Not a Bucket List

All right already.

I've been too freakin busy visiting the Psychiatrist, the Psychotherapist, The Psychologist, the Eyebrow Waxer, The Beauty Therapist, The Supermarket, The Gym & The School Counsellor to be bothered writing a blog entry. Not that you probably noticed anyway. You were probably far too busy yourself with all your own appointments.

And then of course there's work to attend to. That's me above doing work.

But back to all my appointments. Just let me take a moment to walk you through them.

1. Dr. Jagdep or whatever her name is. She's the shrink. I haven't bonded with her so I haven't bothered remembering her name. And I hate her lousy Prozac & the Other Stuff she loves handing out like toilet paper.

And you know what? I stopped taking it. And I never even bothered having my Valium prescription filled. Can you tell?

I got migraines. My Mind rebelled.

2. Dr Brendan McDreamy the psychotherapist. He hangs off my every word & then says stuff like 'That must be v. hard for you'. I love him.

3. Valerie the Psychologist. She practices Cognitive Behaviour Therapy. Every time I see her I have to eat a Big Reality Sandwich. She says stuff like, 'There's no evidence that Mr. Ex-Middleaged feels bad. In fact, he probably feels pretty good right now'. I hate her.

4. Aoki the Eyebrow Waxer. Every three weeks. Now my Eyebrows have a Personality all of their own. They should have their own Reality Show. Aoki is eighteen weeks pregnant & is leaving. I feel abandoned.

5. Zara The Know-All Beauty Therapist. Every week for eight weeks, Zara is shining a LED light on my face for twenty minutes which feels like a near-death experience. Each week she gives me a nasty bulletin on how my face is doing. This week she said my capillaries are exploding. It was v. hot. And my skin needs more hydration. I'm now drinking electrolytes.

I can't be bothered going through the rest of the list. You've probably had enough by now anyway.

No Exit

Welcome to My Whiteboard World.

You may be wondering what I was attempting to teach today.

Existentialism for Little Children. Ever since my life has begun to resemble a a John-Paul Sartre play, I feel that I'm something of an Expert .

Note the Unmistakable Tone of Slight Grandiosity that is creeping into many of my blog entries of late? Last time I blamed the Prozac. But now I'm off it because it gave me migraines. And So I'm waiting until saturday when I can start My New Regime of another pill called maybe Effectsor or FXSor or perhaps Elixir that not only will restore my serotonin levels but also do something wonderful to my Dopamine & another long-named chemical as well. Goody Goody, I can't wait!

But I digress. Back to Sartre & Me.

The only play by Sartre that I am at all familiar with is an ultra irritating one called 'No Exit'. It's set in Hell, which is this large Neo-Classical room with red flock wallpaper, an ornate fireplace & some uncomfortable wing back chairs. What makes the room Hell is not just the decor. It's the people - about five or so of them who all mysteriously turn up in the room at more or less the same time . At first, none of them realises that they've all just freshly died & that they're going to spend the rest of eternity sitting in the room together arguing.

And that's Basically It.

Now, that's got Nothing Whatsoever to do with my Life, has it?

Good. I'm glad we've cleared that up.

Back to the whiteboard.

Note the Man Alone in the Universe is clearly French. They're always the ones that come up with Horrid Stuff that frightens the living daylights out of the rest of the world. Perhaps it's all the butter.

As I say in class, 'Let's Move On!'

Behold me standing in front of the Little Saucy French Man holding a baguette. Note I'm wearing my Golden Sandals. See how high the heel is? I almost killed myself tottering down to school in them this morning. I was absolutely determined to keep them on the whole day just like Sheila, the High Priestess of High Heels.

They lasted an hour. And then it was back to the beige suede loafers once owned by my ex-school Principal.

I just didn't have Time for the Pain.

Before I go, I just had to mention that I'm wearing a Vivienne Westwood for John Smedley knit. And a Kookai skirt. All from 'Bednobs Etc'. Total price for outfit including Golden Sandals: thirty bucks.

Now that's Grandiosity.

Losing Control

As I type, I'm still wearing my newly-thrifted Golden Sandals even though it's Sunday evening & I'm alone wearing freshly bought from the Girlswear Section of 'Best & Less', black harem pants & a black 'Bonds' singlet.

Sadly, I haven't got a picture of myself in the harem pants & now I wish I did. Perhaps you can visualise me in them. Of course they're not the 'I Dream of Jeannie' sort of harem pants. In fact, the more I look at them, the more they look like slightly oddly shaped sweat pants. Which is a bit of a bummer as I'm Not Fond of sweat pants. Even their Name turns my stomach.

