Finally managed to capture the heart of newest love interest/covers band bass guitarist. Well, captured all of him really. Using my standard hessian sack and tape trick, I pounced on him after band practice. I then dragged him back to my abode willingly, and tied him to one of my new antique kitchen chairs. (A past lover had left them when he had to vacate his apartment quite suddenly after I had ...been there one night. Seems landlords don't appreciate it when you knock out retaining walls to build yourself a walk-in closet. Who uses kitchens these days anymore, anyhow?).

So, with bass guitarist tied and bound I prance about giving him my best love dance complete with bunny hop, jazz hands and ending in a fantastic downward dog. Mission complete - he is besotted by me (bewildered/besotted - who cares?!). I think he'll call. His screams as he flew out of my front door were not as terrified as they could have been. Yep, just another night....

Apologies dear readers, I have been on a job that required me to, shall we say, 'lay low' for a while. Yes, my old bosses from the Tokyo 'modeling agency' have tracked me down and I had to do a 'quick run' to an eastern block country to pay them back for skipping out last time. Plenty of action to be had that I can't share unfortunately. Lets just say that 3 certain men will have smiles on their faces for a long time to come. 2 guys will never look at me the same way again (or indeed any other woman). And 1 gentleman has converted to buddism to find 'peace and inner calm'. Seems I have all sorts of effects on people. Oh well, a job worth doing is worth doing well I say!

Have been permanently banned from newest love interests unit block. Apparently, cover band bassists don't appreciate it when you knock on everyone's door in the block asking the neighbours to sign a petition to have him chuck the band and go solo. With moi as his agent, I guaranteed he would be my one and only client and I would look after him very very well! Some people don't know it when a genuine opportunity lands in their lap. Maybe I should consider door knocking at 2.00pm instead of 2.00am??

Poor new love interest has indeed not known what's happened to his previously quiet and inane existence. All I did was climb through his window and lay wantonly on his bed awaiting his arrival. What harm? Although he didn't seem impressed with the state I'd left his liquor cabinet and undies drawer in. And perhaps my wanton look of wearing 10 pairs of his boxers all over my person and the possibility I was passed out and he couldn't get to the iPod dock remote which was blasting "Shiny Shiny" on high rotation. Still I say, what harm?

Discovered can actually bestow myself upon two unwilling participants at once. Sat on front stoop of beloved/arch nemesis' abode singing "Throw Your Arms Around Me" at top of voice repeatedly whilst sent 257 texts/vmails (including pics of me in various states of drunkenness on a stoop) to new cover band bass guitarist love interest. One is used to my delightful quirkiness whilst the other poor innocent won't know what hit him!

FiFi Jo's New Job

Awake still fully dressed in yesterday’s outfit of faux-Chanel pink suit with faux-fur trim and midnight blue six inch heels.  I am ready to hit the shops, determined to buy a newspaper and spend the morning perusing the job's section.  I am confident a suitable job with an enormous pay check and short hours where I don’t have to move or think will suddenly appear.

As my second floor apartment is located above the bottle shop on Main Street, I leisurely make my way to the Newsagency, passing a department store along the way. Think I’ll just have a little look-see.  What harm?  Ooooh look!  A sale bin full of designer knickers.  How can a girl resist?  Start throwing pretty pastel printed pants all over the shop in an ecstasy normally kept behind closed doors.  Reach down to pick up a pair with sparkling stars on them, when instead feel another hand.  Hmmm, I am prepared to put up a struggle if need be.  Am in luck.  The hand is definitely male and as my eyes move upwards discover a pair of the blackest, most intense eyes a girl could fall into.  However, not being one for falling unless it’s off a bar table top at two a.m., I am immune to this delectable male specimens charms.  So far.  He chuckles at me something about my stamina and persistence and feels that an alcoholic beverage would be in order to “calm me down”.  Little does he know the effect is usually quite the opposite.   

Never one to turn down a free drink, he guides me to the in house café.  There we spend the entire afternoon together sharing expensive bottles of wine (bought by him), extremely witty banter (mostly by me), sexy laughter (me again), fluttering eyelashes (that’s him), suggestive licking of lips (both of us), sliding off chairs (that’d be me), snoring on the floor (yep, me again), and yelling and screaming over a waste of time and money (all him – charming aint he?).

NEXT DAY:

Awake to flashing in my eyes. Seems I have been placed in the department store window and am a vital part of the installation for the new women’s wear floor.  It’s an art work piece on the humiliation of women in modern society.  I am employed in my dream job!

FiFi Jo's Romantic Holiday Hell - Part III

Last we left FiFi Jo she had a blonde Station Master in the closet of her wilderness hut and a man claiming to be her website date, ‘Pumped69’, in the lounge room. No, this is not a metaphor for anything….what will she do?!

Being a naturally very forgiving and unselfish person, I accept ‘Pumped69’ at face value. His value in this circumstance being the crate of top shelf vodka he brings for our enjoyment, and not the fact he lied profusely about his age, height, looks and hair line. Damning the day I stopped using an intravenous drip for such occasions, I proceed to allow ‘Pumped69’ entry and full use of the kitchen, a room I know nothing about and could not manoeuvre around if I tried. Whilst he is pre-occupied with certain unnecessariness like ice, lime and glassware, I decide to check on Blondie in the boudoir. Thought I had heard a sexy murmuring earlier. Perhaps he is lying languidly on the bed awaiting my agile and youthful company.

Unfortunately, no such luck. Not only is there not a Blonde God on the bed winking at me suggestively, but there is no unconscious body in the closet either! I check all the nooks and crannies of the bedroom, but alas! My shining blonde knight has escaped! He is on the lam…from me! Why on earth would he not hang around after all I’ve done for him?! I turn to close the shutters on the open window and wonder - how did he escape? Cannot fathom some people’s attitudes to a good time, but let him go as a lost cause.

