, I've always wondered what I would smell like after showering without soap! Mmm....Student Experimentation....
I got home, sulphate washed, deep conditioned for about 10 minutes, oil rinsed and then medium fat twisted with a little bit of hair creme. And that's it! I'm done mucking about with my hair until the 12 of February at least! For this moment in time, after the last week and a bit spent de tangling and mangling and combing - and er, roaming? - my hair, I'm officially tired out with it right now.
It was the 3rd time in my entire life that I have sat down in a hair stylists chair in a hair dressing shop.
Before I continue, I interrupt the ordinary flow of this post to bring you a Latin Proverb:
"A wise man learns by the mistakes of others, a foolish man by his own."
Replace 'foolish man' with 'Simple Thing' and you can kind of see where this is going, yeah?
I only went because I was so darn tired of being blonde. It wasn't even funny, and my student newsletter said this salon do a student discount of 20%. I'm saving money! I thought, so booked an appointment at the salon, had a patch test and set off later that week, in a rush and late to get to my 11:45am appointment.
The Wonder Thing made me run for the bus, goshdarnit. Where does he think we are? London?! Luckily, I knew where the salon was, so was only 5 minutes late. So my first point:
1. Do your research
I'd looked up the price of the treatment I'd wanted, I'd inquired to confirm that the student discount was intact, made sure they knew that they should not expect someone with blonde and silky hair to turn up on the day and I'd also looked up where the salon was, to prevent me running around the city centre like a headless chicken. So that was good.
However, I was cold, because I'd left my house in such a hurry, I didn't even have a coat.
And it is still winter here in England!
Which brings me swiftly to point number 2:
2. When going to a salon, be prepared!
Because I was in a rush, I forget everything - my micro fibre towel, my conditioner (especially as I'm picky about ingredients), my coat and my dignity behind. And I was naive. I thought they were simply going to put the colour on my hair, rinse it out and let me go on my merry little way.
Nope.
Not only that, I'd been testing out a twist out the previous day, so my fringe was a bit tangled, and he went at it with a wide tooth comb. But it was nearly a fine tooth comb.
Which highlights my third point:
3. Please don't be afraid to tell them if you are uncomfortable
You are paying for a service, and hopefully you will get a good one in return. Stylists don't want to hurt you because then you will never come back and their business will shrivel and die and they will end up trying to sell their own hair for a couple of peanuts.
Not cool.
My lovely, lovely hairdresser, when we first started, picked up the smallest comb with the finest teeth I'd ever seen in my life. I freaked out (inwardly) and calmly asked if he had anything bigger.
A lot of people when talking about handling stylists are quite rude, and I'm not very confrontational with provocation and I'm also extremely empathetic, so I don't see any reason to be so aggressive.
Just a polite 'Excuse me, I was wondering if...?" or a "No thank you, I'd rather not" should suffice.
Don't make me get all Victorian lady up in this cottage.
I didn't enjoy the conditioning that I somehow ended up getting after my shampoo - the deep conditioner dried my hair out (a task I'd previously thought impossible) and my stylist kept going out my hair with a (thankfully bigger comb) from the roots downwards.
I told him not to, but occasionally he'd forget and I'd grimace but say nothing.
Hello, point number 4!:
4. Please don't be afraid to ask them what they are doing to your hair and, if necessary, how much it will cost. If necessary, be insistent (on knowing the details, or refusing a service).
I had checked the price before, and the woman at the desk had confirmed it, but she hadn't confirmed it with my stylist, who was lovely, but new, and thus a bit nervous.
And I was nervous as well (he had my head in his hands, you'd be nervous too) so I didn't want to say anything to nark him off and make him give me a green tint.
Green is not my colour.
So when he said "Would you like me to wash it out now?" I was like "Yes please!" I'd been there for an hour and was getting peckish.
But when he washed it out, I didn't realise he also put conditioner in.
And then he asked me if I wanted my hair cut.
I screwed up my face and said "Not really."
Stylist: "Just a small trim off the edges?"
Me: "Er, I guess if there's any split ends, they could get cut off?"
I'm mad paranoid about split ends, yo.
Me: "How much will it cost though?"
Stylist: "Eh, not much."