If you look closely at the Golden Sandals, you can see the imprint of Another Person's Feet on them. But I'm determined not to let this mar my enjoyment. Instead, I'm focussing on the label that says, 'Filippo Raphael Made in Italy'.

I do soo love Italian Leather shoes, particularly when I pay twelve bucks for them at 'Bednobs Etc'. I must now have about twenty pairs. Someday soon, I'll photograph them all together like One Big Happy Italian Shoe Family, & you & I both can be impressed when I post the picture.

But perhaps you are the sort of person who can't possibly bear the idea of wearing someone else's shoes. I don't blame you, I'm almost that sort of person myself. But not quite.

Recently, I bought three pairs of 'Bruno Maglis' that had been donated by my ex-school principal, Miss Dew. For some perverse reason I can't stop wearing them, particularly a pair of beige suede loafers with a gold bar across the instep.

Clearly, I must have some unconscious urge to become a Headmistress.

Before we move on, do look at my Fresh Pedicure. I had it done this afternoon at my favourite salon, 'USA Nails'. I couldn't bear my Au Naturel Toenails a moment longer. Every time I looked down at them on the yoga mat, I was instantly reminded of my father's crusty old toenails just before he died when he was ninety three.

Have you noticed how I keep mentioning slightly Sick-Making things like sweat pants & old used shoes that other people have sweated in & now old dying men's toenails?

It's not My Fault. It's The Blog.

I will now try my best to wrench back control.

Here's another thing I did on the weekend.

I installed Xmas Lights. I'm thrilled. Never Before have I strayed into Lighting Territory for one of my Tableaux. Who knows where I'll go next? The sky's the limit.

Must go.

Time for 'Millionaire Matchmaker'.

If I'm Going to be Zen-Like, Everything is Fake, Isn't It?

Welcome Back!

Look Look Look at Me.

I'm wearing Sunglasses at Night.

And they're not Any Old sunglasses either.

They happen to be Tom Ford sunglasses perhaps from his new range.

There's absolutely no doubt that I am turning into a Label Whore.

It all started with Fake Bags. And then Real Bags. Not the ones under my eyes either. Although they do appear to be Real. But if I'm going to be a Zen Buddhist, everything is Fake, isn't it?

Anyway, back to Tom & Me. I think I'm wearing The James, or is it The Daniel?

All of Tom's new range are named after Men. You may be wondering who James & Daniel are.

James is James Bond & Daniel is Daniel Craig & I'm modelling the sunglasses that Daniel wore when he played James in the last movie of the franchise.

Clearly, Daniel Craig has got a much larger head than I have. Sadly, they make me look a little silly. Perhaps Bug-Like. But certainly Not Stick Insect which is my least favourite look.

Speaking of Men, look look look, below.

It's A Man!

Yes, I think that this is one of the first times since Mr Ex-Middleaged left that I have featured one, unless you count Little Wig-Wearing Karl Lagerfeld. But you couldn't possibly count him as he himself has declared that he doesn't have any human emotions. Lucky thing.

Meet Bernard.

Doesn't he look like he's just stepped off Teddy Kennedy III's yacht in Hyannisport?

And guess the name of the glasses he's modelling?

Yes, they're called Jack. After Jack Kennedy. They are supposed to be Exact Replicas of the ones that he famously wore. I thought for one wild moment that he may have been wearing them when he was shot, but I checked the Zapruder Film & he wasn't. What a relief because it would be just Too Creepy if he'd had them on that day in Dallas & now Tom was reviving them.

Although, Jackie was wearing that pink classic Chanel suit that was sadly splattered with blood & it didn't affect It's popularity. In fact, it probably added to it immensely.

You may or may not be wondering why we are modelling Tom Ford Sunglasses.

It's Tyler, my step-son's birthday v. soon. Ever since he was a small child he's been an admirer of Tom's style. So, I've selected The Jack for him. I think it's a wise choice.

The Only Thing that I Can Apparently Change

One of the things that I Usually Dread each year is my first sighting of Xmas Decorations in Stores/malls. You know the drill: it's early sunday evening maybe mid-October & you're carefully cruising the aisles of the supermarket racking your brain for dinner inspiration & suddenly you stumble upon Santa Stuff.

Each year when I make that discovery, a little part of me dies.

But this year I decided to Change My Attitude & Behaviour because apparently, that's the only thing in life that I can change. I would sooo love for that Not to Be True particularly when it comes to the Men in my Life, or should I say, the Men that Used to Be in My Life.

I remember when I was youngish, I started getting serious about a guy who didn't have a job. One of my friends said, 'You can't be serious about him. Your mother will have a fit!'