Return to the lounge room to find a raging wood fire blazing in the hearth, with a delectable picnic of cold meat treats and delicacies spread out in front of it. Well, there is something to be said for the middle aged men of this world over the young. They do know their way into a woman’s heart, with fire, dead beast and male company being my three main guilty pleasures. With a large plastic cup of vodka adding to the icing on the noticeably absent cake, I decide to relax into ‘Pumped69’s obvious wooing technique. I may have been wrong all these years. Choosing men with the body of a lumberjack but all the charm of a tree over men with a working knowledge of a woman’s mind and body may be the way to go. Their bulging hip pockets and gold credit cards can’t hurt either ladies! Well, what would you do?

FiFi Jo's Romantic Holiday Hell - Part II

“Just a minute!” I loudly call as I hear banging on the front door of my pre-booked love nest. My romantic wilderness mini break is so far proving unsuccessful in the romance department. However, the ‘cottage’ is definitely nest-like. Everything about it, and contained in it, is made of wood.

My blonde hero, the Station Master from the little country town I have had the misfortune to be rudely abandoned in, was now lying in a closet in the bedroom. I had pulled him there earlier by his perfectly formed, muscular, tattooed arms. He had unfortunately not gained consciousness after falling on the floor in a swoon at my obvious charm and beauty. Of course, my Thai courting ritual moves may have had something to do with it as well. I had only ever practiced them on inflatable men so could never be truly sure of the effect. To awaken my sleeping prince I performed my customary love dance where I twirl, booby shake, bunny hop and jazz hands with grace and flair. I even ended in the upside down prairie dog pose, but to no avail. So you can imagine my anger at the disturbing knock at the door whilst my knight in shining armoire is snoring happily away in the boudoir, awaiting an awakening kiss from me.

The knock came again with more urgency and a shout of “Hornbag4U, are you in there? Let me in!”

Oh no! It’s ‘Pumped69’, my date from the singles website that was to meet me at the Dungaree railway station. Bellowed by a sexy, young and drunk lumberjack, my screen name did not sound as provocative as I had hoped it might. Damn, now he shows up! I let him in, slowly opening the door to a middle-aged balding man holding a pot plant. Hmmm.

He starts to explain that he may not look exactly as he described or indeed at all like his profile picture. Can’t say I’m surprised really. Decide to give him the ‘ol Heave-Ho’ (quite the opposite to the ‘ol Gung-Ho’), when ‘Pumped69’ produces a case of my favourite vodka. He is saved from my wrath. For now.

To Be Continued….

FiFi Jo's Romantic Holiday Hell - Part I

I have decided I need a tree change. Apparently it is the latest craze. I read all about it in the February 1986 issue of ‘Woman’s Day’, and they should know. I found it the other day at my local Chinese Restaurant whilst awaiting my take away order of spring rolls and fried rice (minus the sauce, flavouring and any artificial colours, therefore ending up with boiled rice and grated carrot). Of course, I cannot abide the country for longer than a day, so I intend on making this a mini weekend escape. Oh, how exciting! Now, if only I can find someone with a mansion in the wilderness and a penchant for daiquiris, fur rugs and nakedness to accompany me.  

Have one of my many brilliant ideas. Go online and search for dating websites. Every second man on these things claims to enjoy ‘outdoor activities’. Do a quick search using my preferred age group (young and dumb please), suburb (any but mine), and build (lumberjack please). This brings up one match, ‘Pumped69’, and he’s online now! Send him my most provocative and touched up photo and ask him if he likes beer, horror movies and sports as much as I do. He replies immediately in the affirmative. Ten minutes later and we are fixed on a wilderness experience date this weekend. It is truly that easy dear reader.

Saturday afternoon my three suitcases are packed full, and I’m only running five hours late. ‘Pumped69’ is meeting me at the Dungaree train station. Apparently, Dungaree is the newest up and coming country town, brimming with cafes and a hundred and one identical knick knack stores and antique shops. To really give it the stamp of approval, it is frequented by the gay community. Couples meander the pretty streets hand in hand, paying exorbitant prices for old biscuit tins. With five pubs and no competition for my newest beau’s attentions, Dungaree will be the perfect place for my romantic tree change getaway.

I make it to the train station before dark, expecting a bustling little railway scene. Unfortunately, there is no one in sight. Not a young, pumped lumberjack-type lingering on the platform to whisk me away. Not a middle aged man carrying a potted plant. Not even a frail elderly gent with a toothpick. This is not a good sign. Could he not wait a few hours for me?  Although I guess I should be a little lenient. I’ve had marriages that have lasted less than five hours.

With hurt feelings, I saunter over to the Station Master’s window and bash at the little bell for immediate assistance. Thinking all Station Masters look like the wizard Dumbledore, am pleasantly surprised when I am served a complete dish!  My newest friend is a gorgeous male specimen with blonde hair that falls teasingly into his green eyes, skin screaming out to have honey licked from it and a grin that could melt a gentler soul’s heart than mine. Luckily I have petulance in abundance and am not moved by his obvious charm.

I explain the ridiculous situation I have been left in and demand a lift to my pre-booked love nest. He obliges as expected and I am promptly delivered to a small cottage in the middle of nowhere. He explains that the main town is approximately twenty kilometres down the highway in the opposite direction. My anger knows no bounds but I am too tired to scream banshee style as would be my usual custom. He shows me to my door and when I find it is unlocked, I motion for him to enter in before me. Mostly so I can ensure there are no bogeymen inside waiting to suck the blood of an angel (me, of course!). Also so that I may repay him in the best way I know how.

