I was just watching a documentary on Australian Bikie gangs, where the journalist and some of the bikies were imploring the community to see them as just normal people, no different to you or I. To that I say;
But you look like scary mother fuckers!? ??
I’m sure the media has a lot to do with their bad reputation, their clearly poor reporting of violent drive by shootings and the way they focus on the big hairy tattooed ones is utterly inappropriate.....
But still, they do look like scary mother fuckers......
Before you start going red in the face and shouting words like ‘Judgemental’ ‘Conclusion jumper’ and ‘Jingoism-ist’ (I just learnt that word!) at me, I have a story to tell you, it’s my story, a story about the day I came face to face with a bikie or two.
It was a mild Autumn day in Autumn, an ill wind was blowing and the clouds had moved in front of the sun, there was an eerie silence that could only mean one thing.......
Ok no seriously - I was walking past legal aid one day with my $5 lunch time pasta special in hand. A couple of large bikie men, with dark glasses and an inordinate amount of denim on were standing outside. They were smoking and observing the passing foot traffic. I hastened my step a little, wanting to get past quickly before they drew out their sawn off shot guns....... I should have remained calm however, because the pointy toe of my shoe got stuck in the cobblestone and I fell completely flat on my face.
My red pasta sauce splattered everywhere, my sunglasses scuttled up the street, one lens popping out and I really really hurt my knee. I’d been taken down.
Once the dust settled and as the embarrassment started to jab at my insides like a red hot poker, I was assisted to my feet.
Who was it that helped me? Was it my colleague who was walking up the street with me? No, she was too busy doubled over laughing. Was it the suits that were walking in the opposite direction? No, they quite literally stepped over me.
It was the two burly bikers. They stopped what they were doing and helped me up, one walked the short distance up the road to retrieve my sunglasses whilst the other held my arm and asked me if I was ok.
Shame.
I was utterly shamed.
A timely yet painful reminder to never judge a book by its cover.
So why are you telling us this Emily? Well I guess the thing is there are bad apples in every barrel, but ultimately I believe you should only judge people by the way they treat you.
So Biker 1 and Biker 2, I will never forget you, may the roads stretch ahead of you and the denim always be in plentiful supply. I’m sorry you look like such scary mother fuckers cause I really think alot of your troubles would be solved if your club approved material was terry towelling and the compulsory headgear was a jaunty sun visor.
Just saying....
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Top 10 things I've learnt this week
I had a birthday this week. It wasn’t a milestone but I’ve never felt this disturbed by a birthday before.
I have nothing more to say apart from the learnings I wish to share from this week;
1) If you do not drive an automatic vehicle but hire one for a week whilst your manual vehicle is in the shop, you should remember that the little letter ‘N’ does not stand for ‘Normal ‘Driving. That high pitched whirring scream is the car you’re in and you aren’t going anywhere until you move it into ‘D’
2) Turning 36 is a mind fuck. No two ways about it and I can’t describe it any other way. I’m spent. I’m on the downward slide to 40
3) 40 is not the new twenty, fuck off everyone. It’s just not.
4) Attending your first parent teacher interview is nerve wracking enough, having to sit on midget sized chairs and bend your legs sideways to fit under the table does not give you any kind of upper hand. You’re the teachers bitch.
5) Chlorophyll shots every morning does not make you friends with people you share the ‘facilities’ with.
6) It will take one week of continuous viewing to get through 232 episodes of The Flying Doctors. I’m willing....
7) Delta Goodrem is loathsome – I can’t even remember what benign songs she used to sing, but her appearance on ‘The Voice’ has me shouting foul mouth sentences at the screen. Stop.Pretending.To.Have.Rhythm.And.Style.
8) The realisation a good healthy diet and regular exercise maintains weight and wellbeing is too much like being in the midst of a mid life crisis and makes you want to drink more and eat a pack of Tim Tams for tea.
9) I’m never going to win the Sunrise $10k Cash give away if I don’t ring in but I don’t want to ring in just in case I win and people realise I watch Sunrise...
10) I’ve got it pretty bloody good, I have a loving husband, 2 gorgeous kids and am on the way to being the person I want to be - living independently of an aged care facility – I’ll take it for as long as I can
I have nothing more to say apart from the learnings I wish to share from this week;
1) If you do not drive an automatic vehicle but hire one for a week whilst your manual vehicle is in the shop, you should remember that the little letter ‘N’ does not stand for ‘Normal ‘Driving. That high pitched whirring scream is the car you’re in and you aren’t going anywhere until you move it into ‘D’
2) Turning 36 is a mind fuck. No two ways about it and I can’t describe it any other way. I’m spent. I’m on the downward slide to 40
3) 40 is not the new twenty, fuck off everyone. It’s just not.
4) Attending your first parent teacher interview is nerve wracking enough, having to sit on midget sized chairs and bend your legs sideways to fit under the table does not give you any kind of upper hand. You’re the teachers bitch.
5) Chlorophyll shots every morning does not make you friends with people you share the ‘facilities’ with.
6) It will take one week of continuous viewing to get through 232 episodes of The Flying Doctors. I’m willing....
