Things I wish I was better at

June 15, 2013

There are so many things I wish I was better at.  I’m not being all “I’m no good at anything” either, cos there’s things that I am good at, but I would happily forfeit some of my incredible talents if it meant I got to be good at waaaay better stuff.

I wish I could sing.  Sometimes, when I’m belting out a power ballad in the Pleasurecraft, I feel sorry for the people in the car beside me at the lights.  They’re two panes of glass away, and I bet it’s still offensive.  I know this, because I’ve seen a few Chihuahua X Maltese Terriers howling along from the back seat.

If I woke up one day and suddenly I could sing in the shower (song choice of the week: Waiting All Night – Rudimental) I wouldn’t be upset, if in return I had given up my French polishing prowess.  I paint a pretty impressive French manicure, even on my right hand using my left.  No matter how rushed I am, or how many multiple tasks I am simultaneously completing, somehow I always manage to do a semi-professional job.

I wish I could shave my legs without wounding myself.  I’ve been shaving my legs for a while now.  If my mum asks I’ve been shaving them since I was 15, how she didn’t notice I’d started shaving them 4 years earlier is one of life’s greatest mysteries.  It doesn’t matter if I shave them in the shower, in the basin, in the bath, in a bidet or in a bucket, I end up cut to bits.  Every.  Single.  Time.

In return I will give up my eye brow waxing skill.  I’m a bit of a risk taker when it comes to the brows, I’ve even been known to apply wax with a bobby pin.  My accuracy is never good, and at times I end up with enough wax on my face to remove all of both brows at the same time.  There’s not much you can do when it’s on there.  You’ve just gotta pull the skin taut and hope for the best.  Somehow, it always works out.  They’re usually even and I often manage to remove the perfect amount of brow bush.  No idea how I do it!

I wish I could light a fire.  Nearly every member of my family has given me a lesson, including my Nan, who lives in Queensland and only lights a fire once every five years.  I’ve Googled it, and I’ve YouTubed it, and I still can’t ignite anything other than the newspaper.  Yes, I’ve built a fort, and a teepee, I’ve tried the stacking method, and I just can’t get any form of flame action.

I do mix a pretty good drink however.  It’s definitely believable that I was a mixologist in a past life.  I just put in a shot of this, a splash of that, a few drops of the other, and then shake, stir, stack or blend.  The result: bliss in a glass.  This skill is practical on occasion, but means being stuck in the kitchen at cocktail parties, or any party for that matter.  I’ll swap the drink mixing for fire lighting.

I wish I could find my car in the carpark.  I always lose my car.  It doesn’t matter if I’m at the mall, at the supermarket, or at the hospital, I always lose my car.  I once spent 15 minutes walking every floor of the Waikato Hospital carpark.  I’ve also walked all the way to the lake to find my car, and then remembered that I parked it on Mahoe Street, a couple of km’s in the other direction.  Sometimes we play car roulette at our place, and I’ll find myself with my eyes peeled for a black Mazda, only to realise that I drove the red one today.

Ironically, I very, very rarely get lost.  I am like a human compass, and I somehow find my way to where I need to be (exception being when I was in San Sebastian, Spain, and almost walked to France trying to get back to my hostel).  Now, with the prevalence of GPS, I could happily trade my navigation skills for car location skills.  You can act semi-nonchalant in a car when you’re lost, frantically tapping your NavMan, on your lap, out of sight.  However, it’s not quite so subtle when you’re walking around and around and around the Westfield carpark pressing the button on the remote, which may or may not even be working today.

I wish I could say “no”.  No matter how much I want to, I can’t do it.  I am always over committing myself, and stressing myself out trying to fit everything in cos I never want to let anyone down.  I also can’t say no to food.  Especially complex carbohydrates, particularly ones laden with gluten.  Not ideal for someone with a gluten intolerance.  I can’t say no to wine either.  Or cocktails.  Combine the wine, the cocktails and the gluten with the over commitment, and that’s a fail proof recipe for a mammoth hangover.  A wooly mammoth.

