LEAVING BLOGGER

Hi peeps,

As much fun as blogger is, I just can't be dealing with the constant errors, random shutdowns, not being able to post comments and other weird and wonderful problems that it throughs up on a regular basis.  Therefore I am moving my blog to Wordpress. 

Alot of the bloggers I follow have said nothing but good things about Wordpress, so I have gone over to the dark side.

& Here it is:  

http://www.tanrockstar.wordpress.com/

I shall be posting all my new rants on the wordpress blog from now on. 

So please check it out and do follow follow follow.  Thank you to all those who followed me and I hope you continue to read my posts :)

Peace Love Happiness :-)

TanRockstar

Fairy Haircut

    FROM THIS            TO                   THIS!

I walked into my regular hairdressers couple of weeks ago as I needed an urgent trim; my hair was a bit of a mess.  I had to attend a wedding later in the afternoon and didn’t really want to turn up and have my picture taken with the bride and groom looking like Lenny Kravitz’s long lost brother.

As I entered the reception area, I realised there was no Sandra, my regular hairdresser, quite possibly the one and only person I actually trust to touch my poor excuse for an afro.  Uh oh...  maybe she was on a break.  In the immortal words of Kylie Minogue, I should be so lucky.  As it turns out Sandra had left to go back to Italy and set up her own beauty shop. 

Oh how I wish I had a private jet to fly me to Florence for one last haircut by Sandra because who did I have here waiting to cut my hair, none other than Mike.   Mike and his manboobs to be more precise.  Oh the dread, the fear, I so should have walked out as soon as I knew my beloved Sandra was there no more. But I was powerless, already being hypnotised by his manboobs, being directed to the chair like I was about to have root canal treatment at the dentist.

All I wanted was the usual, but what did Mike know about my usual, he normally just winks at me and licks his lips as Sandra used to cut my hair.  So I explained to him that I just wanted a trim all over, nothing fancy, no colours, no tips, no experimenting.  Only a simple request to not cut my hair too short, ideally just a nice neat cut as I’m off to a wedding in the afternoon.

As Mike set to work, my fear became reality; I could feel his huge meatloafs being pressed against the back of my head on a regular basis.  At this point I would say he made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, but I don’t think even my neck hair was brave enough to contemplate being molested by Mikes giant man nipples.  As he worked his way round to the front, a sense of fear took over as I imagined he would cut the top of my hair up close and I would practically be breast feeding. So I panicked and closed my eyes and tried to make conversation, oh and it had to be a manly conversation as anything short of this would not suffice. 

So the conversation ranged from my rip off BMW car service to England winning the 6 Nations Rugby.  Good strong bloke talk, this was more like it, I was now beginning to feel at ease, I mean we could have just been any 2 regular chaps chatting in the pub or down the local Indian having a chicken tikka masala.  Or so I thought, because at this point Mike chuckled and piped up that he fancied taking up rugby, especially the scrum part.  I had no comeback, I could only remain silent. 

It had been a good few minutes since I had closed my eyes so decided to have a quick peak, now I only opened my right eye for a quick blink and I'm pretty sure that Mike also had his eyes closed as he fingered my hair in what seemed very much like slow motion.  Right about now I needed Lee Harvey Oswald on a rooftop opposite to just take me out of my misery.

A full twenty five minutes later, Mike and his man boobs had finished.  As I opened my eyes to take a look, I was left stunned.  My eyes nearly filled up, my jaw dropped and a deep sigh was all I could manage.  I think a full minute passed before I could compose myself to say a word. Mike and his giant manboobs had decided to cut my hair with all the subtlety of a lumberjack with a chainsaw let loose in the Amazon rainforest.  I certainly don’t remember asking for a hair cut that would make me look like I was about to go join the navy (even if I do like the uniforms... oops thats for another post).

Do you want to know what Mike had done? well Jimi Hendrix to Kojak in 25 minutes, that’s what he had done.  I mean I could literally feel my scalp; you could so easily use my head to sand down some patio furniture before varnishing it to get it ready for the summer.

He then showed me a mirror to see the back of my head.  Yes, thank you Mike, the backs just as shit as the front.  Thank you for chopping off my curly locks and making me look like a prison inmate from Strangeways.  Definetley the look I wanted for the summer.