7) Delta Goodrem is loathsome – I can’t even remember what benign songs she used to sing, but her appearance on ‘The Voice’ has me shouting foul mouth sentences at the screen. Stop.Pretending.To.Have.Rhythm.And.Style.
8) The realisation a good healthy diet and regular exercise maintains weight and wellbeing is too much like being in the midst of a mid life crisis and makes you want to drink more and eat a pack of Tim Tams for tea.
9) I’m never going to win the Sunrise $10k Cash give away if I don’t ring in but I don’t want to ring in just in case I win and people realise I watch Sunrise...
10) I’ve got it pretty bloody good, I have a loving husband, 2 gorgeous kids and am on the way to being the person I want to be - living independently of an aged care facility – I’ll take it for as long as I can
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Multi tasking is sometimes not the friend you want it to be.
As a woman, I multi task. It’s in my nature, I can be doing one thing whilst watching something else. I can talk and complete two or three tasks at the same time. I often delegate my multi tasked tasks back to myself I am THAT impressive.
I am woman hear me jot down a list.
It’s not really something women spend alot of time bragging about though. Do lions brag about chasing down and killing a zebra, do musicians brag about the song they’ve just thought up in their head (actually I think they probably would, I would!), do liberals brag about always having to pig headedly take the opposing point of view to anything remotely socially progressive ? No, because it’s all part of their nature, it’s just the way it is.
I have sometimes had thoughts of sharing my multi tasking wins, but I would take no satisfaction in making my few male readers feel alienated and disoriented by the revelation that it really is possible to bathe a child whilst cleaning the bathroom sink, folding the towels from the dryer, removing the children’s toothbrush that is firmly wedged in the sink hole all whilst talking with my mother on the phone , planning the dinner and washing said childs hair.
It’s easy to scoff at the idea of planning dinner, but dinner is the biggest multi task of all. Especially when you have one child who wants all food to remain separate on the plate, nothing touching and positively absolutely nothing yellow on there. Whilst the other only wishes to eat butter. At room temperature no less.
I hear you, oh here we go this is all about women running a house, isn’t it, Germaine Greer would be rolling over in her expensive duck feather filled duvet..... hhmmmm yes, However naysayers, I did multi task before I had children. I recall nights where I would be putting liquid eyeliner on with one hand and mixing a vodka cranberry with the other. Of course in my day mobile phones were not that huge (well actually they were ginormous, but you know what I mean), I imagine the young women of today could do all of the above whilst tweeting about Gaga’s meat dress (did that make me sound old?)
No one is going to say it for me so I am just going to quietly mention it.
I am a multi tasking god
If there was an award out there for the person that gets the most stuff done in the most efficient way with the least amount of tears from others and themselves THEN I WOULD BLOODY WELL WIN THAT AWARD/CROWN/BRONZED TIMER!
However, on that note I must confess. I had a huge multi task fail the other day. I feel I have to share it, for the good of mankind you see....
I would like to make it known that putting your socks on whilst doing a wee just doesn’t work. The laws of physics or engineering, perhaps even gravity prevent it from being successful (sorry about the visual you have right now).
To the multi taskers amongst us, I salute you. It’s a ne’er spoken of skill and a rarely commended one. Print yourselves off a certificate, you deserve it!
I know there’s more jokes in here about men and multi tasking. I have visions of my husband juggling a baby with a full nappy, smoke coming out of the oven and a ringing phone all whilst he maintains a look of panic and confusion. But I wont go there, there’s no good in plainly point out ones down falls...... too easy.
I am woman hear me jot down a list.
It’s not really something women spend alot of time bragging about though. Do lions brag about chasing down and killing a zebra, do musicians brag about the song they’ve just thought up in their head (actually I think they probably would, I would!), do liberals brag about always having to pig headedly take the opposing point of view to anything remotely socially progressive ? No, because it’s all part of their nature, it’s just the way it is.
I have sometimes had thoughts of sharing my multi tasking wins, but I would take no satisfaction in making my few male readers feel alienated and disoriented by the revelation that it really is possible to bathe a child whilst cleaning the bathroom sink, folding the towels from the dryer, removing the children’s toothbrush that is firmly wedged in the sink hole all whilst talking with my mother on the phone , planning the dinner and washing said childs hair.
It’s easy to scoff at the idea of planning dinner, but dinner is the biggest multi task of all. Especially when you have one child who wants all food to remain separate on the plate, nothing touching and positively absolutely nothing yellow on there. Whilst the other only wishes to eat butter. At room temperature no less.
I hear you, oh here we go this is all about women running a house, isn’t it, Germaine Greer would be rolling over in her expensive duck feather filled duvet..... hhmmmm yes, However naysayers, I did multi task before I had children. I recall nights where I would be putting liquid eyeliner on with one hand and mixing a vodka cranberry with the other. Of course in my day mobile phones were not that huge (well actually they were ginormous, but you know what I mean), I imagine the young women of today could do all of the above whilst tweeting about Gaga’s meat dress (did that make me sound old?)
No one is going to say it for me so I am just going to quietly mention it.
I am a multi tasking god
If there was an award out there for the person that gets the most stuff done in the most efficient way with the least amount of tears from others and themselves THEN I WOULD BLOODY WELL WIN THAT AWARD/CROWN/BRONZED TIMER!