Ensure we are alone and ‘Pumped69’ is not at home. Excellent. Before blondie knows what’s hit him, I use a Thai trick I learnt in Bangkok called the ‘ol Gung–Ho’, and whip down his pants with nothing but my teeth. Caught unawares, he stumbles back and into a position I like to call ‘Cat and Mouse’. Now he is caught under the spell of my world-renowned beauty. Either that or he has hit his head on the floor. Oh well, he doesn’t have to be awake for what I have planned for him…

To be continued….  

Bemused over being made single again, went out and tackled the first good looking fella I saw. Unfortunately (for him) was bassist in covers band playing at local pub. Fortunately (for us), we landed stage right into jelly wrestling pit. Unfortunately (for him) it was during his big solo. Fortunately (for everyone) I ended a rather brave rendition of 'American Pie' the band had been playing for over 6 hours. Something about a world record competition. I don't know why he hasn't called.

Have been dropped like a used crocheted hanky! Like a lukewarm cup of tea on a checked linoleum floor! Like a pair of old grey knickers with no elastic! Boyfriend has hooked up with some strumpet his own age at rest home. He says she plays a mean bingo. I think he is hoping she strikes it rich. What a USER! Am baffled. He never asked ME to play bingo.....

Took elderly-gent-friend out for a spin and some fresh air. He handled the pillion ride on Mutty's Harley with courage and a bravery I haven't seen in a 19 year old, let alone 90. May be beginning to have real feelings for the old digger. Nah, was just left over tummy flips from roller coaster ride I made him endure. Beginning to think he may out live me...

My new boyfriend and I are getting along famously. I can tell he likes it when I use his phone to call my girlfriends long distance, 'cos his left eyebrow shoots upwards...he even left his credit card hanging inside his wallet for me to use...sweet petal he his!

Men may not be so complicated after all. May have found the perfect one. He lives in a rest home and can't speak but I can tell he appreciates my GSOH and his signature hand still works. Tested it out on a little piece of paper entitled 'will and testament'.

Cannot figure out opposite sex. May have to start allowing them to talk to me so can gain insight into their cluttered minds. Failing that will club one and bring back to abode for interrogation using my female intrigue (handcuffs and a bottle of whipped cream)...

FiFi Jo Goes Out

8.00pm

Kids night off from their mother so am luxuriating in bath (unfortunately alone), when silence interrupted by future husband's dulcet voice on my ring tone. Best friend calling. Sadly, cut off Mr Steve Kilbey (Australia's Finest Rock God and Sexy Lead Singer of melodic art rock band The Church), mid serenade to take call. Best Friend raving about an awards ceremony at the City Convention Centre where a 'rooting tooting good time' is said to be had. Ask what said corporate function is for as she knows I won't crash award ceremonies for the following industries: Aged Care, Health Foods or Crematoria. Functions at the top of the list are: Medical Practitioners (any sort), Oil and Minerals, Fashion, and my favourite..."the Luxury Car Industry!" cries Best Friend. "We'll get in before 9.00pm on this one, they're always drunk and desperate by then. If it was Medical Practioners (any sort) we'd have to wait until at least 9.45pm. Get your dancing shoes on luvvy, we're goin' out!"

8.10pm

Decide to leave Best Friend calling me 'luvvy' unnoticed due to her charming knack of finding ideal free entertainment venues oozing with desperate randy men with more money than sense. As already have dancing shoes on (I always bathe in my Gucci heels - gives me a sense of calm and ostentatiousness), dry off and locate my blackest, tightest, shortest, low cut-est dress and, due to an amazing complexion, high cheek bones, hair that falls in sexy blonde waves naturally, and the fact that I also always bathe fully made up, am ready in 6.5 minutes.

8.30pm

Best Friend arrives in her latest conquests limo (she prefers men in service). As I clatter down mock pebble driveway, hear noise not dissimilar to a strangled cat vibrating from the limousine window. "Cooooo eeeeeee! 'Ow ya goin' luv?!". Am shocked to discover Best Friend has brought her annoying little sister along for the ride. Oh great, have to share night (and drunk and desperate randy men) with Morticia Adams. With her long black hair and straight cut fringe, arms tattooed from wrist to shoulder and black rimmed glasses, she is hard not to notice. Together with Best Friend and her long auburn hair, emerald green eyes and huge bazookas out to party, we look like Charlies Angels on acid.

9.00pm

Arrive at Awards Ceremony a little worse for wear after imbibing a bottle of cheap white wine each. You would think Best Friend's beau could take some pride in his work and keep the limo stocked with quality plonk. Tell him so in no uncertain terms once bottle is polished off. It's not until I try to haul my gorgeous self out of vehicle with all grace and beauty that am aware Little Sister has spilt 'Red Vamp' nail varnish on my black dress whilst finishing off her toenails. Oh well, men will be too drunk to notice and I am too self-assured to care. Make the paparazzi lunge out of limo when hear an almighty rrrrriiiiiipppppp! Dress has been stuck to seat with nail varnish and has been slashed up to armpit! As am modern woman reliant on no-one, have a bag full of resources for just such an occasion...

9.30pm

Best Friend, Little Sister and I in our element making rounds of tables. We throw back left-over dregs from any

half-full glass, leaving shouts of "hey!" and "nice pegs" behind us. I smile warmly and wave my enviously long legs in a thank you gesture. "I think they mean your actual pegs", states Little Sister disinterestedly. Dress now looking

like something Liz Hurley may have put together with clothes pegs used to mend rip in dress.

10.30pm

Little Sister more annoying than ever. How she gets to each eligible bachelor before self is amazing. Realise she has

inside help when see her paying bartender for information. Seems bartender informs her of the 3 Golden Statistics - age, wage and relationship status (doesn't hurt that he also knows how much each gent has been drinking). As am

confident my beauty speaks for itself, do not need to compete. However, a little perspective thrown her way couldn't hurt. Undo pegs and waft coquettishly past the group of five males she is holding court with. Unfortunately, trip over

a chair leg and land on only table that decided on the pavlova for dessert. Fortunately, Little Sister so intriguing to males, no one noticed. Or so I thought....

