Coat of Glory

The coat is an absolute winner. This site proves that I am now officially Fashionable.

Last night, when I was striding about the neighbourhood, completely untouched by rain, cold and squalls, I looked down and noticed that the raindrops alighting on its black beauty looked like little sparkly jewels. Like a dark night lit by stars.

And yesterday arvo, when walking up Sydney Rd I was stopped by an appreciative fan.

“Beautiful!!” she cried. Then ran up and seized both my arms. “I love fur so much! You look gorgeous.” I thanked her delightedly, and in return got a torrent of invective against Brigitte Bardot.

“You know she used to be draped in furs in the old days – now she’s like those angry greenies,” she declared.

“Hypocrite!” I cried.

“I too have a lovely fox fur collar at home, but everyone tells me not to wear it, because those greenies, those vegan-things will come and throw paint at me!” Her grip was still tight.

“Bah, don’t get me started on vegans,” I spat. “And any vegan I’ve ever known lives purely on a diet of hot chips and self-righteousness. Idiots!”

She agreed heartily, and I advised her to wear her fox fur with pride. “Besides, they’re vermin in this country. They kill all the native wildlife and are good for nothing generally.”

“I love the fur!” she shouted, releasing me back into the wild.

Both immensely satisfied with each other, we parted ways.

This weekend I…

-Friday arvo lunch with Natal over Indian food at Flora. Spanked the credit card with new Converse and a new coat (have told everyone it is made with the same insulating material used by the US military and New York firefighters and has a real fox fur hood, so no need to mention it any further).

-Friday night arrived home to find new housemate made a crackling fire in the grate and arranged a large pile of wood outside. Scrabble, Big Bogan and takeaway Turkish meats at Golden Terrace with MK.

-Saturday morning Northcote Artisan’s Market with Franner. Bought ickle pirate singlet and card for friend’s imminent baby. Substandard chocolate place in High St – loos half built, dodgy lights, bad service. Peanut butter on toast and hot chocolate so thick you could stand a spoon up in it.

-Set off at 2pm for night of hijinks! Trained it to Cheltenham for Marco’s ‘I survived Iraq’ partee. Party pies, mini quiches and lollies. Apple and guava cocktail. Saw many intriguing pics, including one of an American woman soldier who had painted a moustache on as a way of ‘fending off unwanted male advances’. Real story. I preferred the Aussie version: the doctor who worked with my mate was groped by her translator. She pulled out her gun, held it to his head and said ‘If you do that again I’ll blow your fucking head off.’

-Trained back to Sth Yarra to be picked up in my sister’s new hybrid car (she warned me, South Park-style, that there was a ‘high smug alert’ around her house). Drove to Kew for the fatherly birthday. He received many fascinating gifts such as a book on stamp collecting, a giant illuminated magnifying glass and more Hitler stuff, beloved of men of a certain vintage. Sushi and a birthday cake made by adorable nieces. Entertained by the uncle and more tales of Errol Flynn, swordfighting etc etc. Other sister rang from Moscow to say hi.

-Dropped off at Abbotsford for Annoi’s drinks and a final sift through the dregs of their dinner party. White wine, tea and piece of lasagne. Tried not to overstay my welcome, but dragged self off couch at three, after picking over the thorny questions of existence with Annoi.

-Sunday shopping with A-Zee to buy substandard heater. Grey’s Anatomy, cauliflower curry and bed.

The Exorcist

I had my house purified on the weekend.

It was incredibly hippyish, but excellent fun. How do you find an exorcist I hear you ask? Well I don’t know either. One of those friendofafriendofafriend arrangements, she arrived on Saturday arvo, neat and chic in jeans and a jumper. No cape, no cauldron, and definitely no lightning cracks when she walked in the door.

Merryl was rather a delight with a gorgeous clear, precise speaking voice I could imagine addressing n’er do wells and spirits to get thee hence. She also sensed the Vibes of Evil straightaway. Gesturing to her chest she felt the energy was not so much mental, but more emotional manipulation and anxiety. Right on sister!

Then I unloaded my woes in as few words as I could muster, ranging from dastardly housemates, to sex toys to the entire Landmark organisation (which I found has just bought the Melbourne college of Kinesiology, nothing suspicious there), to the incident of the toothbrush and more.