Me: *thinks* He knows I'm a student, it won't be much *is reassured*
But I didn't get a trim - I got a mini cut (yes, there is a difference). And yes, it got rid of the beach boy surfer from the 90s look I had going on, but I didn't ask for it. Hence, the ungratefulness.
 |
| Maybe I *liked* resembling Ben Adams from A1 circa 1999 |
It's, like, half an inch longer than when I first started this blog. Also, it's not longer just shy of Arm Pit Length. Oh welllll. C'est la vie and all that jazz.
And "Not much" is very different to different people. I thought £10 maximum on top of my colour (what? I'm naive, I know!) Plus, my point of reference is The Wonder Thing, who usually pays just under £10 to get his hair cut. But he is a boy, and salons charge it differently.
However, back in reality girl land, it would have come to £45 in total *jaw hits floor*
But my student discount came to the rescue and dropped it down to £36.
My colour (which I had originally gone in for) cost £15 before discount, and cost £12 after discount.
Which I was cool with.
But the 'Afro Shampoo/Condition and Cut' I'd also gotten was £30 on top of that, and £24 after discount.
So that was £36.
I said an extremely rude word when I stepped out of the salon and looked at my receipt. Which highlights my penultimate point:
5. If you have a problem, say it in the shop.
And be nice! I didn't say anything at all - I was so shell shocked, I just paid the money and left and commiserated about how I was going to eat for the next week and a half (yes, the money for the extras I hadn't asked for equals how much food I eat in 10 days).
But seeing as they're a salon, if you're brave enough to kick up a fuss, then they'd probably give you some sort of remuneration to prevent you bad mouthing them everywhere and potentially unnerving their waiting customers.
The thing is, the colour? I love it - it's a lot darker and richer than my previous one, so it's difficult for people to see, unless I purposefully do a style that allows them to see it. So if it had been left at that, I could have honestly and openly said it was an awesome salon experience.
And the cut is nice. I just didn't want it because I was growing out my front layers.
But the shampoo and conditioning which I hadn't asked for? And which hadn't helped my hair at all? And then I paid twice as much for the colour that I liked?!
But I didn't say anything. And because I like the colour, and the cut's okay but I hated everything else, I wasn't quite sure how to mention it.
In fact, I'm still not, so I decided to blog about it instead!
And my last point?
6. You make the salon experience, not the stylist.
Obviously, they have to do their best not to make it a nightmare, but if you know they don't know your hair as well as you - like when my stylist put the colour on my hair, the coils and waves were more defined, and he said "Oh, it'd look nicer it was left wavy!" I was side-eyeing like I was Zahara and someone had stolen my sweets. My stylist was sweet, though it wasn't a 'specialist' salon, so he was surprised when I mentioned that Beyoncé's hair was fake. I pointed out that Solange had cut all her hair off, and he said "Yes, but Beyoncé's lighter, isn't she? So I thought her hair wouldn't be like that."
The idea that lighter skin = looser curled hair is just - I just - what! *froths at mouth*
I also saw a baby having their first hair cut =/ He was bawling his eyes out, and some of my friends later remarked it may have been better for the mum to do it at home, rather than taking him to a foreign place and plonking down in front of a stranger wielding sharp and deadly scissors.
But in the end, the salon is a business, and they have to make money. There are ways to be polite as well as assertive - I just need to work on the assertive bit a lot more.
If I had realised how much more the cut was going to cost me, and the fact that I was being charged for the conditioning, rather than naively assuming it was 'part of the service' I'd have walked away a lot happier.
And I think that's why I haven't complained or anything.
Because, you know:
"It's easy to be wise after the event."
Which is apparently an English proverb, which I'm a bit narked about, because nobody told me that before I went and got my hair done. So it looks like extreme DIY-ing for me, since that salon trip completely and utterly blew my toiletry budget out the water for the next 6 months.
Ooohh, I've always wondered what I would smell like after showering without soap! Mmm....Student Experimentation....
I got home, sulphate washed, deep conditioned for about 10 minutes, oil rinsed and then medium fat twisted with a little bit of hair creme. And that's it! I'm done mucking about with my hair until the 12 of February at least! For this moment in time, after the last week and a bit spent de tangling and mangling and combing - and er, roaming? - my hair, I'm officially tired out with it right now.