However, on that note I must confess. I had a huge multi task fail the other day. I feel I have to share it, for the good of mankind you see....
I would like to make it known that putting your socks on whilst doing a wee just doesn’t work. The laws of physics or engineering, perhaps even gravity prevent it from being successful (sorry about the visual you have right now).
To the multi taskers amongst us, I salute you. It’s a ne’er spoken of skill and a rarely commended one. Print yourselves off a certificate, you deserve it!
I know there’s more jokes in here about men and multi tasking. I have visions of my husband juggling a baby with a full nappy, smoke coming out of the oven and a ringing phone all whilst he maintains a look of panic and confusion. But I wont go there, there’s no good in plainly point out ones down falls...... too easy.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Rear Ending - not everyone's perfect start to the day...
This morning I was in a minor car accident, totally random, totally out of nowhere. When it happened I sat there confused for a little bit, I was even embarrassed that it had happened, not that it was my fault, but it seemed embarrassing to think someone may have seen me bounce around like a little dodgem car, head bobbling back and forward, car all wobbly!
My air bags didn’t go off, but I was lucky enough to have some safety equipment on my person that I’m thinking of patenting. I hit my head on the headrest and truly believe that my back combed beehive saved me from a potential acquired brain injury. The soft underside cushioned my skull whilst the lacquered outer of the ‘do’ cracked like a bike helmet……. My kids will now be sporting mini beehives for the rest of their lives, Schwarzkopf will be applied liberally to heads before departure from this house. Beehives hey? Who’d have thought? Not only totally amazing hair dos but a radical safety apparatus too.
After a near death experience it’s apparently normal to ponder your own mortality and the bigger questions of the universe. For me I had niggling long term unanswered questions flash through my mind at point of impact;
‘Why are there such things as weight loss books, shouldn’t a pamphlet be enough, stop procrastinating and just get the point of it’
‘If no one is using the colour function on the printer why does the yellow always run out? Who’s secretly printing lots of yellow stuff?’
‘Why when you break a big bank note does the change just magically dissolve over the next 24 hours?’
‘HOLD on STOP!’ I can hear you saying, ‘ But Emily, your car was stationery, the other car was going approximately 10 to 15 kilometres an hour, what on earth are you talking about, that’s as near death as a deep paper cut or hair dye in your eye??!!’
Well, with much indignation, to that I say………. Yes, true but it does make you think about what it would be like to have a near death experience and after watching a cheesecake slide quickly off your passenger seat and in slow motion fall onto the floor right way up and fully in tact, it makes you wonder if some awesome sugar fairy or dessert god is watching over you and giving you the nod of further approval.
I can feel your incredulous looks right now, so ok, it was a minor accident, but gosh it was loud and I was so shaken that I laughed like a maniac with the inattentive driver that rear ended me. I’ve been feeling a little strange all day because of it, I ate half an orange and poppyseed cake for afternoon tea (who am I kidding, that’s totally normal after any stressful event….. or ordinary day)
The whole unfortunate even has really changed my perspective on safe driving. I wasn’t doing anything wrong and I ended up with a flat hair do and a sore neck for my troubles, it must be awful to be involved in something higher impact than that.
Driving home I think I got over 20 kilometres an hour once, I gave way like no ones business, sounded my horn when rounding corners of any kind, I kept a safe distance of 500 metres from the car in front . People were waving arms and flashing their lights in appreciation of the reminder to drive safely!
So to the people taking the time to read this, I ask that over the Easter break you especially take the time to please drive carefully and safely. If you’re travelling long distances make sure you back comb yourself a large beehive and lacquer it into place.
Happy Easter and Happy travels everyone.
Ps: Sorry to Morphy for using the word pamphlet…….
Pps: Would you buy something called the 'Beesife' (say it like 'bee sayyyyfe' - get it? no? needs more work? BeeSafetyhairdo just seems OTT....
My air bags didn’t go off, but I was lucky enough to have some safety equipment on my person that I’m thinking of patenting. I hit my head on the headrest and truly believe that my back combed beehive saved me from a potential acquired brain injury. The soft underside cushioned my skull whilst the lacquered outer of the ‘do’ cracked like a bike helmet……. My kids will now be sporting mini beehives for the rest of their lives, Schwarzkopf will be applied liberally to heads before departure from this house. Beehives hey? Who’d have thought? Not only totally amazing hair dos but a radical safety apparatus too.
After a near death experience it’s apparently normal to ponder your own mortality and the bigger questions of the universe. For me I had niggling long term unanswered questions flash through my mind at point of impact;
‘Why are there such things as weight loss books, shouldn’t a pamphlet be enough, stop procrastinating and just get the point of it’
‘If no one is using the colour function on the printer why does the yellow always run out? Who’s secretly printing lots of yellow stuff?’
‘Why when you break a big bank note does the change just magically dissolve over the next 24 hours?’
‘HOLD on STOP!’ I can hear you saying, ‘ But Emily, your car was stationery, the other car was going approximately 10 to 15 kilometres an hour, what on earth are you talking about, that’s as near death as a deep paper cut or hair dye in your eye??!!’
