What am I good for?

Listening to: 'Delayed Devotion' by Duffy [Rockferry]

...absolutely nothing, it seems (with apologies to Edwin Starr).

Cambridge is the perfect place to develop a 'small fish big pond' mentality, and it seems I have mastered it in my ~6 years here. I'm such a pro that I'm not even sure I'm a fish any more...I feel more like an unwilling urchin in transparent fish clothing. Whether it's brains, looks, wealth or luck...I always find myself on the outside looking in. Don't get me wrong, on a global scale I'm not doing too bad...but in my current environment, it's a different story. I've blogged about this inadequacy before, and I'm sad to say that nothing has changed in the year that's passed. If at all, it's just got worse.

I must be a masochist. I keep putting myself in positions where I hope I will be pleasantly surprised, even though I know it's highly unlikely. And then when it turns out just the way I thought it would (or even worse), I get upset. Well duh, PR...what did you expect?! Serves you right for hoping. To all the optimists who think I shouldn't lose hope or faith or whatever the hell you wanna call it, see THIS is what happens when I try to be optimistic. It all goes tits up in my face. Still want me to have hope?

And to those of you who are about to comment on how I'm being a self-centred bitch and just feeling sorry for myself, take a look at the title of this blog: it reads "time for some 'me' time". I think that gives me the right to feel sorry for myself if the necessity arises, don't you?

I suppose I owe you a cheery end to this miserable post. Here's Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker doing their version of the inspiration for the title of this post.

I ♥ Rob Thomas (and the boys too, of course)

Listening to: 'You're So Real' by Matchbox Twenty [More Than You Think You Are]

Oh. My. God.

So, surprising as it may seem, until 19:30 yesterday, I was a gig virgin. Those of you who read my posts regularly will probably note that my music taste is rather varied, to say the least, so you would think I'd find at least one concert worth attending. Which is partly true. The Goo Goo Dolls were in Cambridge last year and I could've gone...but the tickets were 'standing' and I wasn't sure how my spine would handle the boisterous crowds, so I bailed. KT Tunstall played at the Roundhouse in November, but my life was in a total mess around that time and I didn't get around to buying a ticket...and by the time I realised she was to play in Cambridge, tickets had sold out. Another reason is that I'm quite reluctant to spend money on unessential things.

So when my friend said she had an extra ticket to see Matchbox Twenty at Wembley and asked if I'd like to join, I was in a quandary. £30 is a lot of money for me. Going to London on a Thursday night and coming back late in the night does not bode well for getting work done on Friday. Even though the doctor said my spine was A-OK, I don't think he was taking into consideration the exuberance of Matchbox Twenty fans in the 'standing' area of Wembley Arena. BUT...this was Matchbox Twenty. The same Matchbox Twenty whose three albums were sitting in my CD box. The same Matchbox Twenty whose songs (both singles and album tracks) I could recite word for word on a good day. The same Matchbox Twenty who were fronted by a most delectable Rob Thomas; lyrical maestro with possibly the sexiest voice in the Alternative scene. So I said yes. And last evening, with two friends in tow, I popped my gig cherry to the sounds of Matchbox Twenty.

And weren't they amazing. OK I should first mention Headway, the supporting act. Clearly influenced by the likes of MB20 and The Calling, but British (they're from Nottingham). And pretty good, might I add. I had listened to their stuff on last.fm and I liked what I heard...they were as good live. Which says a lot, I think. Too many bands have perfect studio albums and crappy live performances. These guys are promising.

So once they were done, the lights came on and my friends informed me that now we would have the agonising wait until the stars were ready to show. We utilised the time to weave our way through the crowd to get a better view of the stage, taking care not to get stuck behind the many 6-footers who seemed to think they were made out of glass. I mean c'mon! I'm 5'3" - it's not like I'm gonna block your view if I stand in front of you. And then of course there were the couples who obviously thought that a rock concert was the perfect setting for full-on gropage. Seriously dudes, if you're gonna spend the entire evening exchanging saliva, the least you could do is get out of the way! There should be some kind of fan-o-meter that only lets hardcore fans to the front, leaving the snoggers to their own devices. Sigh.

But yes, we managed to find suitable viewing spots before the lights dimmed. My heart started pounding as I realised that Rob Thomas was soon gonna be standing on that stage in front of me. And then they arrived. Oh. My. God. The crowd went wild - I know it sounds clichéd but it's true. We screamed. I took a million (mostly blurry) photos. We waved our hands in the air and sang along to every single song they played. For one and a half hours, I screamed my lungs out and stomped around like a crazy fool, all the time thinking "omg he's just there in front of me". Such adrenalin I have never known.

And then it ended. And I was still buzzing (heck I'm still buzzing!). We made our 3hr journey back to Cambridge, and then I cycled home and crawled into bed.

This morning, I woke up with proof that it was not a dream...dreams don't leave your voice hoarse and muscles aching! And here's more proof...one of the few non-blurry pics from last night.

What gives you the right?

Listening to: 'Warwick Avenue' by Duffy [Rockferry]

Someone paid me a compliment today. They probably thought nothing of it, but it meant a lot to me, so thank you :-). To be honest, I found the suggestion that I'd be good at counselling somewhat amusing...and all this time I thought I was the one that needed it most! I mean I think it's pretty obvious that I have 'issues'. So am I in a position to give advice to others? Is anyone?

How many times have you complained about something to a friend, only to be told "I know how you feel" or "I can imagine what you're going through". Can they really? Example: I've never been in a relationship...can I genuinely comfort a friend going through a break up by saying "I know how you feel"? I think not. I mean I can imagine what emotions are prevalent, but there's no way I can predict their intensity. And frankly, to claim that I can, with the prescribed response, would probably come across as being quite hollow and patronising to the recipient...at least that's how I would feel in such a situation.

Or what about when you complain about something, and whoever you're complaining to thinks that the best way to respond is to dismiss your complaint completely? Take my face for example...I'm one of the unlucky sods whose acne didn't disappear with the advent of adulthood. And trust me...dark brown scars, bright red blotches and shiny whiteheads on café-au-lait skin do not comprise a 'good look'. I've recently invested in make-up for concealing purposes (which is surprising for a tight-arse like myself), and I spend a fair amount of time making sure no one outside my house is exposed to my 'naked' face. But then someone (usually a female friend whose skin just happens to be flawless) has to come along and say "oh your skin's not bad, you're just being silly". OK firstly, I would've accepted their criticism if their skin was in a somewhat similar state to mine, but it's not. Secondly, isn't it how my skin looks to me, that matters? Who are they to tell me that I'm being silly?

I understand that their intentions are good, and I'm not deluded enough to think that my issues are in anyway comparable to some of the hardships that some people face...but they are issues for me. So what gives you the right to pass judgement?