Never Cast Aside Like a Sucked Orange

Now that Season Two of 'Mad Men' is finished, don't think I've fallen into a Black Hole.



No. There just was no time for a Vaccum to be felt because immediately the time slot was filled with Season One of 'Pure Blood' or 'True Blood' or Whatever it is. It sounds like a show about the Ku Klux Klan. But it's not. It's about the quest for Vampires to be accepted as a normal part of the community with voting & property rights, just like the rest of us.



It must be called 'True Blood' because of the TB initials on the amazing Experimental Plum Pie that Moniker made in honour of it's first Screening.



So, every sunday evening is now filled with a big sumptuous dinner made by my Pals who don't have Cable TV followed by 'TB'. (BTW, Moniker did realise the rather unfortunate associations behind the initials)
We watched Episode 2. I had to cover my eyes for about a third of it as there was blood all over the joint & lots of sex. I'm such a Delicate Creature.
But all my guests were transfixed.

I'm fond of Venn Diagrams. I always marvel at their Elegance & Simplicity, something that I'm always shooting for in My Own Life.
So, if I was constructing a Venn Diagram to explain Vampires, there would be three circles all laid on top of each other. The bottom circle would be labelled 'Vampire'; the next circle,'Sex' & the last circle, 'Violence'.

It's a heady mixture. And it's one that I don't really Get.

I have never had the desire to have sex with a Vampire. Maybe this goes back to my adolescence. When I was about sixteen or seventeen ,I was continually given Love Bites by Hungry Boys. It was a nightmare because I just couldn't cover them up & My Mother would see them & Go Into a Rant. I never worried about the Nuns at School noticing them because they'd never been with a Living Human Being because they were 'Brides of Christ'. So they wouldn't know what a Love Bite was.
Anyway, they were Half-Wits. In preparation for our Senior Formal, Sister Naomi told us all that if we allowed our Partner to kiss us, even if it was a Goodnight Kiss, the boy would throw us aside 'Like a Sucked Orange'.


What a piece of advice. No wonder I've been so Fabulously Successful with Men throughout my life.
So, I don't find Vampires sexy. In fact, I don't find any Made-Up Creatures as Appropriate Objects of Desire. Except of course Mr. Darcy.

But all my guests, including my step-son Tyler loved it. And that's enough for me. Next week I'm just going to focus on the Muscular Frame of the Australian actor who plays this really really dumb sex-crazed brother of the main character who can read people's thoughts. Thankfully, he's not a Vampire.




I just had to show off one of my new earrings that Sandrabollocks sent me. Of course you can hardly see them which is an excuse for another photo later.

Just the One Earring

I have always wanted to be a Trendsetter. 

Or at least I've always Thought that I wanted to be one. But I was wrong. 

There's nothing trendsetting about me at all. I'm sure you've got to have a Gene for it. And I don't have it.  

Which isn't to say that I'm a Slavish Follower of Trends.  I only follow trends if they fit into a set of Fashion Rules that I have been almost Unconsciously Following over Many Decades.

For example, Footless Tights. As soon as they became fashionable again, I began wearing them. And I may continue to wear them for the next thirty years. 

I remember when they were a trend  in the eighties. Back then, I wore them with Big Sloppy Joes aeronautically engineered with enormous shoulder pads that gave the appearance of a Bar Fridge or perhaps a Gorilla. I often wore the Sloppy Joes with a large diamante safety pin. And I'd like to think I also wore Just the One Earring.

Which leads me into the Subject of Today's Post. What a clever segue.

This morning, one of my students presented the above item to me, torn out of a mag called 'Shop Till You Drop'. I was touched.

I also loved that it was a French Couture House that embraced what I like to think is My Trend. 

But I hardly consider myself a 'Brave Fashionista' for wheeling myself out in public with Just One Earring. In my books, Brave would be wearing a Joan of Arc style suit of armour complete with Flag, or wearing a large hat that was really a birdcage with a real bird inside it. Or even a stuffed bird.

 That's the sort of outfit that  Poor Dead Trendsetter Isabella Blow wore & look where that got her?