Merryl prepared her witchy ‘things’:
-compass
-candles for fire
-a feather for air
-a geode for earth
-Tibetan-looking hand-cymbals and a Japanese bell
-incense and a ‘smudge stick’ made of sage
-um…oh yes a big container of special potion made of hand-picked rosemary, lavender, oils and other magical odds & sods
Then she prayed to all sorts of gods, goddesses, spirits, archangels and mythical beings! My new housemate sat in on this without a peep, then quietly took himself off to a party, after lending us his lighter.

With the aid of a compass, we put the candles at north, south, east and west of the house. All the while getting residual wafts of the Vibe such as “Hmmm I think there was a lot of bitchy conversations in here.” Mine or hers I wondered “A lot of anxiety in this room,” and at one point “Oooh! Righteous. So righteous.” And then she turned to me in amazement. “Such a sense of entitlement. It’s so ‘mine!’ ‘All mine!’”

Then we began in earnest. Up the back, Merryl on bells with a flaming stick of sage and Boo in the front on Tibetan cymbals and trying not to hoot with enjoyment. She stood at the front gate waving the sage, and in a loud, declamatory voice (that the whole street would have enjoyed) invited the gods, goddesses etc to help us out, and invited good things in the door. Like laughter, conversation, nice food, mutual respect, communication, light, and all the sorts of things that make up a household. I had to stop myself from interjecting with things like: ‘and flush the bloody loo!’ and ‘take the bins out!!’

Ho for purification! We than stepped around each room in a clockwise direction, me bashing the cymbals to ‘break up the energy’, and her following with tinkling bells and sage, then for good measure splashing about the magical potion. I confess I got a bit carried away and busted the strap on her cymbals, which was embarrassing. Being full of tricks myself, I produced my own little Gujarati cymbals, until now unused.

In the living room we did our thing, but Merryl reckoned things were NQR. She picked up on a lot of bad stuff and said that things were very low down, soggy and stagnant in there. She instructed a few bad vibes near the couch to go away and never come back. I wondered if perhaps something was lurking in the fireplace. Aha! I was right. Apparently there is all sorts of weird shit hiding up there, with dull energy fugging up the room. There is a tall, guardian presence there, sort of like an angel with wings, who has become a bit weighed down and heavy over the years. A protective spirit!

What is that, laughter I hear? Do any of you have a ‘tall, angel-like sentinel’ living up your chimney and guarding your house? I think not.

Merryl also pointed out that house was quite damp. (true enough) But that something with a high water table showed far too much Yin, or water energy. Too many sheilas!! Goddammit she had a point. She pointed out that even though I was quite a Yang female myself, that the Yang had to be redressed in the house. Well thankfully I have a Man About the House, eh.

We had cleared out all the clutter in the house, and it was time seal up the spell and bring in the light. We lit candles and Merryl prayed in every room. My new housemate had put in a special request for the gods and goddesses etc to ‘invite the laydees’ into his room, so we obliged. I now have a giant invisible pyramid over and under my house protecting the property! A big vat of magical potion! And a guardian, with a sparkling flue!

Would you believe I seemed to unwind a little more after she had gone. It was mucho fun. And the house did seem much lighter! Even if it’s just to make me feel better, it’s done the trick.

Fun with dentistry

I’ve been avoiding the chair for well over 7 years now, for reasons as various as lack of a car, lack of funds, dislike of the family dentist, Singaporean customer service, the World Trade Centre attacks and my chicken-heartedness in general.

Yesterday after girding my loins I found to my extreme displeasure the dentist had a spot today. Expecting some wee hole in the wall I gaped at this behemoth in Bourke St, all floor to ceiling pictures of laughing couples with American teeth, leather pouffes and free Internet access.

I was checked out by bouncy Stefan, who treated me to an array of modern dental technology. He had a tiny camera set into the dentist’s mirror (giving me a gruesome image of the back of my teeth), a computer screen above my head so I could see what was going on, x-rays from all angles (including one that rotated around my head) and a hilarious bedside manner.

