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.
Wednesday 22 June 2011
Thursday 16 June 2011
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
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
Tuesday 14 June 2011
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
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
Saturday 11 June 2011
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
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
Friday 10 June 2011
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....
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....
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