To Be Continued....

A lIttle Bit of FiFi Jo History

Due to popular demand (OK, one faithful reader's request, but I don't need encouraging!) here is a little tid-bit of FiFi Jo's history;

Straight out of High School, I scored the dream job every parent hopes for their child - a lucrative modelling contract. The fact that, in my case, it was with a mafia run 'dance hall' in Tokyo, Japan, did little to worry my mother. Apart from any real modelling, I learnt how to unlock the door of my tiny one room 'apartment' and make it look like I was always there. The nice men also helped me with my drug smuggling skills, enlisting me as a 'mule' to pay them back the exorbitant rent on said apartment. I did get to see the world as a fresh-faced teen though. I saw Russian airports, Asian airports, and even the inside of a hotel room in Cambodia once. Things were great - I couldn't wait for the losers I went to school with to find out what a success I'd become!

Things got out of hand though, when I met the future father of my children on an overnight flight from Grozny to Belfast. Upon finding myself seated next to a delightful stranger, I couldn't help but feel attracted to his Irish accent, thick beard and red eyes. He told me he was an airline security guard and demand he 'frisk' me in the toilets. Since I was always up for an adventure, I let his hands search my every cavity somewhere over Moldova. By the time we disembarked the flight we were in love. My previously caring and understanding employers were not at all impressed with this turn of events, and demanded my return to the Land of The Rising Sun immediately. Never one for taking kindly to rude, verging on obscene, phone calls (unless one of us is naked), I hung up on my boss mid rant and ran for my life. Fleeing Belfast with my lover, we made it to Berlin where we hid out for a century, drinking vodka, knocking over walls and having babies. Of course, there were many adventures in between - but these will have to wait to be told another day.

Like all loves, we lost out lustre for each other when he began getting itchy feet and I just wanted to start shagging whom ever I wanted, when I wanted. Men with itchy feet are a permanent turn off in my books. So, I returned to my homeland, slightly soiled and worse for wear, but with a hardened heart and a notebook full of Ajax with a street value of nil, which I managed to sell to over-eager teens on the Gold Coast during schoolies week. My Irish Ex followed the children and I, where we have now settled (apart) somewhere quite close to where you are probably dear reader!

FiFi Jo Bites Back!

I awake to find my head in it's usual position - smack down on a bar table. The lights seem to be dimmer than usual for a backwater club, and the shrieks of it's patrons somewhat louder, and not in any romantic way. Wishing I could go back to sleep, I raise my head and look for Veronica (my oldest friend turned rival turned best buddy again). I find her sitting on the stage talking to - no wait! It can't be, but it is! She's doing it again! Veronica is trying to get her buffed and polished hands on Steve Kilbey - MY beloved arch-nemesis (and Australia's Finest Rock God Sexy Lead Singer of melodic art rock band The Church). Hang on, why is she glowing at him like that? And why are her teeth so sharp and pointy and why oh why is her red lipstick dripping upon the stage? I always new she was a vamp, but this is ridiculous!

I saunter over to give her a piece of my ego-bruised mind when I start to take notice of my surroundings. For a full club there seems to be no one dancing and an awful lot of making out going on, and all about the neck. Also, an extraordinary amount of people passed out in what looks like an extraordinary amount of Bloody Mary mix. Will have to take note that Bloody Mary's are making a comeback in all the unhip places. Shake my glossy blonde head (if a little vodka soaked) to clear it. Hmmmm, if the part of my brain still sober enough remembers, this looks like a scene out of 'From Dusk Till Dawn'. Egads! I'm surrounded by non-discriminatory blood sucking vamps! And they look a little pissed.

I have a quick decision to make. Head for the exit or save my beloved (who hasn't returned any of my calls, texts or notes written on rocks thrown through his window lately)? Depart and live or stay and try to stop Veronica's plans to steal yet another not-quite boyfriend? Veronica now has King Kilbey in a headlock, with his neck exposed, his back arched and legs akimbo. I tell you dear readers, if my loins weren't feeling fear right now they would be feeling something very opposite! My ego-bruising wins out and I fling myself at Veronica as she goes in for the kill.

Alas! Phillips, Veronica's Driver/Security Guard, is upon me in an instant and has me in a head lock too. "Don't move" he orders me. I don't. He's glowing like my 80's neon 'Choose Life' T-Shirt and smells like rotten flesh. This can't be the end of my life, I have so much to do! Who will let my mail order Russian boyfriend out of the box when he arrives? Who will keep the bottle shop I live over afloat if I am their only customer (trust me, they can't keep up with my demands as it is)? Who will, well, that's about it I guess. Nothing to live for anyway it seems. Go ahead then Phillips - do your best!

To Be Continued (Bwah ha ha ha!)

FiFi Jo's Bloody Surprise

Oldest friend turned rival turned best buddy again, Veronica Dale and her driver/security guard, have been keeping a bloody secret from me...now it's Veronica's turn to tell the tale.....

VERONICA DALE:
4pm
Phillips is pacing..."Where is she, sun is going down and I am Hungry Roni! I asked her yesterday to meet up with us- Lets just go to that club she's usually at"
Gruffly I say "no, too public. Get out I need to get ready!" And no I can't do it, I could barely change a baby.
Phillips gets out, so fast that my head spins.

7:00pm
Phillips slips in so quietly, sits and stares out into the night. "Alright Roni, lets sniff her out, especially before her blood turns to Vodka"
We slip out into the night....

FIFI JO:
Shit! Was held up by Mutti and 3 of his 'mates' on a bender...have lost whole chunks of time which is not unusual for me I guess. Now Veronica and Phillips aren't at home. Pooey! Will go out to that club they frequent and see if I can catch up with a vodka drip or similar....