Well, with much indignation, to that I say………. Yes, true but it does make you think about what it would be like to have a near death experience and after watching a cheesecake slide quickly off your passenger seat and in slow motion fall onto the floor right way up and fully in tact, it makes you wonder if some awesome sugar fairy or dessert god is watching over you and giving you the nod of further approval.
I can feel your incredulous looks right now, so ok, it was a minor accident, but gosh it was loud and I was so shaken that I laughed like a maniac with the inattentive driver that rear ended me. I’ve been feeling a little strange all day because of it, I ate half an orange and poppyseed cake for afternoon tea (who am I kidding, that’s totally normal after any stressful event….. or ordinary day)
The whole unfortunate even has really changed my perspective on safe driving. I wasn’t doing anything wrong and I ended up with a flat hair do and a sore neck for my troubles, it must be awful to be involved in something higher impact than that.
Driving home I think I got over 20 kilometres an hour once, I gave way like no ones business, sounded my horn when rounding corners of any kind, I kept a safe distance of 500 metres from the car in front . People were waving arms and flashing their lights in appreciation of the reminder to drive safely!
So to the people taking the time to read this, I ask that over the Easter break you especially take the time to please drive carefully and safely. If you’re travelling long distances make sure you back comb yourself a large beehive and lacquer it into place.
Happy Easter and Happy travels everyone.
Ps: Sorry to Morphy for using the word pamphlet…….
Pps: Would you buy something called the 'Beesife' (say it like 'bee sayyyyfe' - get it? no? needs more work? BeeSafetyhairdo just seems OTT....
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Dear Emmely, I have some things to tell you…..
The other day in a magazine I read a letter that Maggie Tabberer wrote to her younger self. It was full of inspiration and supportive musings, twas little surprised there wasn’t a warning about over use of kaftans and turbans. Thought I might write one to myself, I’m having a little difficulty dealing with the fact that I’m 36 this year – I still feel as though I’m 16, I still feel as though adults treat me like I’m 16 and I wonder what mad person has let me care for their kids for this long….
*ahem* ok here we go
Dear Em,
I’m the future you, well actually you’re the past me, so this is weird and now I’m regretting this idea a little – I wont bore you with details on how we got here, I’ll just get into it
I know you’re considering changing the spelling of you name to appear a little edgier to your friends, firstly, they already know how your name is spelt, so don’t bother, secondly, don’t write your new name all over your CD cases because that shit’s going to haunt you forever and your future husband will take great joy in teasing you mercilessly about how you wrote ‘Emmely’ all over your Violent Femmes CDs…..
School – I know I know – you’re so not interested in anything I have to say about it. I wont lecture you (because I know how much attention you pay to those), but I will just pass on a couple of things that might be useful. College is not going to be your friend, you need structure and the freedom of college doesn’t agree with you. Some things to consider; Your absences are recorded on your report cards – first term it’s ok to not know this –but really there’s no excuse for the terms after this – it really isn’t worth the hassle, especially when all you’re doing is hanging around on College campus anyway??! Don’t quit Maths in year 12 without telling your parents – might be better to let them know before the lack of term report makes them query the competence of the school. Also be thankful that your Dad highlights all the good things in your report before focussing on the negative – that’s a good strategy, although I do know it prolongs the anticipation of the yelling.
Oh and on a good note your Psych teacher will tell you not to bother sitting the exam because you would have to ace it to pass the subject, ignore him. You ace it. (Which actually makes me think, if you apply yourself in class you might do really well, ok yes yes sorry moving into lecture territory.)
Enough about school - there are a few things you need to thank your mother for – as much as you rallied against her and believe me I still remember the silent stand offs in Sportsgirl and Miss Shop where you are holding the black dress and she is holding the floral one – there are a few things you can be thankful for – she’s not going to let you get a hyper colour t-shirt – that’s a plus, no one needs to know when you’re hot under the arm pits. She will not let you use hair spray or a teasing comb on your fringe – trust me, just trust me on this one. However she is going to let you get a perm – try to re-think that one before you go ahead. She is not going to let you wear 4+ pairs of sport socks to high school – again I think she’s onto something there, so don’t fight it. Finally, she’s going to be right when she says wearing old army boots makes you seem a little masculine – keep pushing the line that a pair of Doc Martens are more ladylike, I don’t feel like I worked that as much as I should have and I really think if you go on and on and on about it you could end up with a pair for Christmas 1993 – persistence is the key, she admires persistence……
Here are some things I would like you stay away from if you can – cask wine, clove cigarettes, the 1992 Jacki’s Marsh Forest Festival, Red Earth perfume, 50% of your work Club nights.
Things I would like you to do more of – save your money, attend more classes at college (Shut up!), driving lessons, exercise ( you really are going to end up doing none at all, maybe if you don't quit hockey because it interrupts your weekend vodka drinking we wouldn’t have this problem now….), travel (further than Melbourne).
Oh wow I didn’t even get to inappropriate workplace behaviours, length of skirts when going out, guidelines for vodka usage and laughing inappropriately at marriage proposals – I might have to do a second letter to early 20s you/me another time.