'Don't worry', I smugly said, 'I can change him'.

Don't bother imagining what happened.

Anyway, I decided to change my attitude towards Xmas Decorations in October because that's the only thing that I Can Apparently Change.

So, I made a pact with myself that as soon as I got the First Whiff of Santa, I would immediately rush home & start putting up my own decorations.

Isn't that what you'd call a Win Slash Win situation? Or maybe converting a Negative into a Positive, since I love decorating so much.

Do click on the image to enlarge it so that you can see that The Virgin, or Our Lady, who is a Permanent Fixture in my kitchen, is now Seasonally Decorated. She is wearing a whole slew of fantastic plastic medals that say things like 'Winner' & 'World's No.1 Party Animal' that my friend Jenny & I bought at the local two dollar shop, along with feathers & plastic chilies. If you look closely, you'll notice that there are still a few remnants of my Easter Tableau - The Easter Bilby & a gaggle of bunnies. I couldn't bear to get rid of them.

But I think that the plentiful tinsel & golden Xmas balls give a decidedly Xmas feel, don't you?

Sometimes I'd like to Smack Someone Across the Face with A Wet Flounder

I just had to mention that my great friend & colleague, Trixie & I (or is it, Trixie & Me?) went to see 'Julie & Julia'. Odd as it may seem to some of my North American Readers, I really didn't know who Julia Child was. I knew that she wrote cook books, but she didn't really permeate the Australian Cultural Membrane during her lifetime. If she had, I certainly would have known her.

I'm sure the Prozac is Promoting Grandiosity. Or maybe insensitivity. Or perhaps Reality. But I digress.

One of the things that totally fascinated me was how the hell was five foot six inched Meryl Streep going to manage being six foot two. Would she be on Subtle Stilts that you didn't really notice, I wondered. Every time she came on the screen, I frantically checked to see how much taller she was than her cute little hubby. And everything else around her. By the end of the film, I was exhausted. And yes, Meryl generally Did look bigger & taller than everyone & everything else. What an Achievement!

The other Companion Story of the contemporary blogger was only partially satisfying to me, although I'm now fearful that I'm starting to sound like a Pompous Film Reviewer. But what the hell, why hold back?

1. I didn't think that there was any real tension between Julie, the blogger & her Milquetoasted Hubby, who I absolutely loathed partly because every time he shovelled all the rich french food that his wife made in to his big gob, I thought I was going to throw up. Honestly it was disgusting.

2. I do soo love writing in Numbered Points.

3. After I saw the film, I raced home to uTube & watched some clips of Julia in her heyday in her kitchen. I saw her make an omelette & gained some useful tips about using a non-stick pan & also how to move the omelette around the pan so it comes out all scrunched up. I was surprised as I thought I knew everything.

Obviously not.

4. I thought that Meryl slightly overplayed Julia. Like she thought that Julia was really something out of Dr Seuss or maybe a Kinder Gentler Roald Dahl Grown Up character. Like the other side of Miss Trunchbull in 'Matilda'.

5. The sight of the food made me sick. I never want to go near any of Julia's recipes particularly the Poor Duck swathed in Pastry.

But I really enjoyed 'Julia & Julia' immensely & just loved the fact that it didn't make me cry . I really don't like crying in movies. Life can be sad enough.

A Real Not Toy Python

As Oafey Australian Footballers say when their stupid team wins, 'I'm Dead-Set Ecstatic!'

I would Totally Love to say that the reason is because I just Love Life, but sadly, that's Not the Case.

The reason has got to do with Marc Jacobs.

Remember a couple of weeks ago when I missed out on that Real Not Toy Marc Jacobs handbag at 'Bednobs Etc'?

I have been in total mourning ever since even though I'm trying to do a crash course in Zen Buddhism & not give a rat's arse about The Material World.

But in a wonderful act of Kindness & Generosity, Peter, the owner of my absolute favourite cafe in the whole entire world, 'Zinc', came back from a two week stay in NYC this week & presented me with a divine Python Purse & Two Bangles that he bought in the Marc Jacobs accessory shop in Bleeker Street in NYC.

Apparently, the shop is super popular & when Peter & his partner Nigel came across it on a saturday morning a large, snake-like queue had formed down the street.

I can't imagine Peter queuing for anything, but he is persistent. So, he went back on monday morning & managed to get into the shop before the queue started.

I'm soo glad that he did. Almost, but not quite the best bit of the purse is the inside with 'Jacobs by Marc Jacobs Ad Nauseum' printed on the leather. I didn't realise that Fashion Designers have a sense of humour, except perhaps for Little Karl Lagerfeld who says stuff like, 'I don't have any human emotions'.