Coincidentally I wore Just One Earring Today. I couldn't believe the Synchronicity, or was it, Serendipity of it all? 

Anyway, I made it myself.

A Mysterious Parcel

Lunch time in The Staff Room sometimes reminds me of the film 'Mean Girls'. Or maybe Lunchtime when I Really Was at School, like about forty years ago.  

It's a Minefield. 

Will I sit at my desk & eat 'alone' & risk being seen as Unfriendly?

 Will I sit at Trixie Drew's desk & eat lunch with her & then risk scattering crumbs everywhere & making others Feel Excluded?

Or will I go sit in the Favoured Table in the Larger Staff Room with an assortment of People & risk all sorts of things that I won't go into now.

You can see how Nerve-wracking it all is.

On Thursday, I magnanimously decided to eat my lunch with everyone at The Favoured Table. But before I sat down, I noticed a small parcel pertly sitting up inside my pigeon hole. 

I raced over & grabbed it, heart racing.

I rarely get anything out of the ordinary placed in my pigeon hole. Pay slips, reminders about School events, invitations to attend Yawningly Boring Study Days, duty rosters, phone messages from disgruntled parents. Perhaps an occasional Rogue Chocolate given by a well meaning, but misguided colleague.

But A  Mysterious Lumpy Parcel! It obviously had things in it apart from paper! And there was was No Name on it!

I raced back to my place at The Favoured Table & began tearing open the envelope. Everyone was transfixed. Who could it be from?

Could it be a Belated Gift from that Special Year 12 Student from The Class of 2008 who I spent the whole year Selflessly Helping & who forgot to thank me when she finally walked out the door?

 That's the whole problem with being Selfless when you're really  Selfish At Heart. It Never Really Works. I guess I'm just Selflessly Selfish.

Back to The Parcel.

It contained a beautifully colour co-ordinated & presented Birthday Gift of many gorgeous earrings from Peru. Who would send me this? Someone who obviously knows my taste, whatever that is.

I opened the lovely handmade card. It was to 'Della'. 

OMG! A gift from the OtherWorld.

Lisa, a fellow Middleagedteacher, who I've never met, has been reading 'Della' for some time. She also teaches English at a girls private school in Sydney. And she loves shopping & bargains.

Trixie immediately exclaimed, 'How wonderful'. So did The Duchess. 

And that's Exactly how I felt.

But I could see that others were slightly disappointed that they didn't get a gift put in their pigeon hole. Serves them right.

I'm still trying to work how how Lisa tracked me down. I'm intrigued! And thrilled!

Thank you Lisa! You've made my week.

I Long to Be a Woman Who Chose Her Own Battles

I thought it was Enough to just post this Wonderful Painting of a Woman with Hair Horns. I also liked the title I made up to go with it. But apparently it's Not Enough. It's Never Enough.

I just love the Concept of Horns. I would not like to grow any myself. But I do like the idea of turning your hair into them.

Why horns, you may ask? I'm not sure. Maybe they signify gutsiness. You know, like Don't Mess with Me.

Doris Day in 'The Pyjama Game,' Katherine Hepburn in 'The African Queen', Queen Latifah in 'Chicago' & perhaps Dear Doris again in 'Calamity Jane'. These were suggestions made to me by my colleagues when I asked them about Gutsy Women. Someone suggested Scarlett O'Hara. And I suppose she is pretty gutsy. In fact, probably the Gutsiest of them All. But I couldn't bear to put her on my list because I just Loathe 'Gone with the Wind'. It's just so overblown.

If you've got any suggestions, I'd love to hear them.

As Indestructible as a Battleship

I almost hate to admit it, but my Grandmother, Eleanor Mildred Elley, known as Lena, was born in 1891. Which doesn't mean to say that I was born in 1930. Absolutely Not. Carefully examine  the above photo taken today, admittedly on the 'Soft Skin' setting. I'm sure you'd agree that it reveals   a middleaged but Not Quite Elderly Woman.

 I was crazy about Lena & never forgave her for dying of cancer when I was fourteen just when I may have needed her.