Best of luck with it all, you turn out ok - Chin up (no really you have a tendency towards double chins – keep the chin up and don’t allow short people to take pics of your face)
Sincerest best wishes, Em/Me/You.
Ps: Yes, you will end up sounding like your parents.
Pps: stay away from boys called Chris or Mathew (yes one 't' - be on the look out)
Ppps: I've only just realised the Psych teacher totally reverse psyched me! Man he was good!
*ahem* ok here we go
Dear Em,
I’m the future you, well actually you’re the past me, so this is weird and now I’m regretting this idea a little – I wont bore you with details on how we got here, I’ll just get into it
I know you’re considering changing the spelling of you name to appear a little edgier to your friends, firstly, they already know how your name is spelt, so don’t bother, secondly, don’t write your new name all over your CD cases because that shit’s going to haunt you forever and your future husband will take great joy in teasing you mercilessly about how you wrote ‘Emmely’ all over your Violent Femmes CDs…..
School – I know I know – you’re so not interested in anything I have to say about it. I wont lecture you (because I know how much attention you pay to those), but I will just pass on a couple of things that might be useful. College is not going to be your friend, you need structure and the freedom of college doesn’t agree with you. Some things to consider; Your absences are recorded on your report cards – first term it’s ok to not know this –but really there’s no excuse for the terms after this – it really isn’t worth the hassle, especially when all you’re doing is hanging around on College campus anyway??! Don’t quit Maths in year 12 without telling your parents – might be better to let them know before the lack of term report makes them query the competence of the school. Also be thankful that your Dad highlights all the good things in your report before focussing on the negative – that’s a good strategy, although I do know it prolongs the anticipation of the yelling.
Oh and on a good note your Psych teacher will tell you not to bother sitting the exam because you would have to ace it to pass the subject, ignore him. You ace it. (Which actually makes me think, if you apply yourself in class you might do really well, ok yes yes sorry moving into lecture territory.)
Enough about school - there are a few things you need to thank your mother for – as much as you rallied against her and believe me I still remember the silent stand offs in Sportsgirl and Miss Shop where you are holding the black dress and she is holding the floral one – there are a few things you can be thankful for – she’s not going to let you get a hyper colour t-shirt – that’s a plus, no one needs to know when you’re hot under the arm pits. She will not let you use hair spray or a teasing comb on your fringe – trust me, just trust me on this one. However she is going to let you get a perm – try to re-think that one before you go ahead. She is not going to let you wear 4+ pairs of sport socks to high school – again I think she’s onto something there, so don’t fight it. Finally, she’s going to be right when she says wearing old army boots makes you seem a little masculine – keep pushing the line that a pair of Doc Martens are more ladylike, I don’t feel like I worked that as much as I should have and I really think if you go on and on and on about it you could end up with a pair for Christmas 1993 – persistence is the key, she admires persistence……
Here are some things I would like you stay away from if you can – cask wine, clove cigarettes, the 1992 Jacki’s Marsh Forest Festival, Red Earth perfume, 50% of your work Club nights.
Things I would like you to do more of – save your money, attend more classes at college (Shut up!), driving lessons, exercise ( you really are going to end up doing none at all, maybe if you don't quit hockey because it interrupts your weekend vodka drinking we wouldn’t have this problem now….), travel (further than Melbourne).
Oh wow I didn’t even get to inappropriate workplace behaviours, length of skirts when going out, guidelines for vodka usage and laughing inappropriately at marriage proposals – I might have to do a second letter to early 20s you/me another time.
Best of luck with it all, you turn out ok - Chin up (no really you have a tendency towards double chins – keep the chin up and don’t allow short people to take pics of your face)
Sincerest best wishes, Em/Me/You.
Ps: Yes, you will end up sounding like your parents.
Pps: stay away from boys called Chris or Mathew (yes one 't' - be on the look out)
Ppps: I've only just realised the Psych teacher totally reverse psyched me! Man he was good!
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Reflections of the way life used to be....
Husband and I attended our first school concert event this week, it was an eye opener on many levels. Firstly, Primary School auditoriums are nowhere near as big as I remember them! Secondly, I witnessed some truly lovely nurturing behaviour between teachers and pupils. Upset, scared children were consoled and hugged, others were high fived for their awesome work and some were gently ushered back to their seats when they vagued out and stared at the ceiling for too long. It made me realise how amazing school teachers are and how influential they are throughout your whole life.
I spent some time sitting in that not so big auditorium being transported back in time to the mid 80s, and remembering way more than I had allowed myself to remember in the past. There were some early influences that hadn’t popped into my head in a very long time.....
*queue wavy ripple effect and xylophone music*
Mr Nicholson – I suspect you were the first brush I had with OCD neatness and perfection, you had great influence on me wanting to maintain order and keep my pens in a nice neat row. I have since wondered though if, with your neatly side combed hair, perfectly ironed clothing and smart organiser/briefcase, you were in fact a serial killer, disguised as a Grade 1 Teacher. You know the ones that need everything to be in perfect order and have a little bit of a problem socialising? Often wondered what happened to little Stuart, did he really move interstate...... because his parents still live here.