Monday, 31 January 2011
Twistout Bangs and a Handmade Hat
Under my hat, under my satin scarf, I have my hair in big medium twists, having *finally* taken down and det-tangled my previous sets of twists.
Yes, my hair is shorter. I'll talk about that later this week.
Seriously. I know I say this all the time, but I'm not going to do another set of smallish twists for a looooooong time!
Anyhoo, as usual, my bangs are present for the world to see, so I simply undid the twists in front, separated them a little and then pinned them to the side.
The flower is from Claire's Accessories - 2 for £3.50 (well, it was before VAT went up).
The hat, I love. Because it is pretty and it is bright and I made it myself.
Yes that's right! With my own hands (and a crochet hook and a ball of yarn).
 |
| View from the top |
The pattern can be found here.
It uses American terms, so if you've learnt the British terms, you might want to take a look here to see the translation.
I had some problems with the FPdc instruction, so I checked out this video.
The yarn I used wasn't the recommended one, but it was 100g of double knit and I got it from my local shop for about £2.49.
I still have quite a bit left, so I might use it to make a Valentine's gift for Lady V or the Faerie :)
It took me about 4 days, in between other things I was doing. I think I modified it, and added about 2 more rounds after rnd20 to make it a little tighter.
You need 2 crochet hooks, sizes 4.50mm and 5.00mm (or US sizes 7 and 8[H]). You can get away with just using the smaller sized hook if you're pressed with money.
They usually cost about £1.50 each, so this hat cost me £3.99 (seeing as I've used the hooks more than once).
If you're a beginner, and the Phannie hat looks way too complicated, you can try the Threadbangers hat tutorial, which requires a size 6mm (J) crochet hook. That one only took me a day to do, but that was of constantly crocheting. If you're completely new to crocheting, but want to get started, you can take a look at their How-to video here.
Happy crafting!
Tuesday, 25 January 2011
Glee Recap: Season 2, Episode 3
After the froth and fun of last weeks episode, Glee swings the pendulum to the other end of the spectrum, with a deep look at the way the Glee kids see spirituality. Someone's suffering from a crisis, which provokes everyone to have a look at their beliefs as they try and deal with what's happening in their on way.
(Larks, sounds a bit like an angsty teen novel). Some people say they cried. But I think they're a bit lame. Read on to find out more!
Monday, 24 January 2011
A Tale of Woe (and quite a bit of Self-Pity)
I've been AWOL a little bit, trying to recover from the truly disastrous JET interview I had last Monday.
It's a tale of Squirrels, Sweet Potatoes and Subconscious Self-Sabotage
Here's the run down:
Wednesday
It started off well enough. I got the letter informing me I had an interview on Wednesday and celebrated by bootie popping in The Faerie's kitchen.
But then I realised that the day of the interview was the 17th - in four days.
And I still had a 4000 word assignment to complete.
Cue a big slump of melancholy into my Chicken Quesadilla.
Quesdaillas are not sad food, nor have I ever been known to be sad when food is present, so this was indeed an odd image for the Faerie to see. She scraped me off her table and sent me home to sleep.
Thursday
I'd reached my target and now I had to go back and edit all 4,213 words to prevent being penalised for going over the word limit. And reference everything (which is going back over everything I'd written and giving credit to the people whose information I had used in the longest, most arduous and specific manner possible).
The outside world became a fairy tale I'd heard of when I was young. I immersed myself in my topic and began to curse out the forebearers of the people I was talking about in my essay. The amazing Bobbi Jane Gardener has advised me to do my research and given me an amazing amount of info regarding what to do if I get an interview, so at intermittent intervals, I would open a new tab and do some Japanese research, on sites like NHK - ah, the government has had a reshuffle! Interesting...and something about a whaling ship - am I allowed to discuss such sensitive topics in my interview?! Okinawa, Okinawa...I read alllll about Okinawa (because I'd mentioned it in my application form). Looked back on the JET website, about what kind of person they were looking for to take up the mantle of ALT.
I made notes. NOTES!
I started to feel more confident. I started thinking, hey, maybe I could do this.
They say optimism comes before a disastrous Friday evening.
Friday
I re-read acceptance letter from JET in order to plan my journey.
