22 posts tagged “anger”

Dear Ms Hairdresser

Dear Ms Hairdresser,

        A little numerical work on the fingers has confirmed that you have been styling my hair for almost 7 years. I think that 7 years is entirely enough time to mutual agreement that, Yes, my hair does grow quickly and Yes, my hair is  very thick. So do we really have to go through the routine every time I am in your salon? I am really tired of being made to feel as though I am a freak from a sideshow with a social disease because my hair is thick and full of body and bounce.

       I also object to your inference that you are doing me some gigantic favour by taming my wayward locks. I am not going to thank you for performing some sort of miracle in the name of communty spirit. It is a hair cut, and I pay you.  I pay you very well.

      I am a grown woman. I am intelligent. I don't think that I should be expected to gush and squeal when you flourish a mirror at the end to show me the back of my own head.  It is not brain surgery. I think that you do a fine job - otherwise I would not have been your client for  7 years, though once or twice I have thought that perhaps you could snip a little more off the length, or flourish the blades to thin my hair just a little more and assist me in actually making it 6 weeks to my next cut, without looking like an English Sheepdog. I understand though, as I know most women fear a bad hair cut - for me it only takes a week for it to grow over!

       So, unless you want me to get a severe case of the 7 year itch and move onto new scissors, may I suggest that you SHUT UP about my hair's rate of growth and density, or run the risk of me tearing that pair of scissors from your hands and thrusting them into your heart before I leave your pretentious hair salon in search of hair understanding.

Yours most earnestly

FD.

[yes, I did get my hair cut today. I am exhausted from pretending to be nice and holding my true nature in behind a facade of politness. I am glad that I don't have to go out more.] 

Pecked to death by ducks

This week is one of those weeks when the whole Flamingo Dancer family feels that there is a bounty on their head and that we are slowly being pecked to death by ducks. Daughter2 was in tears last night due to workload stress and a work environment where no one provides the information that they are required to but fly to appropriate blame for their failure on others, Daughter1 is of course having ongoing issues but has her union with her now, Son is being put through the treadmill of third and fourth round interviews for job he could do blindfolded, Mr FD struggles to get his business onto firm footing (and some regular income!) and me...well, my family is under attack and so I have to protect them AND I got an unexpected bad mark on one of my last assignments and I am asking to resubmit - heavens I am human after all!  Daughter2 tried to cheer me up with the comment that other people my age (51) are slipping in dementia (!) but that I am out there learning new things and tackling a new life - but perfectionist that I am that doesn't soothe my wounds.

I think I need a back up stick - a quiver full of sticks. Open hunting season had been declared. Gird you loins ye foe and foul, Flamingo Dancer strides forth!

Flamingo Dancer is going to take out the duck peckers of this world!

my mental state yesterday

2 comments

where it is resting today

1 comment

My sister just phoned to tell me about a "discussion" she had with her 3 and a half year old granddaughter yesterday. Miss3 was in a bad mood all morning while Grandma was babysitting her and her brother. In the end Grandma told her to go the naughty corner and SIT!

Miss3 said "I am going to tell my mother on you!"

Grandma replied "Well, I will tell your father on you!" knowing full well that father carried more weight.

Miss3 sat very quietly for some time and then gradually came back to being Grandma's best girl. At the end of the day her brother, 5 asked if Grandma was still going to tell Daddy about naughty sister. Grandma said, no as she had been a good girl all afternoon.

Miss3 declared "Well, just as well I put my mind to good, then!"

I know just how she feels. I have been a cranky Flamingo Dancer the last 24 hours and poor Mr FD has wondered about the monster he came home to last night. I wanted to tell him that it was the humidity, all the negative attitudes coming at me in the media, other people's narrow views (do not blame PM Kevin Rudd for this economic mess, please!), the fact that I deserve a job, and that I am still 5 kg heavier than I want to be...but I just let him think it was HIS fault. I needed to rain on someone's parade and he was the nearest and dearest target. That's marriage.

Maybe I can put my mind to good before he gets home from work today. Where's the vodka bottle?

I am exhausted by the hot humid Queensland weather that makes the perspiration drip off the end of my nose when I bend down to pick up the MANY pairs of shoes that my family leave on the floor of the television room.

I am tired of Oprah working out her own personal issues on television and for assuming we are all as screwed up as her.

I am angry at Martha Stewart for extolling people to consume, consume, consume and making women feel inferior for not being able to do it all.

It annoys me, that because MR FD works full time, the fact that I have lost my job will not be accounted for in any statistic. All those jobless numbers are incorrect because there are thousands of women like me who cannot claim any government help and yet have lost their job. Equality – bah hum bug, it doesn’t exist!

I am happy that people ask me why, at almost the age of 51, I am going to retrain as a teacher. My answer is two fold – I need a job that pays and is secure as  I get older, and two, and this is the one that is coming to mean the most to me, I want to give something back to the community. I think that as we get older we desire more to give something back to the world and this is the way I want to give back – to teach, to help children become the people they want to be.

I want to punch out car salesmen who lie to me and pretend to be my friend while I am considering buying their car. Even if I say “cut the crap” to them, the lying is so enculturated in them that they can’t stop, they have to continue the spin. They insult my intelligence.

I am sorry for people who feel embarrassed because they have lost their job due to the current circumstances. I will not be brought low by this...I am quite forthcoming in telling people “I am one of the GREAT UNEMPLOYED”. Speak out, don’t be invisible, I say.

Can I mention the humid weather twice? I hate the way it makes the salt stick in the salt shaker and clogs the shaker’s holes. I hate the bread going mouldy before we can finish the loaf.

I am being driven mad by ANTS. Ants on the sink, on the kitchen bench, on the floor, in the bathroom, on the windowsill.  DEATH TO ALL ANTS. What is Obama going to do about that one, huh?

I am evil. I wait for the charity caller to finish their appeal and then I tell them I am unemployed and have no money to give. I take perverse pleasure in their small “oh” as they hang up.

My mother depletes me. Always has, always will, but we will always love each other.

When I arrive at the meeting, in my neck brace, and explain that I am taking pain medication and so may be functioning on my own planet at times, please don’t ask if I will share the meds and finish with a laugh.

I may be forced to ensure that you feel the pain first.

That’s right, stare at me like I am a freak of nature at the traffic lights when I do my neck stretching exercises while waiting for the go signal.

It’s not like I can’t see you picking your nose with your index finger so far up your nostril you are about to pierce your right frontal lobe. You swarf.

Swarf : small dwarf-brained human mammal, most often male