Miss Forsyth / Mrs Fletcher – yes you got married over the term break! Any royal wedding *ever* had nothing on this – I had never been so excited in my life. We made you cards, we marvelled at your magazines with pictures of gypsophila and rose bud bouquets, your blonde hair was newly permed and trimmed to fit inside your lace asymmetrical head piece. You gave me everlasting hope that if you worked hard and kept your Ford Laser tidy then you too could find a handsome young husband that had hair as long as yours and wore a skinny tie. Mr Fletcher was super handsome and a total Prince Charming, grade 3 girls were consumed with jealousy and plotting your demise. I really do hope you’re still as happy as you were in 1984.
Mr Smith – you were the funniest and most hilarious Grade 5 teacher anyone could ever have. Such fond memories. Yes fond memories, ok and maybe a little bit of a crush, but in my defence you wore those Ken Done knit jumpers with such pride and pizzazz and WOW, zipper shoes – holy mother of invention they were cooler than vests with removable arms! You were the epitome of the young hip man teacher of the 80s. Then I found out you had an affair with the prep teacher and ran away together. Ruined. Ruined. Still upset about that.
Mr Ross, Primary school principal or Chrome Dome as someone’s parent named him. I will never forget the day you chased my best friends and I around the school for throwing rocks at boys. We ran like the wind, just hoping we wouldn’t get a stitch before the bell went, because then we would be safe. It didn’t occur to us that you would be waiting outside our classroom after lunch, didn’t you know that was out of bounds for chasers and we were totally safe? Anyway thanks for letting us attend the leavers dinner after all – My Mum would have been devo if I hadn’t been able to wear my medieval costume she painstakingly put together using a skivvy and my Nanna’s old ball gown...... (seriously though, medieval theme? Not fair, wanted to wear my ra-ra skirt!)
Such fond memories, I’m so excited about following the wee ones journeys through Primary school (not so keen about High School....)
Finally though, with a heavy heart and a keen sense of denial that Kinder is almost over for my eldest wee one, I would like to shamelessly spruik his wonderful Kindergarten teachers - Mrs Horne, Mrs Heynes and Mrs Hodgeman (or Triple H as Husband and I call them), such splendid, perfect first teacher memories have been created inside Charlie’s mind. They have given him the ultimate first impression of teachers, approachable and kind hearted yet they have somehow managed to cultivate a healthy respect for authority within him (which unfortunately he deposits at the school gate on the way home...). A big thank you for my favourite saying, which Charlie changes the name as necessary and repeats to anyone that is grumpy ‘A crabby Mrs Horne isn’t a pretty sight’.
Now don’t ruin it and run away with the prep teacher – it would destroy him
(you get graded in Kinder right? This is going to help , yes?)
(Don’t judge him on my poor use of grammar and punctuation.....!, ..)
I spent some time sitting in that not so big auditorium being transported back in time to the mid 80s, and remembering way more than I had allowed myself to remember in the past. There were some early influences that hadn’t popped into my head in a very long time.....
*queue wavy ripple effect and xylophone music*
Mr Nicholson – I suspect you were the first brush I had with OCD neatness and perfection, you had great influence on me wanting to maintain order and keep my pens in a nice neat row. I have since wondered though if, with your neatly side combed hair, perfectly ironed clothing and smart organiser/briefcase, you were in fact a serial killer, disguised as a Grade 1 Teacher. You know the ones that need everything to be in perfect order and have a little bit of a problem socialising? Often wondered what happened to little Stuart, did he really move interstate...... because his parents still live here.
Miss Forsyth / Mrs Fletcher – yes you got married over the term break! Any royal wedding *ever* had nothing on this – I had never been so excited in my life. We made you cards, we marvelled at your magazines with pictures of gypsophila and rose bud bouquets, your blonde hair was newly permed and trimmed to fit inside your lace asymmetrical head piece. You gave me everlasting hope that if you worked hard and kept your Ford Laser tidy then you too could find a handsome young husband that had hair as long as yours and wore a skinny tie. Mr Fletcher was super handsome and a total Prince Charming, grade 3 girls were consumed with jealousy and plotting your demise. I really do hope you’re still as happy as you were in 1984.
Mr Smith – you were the funniest and most hilarious Grade 5 teacher anyone could ever have. Such fond memories. Yes fond memories, ok and maybe a little bit of a crush, but in my defence you wore those Ken Done knit jumpers with such pride and pizzazz and WOW, zipper shoes – holy mother of invention they were cooler than vests with removable arms! You were the epitome of the young hip man teacher of the 80s. Then I found out you had an affair with the prep teacher and ran away together. Ruined. Ruined. Still upset about that.
Mr Ross, Primary school principal or Chrome Dome as someone’s parent named him. I will never forget the day you chased my best friends and I around the school for throwing rocks at boys. We ran like the wind, just hoping we wouldn’t get a stitch before the bell went, because then we would be safe. It didn’t occur to us that you would be waiting outside our classroom after lunch, didn’t you know that was out of bounds for chasers and we were totally safe? Anyway thanks for letting us attend the leavers dinner after all – My Mum would have been devo if I hadn’t been able to wear my medieval costume she painstakingly put together using a skivvy and my Nanna’s old ball gown...... (seriously though, medieval theme? Not fair, wanted to wear my ra-ra skirt!)