VERONICA DALE:
‎"There she is Phillips, just try to be patient and my aren't we glowing - tone it down dude. Hey JoJo I got something new for you to try...hey, hey look up. It's me and look who I brought for you! Get up JoJo. I got a new ride. Let's take a tour of our sweet little town. Yeah I know I'm yelling. Isn't that the guy that mumsy was with in the day? Phillips you stay with her, I know this guy on stage, he just doesn't know it yet. Stop it with the fingers baby... We got the rest of our long lives. You just try to sober her up a bit. Then we'll get her out of this crowd. No, I won't be long...... Just because you are stronger than me doesn't make me your bitch. Sit and do as you are told! (growl show teeth) Hey JoJo, I'm going up to talk to your melodious Australian singer or whatever it is you call him. Now drink your coffee - I'll be right back".

I shake my head as I make for the stage.. I can't believe that she's alone at a table with her face smack down on it. Where is everybody? Ha my mum. It was me! (smile to myself). It's good to be me. I can't stop thinking about Charlie biker. Conquer, it's all I am, well, am now. I can still cuddle but tears are bloody and nobody wants a bloody cuddle(throaty laugh). Hey Steve, it's me, Veronica Dale..."

FiFi Jo's High School Hell

So, my oldest and dearest friend turned arch-nemesis has returned! Miss Veronica Dale aka 'V.D.' aka 'Roni'. Hmmmm. Not sure if I need the competition quite frankly. She was always the pretty one in school. The Mary Tyler Moore to my Rhoda Morgenstern. The Shirley to my Laverne. The Bilbo to my Sam. She is still excessively, stinkingly, wealthy too. You may well understand my frustration! How did she go from Best Friend to Rival? It all started a week before the High School dance...

All through school I was in love with a boy. His name was Johnny James (but let's call him George Glass for security reasons). You know the boy you can never speak to without dribbling, or coughing or giggling so that he thinks you're a freak? The one who's friends you sleep with (and in my case, also his dad) just to get his attention? The one who ignores you all through school and writes rude stuff on the toilet doors about you sleeping with his friends? Well, that boy for me was George Glass. One week before the final High School dance he asks me out. I am thrilled beyond belief. I make out to my Best friend, Veronica Dale, that it's no big deal but elicit her assistance in the buying of new apparel for said big date anyway. I purchase the newest of new acid wash jeans, white sky-high pumps, lacy red blouse and my hair is dry-blowed and flicked to within an inch of it's blonde highlighted life. I'm ready for George to take me out and sweep me off my feet! He arrives in his cool, decked out purple panel van and looks like a teen heart throb. When I hear the front door bell it's not just my heart that is throbbing! Roni answers the door, intending to invite him in and allow me to 'make my entrance'. Instead, she takes one look at him and decides he's worth keeping for herself! Yes! Veronica Dale is a boyfriend stealer! A brazen hussy! A duplicitous minx!

I have to pretend it doesn't matter at all one way or the other to me. With a brave face I allow them to leave together. Except it is not OK! My life is ruined! My best friend and nearly 1 day old boyfriend have betrayed me! I lie in bed all night making plans to ruin Miss Veronica Dale's life....

At the dance I take Phillips, Veronica's driver/security and most trusted employee. She pretends not to notice when Phillips and I make out on the dance floor. Instead, she and George make out on the stage, with a spotlight ensuring everyone sees what a poor lover he is. One year later, I have finally wrangled my way into her father's bed, his heart and her trust fund. Another year later and my plan to set fire to her father's yacht whilst in the Caribbean is a success. Unfortunately, all on board including Veronica, are saved.

Dear readers, would you not do the same? Do you see my predicament? Years later and she has returned, seemingly genuine in redeeming my friendship. I have decided to take the high road, let the water flow under the bridge and be the mature one. I will forget the past and look to the future. I will not succumb to the pettinesses of a High School playground.

I will my arse!

FiFi Jo's Blind Date

Have decided to get Mother off my back and allow her to set me up with her hairdressers, cousin's, best friend (or some such). Made it clear am doing this out of the goodness of my heart as no man should be denied the best time of their life by spending half an hour with me. Also, Mother has offered to cut my mountaining debt with her in half. Still leaves a fairly high hill in funds I owe her though. No matter, can always fake a marriage proposal one day to get rid of the rest.

Have decided on bright pink ostrich feather dress with purple tights. If a man can still hold a conversation with me whilst I sup on oysters wearing this, he may be a keeper. Blind Date arrives at my abode on time - I like that in a man. It shows strength of character (and also an understanding of the time/space continuum). He is tall, skinny, pasty and bookish. First impressions to scale of what a Blind Date should look like. A loser.

When I finally see his eyes through my feathers, I can see they are lit up with undisguised lust. Unfortunately, I have seen that look before, and it's not for me. "Wow!" he exclaims. "Do you have many dresses like that?". Sigh. Obviously, Mother has set me up to fail. I decide I'm better off going with it - could be fun. Graciously guide Blind Date through to boudoir and into walk-in closet/second bedroom. He is agog. "Do you mind if I take a look?" he hesitatingly asks as he fingers a black velvet gown. I know where this is leading and leave him to it with firm instructions not to stretch anything.

4 bottles of champagne later and my newest friend is dancing on my Ikea leopard print rug with all the enthusiasm of Lady GaGa at a gay nightclub. Except Blind Date isn't gay. He lures me forward with one of my Louis Vuitton scarves and has that other look of undisguised lust in his eye.