“Give me your card!” he said. “I’m leaving here in two weeks, but I’ll still be in the city. It’s a beautiful practice, but I can’t work here any more because they’ve got shit for brains!”

Right-o then!

Apparently I’ve been wearing the enamel off my teeth from enthusiastic brushing – the hallmark of a dentist-avoider. He suggested possible plastic covers in the future, that would in no way make me look like Miss Universe. Then he looked at my fangs from all angles, gave them a cut & polish and pronounced me free to go.

Seven years worrying for that! This bloke is so funny I’d see him every week! And this is the best bit – during his entertaining raving he mentioned something about a special deal. I looked forward to a $10 discount and a sugar-free lolly.

At reception they shoved over what looked like a bill for $975. Clutching the desk as the room swam in front of me, they pointed out that it was a quote only, for the aforementioned plastic thingos. Then they gave me the bill for the checkup, $320, which they had reduced to zero at the bottom.

All that entertainment, whiz-bang technology and amusement cost me nothing, zip! Was he a raving lunatic? WAS IT LASHINGS OF THE OLE BOO CHARM?

Then I went and spent a whole lot of money on books, so everyone was happy.

Man About the House

My life resembles this at the moment:

And the theme music can be found here.
For those who were not privy to the wonders of this 70s British sitcom, it was about the wildly risqué situation of single people living together. Of the opposite sex! Here’s a description, from Television Heaven:

The series began with Chrissy and Jo throwing a farewell party for their flatmate and desperately in need of a replacement to help share the bills. The morning after the night before they discover a young catering student by the name of Robin Tripp, who, having fallen foul of the girls home made punch, wakes up in the bathtub with the mother of all hangovers. Once the girls discover that Robin is looking for somewhere to live and above all else - that he can cook, they offer him the vacant bedroom whilst at the same time warning him to keep out of theirs. But first there's the problem of the landlords, Mr and Mrs Roper.

George Roper is petty minded, middle-aged and unemployed and would not tolerate any 'funny goings-on' under his roof (not even between his own wife and himself). So the girls concoct a story that Robin is gay and suitably mollified George agrees that Robin can stay, much to the delight of his frustrated wife, Mildred, who enjoys nothing more than a good flirt.

In the so-called permissive society there was very little permissiveness going on at 6 Myddleton Terrace, Earls Court and most of the comedic situations centred on other peoples misunderstandings of the girls and Robin's relationship, especially potential boyfriends, girlfriends or neighbours...although not Chrissy's mum who was assured of the girls safety now that they had "...a man about the house."

What a shocking show!! I have very fond memories of the credits…platform shoes, improbable collars, Yootha Joyce pursing her considerable lips at her husband, and of course comic discoveries of scandalous items such as women’s undies, slips and even (gasp!) brassieres.

I look forward to hijinks such as this under my own roof:

Ding! Dong!

The house is now free of tasteless artwork, week-old porridge, little reminders about ‘upholding your integrity,’ sex toys, mannish women who use my toothbrush, Landmark phonecalls at 6:45am and the pervasive fug of drama and insanity.

The housemate has gone.

Deep deep deep breath.

Before she did however, she went completely round the bend. I was accused of ‘wanting to kill her cat’. I was screamed at, and called a bully, a child, a moron and a loony. She then took the cat out of the house. After this, she reported me to the police for ‘threatening her’. More nasty phonecalls at work. After a few days of this, I returned to find the house empty of yuk furniture, full of boxes and a very polite note asking for the return of the bond.

She left an Oscar-winning speech of farewell on my phone.

Then disappeared in a puff of smoke.

It was quite an episode. I am astonished at how badly the stress affected me. Because I’ve had far more stressful things happen to me in the past, and dealt with them more calmly. I once had a girl smash into my car then take me to court. I’ve been mobbed in West Africa, ripped off and pushed around. I survived malaria over there! On my own! (why are all my worst stories from there?) When I came home from Singapore I became depressed and felt suicidal! For a whole year!!

But having not one but two fiendish fuckwits in my house really took the cake. Was it that they were members of a brainwashing cult? The complete refusal to acknowledge the facts in front of them? The constant lies and manipulation? The not knowing what insanity was going to appear next?