If I could learn how to say “no” I would gladly give up my ability to retain useless information.  My brain is full of details that I wish I could archive to make room for details with more relevance.  I remember the phone numbers of every single high school friend, I also remember the number plates on their first (and second and third) cars.  I know my IRD number, my ATO number, my bank account numbers, my passport number, my university ID number, my CPA membership number and my Velocity number, and all for what?  That’s what notebooks were made for!

I am terrible at making decisions in the supermarket.  Especially when I’m in a supermarket in a foreign country and I want to look at every single product.  I hate going to the supermarket, simply because it takes me three hours to get seven things.  Even writing a list doesn’t help.  Making a decision about snacks is torture.  I’ve got three boxes of crackers and I’m trying to decide if I should go for the gluten free ones, or the ones with the least fat, or the ones without preservatives.  And then if I decide I’ll go for calories over allergies, I’ve gotta try and figure out if I’d rather go for the ones with less carbs, or less salt.  And that’s just the crackers…on top of that there’s decisions about olives (kalamata or green?  Pitted or whole?  Stuffed or not?) and cheese (sliced for portion control or a block?  Processed or less so? Soft or hard?) and meat (pastrami or ham?  Low fat or full flavour?  Shaved or sliced?) and others (eggplant, artichokes, or both?  Sundried tomatoes or Mediterranean mix?  Sliced or whole roasted capsicum?).

If I could miraculously make snap decisions at the supermarket, then I would happily be bad at spelling.  Years and years of spelling training and book reading as a child makes me a pretty darn good speller.  That was handy when you grew up writing with a quill and an ink pot, but the skill is redundant when you spend your whole life on one electronic device or another, with spell check or auto correct, or both.

I am also never on time.  Ever.  If I get up three hours before I’m due in the office, I’ll still be late.  Probably just as late as if I get up 15 minutes before I’m due in the office.  I can start getting ready for a night out, four hours before I need to leave, and still be the last one to show up at the restaurant.  Can’t help myself!!

The only other thing that I can think that I am good at is tanning.  Thanks to my mixed breeding, I’ve got the best of all continents when it comes to melanin content.  Sometimes I wish that I wasn’t so good at tanning, because I wouldn’t be addicted to the sun, and I wouldn’t have aged so prematurely, nor would I be so intimidated by those skin cancer ads.  However, when I was in Europe, carrying an extra 7kg of junk thanks to our nightly four courses of carbs, if I hadn’t had the tanning ability, I would have been more than a sight for sore eyes in the Greek Islands.  So if being on time means that I have to give up my unhealthy tanning habit, I’d rather be late!  I know, I’m so self absorbed!

Migaloo the white whale

This is Migaloo, the white whale. This is how I would have looked in the Greek Islands without a tan.

So what about Hazel?  What’s she been up to?  Hazel did a massive back order of gorgeous Cooper St coats, which arrived in record time and are amazing!  Send her a private message on Facebook for more details.  The NORTH range turned up, and is absolutely gorgeous!  The super talented designer is working on her new range, including designing her fabrics (clever huh?) so that is something to look forward to.

Some more Kuku dresses arrived, and apparently Hazel is deciding which one she’ll wear when she goes out for a night on the town for her birthday in a couple of weeks.  The Sass and Fate tran-seasonal ranges are in transit to the warehouse (which is really just the spare room) and the Pink Stitch summer order has been locked and loaded.

Hazel also hosted her first party!  Feedback was that she was maybe a bit too honest to be an effective saleswoman.  Fancy that!  Thanks to Sacha from Serenda Espresso for cranking up the fire (literally) and filling us up with amazing pastries!  If you’re near the mighty metropolis of Te Awamutu, make sure you call in for a coffee from those crazy kids.  Ask for a 1/4 shot flat white – that’s her favourite thing to make!

And with that, I must away (that’s how my mum signs off her emails), as I have a 30th birthday to prep for (let’s see if I’m still fashionably late even after 9 hours lead time).  This guy is all grown up…wonder if he’s forgiven me for learning to walk before him…

High chair buddies

From our first to our thirtieth birthdays, it appears that we’re in this for the long haul

Hazel Signature

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1 comment

It’s time for Tinder | Hazel's House February 19, 2014 at 2:16 pm

[…] only good for the storage of useless information (read about my useful memory full of useless stuff here), started to recollect the guys that I had “yes”d, who hadn’t “yes”d […]

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