Wednesday, 28 October 2015

Mathslexia part 1...

I've always struggled with numbers, Carol Vorderman has been somewhat of a nemesis for me and more recently that Rachel Riley...she's somewhat easier to hate. Until I was old enough to understand Countdown (British game show involving word and number puzzles.) Take away the O and the down and you'll understand what maths made me feel like! Which is a more appropriate name for a game show for someone with all the dys's- dyscalculia, dyslexia, dyspraxia, disappointing my mother, distracted by anything, dysfunctional, disemotionally stable, disco genius, dis food tastes so good I'mma never stop eating etc. Anyway, until I reached the age of about 12 Sesame Street's Count Von Count was my arch enemy! That Transylvanian bastard (is that racist?! Can you be racist against a puppet? Is he stealing all our jobs?! Is he a refugee/terrorist?! Is he paying his taxes?! Is he on benefits?!!!) With his eternal life, strutting around in his cape (I always wanted a cape) and his flawless counting ability. Rubbing it in my face by laughing his head off at the end of yet another impeccable example of how his counting is far superior to mine. Twat. 

At school I became fearful of maths, which started off by hating red pens. FACT - red pen never means anything good. NEVER. Even when there's a fake smiley face next to 2/10 - don't trust it! They are just trying to break it to that you are completely hopeless, in gentle way.

I've got to a point where I'm realising that you need to know basic maths for generally getting by in the world. So I've signed up for an evening class to try and learn how to count higher than 10 without breaking into a sweat and/or tears. I'm going to call it The Education Crowd- that's what I will call the sitcom.

This place is like it's been set up for me write about and it really needs it own production. When I first went in I felt like I was on my very own Truman Show the woman who greeted me had the look of someone on the brink of a stroke or suicide. Her face is a face not made to smile, her complexion that of a giant waxy Edam with blood spatter instead of blusher. Her eyes glazed with a slight look hatred. Hatred for what? Me? The customer, nervously looking for a friendly face? Was this too much to ask from a receptionist? Maybe just a hatred for her own very existence? We may never know. (Actually to be fair maybe it's just mental health issues - hey no judgement we've all got them.)

After this tackling this grey entity of a woman, she called over 'Demetrius.' Now take a second, close your eyes and let your imagination wonder...what would a Demetrius look like...I'm talking the epitome of a stereotypical Greek man, I'm talking smashing plates, I'm talking skipping instead of walking...I'm basically talking Stavros Flatly from Britain’s Got Talent circa 2009...everything you are picturing is correct except for his personality which that of a mouse trapped inside this Greek gods body. Demetrius looks like the most Greek man a Greek man could be until he opens his mouth, and then he is the most softly spoken gentlemanly man ever. Timid in his demeanour and almost apprehensive to approach me...and soon the reasons became clear.


 The next character is a beautiful, black haired, elegant older woman. She is sitting down but you can tell she's positively statuesque and the personification of glamour. She has a leopard print bangle on her arm over her jumper. She looks like she could be one of the glamorous mothers from Made In Chelsea, who can calmly threaten to cut off a young stockbroker's ball bag whilst making it sound like she's offered them the deal of a lifetime, simultaneously guzzling Champagne- in the same way I used to drink Lambrini down the park when I as 14 *looks wistfully on* ah memories...

Damn Lambrini nostalgia side tracking me...

'Bee' is the statue's name. Which is peeeeerfect - I almost died when I heard it. I've already decided she will be my mentor; she will coach me into becoming maths genius and man eater. I will lose 2 stone, become addicted to exercise and avocados. Will find a way of cooperating a leather pencil skirt into my daily attire and for some reason carry a cane that I'll use to intimidate hot men into doing things for me by using evocative S&M montages (I haven’t got time to do anything except montages - because I'll be far too busy and important.)

Anyway, Queen Bee's one flaw is juxtaposed to Demetrious...Bee's voice should be husky and sexy and soft and fucking flawless! But when Bee opens her mouth she sounds like a fruit and veg market seller from Dagenham. If you heard her voice without seeing her you would picture some sort of hairy toothed, grubby smelling, tracksuit clad, 40 ciggies a day, reprobate screaming at her kids. (Perhaps Demerious and Bee should swap voices....) But Bee doesn’t have kids there to be'slave so that role falls upon the hen pecked Demetrious and the one remaining member of this oddball crew. I'm going to call him Darren. Darren has the smallest role in The Education Crowd but it’s a very important one. I didn’t even notice Darren until my third 'experience' there. From as far as I can see Darren’s main purpose in life is wear some form of England t-shirt. Any form of England t-shirt. As long as there is some sort of English flag stretched across his rotund frame Darren is dressed for the day. ( Still no judgement I haven't got the flattest stomach!) The rest of his outfit is a pair of those Adidas tracksuit bottoms that were popular in the '90s. The kind that are made out of shiny, highly flammable, synthetic material with three white stripes down both legs. I feel like Darren is the main reason the room smells of scalp. It’s almost too cliché to tell you that he has dirty hair, way overdue for a cut, with a matching beard that almost covers his mouth...and of course the look wouldn’t be complete without the textbook, extra thick NHS glasses, smeared with some sort of substance that doesn’t bear thinking about...