Right, so I need 4 passport pictures, my acceptance letter and my passport for the interview.
To say I had a bit of a panic attack was a minor understatement.
It got worse when I saw the price of the tickets - £46 to get home from uni, a tenner (£10) to get from home to the interview in London and then £52 to get from London back to uni.
I started pacing around my room and then promptly fell over because my body was so used to being hunched in front of the computer screen the muscles had cramped.
I kid you not.
And I needed to dress professionally, but I didn't think any of my clothes were appropriate, so this meant I had to go clothes shopping.
I love food shopping because, depending what you're eating, it almost always tastes good.
This cannot be said for clothes.
Shirts that ride over bosoms when arms are lifted, exposing tender, poke-able tummies.
Collars that show far too much, but throttle you when buttoned up.
Trousers that are far too snug around the bottom area, but gap obscenely at the waist, while a bitter draft blows about my ankles.
Having no quesadillas to slump into (having eaten them all), I had to make do with my bowl of rice.
The effect was not the same.
Saturday
To make sure I actually went through with clothes shopping, I enlisted the help of the Faerie. Most of the shirts in the high street shops were too short, so we had to go to another, slightly 'higher end', one.
I found a shirt we were both happy with.
However, as soon as I bought it, I attempted to take it back.
The Faerie: What are you doing?
Me: I'm going to take it back!
The Faerie: Why?!
Me: *panicking* It's £25! I just paid £25 for a shirt! I must be mad! I can't afford this! I'm a student, not the Queen!
The Faerie: Stop complaining and don't return the shirt.
Me: TWENTY FIVE POUNDS!? WHY DON'T THEY DO STUDENT DISCOUNT?! OHMAGOOOOOSH! *starts to hyperventilate*
The Faerie: Stop complaining. We are leaving. With the shirt.
I'm brilliant under pressure.
I also managed to find a pair of tights that might actually reach my hips.Thus, the shopping trip was declared successful (despite my misgivings).
The Wonder Thing: You know this essay you're writing?
Me: Yeah?
The Wonder Thing: Don't you have to give in a paper copy? In person?
Me: Yeah?
The Wonder Thing: Isn't it due in on Monday? Same day as your interview?
Me: Yea - aw, crap!
Because I would be in London for the interview, I would have no opportunity to hand in the hard copies of the essay. And since it was now Saturday, the office was closed, so there was no way I could drop it off early either or send it through the post.
The word 'Alack!' came to mind. As well as 'Alas!' and 'Oh, bugger'.
It is decided that The Wonder Thing will hand in my essay for me.
He has no idea where the office is.
Ye Gods.
Sunday
I wake up, and go down to my college printing room.
It is locked.
Because it is a Sunday.
I kick the door.
Iwalk hobble the 15 minutes to the library to print off all 32 pages that need to be handed in.
I also type out an instruction sheet for where The Wonder Thing needs to go, what needs to go on the cover sheet and how much I seriously appreciate his help because if the essay was not handed in on time, I would lose 10% and go down a grade, so please can he go in extra early and get help from the office lady and avoid the 4pm rush?
I put it in a special folder and just miss the bus.
I wait 30 minutes for the next one.
I post the work through The Wonder Thing's house and go to the train station. Because I missed the bus, because I was in the library, I missed the train and have to wait half an hour for the next one.
When I finally get my backside onto the train, I sigh in comfort as I sink into a seat and scrabble in my bag to take a look at my JET interview notes.
Whoa. Dude. Where are my notes?
I know I had them, I remember having them in my hand as I got ready to leave my room - but then I remembered my phone and put the notes down on my...on my bed.
Oh, frick on a stick!
I arrive at my home station and patiently wait for my lovely Pappi come and pick me up. There is a teenage couple making out so voraciously that I start composing a PDA PSA (Pubic Displays of Affection Public Service Announcement) in my head.
My family arrive. I celebrate by throwing my entire mass on them to show that I appreciate their presence.
I'm sure that, somewhere, deep down, possibly in the tender area being forcibly nudged by my elbow, they feel the same.
When we get home, I disassemble my room, searching for the passport.
It's not in my drawer.
It's not in my bed.
Or under it.
It's not in my book box.
Where is it?!
