Good grief it’s been a long time since I typed anything that didn’t start with the phrase ‘With this essay I shall attempt to dispute a pile of random psychological theories spurted by the insane mind of a bored theorist’ I never actually typed that, but I assure you that if I had it would have been infinitely better than the boring droll I ended up with.
So where has Nessie been for *CHECKS WATCH* well, nearly a year? Why, I’ve been trying to better myself through the pursuit of higher education. After years of thinking that burping was a socially acceptable form of communication I decided it was time to *AHEM* ‘put a formal qualification to my years of practical experience’ and get a psychology degree. Hm, not difficult when you say it fast! My first venture down the psychology trail began with a stop off at community college (yes, they’re as dire in Scotland as they are in the rest of the world) to get my spring board running jump at it through a foundation year level of Counselling Psychology. Well, if you didn’t hate me for leaving you all months ago without my acerbic humour, then when I tell you what a freakishly crazy few months I’ve had at college, then you’ll be positively baying for blood!
My first week consisted of getting in with the ‘wrong crowd’; actually that’s a misrepresentation of the phrase… Because when I say ‘wrong’ I mean crazy, and when I say ‘crowd’ I mean me. I mean I carved out a wonderful niche for myself from day one with my jobbie jokes, inability to shut the hell up and the continuous absence of any form of filter between my brain and my mouth became pretty irksome also… I’m informed!
The course has kind of progressed like that; lecturers would teach us wonderful things about Freud and Skinner… And then pause for me to make some haphazard comment about sex or poop, or both! Fellow students (many of whom are a great deal younger than me) rolling their eyes for the umpteenth time as Nessie attempts, yet again, to make her arm pit make a fart noise. Yep, as hard as it is to believe; Nessie is every bit as bad in real life as she is on the internet… A fact which pleases and scares me in equal measures.
I’m not finished my course at the college yet, I’ve got another 2 months to go before the joy of being photographed with my diploma and my ‘I survived’ shit eating grin! I’m currently applying to universities to continue down the psychology route because… Believe it or not, I actually do want to know why I find so much comfort in blaming my mother for everything! Anyway, needless to say I’ll be on here more now. The fact you guys hung around for all this time speaks volumes about you… And not in a stalkery way either! Over the next wee while you can look forward to such gems as ‘How I offended an entire University with the use of a toilet flush’ and ‘The etiquette I deployed to address someone with a fake eye… The dos and don’ts of the stare down’! This is hardly the greatest comeback blog, but I wanted you lovely people to know that you’re continued support with be rewarded… With more inane ramblings from a crazy, non-educated Scot that loves to make you laugh.
Computers for dummies? Best make it mind games for morons. Yes indeed people, Nessie is becoming increasingly disillusioned with a great many things… Not least of all her complete incompetence to be technical in any way!
“Mum, the computer is making a funny noise and telling me it has a problem” Came the shout from Wee Ness the other day.
“Okay, I’ll fix it in a minute” Was my overly confident reply
“Err, no… Why don’t we quit while we’re ahead and just call granny to fix it?”
“Wee Ness, I’m more than confident that I’m able to fix a simple computer error”
“I’m sure you are… But whether you actually can or not remains to be seen. Let’s play it safe, not blow up the computer and call granny”
“I’M going to fix it”
“Bye, bye computer” She sighed
“Wee Ness, go to your room”
It’s not that Wee Ness was being rude, well, she was but she had good reason and for that fact I can forgive her. I am known throughout my family and friends as being so monumentally inept at anything with an electrical feed that the usual ‘I’m going to spend some time on the computer/television/vibrating bed’ is usually met with looks of concern and or sniggering.
Nessie’s a book lassie you see. I love the look, smell and texture of them. Computers don’t smell of anything… unless it’s overheating, in which case they smell of burning and that, I’m told, is bad.
You won’t loose 10 pages of your essay/novel/last Will and Testament if you’ve written it in a book (excluding acts of unintentional vandalism perpetrated by your nearest and dearest… spilt coffee, food smears, felt tip drawings etc). You will loose it all if your computer takes exception to you and decides to give you the middle finger by scrapping the whole lot and apologizing by giving you the message
‘Oops, you made an error. You’re work has been lost. Contact your internet provider and have a nice day… dumbass!’
I think books are quite personal and sentimental. Computers always strike me (metaphorically of course) as quite sterile. When I open a book I’m always reminded of the person who bought it for me or who suggested it. I’ve never looked at a computer and thought of anyone other than the wee man in the local repair shop who finds me and my retardation so funny that he actually weeps throughout my constant conversations with him about my ineptitude.
My mother (the afore mentioned Granny), is a complete computer wiz and takes great delight in spending hours elbow deep in spare computer parts. She has torn apart 6 of my home computers now and built me 4 out of the remains. She has added umpteen hard dives to the motherboard (none of which I’ve actually figured out how to access), she made sure we have an ‘uber’ fan attached to the modem so that nothing begins to melt as a result of overuse (again) and she’s added more spy wear technology than is necessary for access to NASA.
She’s ‘pimped’ my drive… As it were, and man, I wish she’d stop. Not least of all because I feel her time would be better spent teaching me how to switch my monitor on and of without using a remote control released in the 1960’s, or perhaps how to delete my cookies (hmmm, cookies!). For a while I was able to comfort myself and my daughter with the immortal line
“Computers are a young person’s game. In my day we had to look everything up in books”
Not only does this line not hold due to the startling fact I’m only 31 but now, here comes Granny; mid fifties, dyslexic and has the ability to fix absolutely anything with a piece of string, a rubber band and the belief that one day her daughter WILL learn… Well, I never said she was smart!
We call mum/ granny Macguiver. She has fixed absolutely every electrical implement in this house at least eight times. In fact it’s getting to the point that our microwave now looks like it was made on Blue Peter… But it works and that, in my jealous narrow resenting little mind… Makes me look like the adopted Butt monkey my brother always claimed I was.
Has this knowledge inspired me to find a way to fix my fear for all things technological? No, no it has not. While I’d love to come across as the superwoman my mother does, I’m more than happy to sit back and be me. I get all the work done for me, no one expects anything… And I’m able to send my smart arse daughter to her room every time she voices the truth.
Hey, I’m not saying its right, but man it’s good to be a ‘pooter tard’!