3 hours later and my newest friend has me in stitches. Literally. We were having such a good time rolling around on the couch I fell off it and onto an empty champagne bottle which had the audacity to break on my firm and pert backside. Ouch! Am at hospital being the world's most sexy and glamorous pin cushion. Luckily, am numbed by 3 of the 4 bottles of champagne plus some local anaesthetic. Blind date was holding my hand but alas, he is now on the bed next to mine with a bandaged head due to it hitting the floor upon his swooning faint. Like the trooper he is, he made sure my cream Chanel suit was not bloodied by ensuring the nurses took it off him before he was moved from the floor. Night nurses seeing the many things that they do, didn't even shake their heads at the sight of my matching Chanel lace underwear covering his nether regions.

Blind date (now New Friend) sees me home in taxi. Invite him in but only to clean up the mess he's made. New Friend states that he will but "only if I can wear a French Maid outfit". But of course.

Saved from the sight of geeky French Maid by former Glam Rock singer Gary Glitter on phone ring tone (it's a dull world without some glitter!). Best Friend calling. Something about V.D. being back. Protest loudly that as I have advised her before I am not interested in her sex life, and less interested on the outcome should she behave like a teen and not use proper precautions. "No! Not that type of V.D!" She lowers her voice into a whispered warning. "The worse kind. SHE'S back". I drop the phone. Am stunned. Shaken to my core. Best Friend is of course talking about my Old School Enemy. The gorgeous, smart, funny and popular - Veronica Dale. I HATE her!!!

FiFi Jo Takes A Holiday

Awake in my sun-filled bedroom to the drunken wails of my current pursuant wafting through my window, a snoring stranger in my bed, and a hangover the size of Mount Kosciuszko. Make immediate decision to change my dull life full of partying, sleeping in, screening calls from desirous beau's and dodging my over-eager stalker. Add my role as 'crazy aunt' to my 2 male offspring once a month and I find it all so very exhausting for my delicate constitution. I need a holiday!

As my income is derived from 5 ex-boyfriends 'hush money', 3 current lovers' wooing funds and 1 ex-husband's 'leave me alone and never speak to me again' cash, I can afford to go where I may. As have been to most places in the world (and have the cancelled visa's to prove it), decide to ring Best Friend for advice. Catch her feeling magnanimous amid post-coital cuddles with current boyfriend (a theatre usher). She suggests we go somewhere together as she needs to 'come up for air'. I tell her I don't need the gory details of her sex life and hang up on her with tawdry visions involving epaulets and tassels.

Decide I'm better off going alone. Find my well worn atlas to make responsible grown up choice of holiday destination. Close eyes, open atlas and point. Hmmmm, have landed in middle of Arabian Sea. Well, nothing there...no wait! A teeny tiny island. I Google it and find that it is owned by a certain Sheik I have already had the displeasure of knowing. Won't be going there again. Close eyes and point to...Baffin Island, Canada. Too cold! El Salvador. Too hot! Mont Blanc. Too high! Greenland. Are you kidding me?! Ugh! This is no use. Try one last time. Perth. Aha! Never been, no passport required, warm and sunny and I know the language. Perfect!

Book flights and private car & driver transfers online. Accommodation offers will no doubt be abundant within the first bar I walk into. I leave tomorrow!

5 days later...
Awake in a Cottesloe sun-filled bedroom to the drunken calls of my newest stalker wafting through the window, yet another stranger in my bed, and a hangover the size of Mount Kilimanjaro.

Goodness it's great to be on holiday!

FiFi Jo!

FiFi Jo Goes to School

Awoke today with ringing in head. Promise self will stop going to bed with Sambucca shots and wine chasers and amend my ways with warm milk instead. Realise ringing is phone under pillow so quickly take back previous comment about changing my bed-time drinking ritual. It's my son's School Principal calling me. This comes as a shock as Ex always deals with our offspring's minor concerns such as schooling, health issues and housing. (Apparently I have been deemed too child-like by the courts to be any use in these situations. If they mean I have the skin of an 11 year old and the capriciousness of a teen then yes, perhaps they are right). Seems had to see Principal "promptly" about a troubling matter regarding son # 2.

As haven't been to school in 'a few years', decided to go with what I used to wear as a youngster the few days I bothered to attend, ie short navy skirt made shorter with pins at hem, ankle socks with kitten heels and white see-through blouse with black bra. OK, maybe I covered up a fraction more back in the day, but only a fraction. Besides, have to compete with all the school mum's wearing similar outfits due amount of stay-at-home dad's on the increase. Hair in ponytails and a splash of red lippie and I was appropriately dressed and ready to hear what the old school master could possibly have to say about my amazing offspring. Upon arrival at the school, use vice-principals parking spot as is my due. Am made to sit and wait outside office and I can tell you, had flashbacks galore. One third of my misspent youth was wasted waiting for various teachers, aides, youth workers and principals throughout the country in a waiting room precisely like this one. Knowing my mother, it's a surprise I wasn't conceived in one (knowing me I am not so sure son # 1 wasn't).

Gestured into office with wave of talon-like hand by school front office bitch. Does every school have one of those? Meet Principal who is obviously suffering from short man/bald head syndrome (dangerous when combined with big nose/nerdy glasses syndrome). Ask him to get to the point after allowing him minimum amount of ogling time. Explains there were pictures drawn by son # 2 that were of concern and may be upsetting to me. It seems son had portraits of his family and friends with a big cross drawn over the likeness of me. Set Principal straight that if son wishes to worship me as the angel I am then what could possibly be the problem? And if he has used his talents (no doubt from my side of the family) to make abstract religious art then if the school cannot see the irony in it then I would have to rethink his educational needs. Principal explains it was not that sort of cross. Oh.

Leave school with a fistful of 'Parenting How-to' pamphlets and a promise that I will have more of a caring role in son's life. Do not mind the brochures but I thought the puppet show explaining how I can talk to my son was a little condescending. Although it did make me understand that a mother is usually a maternal figure to a son rather than the crazy aunt. Other than taking oestrogen tablets to get the maternal instinct to kick in there's not much I can do. Decide to enrol forthwith into one of the least hippy-like parenting courses on offer...