Eventually, I find my passport in a bag full of random paper that could be mistaken for trash.
I'm an idiot.
Monday - Interview Day
I wake up nervous. As well as my formal clothes for the interview, I'm also carrying various other carrier bags full of other stuff I have forgotten, and some pasta for the train back to uni. After dropping The Bro and The Littlest Sis at school, Pappi and I head to the shopping centre, where we sit outside the photograph shop, waiting for them to open so I can take my picture, because all 2 photo machines in town are broken.
In the pictures, a stray strand of hair has escaped, making me look slightly manic, thus proving that pictures can truly see into the depths of your soul.
We drive to London and I change into my formal short and skirt and my Converses and get on the train to Green Park, the station nearest the embassy. I am an hour and 25 minutes early. I wander around according to my instructions and arrive back at the place I started.
I realise I have read the wrong line and had been walking in the wrong direction.
After walking in the right direction, I finally see the Japanese flag hanging off the embassy. I'm highly relieved.
But I'm still an hour early.
I go to the park across the road and change from my Converses into my heels. And wait.
While I am waiting, I am investigated by a squirrel.
That's right. A squirrel.
The squirrel dodges and then peeks at me from under the bench.
This was the boldest squirrel I ever did see in my life - it walked up to the bin next to the bench I was sitting on and stared at me, telepathically demanding food. And it fluffed it's tail specially when it saw me taking a picture.
I stared back at it, refusing to be blackmailed - the pasta is the only fuel I will have for the next 5 hours.
Then it scurries onto the bench and - I swear this is true - it starts posing on the bench handle, lying on it like it was in a gosh darn car advert or something. It was literally lounging on this bench handle. I'm like 'ARE YOU FURREAL?!'
A few runners look at me funny. I stare back at them. They run on, perhaps a little faster than before
.
There are all sorts in the park. I even see some sort of military training exercise. At ten to three, I finally get up and stagger to the embassy. There are two other girls already there (WITH NOTES!!) but one is taken to an interview shortly after I arrive. I look around at the presentation they had in the area we were waiting in. It was really interesting, about the bicentenntial celebration of British and Japanese relations, based around a hundred year old Japanese Gateway in Kew Gardens. The other girl is surprised when she realises I was still at uni.
Before the interview, we watch a video and chat to two previous JET alumni, who were the women escorting us through the embassy. We then do a brief English test and go to separate areas to wait for our individual interviews.
Which is when I start doubting.
Whoa. What was I doing here?
Was I stupid enough to think I was going to get this? The other people were actually organised! They didn't forget their notes! They are not currently holding their swimming costume in a plastic bag because they were ORGANISED!
This is unfortunate, since interviews are usually my forte because I am organised and above all, confident in myself.
When I am allowed into the room, I am already hyperventilating.
There are three people - from what I understand, one of them is a woman who teaches Japanese in English , one is a former JET alumni and one was someone who works for the embassy.
It starts off badly.
Former Jet alumi: So you're applying for the ALT position. Can you tell me what it stands for?
Me: *overconfidently* Assistant Learning -
Former Jet Alumi: Language, not learning.
Me: Oh God!
And then I deteriorate oh so very quickly.
Woman who teaches Japanese: It says on your form that you are learning Japanese?
Me: Yes, I am.
Woman who teaches Japanese: Can you introduce yourself in Japanese?
Me: *takes a deep breathe* Konnichiwa! Watashi wa A Simple Thing desu. Dozo yoroshikou. Hajimemashite. *covers face* I'm sorry! I've never said that to an actual Japanese person who's not my teacher before!
But I think the worst bit was definitely when the man who works for the embassy asks:
Man who works for the embassy: So it says you are interested in Okinawa. Do you know what Okinawa's most famous export is?
The first thing that comes to mind was 'Karate'. And then I think, No, it can't be karate. It has to be something like rice, or ceramics? Brain, keep up! Stop not thinking!
Me: I don't know.
Which is a good thing to say if you genuinely are not sure. But then I add
Me: Sweet Potatoes?
One of the main rules of interviewing, is never guess. If you are wrong, you'll look ridiculous.
After I realised what a stupid thing I'd said, I start hyperventilating again, and they think my asthma was playing up.