But for many years she lived across the road from my house where I used to spend a lot of time with her in her tiny, cave-like old apartment, cooking buttercakes, making cups of tea & watching v. early episodes of Roger Moore in 'The Saint' or Patrick Mc Goohan in 'Dangerman'.

Anyway, Lena or  Nanny as I called her, was an exotic mix of Edwardian Lady & Respectable Middle Class Matron with a hint of 20s Flapper. 

Look carefully at the photo taken at a Restaurant for my Second Birthday Party. I am the Poor Little Match Girl at the head of the table. My father stands next to me waiting for me to fall off the chair while my mother looks beatifically on. 

Nanny is the Old Dame on the left foreground. Look at her Firm Figure.

One of my favourite pastimes as a child was to watch Nanny put on her enormous peach coloured Whalebone Corset. She did this every morning after spending time in the bath scrubbing the nicotine stains off her hands with a pumice stone.  She also used the pumice stone on her corns .

After liberally dousing her body with Talcum Powder, & her feet with 'Vemo' foot powder, Nanny would ritually begin the challenging task of threading herself into the corset.

It was an Enormous Contraption that required  extreme concentration & expertise to get into. Nanny had worn a corset every day since she was eighteen, so was really expert at threading the laces & locking herself in. Once inside a Whalebone, a woman looked as indestructible as a Battleship & almost as attractive.

One day I witnessed a Shocking Sight.

 I walked in on Nanny just as she was getting out of the bath. I had never seen her naked before. Huge rivulets of skin were hanging down her body like there'd  been a Landslide. 

I was Shocked & Appalled.

'Nanny, what's wrong with you? Why is all your skin hanging down like that?'

'Oh, that's called Dead Skin. That's what happens to you if you wear corsets all your life'.

Nanny said it in such a Knowing, Matter of Fact way, that I completely accepted her explanation, & for many years thought that 'Dead Skin' was an actual technical term. 

If only I could meet someone now who could speak to me like that. Life would be sooo much simpler.

What prompted my reminiscence  of Nanny was a visit to the Sydney Justice & Police Museum last week to view their current, 'Femme Fatale' exhibition.  Fabulous mug shots & other photos of Sydney's notorious crime queens of the first half of the twentieth century were contrasted with covers of Pulp Crime Fiction of the same time. 

Don't think that Nanny was a Notorious Sydney Crime Queen, although she looked quite similar to a really nasty one that was prominently featured.  No, no, no...... Nanny loved nothing more than to lie in bed, smoking cigarettes through a long holder & reading crime stories. It was one of her passions. Here's some fab covers that I secretly photographed at the exhibition.

I need to start channelling some of that Cheap Sluttiness. 

 

The Awakening Wardrobe

What I Really Want is a Fairy Godmother

I am now going to Slightly Overshare.

Why not? It's My Blog. This is My Town. I make up The Rules.

Sick to the Back Gills of trudging around feeling like a Poor Old Polish Woman dragging a load of wet firewood behind me while my village is up in flames during WWII, I decided to go to a Therapist.

In fact, I'm now on to my second one. The first one was a Man. I thought A Man might make a nice change. But I was wrong. He was writhing in his seat with Ernestness. I couldn't stand it. Towards the end of our session, he asked me what exactly would I like to 'focus on ' in subsequent sessions. 

Definitely Not your Ernestness, I thought. I dutifully made another appointment, paid the $145 & walked out feeling marginally worse than when I came in. 

He also reminded me of a Carpet Slipper. And I just couldn't have an Ernest Carpet Slipper for a therapist. So I cancelled.

Yesterday, I started with Therapist No. 2. She was recommended by my local doctor & I'm kind of tied to her now because I get the next ten sessions for twenty-five bucks as part of a 'Health Plan' for people who feel that they're dragging wet firewood behind them.

Everything seemed OK during the session. She told me that according to a questionnaire that I had dutifully filled out, that I was A Worrier. And that I'm suffering from Grief.

 And then we started on the Well-Worn track to My Early Life with My Parents.

By the time the session was over I realised what I really want. 

I don't want a therapist, I want a Fairy Godmother. I want her to spray fairy dust all over me with her Wand & then I'll be Transformed.

Just like The Butterfly