Please Please Be Real.

Toy Graffitti Louis
Originally uploaded by middleagedteacher

Look at me.
Don't think that for a moment that I'm looking Smug.
Anything But.
My slightly Cat the Swallowed the Canary expression is masking enormous pain. But before I tell the source of it, let me just briefly mention that 'the cat that swallowed the canary' expression was one of my parent's favourites. I remember when I was in Year 9, a v. unfortunate looking boy arrived at our house to escort me to his School Formal. Poor boy had tiny little piggy eyes & perhaps some acne marks, or were they just pimples? He was also quite short with a hair cut a little like Rod Stewart's in 1968. Or maybe he was preempting Billy Ray Cyrus's Mullet by a couple of decades. I can't be Exactly Sure.
Anyway, Poor Boy walked in the door in a rented nylon suit & a shiny face & beamed at my parents who were as usual casually sipping their whisky & sodas. It was the first time that anybody had actually called to pick me up, so I guess it was my first date. And I already thought , 'How has it come to this?'
Later, my father said that the boy looked like the Cat that Swallowed the Canary after he saw me in my Shiny silver A-line lurex dress, sparkly white tights & black patent little heels.

Back to My Current Pain.
After breakfast on the day of the photo, I trotted as usual down to 'Bednobs Etc', my favourite thrift store. When I walked in, I saw a woman holding a black quilted with the large gold chain Mark Jacobs bag. I watched her take it to the counter & get twenty bucks out.
'Ooo......that's a really good fake', I chirp, sidling towards the counter. My hands reach out to touch it. I couldn't help but open the Golden clasp & peer inside. Beautiful maroon, or was it light pink, suede lining?
It was Real.
I nearly Wet My Pants.
I raced to the rotting basket where they keep the handbags, hoping against hope that the person who donated the Mark Jacobs might have decided to throw out her Chanel .255 Quilted as well.
I picked up the little Stephen Sprouse Graffiti Bag that you see in the photo. Could this be real? Please Please be Real.
Sadly, there was a man in the shop who used to work for Australian Customs. He knew all about how to tell if something is fake. Apparently the Big Giveaway is Double Stitching. Real bags have only single stitching. Stephen Sprouse had Double Stitching.
Mitch, the kindly 'Bednobs Etc' assistant felt sorry for me & took a dollar off the bag. I couldn't say No.

As soon as I woke up the next day, I thought about The Real Mark Jacobs Bag. I couldn't stop thinking about it.

I thought about Madonna. Guy Ritchie, her ex-husband said recently that she was, 'the best Manifester in the world maybe'. I bet Madonna could have 'Manifested' the bag if she went into 'Bednobs'. Why can't I?

Back to the Zen Handbook.

Dressed for Resentment

 Tuesday  was Melbourne Cup Day. It's a Big Yawn of a Horse Race that the whole nation is supposed to stop for each year. Every office has a Melbourne Cup Sweep & people flock to  Melbourne Cup Lunches. It's all supposed to be a Big Celebration of the Great Aussie Larrikin Spirit of getting Fall down Drunk & Really Boring whilst wearing a Bad Outfit.

In some parts of Australia like Melbourne where the race is held, it's a public holiday. But not in Sydney. And quite frankly, I'm glad. 

As you can see, I was at my usual post at the whiteboard. But I'm Dressed for The Cup anyway. If you enlarge the photo you may see that I'm wearing a necklace that I made myself featuring a painting of a horse.

I'm Nothing if Not Appropriately Themed.

The expensive shoe shop that every Wannabe Fashionista flocks to on the weekend that I  mentioned in my last post had cute little racehorses in the window in front of Hugely Overpriced & Impossible to Wear Follow Me Home Stilettos. They're the kind of shoes that Avid Racegoers totter down the street in after a few bottles of champers desperately holding on to their Precariously Perched Floral Fascinators & freezing their tits off because they're wearing dresses up to their arses & it's not that warm yet. 

God, can't you feel the Resentment just Dripping off the Blog?

I've Hardly Ever Won a Prize

I've been submitting photos to flickr's wardrobe remix since late last year. I can't honestly think why I originally decided to join the group, because there's a part of me that thinks it's a bit nutty & narcissistic. But join I did, with a vengeance.
Since that time it's become an almost daily ritual for me to pose & then post a daily photo. It's become so much a part of my life that I've got one of my students, The Wise Twin trained to take the photo at the end of her class each day. If I've taught her nothing else, she's learned how to take a good portrait.
But like most, if not all things in life, there's a Good Story & a Bad Story. The Good Story is that lots of wonderful people who I've never met look at my wardrobe on flickr & make incredibly kind & lovely comments about whatever I'm wearing that no one in their right mind would say in Real Life. Mr Middleaged might occasionally inquire, 'Dressing for cocktails at 9am again?' or Peter, the local cafe owner might raise his eyebrow & say 'Another THRIFTED outfit today I see', although how the hell would he know? That 's about it. But fellow 'remixers' as we're known, are always incredibly supportive, positive & observant.
The Bad Story is that there is this awful feeling of Competitiveness or Not Good Enoughness or Resentment that gets stirred up inside me at the end of every week when Tricia, 'The Wardrobe-Remixing-Mistress' announces the 'Remixers of the Week' on her blog. Every thursday, but it's friday for me down under, Tricia selects a handful of fabulous people who she thinks has the winning combination of great outfit, attitude & photography. I never Get Picked. And I can almost guarantee that I'll Never Get Picked. Ever.
At the end of the year, Tricia announces her monster, 'Remixers of the Year'. I went into a slight panic the other day when I thought about how I'm going to feel when I inevitably don't get picked in spite of the fact that I will by that time have submitted hundreds of photos in increasingly more complex outfits to the pool.
I'm so enjoying this Enormous Whine. I probably would not be able to Sound So Ungracious in Real Life, or if I did, those around me would quickly say, 'Oh, just Get Over It'. But I've Never gotten over anything in my entire life.
The only consolation I have is that the majority of people never win anything either. Most of us are condemned to sit in the Auditorium of Life enthusiastically clapping those Shiny Winners up the front while secretly Hating Their Guts!

Roma

Mr Middleaged is in Rome attending a series of business meetings with hot-headed & overfed Europeans. I'm quite miffed that I didn't go too but I have to stay here Sweating Over a Hot Whiteboard. One good thing is that I'll have plenty of time for blogging. Meanwhile, he'll stuff himself with rich Italian food, gain five kilos & come home unable to sleep for a least a week until his body clock adjusts. I have no pity.

Envious Thought for the Day