No. I was just a very big idiot.
Safe to say, I don't think I will be in Japan this summer, but the interview was a good experience. The interview panel were incredibly kind, and they asked questions about stuff I'd written on my form (I'd written I don't eat pork, and they asked what I would do if I were offered a dish such as tonkatsu. I replied I'd throw my preferences out the window and eat it. Hey, I do it with [melted] cheese all the time!)
I met the other girl on my way out and we chatted a bit. Her interview had gone very differently from mine - she had been asked questions mainly about herself and her experience. They'd asked her next to nothing about Japan, which she'd been surprised about.
I went to the train station, and stared at a girl I'm sure was Sienna Miller for about an hour. And then after eating my non squirrelled pasta, I fell asleep.
Oh and I checked my notes. Karate is the most famous export of Okinawa.
Ah well. On the bright side, it was an experience and I did learn a lot from it. I know my personality and enthusiasm came across well in other parts of the interview, but I was easily intimidated by the circumstances and my organisation and preparation needed some massive work. If I want to work abroad by myself, then I can't be as easily cowed as I was in the interview.
Hopefully, remembering these things will keep me in good stead for the future!
It's a tale of Squirrels, Sweet Potatoes and Subconscious Self-Sabotage
Here's the run down:
Wednesday
It started off well enough. I got the letter informing me I had an interview on Wednesday and celebrated by bootie popping in The Faerie's kitchen.
But then I realised that the day of the interview was the 17th - in four days.
And I still had a 4000 word assignment to complete.
Cue a big slump of melancholy into my Chicken Quesadilla.
Quesdaillas are not sad food, nor have I ever been known to be sad when food is present, so this was indeed an odd image for the Faerie to see. She scraped me off her table and sent me home to sleep.
Thursday
I'd reached my target and now I had to go back and edit all 4,213 words to prevent being penalised for going over the word limit. And reference everything (which is going back over everything I'd written and giving credit to the people whose information I had used in the longest, most arduous and specific manner possible).
The outside world became a fairy tale I'd heard of when I was young. I immersed myself in my topic and began to curse out the forebearers of the people I was talking about in my essay. The amazing Bobbi Jane Gardener has advised me to do my research and given me an amazing amount of info regarding what to do if I get an interview, so at intermittent intervals, I would open a new tab and do some Japanese research, on sites like NHK - ah, the government has had a reshuffle! Interesting...and something about a whaling ship - am I allowed to discuss such sensitive topics in my interview?! Okinawa, Okinawa...I read alllll about Okinawa (because I'd mentioned it in my application form). Looked back on the JET website, about what kind of person they were looking for to take up the mantle of ALT.
I made notes. NOTES!
I started to feel more confident. I started thinking, hey, maybe I could do this.
They say optimism comes before a disastrous Friday evening.
Friday
I re-read acceptance letter from JET in order to plan my journey.
Right, so I need 4 passport pictures, my acceptance letter and my passport for the interview.
Wait.
What.
My passport?
As in, the passport that I had left at home?
What.
My passport?
As in, the passport that I had left at home?
The home that is 150 miles away?
I phoned the JET desk and asked if any other form of identification was possible, but it's the Japanese embassy, so that's a massive no.
To say I had a bit of a panic attack was a minor understatement.
It got worse when I saw the price of the tickets - £46 to get home from uni, a tenner (£10) to get from home to the interview in London and then £52 to get from London back to uni.
I started pacing around my room and then promptly fell over because my body was so used to being hunched in front of the computer screen the muscles had cramped.
I kid you not.
And I needed to dress professionally, but I didn't think any of my clothes were appropriate, so this meant I had to go clothes shopping.
I love food shopping because, depending what you're eating, it almost always tastes good.
This cannot be said for clothes.
Shirts that ride over bosoms when arms are lifted, exposing tender, poke-able tummies.
Collars that show far too much, but throttle you when buttoned up.
Trousers that are far too snug around the bottom area, but gap obscenely at the waist, while a bitter draft blows about my ankles.
Having no quesadillas to slump into (having eaten them all), I had to make do with my bowl of rice.
The effect was not the same.
Saturday
To make sure I actually went through with clothes shopping, I enlisted the help of the Faerie. Most of the shirts in the high street shops were too short, so we had to go to another, slightly 'higher end', one.