All I could think of and pray was that my hair would grow back.  You see at my age you don’t really want a haircut where the sun can bounce off your head and blind your partner unless she is wearing sunglasses.

I should mention that when I walked back into house, my 7 month old niece started crying as she didn't recognise me, I nearly broke down too.  Oh how I wish I tweaked Mike’s giant manboob nipples before leaving, though something tells me he may have enjoyed that.

Thankfully my hair has grown back and all is well again, well, until the next time of course.

Peace Love & Happiness 

TanRockStar

Growing Up!

I’ve always thought of writing a book or a script for a movie that will make it big one day and show all my family and so-called friends that  I indeed have more to me than just the regular 9-5 job and an overgrown afro I can barely maintain.  But before I start writing the next sopranos, I thought I should start by practicing by writing a blog.

I started to pen to paper, well fingers to keyboard and thought what on earth shall I blog about and it got me thinking.  Thinking takes time and patience of which I have an abundance of.  Lately I’ve started to question practically everything, from the meaning of life, and every relationship break down I have ever had, to why Apple can’t sort out adobe flash on the iphone and why Glenda from number 27 never shaves her legs.  As you can tell, deep thinking is my speciality.

There comes a point in a person’s life where  you look back and reminisce, think about what you have achieved, what you could have changed, or done differently if you had your time over again.  Now this is normally standard practice on ones death bed, however the thought of me turning 30 is enough to make me pale.  To say that I am a tad nervous or apprehensive about turning 30 is an understatement and it's still months away.  I can tell you, there are people on death row with more enthusiasm than me at the moment.

Now you may be thinking what the big deal about turning 30 is, and you would be right one hundred percent.  It is just a number after all, and it’s not like turning 40 where you would expect to have a mid life crisis, dye your hair blonde, buy a hairdressers Porsche convertible to relive your youth and generally act like a bit of a bandit.

The point is, 30 represents a personal landmark for me.  Why I hear you ask? Well let’s all jump in to Doc Browns Delorean time machine and go back to 2001 to a time when I was a young naive 21 year old studying at university, no not the university of life I hear you say, this was the real deal.  So as the blunt was getting passed around from one house mate to the next, we sat back to ponder where we would all be in 10 years time.  We all somehow after smoking an eighth of afghans finest, or was it Leroy’s finest from Coventry, not quite sure, memory is a bit of a blur, but anyway, we all turn into modern day philosophers and deep thinkers, it’s like the second coming of Sigmund Freud.

So as I raised my head from the bung and looked through the smoke filled sanctuary of our student quarters, I advised that I shall be the last of the gang to settle down.  Surprisingly all my friends, thought that I was high and that in fact I would be the first. Oh how little they knew me. 

I was too immature for marriage in my twenties, it was so not on my radar, I mean I didn’t even have a compass. 

Now I’ve seen my best friends married and settled down over the years, and it’s never really bothered me, Marriage although would be nice at some point,  I have always sensed that I’m here for something far more important that putting a ring on a ladies finger.  It’s a question that puzzles us all at some point, but definitely not one I should try to answer on a Saturday morning at 3.50am as I write this.

A question I can look into is do I fear growing up, by turning 30? Is it being a responsible adult that terrifies me, putting someone else first before me or is there more to it? 

Is it the fear of having a mortgage for the next 25 years, or a pension plan, reading the financial times, going to the garden centre on a bank holiday for geraniums, picking out cushions for the sofa, inviting Gill and Barry from work for dinner one night, watching French independent films on e4, ordering a hazelnut latte at Costa, repairing a dyson vacuum, cleaning the car every Sunday, planning a holiday to Cornwall, following Jamie Oliver’s cookbook for lunch, and talking about current affairs with your local MP or worse your Uncle Ali from Bradford. 

Is this what is so terrifying? Oh hang on, wait a minute, I actually do some of those already.  I may need to revaluate what constitutes being a grown up adult is, or maybe I’m on my way to becoming one, in that case it doesn’t seem so scary, let’s see where the road takes me.

How have I ended up here? I have well and truly digressed with my return to blogging, where did this all begin, ahh yes writing a novel or a script for a movie, hmm I really must put pen to paper on that sometime.

For now though, peace, love and happiness.

TanRockStar