Next Day
Awoke with ringing in head. Feeling deja vu so remembered to check for phone. Was hippy puppet show class reconfirming my place in today's 'Have fun with Randy' day. Seems had too many vinos at local wine bar after school meeting and signed up for the wrong thing. Egads! Movement in bed next to me....is that, oh crap. Can see bald head and big nose peering shyly from beneath doona. Remembered School Principal had followed me to wine bar with idea to 'console' me about my poor parenting skills over copious glasses of wine. Seem also to recall something about never being allowed on school grounds again. Oh well, at least can keep role of crazy aunt.

FiFi Jo Looks for a Job!

Day 1

11:59am
Get up, make coffee, jump spritely into shower. Today is the day I will surely find my dream job!

1:22pm
Jump spritely out of shower, look for towel.

2:05pm
Find towel under fictional book entitled 'How to Find a Job in 5 Easy Steps". Decide what to wear.

4:15pm
Have decided upon faux-Chanel pink suit with faux-fur trim and midnight blue six inch heels. Now i'm ready to look at the jobs section of the newspaper!

4:16pm
Damn! Forgot to buy newspaper.

4:17pm
Phew! That was hard work! Go back to bed

FiFi Jo Visits her Parents

'Official true account of my unbearable week-long visit to parents' 3 bedroom fibro dwelling in outer-suburbia dragging two kids, nine suitcases and a yearning desire for a decent flat white....'

Day 1
After chaining children to television set so that I may sleep until midday, decide lolling around pool on lilo with Homers 'Odyssey' may relax me. Wave to kids with their noses pressed to window. Decide to let them in for a swim when drool starts issuing from mouths, but as they splash Versace diamond studded two-piece, threaten to upgrade washing and mopping duty privileges toot-sweet.

Day 2
Sister uses my celebrity status to get us into local Sporting Club, where she had previously been thrown out during Tom Jones look-alike contest on bodice-ripping and strangled cat noise violations. She doesn't notice me slipping a couple of mustard backs* out of her handbag as she plays the 'one-armed bandits' (as she advises poker machines are so hilariously called). Like a woman bent on further bodice-ripping, she inhales her Semillion Sauvignon Blanc and takes her place on a stool she refers to as her 'Lucky Chair'.

Take opportunity to peruse male pickings and I can assure you that they are slim. One captain of rugby team that I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole (as already have) and three vice-captains of various sporting acheivments who I would touch, if they weren't already entangled by large-sized fan base (and I don't mean the number of girls). Give competition a hint to "step away from the tall one" by digging stilleto heel into her groin. Victoriously, provide winning male with a mad grope behind largest potted palm in Club Restaurant. Unfortunately, Am left with bad pash rash and leaf imprint on cheek. Advise sister I must be allergic to new budget lipstick bought from suburban shopping mall. She rightly so doesn't believe me - I've never bought anything 'budget' in my life. 'Lucky Chair' proves a winner when sister's meat tray ticket receives 2nd place - 12kgs of sausages.

Day 3
Bored bored bored. Feel parents discouraging children's artistic talents when find them walloping child's behinds after what I thought was a lovely game of 'tear down curtains and roll around in non-washable texta' with them. Not agreeing with my idea that the 1970's hexagonal print was out and new curtains were definitely required anyway, decide to liberate spawn to air-conditioned shopping mall in parents 1991 Toyota Corolla wagon. As won't be seen driving anything less than an Aston Martin DB6 - Mark II (black) have used eldest son as cover by placing on lap and using five of my Chanel makeup mirrors in complex steering manoeuvre.

Arrive at mall with only 3 near misses, 2 birds flipped (by son), and 1 rather large driving fine (apparently police officer did not recognise self nor bestow me with respect I advised her was my due. Will let her off this time with warning as not sure if my celebrity status has reached this far into suburbia). Make my entrance into mall by handing keys to rather dubious young valet with enough tattoos to enlist him in next years Tropfest in 'brooding moving image' category. Chain children in lift so they could enjoy free rides while I defiantly spend money meant for Roads & Traffic Authority fine on new Versace bathing suit.

1 hour later....

Upon finishing my three devoured 'skim flat whites with four sugars' (which I know for a fact were made by percolating Nescafe), noisily demand refund from thirteen year old pimply cafe worker with chip on shoulder (take note friends, stamping feet and threatening to be Facebook Friends works a charm on the younger generations). Heard name called over P.A. system....finally, someone realises there is a celebrity in their midst! (Was called up for "Dancing with the Stars" once until they realised they wanted the "other" FiFi). Arrive to find Mall Manager grasping offspring by cuffs of shirts a la "Dennis the Menace". MM asks for my personal details but I explain that if he is trying to get a date with me, he needs to come up with something a little more subtle. Threaten MM with sexual harassment. Whilst his look of incredulity is no doubt a cover for what he's really thinking about (my thigh-high boots and twin-loaded cone push-up bra), children and I take his momentary befuddlement as chance to saunter off in general direction of valet station.

2 hours later......

Find car minus tyres, doors and AM/FM stereo tape deck in alleyway behind mall. Drive back to parents.

Day 4
Wake up to tune of glasses clinking and whispered hushes of "don't wake the lush"

Day 5
Avoid calls from suitably impressed vice-captain after discover he'd been kicked from the team for showing up to photo shoot with bad pash rash and new over-zealous respect for 'Passion Pop'.

Day 6
Awaken to drunken shouts from pool to discover ex Vice-Captain wallowing in lilo waving said elixir and signalling to my horrified mother to join him in what I can only hope is a Synchronized Swimming competition. Furiously push mother out of my way from her hiding place behind the couch in the other room. Upon entering pool area, notice father encouraging dim-witted athlete by waving team flag and shouting 'I'll join ya if yer like Smithy"! Ensure pool gate catches father's knee squarely as I saunter by in new swimsuit.