I found a shirt we were both happy with.
However, as soon as I bought it, I attempted to take it back.
The Faerie: What are you doing?
Me: I'm going to take it back!
The Faerie: Why?!
Me: *panicking* It's £25! I just paid £25 for a shirt! I must be mad! I can't afford this! I'm a student, not the Queen!
The Faerie: Stop complaining and don't return the shirt.
Me: TWENTY FIVE POUNDS!? WHY DON'T THEY DO STUDENT DISCOUNT?! OHMAGOOOOOSH! *starts to hyperventilate*
The Faerie: Stop complaining. We are leaving. With the shirt.
I'm brilliant under pressure.
I also managed to find a pair of tights that might actually reach my hips.Thus, the shopping trip was declared successful (despite my misgivings).
The Wonder Thing: You know this essay you're writing?
Me: Yeah?
The Wonder Thing: Don't you have to give in a paper copy? In person?
Me: Yeah?
The Wonder Thing: Isn't it due in on Monday? Same day as your interview?
Me: Yea - aw, crap!
Because I would be in London for the interview, I would have no opportunity to hand in the hard copies of the essay. And since it was now Saturday, the office was closed, so there was no way I could drop it off early either or send it through the post.
The word 'Alack!' came to mind. As well as 'Alas!' and 'Oh, bugger'.
It is decided that The Wonder Thing will hand in my essay for me.
He has no idea where the office is.
Ye Gods.
Sunday
I wake up, and go down to my college printing room.
It is locked.
Because it is a Sunday.
I kick the door.
I
I also type out an instruction sheet for where The Wonder Thing needs to go, what needs to go on the cover sheet and how much I seriously appreciate his help because if the essay was not handed in on time, I would lose 10% and go down a grade, so please can he go in extra early and get help from the office lady and avoid the 4pm rush?
I put it in a special folder and just miss the bus.
I wait 30 minutes for the next one.
I post the work through The Wonder Thing's house and go to the train station. Because I missed the bus, because I was in the library, I missed the train and have to wait half an hour for the next one.
When I finally get my backside onto the train, I sigh in comfort as I sink into a seat and scrabble in my bag to take a look at my JET interview notes.
Whoa. Dude. Where are my notes?
I know I had them, I remember having them in my hand as I got ready to leave my room - but then I remembered my phone and put the notes down on my...on my bed.
Oh, frick on a stick!
I arrive at my home station and patiently wait for my lovely Pappi come and pick me up. There is a teenage couple making out so voraciously that I start composing a PDA PSA (Pubic Displays of Affection Public Service Announcement) in my head.
My family arrive. I celebrate by throwing my entire mass on them to show that I appreciate their presence.
I'm sure that, somewhere, deep down, possibly in the tender area being forcibly nudged by my elbow, they feel the same.
When we get home, I disassemble my room, searching for the passport.
It's not in my drawer.
It's not in my bed.
Or under it.
It's not in my book box.
Where is it?!
Eventually, I find my passport in a bag full of random paper that could be mistaken for trash.
I'm an idiot.
Monday - Interview Day
I wake up nervous. As well as my formal clothes for the interview, I'm also carrying various other carrier bags full of other stuff I have forgotten, and some pasta for the train back to uni. After dropping The Bro and The Littlest Sis at school, Pappi and I head to the shopping centre, where we sit outside the photograph shop, waiting for them to open so I can take my picture, because all 2 photo machines in town are broken.
In the pictures, a stray strand of hair has escaped, making me look slightly manic, thus proving that pictures can truly see into the depths of your soul.
We drive to London and I change into my formal short and skirt and my Converses and get on the train to Green Park, the station nearest the embassy. I am an hour and 25 minutes early. I wander around according to my instructions and arrive back at the place I started.
I realise I have read the wrong line and had been walking in the wrong direction.
After walking in the right direction, I finally see the Japanese flag hanging off the embassy. I'm highly relieved.
But I'm still an hour early.
I go to the park across the road and change from my Converses into my heels. And wait.
While I am waiting, I am investigated by a squirrel.
That's right. A squirrel.