Such fond memories, I’m so excited about following the wee ones journeys through Primary school (not so keen about High School....)
Finally though, with a heavy heart and a keen sense of denial that Kinder is almost over for my eldest wee one, I would like to shamelessly spruik his wonderful Kindergarten teachers - Mrs Horne, Mrs Heynes and Mrs Hodgeman (or Triple H as Husband and I call them), such splendid, perfect first teacher memories have been created inside Charlie’s mind. They have given him the ultimate first impression of teachers, approachable and kind hearted yet they have somehow managed to cultivate a healthy respect for authority within him (which unfortunately he deposits at the school gate on the way home...). A big thank you for my favourite saying, which Charlie changes the name as necessary and repeats to anyone that is grumpy ‘A crabby Mrs Horne isn’t a pretty sight’.
Now don’t ruin it and run away with the prep teacher – it would destroy him
(you get graded in Kinder right? This is going to help , yes?)
(Don’t judge him on my poor use of grammar and punctuation.....!, ..)
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Relax. Don't do it
By that I mean “Relax? I don’t do it”.
Apart from not being spontaneous I also have the inability to relax in relaxing situations. May I remind you of the Chinese Grand Palace of Pain? Today I used a last year Christmas present facial massage voucher that is due to expire in a week.
I’d never been to this particular establishment before, but it appeared pretty standard
Tranquil music. Check.
Neat little matching uniforms on all the staff. Check
Oddly refurbished office space with treatment room walls that don’t reach the ceiling. Check.
Off I was led by my therapist, who I shall name ‘Lady Fingers’
She seemed nice (read botox permanent smile), she hands me a miniscule flannel sack and says ‘Put this on and prepare to relax’. My body says yes, but my mind says ‘that’s a bit of an oxymoron’
I never quite know how many clothes to take off for these things – do I get down to underwear or do I leave my jeans on? Always with the panic that someone is going to burst in at any moment to see me bending over stepping into this weird tubular dress with my bra half on and scream at me ‘OH MY GOD, PUT YOUR CLOTHES BACK ON!! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING, WE’RE A REPUTABLE BUSINESS!!’
There’s a plastic lotus flower on the bed (Lady Garden reference?), I carefully move it aside and lay under the covers. Arms out, arms in, arms over stomach, arms flat – where the hell do I put my arms??
Lady Fingers comes in and tells me we’re going to start with a face mask then commences a running commentary about my skin problems, some I knew of (bags under the eyes? No kidding Lady Fingers, got kids?) and some I didn’t (lazy capillaries, really?)
Slimey cold stuff has been slathered on my face, She places some little wet things over my eyes and says she’ll be back in 10 minutes.
Firstly, whenever I get those things on my eyes I just want to open my lids, I can’t help it, it’s an internal battle I have with myself. (Don’t open them, don’t open them, it will sting, you don’t need to see what colour the little things are, you’ll regret it, it’s dark anyway don’t do it, oh. Too late. Ow ow ow it stings.......)
Secondly, how long is 10 minutes? Really, when you’re in the dark with your eyes weeping how do you know you've only got 30 seconds left or you're only 5 minutes through?
Ok yep going to lie here for "10 minutes" and R.E.L.A.X.
Itchy toe, scratched. Might just shift a centimetre to the left, yep better. Hair is tight, just loosen it a little. Ow ow CRAMP CRAMP CRAMP shouldn’t have used other foot to scratch at toe, stretch relax, all good. Wonder what the kids are doing. That’s a funny noise. Empty my head, no thoughts please no thoughts. La la la la la. Did I have to make tea tonight or was Mum going to do it. Dolphins.
I just started to nod off as she flung the doors open and stamped over to her seat. Righto, so that’s what 10 minutes of relaxation feels like.
It’s time for the facial massage component. I can sense the overly expressive hand movements as Lady Fingers ‘massages’ my face – swirling and circling, leaning and stretching, some little drum roll effects and then some undulating hands – I feel strangely like my face is her piano.
Once she gets the Beethoven out of her system she turns on the aromatherapy steam machine and points it right at my face
Oh yeah that’s the shit now I’m relaxing.... hello bright shiny light and tingly sensation, oh hang on, no, I think that’s early signs of hypoxia....... I'm not getting oxygen.... lungs filling with lavender scented water..... going to drown lying on a table in the dark...... desperately trying to breathe sideways out of my mouth where I sense oxygen laden air might be, don’t want to bring attention to my dilemma, that would be rude and quite frankly a violation of the terms of entry (please remain quiet for the sake of other patrons....), thank god I kept my arms out of the blankets because I am now spreading my fingers hoping they will absorb oxygen and send it up to my lungs. Within the nick of time she turns the machine away, perhaps the sharp gurgling sounds emanating from my throat alerted her to my situation.
Hot towels on face. Nice, but not relaxing. Some very gooey stuff is rubbed into my skin and I’m practically slapped on the back and pushed towards my clothes. Over.
I hurriedly get dressed with that underlying panic that someone might forget I’m in there and barge in.