3 seconds later....
Realise now why could buy Haute Couture off the rack at Suburban shopping mall when bathing suit falls apart upon entering over-chlorinated pool water. Didn't think Versace was spelt with two 's'es. Ex Vice-Captain takes this as sign to pounce and for first time in my life am relieved my sister has a habitual desire for competition in continual game of one-upmanship with my unfailing ability to make any man stop and gasp at the sight of my svelte figure and model-like features (paid for by time spent in Eastern Block country - but that's another story).

Needless to say her every waking hour is consumed by jealousy and a bad back from continually flinging herself in front of me to get attention. This time allow her to dive into pool fully clothed as have decided that any man who calls upon a lady without buying her a gift valued over $300.00 isn't worth it.

Day 7
Leave in huff after parents "accidentally" go on holiday and cut off power supply. Half way home, turn back for kids.

Yours,
FiFi xoxox
*AUD$50.00 notes

Diary of a Self Obsessed Mother

Day 1:Awaken to noise of neighbours testing out their new bedroom furniture, and had just decided to go around and see if they required an expert in the field of mattress bouncing to assist, when realised banging was on own front door. As children occupying themselves with teasing next door's German Shepherd with next doors cat, was up to me to traipse downstairs and advise to stalker that one does not enjoy being awakened at three in the afternoon on any day, especially a Monday, and could he please try admiring me from afar, when hear suspicious "harumphing" noises.

Open door to my puce-faced mother with rather permanent looking suitcase. She advises that I was to pick her up from the airport two hours ago, and as finding a limousine who would accept her David Jones store card was impossible, had to take a common taxi to my abode. Why she should think I would remember any such invitation extended to her is beyond me, until I recalled a strange phone conversation last week who I thought at the time was with my cosmetic surgeon discussing baggage, but may have been mother after all.....I must curb my appetite for Cosmopolitans till after 11.00am. Explain that whilst she may think I have a fanciful life, my 6253 Facebook friends expect me to change my profile picture every hour and she knows how I hate to let anybody down.

Day 2:
Now what? Awaken to sound of clunking dishes and upon entering kitchen find mother wrestling with some stainless steel contraption that was previously used as storage for all of my stalkers kind gifts of home made idols in replica of self. When asked why I dont know how to make a proper cup of coffee advise mother that is what children and microwaves are for.

Luncheon at local ladies club did not go according to plan when all the girls were enraptured with mothers' tales of me as a child getting my first cold sore from one of the boys at the kissing booth I had permanently erected in front of our three bedroom fibro home in the outer suburbs. Crimson with humiliation I stamp home and call locksmith to come poste haste and change locks before mother remembers the way back. Locksmith suitably paid and impressed with said mattress bouncing skills, mother emerges through unlocked laundry door where I impress upon her the importance of keeping my friends under the illusion that we come from a four level brick home in the leafy upper class suburbs. Scolding over, I fling myself on the couch with my copy of Wuthering Heights where I can at least identify with Cathy if not my mother.

Day 3:
As bustle mother out of house at 6.00am with her kaftan blinding my sight, am hit on head by flying tin can. Realise that aforementioned idols were crushed beer cans tossed over from motorcycle gang club house across the street. Humph! In indignation stroll purposefully across to give them a piece of my mind.

Day: 4
Hmmmmmm, awaken to strong smell of stale beer and itching inky sore on backside. Seems have been tattooed with the words "Mutty's Bitch" and am possibly now wed to a large bearded man with a penchant for leather and large engines between his legs. Oh well, at least will never have a problem with locks again.

Yours in a sulk,
FiFi
xoxox

FiFi Jo's Morning After the Night Before

One Monday morning somewhere in your city....

6.00am:
Walk along Main Street in Backwater Suburb eating a croissant and looking into shop windows admiring my reflection. Feeling very 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' until I discover my beehive looks more like a birds nest, my dress has hand prints about the cleavage and a tyre mark across the hem, one kitten heel has broken off and my croissant is actually cold toast. Stick out hand for cab to immediately stop in front of me as per my status decrees, but just get weird looks from teenager on skateboard. Consider this mode of transportation for a moment but will not allow myself to stoop to riding in anything without tinted windows, or indeed an engine.

6.03am
Arrive home after endless walk of shame.

6.04am
Pass out.

3.18pm
Awoken in front garden flower bed by buzzing sounds, to discover birds nest hairdo now a real beehive.

3.18.30pm
Vow never to drink a carafe of cherry vodka followed by 6 Jagerbomb shooters EVER AGAIN

4.45pm
Ring work and explain will not be in today, as suffering from RSI of wrist. Boss explains cannot get Repetitive Strain Injury from dancing on tables, and that as I start work at 9.00am had understandably figured out I wasn't coming in. Takes great pains in chuckling down phone that I had missed out on Cheryl from HR's birthday mudcake and gift giving afternoon. Why he thinks I care to see a 65 year old opening naughty underwear presents and crying about the lack of love life on which to use them is beyond me. Reminded myself to get the $1.50 back that I had put in.

5.10pm
As don't own fridge decide to trundle down to local wine bar for 'Happy Hour' pick-me-up and free nibbles between 5.00 - 6.00pm.

5.20pm
Couple at table next to me complain of lack of food whilst wait-staff explain that they usually order enough to last the full hour. Luckily I can stay svelt no matter how much I eat thanks to my Swedish genes (12 generations past) and the lack of money spent on actually buying anything edible.

5.37pm
Call from best friend needing assistance with two American sailors, a jug of alcopop and a "rather posh penthouse with real art" in City.

6.00am
Walk along Main Street in Backwater Suburb eating a croissant and looking into shop windows admiring my reflection....