The squirrel dodges and then peeks at me from under the bench.
 |
| I'm not even lying! LOOK AT IT!! |
Then it scurries onto the bench and - I swear this is true - it starts posing on the bench handle, lying on it like it was in a gosh darn car advert or something. It was literally lounging on this bench handle. I'm like 'ARE YOU FURREAL?!'
A few runners look at me funny. I stare back at them. They run on, perhaps a little faster than before
.
There are all sorts in the park. I even see some sort of military training exercise. At ten to three, I finally get up and stagger to the embassy. There are two other girls already there (WITH NOTES!!) but one is taken to an interview shortly after I arrive. I look around at the presentation they had in the area we were waiting in. It was really interesting, about the bicentenntial celebration of British and Japanese relations, based around a hundred year old Japanese Gateway in Kew Gardens. The other girl is surprised when she realises I was still at uni.
Before the interview, we watch a video and chat to two previous JET alumni, who were the women escorting us through the embassy. We then do a brief English test and go to separate areas to wait for our individual interviews.
Which is when I start doubting.
Whoa. What was I doing here?
Was I stupid enough to think I was going to get this? The other people were actually organised! They didn't forget their notes! They are not currently holding their swimming costume in a plastic bag because they were ORGANISED!
This is unfortunate, since interviews are usually my forte because I am organised and above all, confident in myself.
When I am allowed into the room, I am already hyperventilating.
There are three people - from what I understand, one of them is a woman who teaches Japanese in English , one is a former JET alumni and one was someone who works for the embassy.
It starts off badly.
Former Jet alumi: So you're applying for the ALT position. Can you tell me what it stands for?
Me: *overconfidently* Assistant Learning -
Former Jet Alumi: Language, not learning.
Me: Oh God!
And then I deteriorate oh so very quickly.
Woman who teaches Japanese: It says on your form that you are learning Japanese?
Me: Yes, I am.
Woman who teaches Japanese: Can you introduce yourself in Japanese?
Me: *takes a deep breathe* Konnichiwa! Watashi wa A Simple Thing desu. Dozo yoroshikou. Hajimemashite. *covers face* I'm sorry! I've never said that to an actual Japanese person who's not my teacher before!
But I think the worst bit was definitely when the man who works for the embassy asks:
Man who works for the embassy: So it says you are interested in Okinawa. Do you know what Okinawa's most famous export is?
The first thing that comes to mind was 'Karate'. And then I think, No, it can't be karate. It has to be something like rice, or ceramics? Brain, keep up! Stop not thinking!
Me: I don't know.
Which is a good thing to say if you genuinely are not sure. But then I add
Me: Sweet Potatoes?
One of the main rules of interviewing, is never guess. If you are wrong, you'll look ridiculous.
After I realised what a stupid thing I'd said, I start hyperventilating again, and they think my asthma was playing up.
No. I was just a very big idiot.
Safe to say, I don't think I will be in Japan this summer, but the interview was a good experience. The interview panel were incredibly kind, and they asked questions about stuff I'd written on my form (I'd written I don't eat pork, and they asked what I would do if I were offered a dish such as tonkatsu. I replied I'd throw my preferences out the window and eat it. Hey, I do it with [melted] cheese all the time!)
I met the other girl on my way out and we chatted a bit. Her interview had gone very differently from mine - she had been asked questions mainly about herself and her experience. They'd asked her next to nothing about Japan, which she'd been surprised about.
I went to the train station, and stared at a girl I'm sure was Sienna Miller for about an hour. And then after eating my non squirrelled pasta, I fell asleep.
Oh and I checked my notes. Karate is the most famous export of Okinawa.
Ah well. On the bright side, it was an experience and I did learn a lot from it. I know my personality and enthusiasm came across well in other parts of the interview, but I was easily intimidated by the circumstances and my organisation and preparation needed some massive work. If I want to work abroad by myself, then I can't be as easily cowed as I was in the interview.
Hopefully, remembering these things will keep me in good stead for the future!
Tuesday, 18 January 2011
Glee Recap: Season 2, Episode 2
Much like the 'Power of Madonna' episode last season, this episode is a homage to a famous singer. It's a Britney Spears bonanza! There's a sex riot, a naked sweat patch on a chair and narcotically-stimulated personal empowerments!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)