Disclaimer - these people are lovely people, slightly mad, but all genuinely lovely.

So apparently setting the scene of meeting this clan of misfits has overwhelmed me and taken away from the actual point of this post. Therefore part 2 to come at some point.

Yours still numerically challenged,

Kitty Lo

Wednesday, 7 October 2015

How Hummurous...


People always say 'look on the bright side' and 'think positively' but it’s really hard to do that when you start your day running late for work and then realising you've left your keys upstairs, which leads to tripping up the stairs, and trying to recover your step you lunge forwards but in doing so you step on the ridiculously long scarf you have wrapped around your neck and strangle yourself.

Once recovered from that and you're on your way to work (running/wheezing and sweating) you receive a text from your ex asking if he ever told you about 'the date with the girl and the quiche' cue adding 2+2 together and coming up with 675...I'm not overreacting I'm just mathslexic - dyscalculia for those of you with dyslexia. 

Basically I can't look at numbers without breaking into a sweat but that’s a whole other post!

I get through the gates to work and promptly throw my umbrella under an 18 wheeler lorry causing me to shout 'Fucking hell' really loud...in a place of education!

I get in to work to find the hot guy is in today and promptly set about trying to act cool- the problem being in trying to act cool, is the same as anything I do - it goes wrong. So here I am trying to be breezy and chilled in front Mr Glittery eyes and I suddenly need my inhaler (obvs) needless to say being cool and having asthma don't go hand in hand (although a couple of times the damsel in distress act hasn't gone down too badly, but you just have to try not to cough up phlegm/throw up on them/both - both of these things have happened to me)

So I reach into my bag and to my horror put my hand in something cold, slimy with a strange texture. I pull my hand out and smell it before I see it. Hummus. Yesterday's hummus that's been festering, unrefrigerated, all night long. Really garlicky, slightly gone off, pungent hummus. Glittery eyes is looking at me absolutely pissing himself laughing, quite rightly so...but it's hard to be alluring covered in a smelly substance. I mean I struggle when I'm freshly washed and dressed so this definitely isn't one of my most attractive moments. So I start to take out the contents of my bag one by one, the themes of the items coming out of my bag vary from ridiculous to embarrassing to just plain vile.

Firstly I forage around and pull out one by one an embarrassing amount of lip glosses/lip balms/lip sticks, pretty much all in the same shade! (I quickly put on some gloss in order to at least try and emulate a little glamour and salvage any chance of him finding me attractive - quite a lot is riding on this one slick of gloss aptly named 'Blush'- the pressure is on) I start pulling out packet after packet of Paracetamol, I have a great excuse because I'm ill but really this is my hangover stash! Obviously I have my giant banana phone case in my bag - now infused with hummus to go with its synthetic Bananary smell, two dirty forks and a bread knife(?!) two tampons, one of which had broken free from its packaging and was now demonstrating what it's purpose was by using hummus...not embarrassing at all! Endless receipts, pens, 2 calculators (mathslexia) a broken pencil case containing 0 pencils but lots of hummus, lots of my hair stuck to everything, tissues, various half eaten sweets covered in tobacco even though I don't smoke (wtf) and the pièce de résistance- a dirty pair of socks! Not even nice socks, greying, stained grubby socks, the socks of a 9yr old boy in 1998 when kids actually played outside. No idea how they got there or why they were there, can only imagine they crawled in there themselves!
 
But with every cloud there is a silver lining, being the expert on being single I know you have to take every opportunity when it comes to meeting Mr Right. Mr Right is currently of form of glittery eyed support worker who has just witnessed me being a massive twat but is still smiling at me and hasn't looked physically disgusted...yet. So I announce very loudly to a member of staff that my name is 'KITTY LOPEZ on FACEBOOK' 3-5X (just to be sure he's got it) My normal voice is about 5 decibels louder than most humans, so you can imagine at this point I'm probably deafening everyone in the room. I even put on a Spanish accent at one point...I'm not entirely sure why but it felt right. I'm not 100% sure if I was looking at him at the time as I was still trying to act 'cool' (I have no idea why considering today's turn of events) I may have been glaring at him with my eyes as wide as they could go to ensure he understood the message being directed at him...either way half an hour later BOOM A FRIEND REQUEST FROM GLITTERY EYES!!! Yaaaaaay sometimes it pays to be a dick!

Yours nearly married
Kitty Lo
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