I am loving myself sick in this gooey stuff though, it smells so good, hang on, is that a hint of relaxation I feel? So I do it, yeah that’s right I do it like a deer in her cross selling headlights. Wait for it;
“What is on my face? “ *pause* “Your $120 moisturiser with inbuilt age inhibitors? You bet your (my) bottom dollar I want some - bag it up Lady Fingers I’ll take it!”
It appears I can relax after all. Was I relaxed after that purchase? Oh hells yeah – turns out that pretty packaging and nice smelling product sends my muscles and mind into a trance like state.
Husband on the other hand.... well let’s just say I’m about to go peel a bunch of price tags off some very small bottles......
Apart from not being spontaneous I also have the inability to relax in relaxing situations. May I remind you of the Chinese Grand Palace of Pain? Today I used a last year Christmas present facial massage voucher that is due to expire in a week.
I’d never been to this particular establishment before, but it appeared pretty standard
Tranquil music. Check.
Neat little matching uniforms on all the staff. Check
Oddly refurbished office space with treatment room walls that don’t reach the ceiling. Check.
Off I was led by my therapist, who I shall name ‘Lady Fingers’
She seemed nice (read botox permanent smile), she hands me a miniscule flannel sack and says ‘Put this on and prepare to relax’. My body says yes, but my mind says ‘that’s a bit of an oxymoron’
I never quite know how many clothes to take off for these things – do I get down to underwear or do I leave my jeans on? Always with the panic that someone is going to burst in at any moment to see me bending over stepping into this weird tubular dress with my bra half on and scream at me ‘OH MY GOD, PUT YOUR CLOTHES BACK ON!! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING, WE’RE A REPUTABLE BUSINESS!!’
There’s a plastic lotus flower on the bed (Lady Garden reference?), I carefully move it aside and lay under the covers. Arms out, arms in, arms over stomach, arms flat – where the hell do I put my arms??
Lady Fingers comes in and tells me we’re going to start with a face mask then commences a running commentary about my skin problems, some I knew of (bags under the eyes? No kidding Lady Fingers, got kids?) and some I didn’t (lazy capillaries, really?)
Slimey cold stuff has been slathered on my face, She places some little wet things over my eyes and says she’ll be back in 10 minutes.
Firstly, whenever I get those things on my eyes I just want to open my lids, I can’t help it, it’s an internal battle I have with myself. (Don’t open them, don’t open them, it will sting, you don’t need to see what colour the little things are, you’ll regret it, it’s dark anyway don’t do it, oh. Too late. Ow ow ow it stings.......)
Secondly, how long is 10 minutes? Really, when you’re in the dark with your eyes weeping how do you know you've only got 30 seconds left or you're only 5 minutes through?
Ok yep going to lie here for "10 minutes" and R.E.L.A.X.
Itchy toe, scratched. Might just shift a centimetre to the left, yep better. Hair is tight, just loosen it a little. Ow ow CRAMP CRAMP CRAMP shouldn’t have used other foot to scratch at toe, stretch relax, all good. Wonder what the kids are doing. That’s a funny noise. Empty my head, no thoughts please no thoughts. La la la la la. Did I have to make tea tonight or was Mum going to do it. Dolphins.
I just started to nod off as she flung the doors open and stamped over to her seat. Righto, so that’s what 10 minutes of relaxation feels like.
It’s time for the facial massage component. I can sense the overly expressive hand movements as Lady Fingers ‘massages’ my face – swirling and circling, leaning and stretching, some little drum roll effects and then some undulating hands – I feel strangely like my face is her piano.
Once she gets the Beethoven out of her system she turns on the aromatherapy steam machine and points it right at my face
Oh yeah that’s the shit now I’m relaxing.... hello bright shiny light and tingly sensation, oh hang on, no, I think that’s early signs of hypoxia....... I'm not getting oxygen.... lungs filling with lavender scented water..... going to drown lying on a table in the dark...... desperately trying to breathe sideways out of my mouth where I sense oxygen laden air might be, don’t want to bring attention to my dilemma, that would be rude and quite frankly a violation of the terms of entry (please remain quiet for the sake of other patrons....), thank god I kept my arms out of the blankets because I am now spreading my fingers hoping they will absorb oxygen and send it up to my lungs. Within the nick of time she turns the machine away, perhaps the sharp gurgling sounds emanating from my throat alerted her to my situation.
Hot towels on face. Nice, but not relaxing. Some very gooey stuff is rubbed into my skin and I’m practically slapped on the back and pushed towards my clothes. Over.
I hurriedly get dressed with that underlying panic that someone might forget I’m in there and barge in.
I am loving myself sick in this gooey stuff though, it smells so good, hang on, is that a hint of relaxation I feel? So I do it, yeah that’s right I do it like a deer in her cross selling headlights. Wait for it;
“What is on my face? “ *pause* “Your $120 moisturiser with inbuilt age inhibitors? You bet your (my) bottom dollar I want some - bag it up Lady Fingers I’ll take it!”
It appears I can relax after all. Was I relaxed after that purchase? Oh hells yeah – turns out that pretty packaging and nice smelling product sends my muscles and mind into a trance like state.
Husband on the other hand.... well let’s just say I’m about to go peel a bunch of price tags off some very small bottles......
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