Whatever it was, I kept waking up at 2am, 4am then 6am. I started screening my calls. I had to put my glasses on in the morning for my usual blind stagger to the bathroom, just so I could watch my back. I ground my teeth so badly I imagined one day I’d bite down and they’d disintegrate into powder in my mouth. I felt teary for ages. And worst of all, my guts were in turmoil and I couldn’t eat properly for weeks.

Gone, I tells ya. The new housie is moving in this arvo.

Excuse me while I go disinfect the house and call the exorcist.

Ears On Stalks

I’m launching a new blog (o launch) over at Ears On Stalks, based on conversations overheard in Melbourne. It’s similar to another one called Overheard in New York, which my sister keeps sending me snippets from.

I discovered this exists in Melbourne already, however as my sister rightfully pointed out, the presentation and lengthy explanations kind of kill off the humour. And those people’s avatars shit me.

Overheard in New York is the funniest thing online, and every post makes me snort boiling hot coffee all over my keyboard. I literally have to spend the rest of the day trying to clean it with a tissue wadded up into a little spiral. I’ve never been to New York, but there’s something very ‘Noo Yawk’ about the tone of it all. Could it be the deadpan? The swift comebacks? The put-downs?

I’m hoping mine will be a bit ‘Melbourne-esque’, but I guess we’ll see.

If you’d like to be a contributor, drop me a line at my email, which can be found on my profile page. Then you can upload things whenever you like. When I, er, figure out all that malarkey. If you want to just email your hilarious anecdotes for me to upload, then do that too!

And if you’re not from Melbourne but overhear some drollery I’m sure we can bend the rules a bit. Let’s face it, we’re not from NY, we do not believe ourselves to be at the centre of the universe, we don’t mention our city in every damn song lyric, nor do we feel the need to liken the name of our city to gargantuan fruit. What am I saying? Funny stuff happens everywhere.

Anyway, here’s some good material from Overheard in New York to whet our appetites!

Her People Love Fashion at a Bargain
Older woman: Excuse me, miss?
Younger woman: Yeah?
Older woman: Your veil, your burqa is very beautiful. I didn't know your people were allowed to wear it in bright colors.
Younger woman: It's not a burqa, it's a poncho. I'm Jewish. It's for the rain. I got it at TJ Maxx.


What Arthur Got Was More of an Expectoresso
Customer: I'll have a large espresso.
Barista: Coffee?
Customer: No, black tar heroin!
Barista: Right away, sir.

--Starbucks, Staten Island


Damn, Just "Danisha"
Teen tourist #1: Let's go in this souvenir store -- I want a name key chain.
Teen tourist #2: Daneesha, they don't have your ghetto-ass name on a key chain!

--33rd & 5th


Well, I Didn't Get a Good Look at His "Field"...
Male professor: Oh, by the way, I saw Professor Ames when I was in Chicago last weekend.
Female dean: Oh! Is he still as hot as he always was?
Male professor: (Blank stare)
Female dean: ... In his field...

--NYU

Some Scaramouche quotes to keep our spirits up

For anyone who likes their movies with extra cheese...


Aline de Gavrillac: I have your word as a man!
Andre Moreau: As an incarnate fiend.


Philippe de Valmorin:(about a revolutionary pamphlet): Well, what do you think of it?
Andre Moreau: Well the grammar is apalling. On the first page you've doubled two negatives, split an infinitive and missed out three commas.
Philippe de Valmorin: Negatives, infinitives, comas he prattles punctuation while France is in agony!



Aline de Gavrillac: I don't suppose you can mend a broken wheel?
Andre Moreau: Unfortunately not. A broken heart...
Aline de Gavrillac: Oh thank you but might heart is quite intact.
Andre Moreau: I envy you. Mine is in chains from this moment.


Doutreval of Dijon: Think of the sword like a bird. Clutch it too tightly and you choke it. Too lightly and it flies away.


Marie Antoinette: I am angry with you, sir.
Noel, Marquis de Maynes: Angry, Your Majesty?
Marie Antoinette: Very angry! You know why, of course.
Noel, Marquis de Maynes: Could it be for fighting Count de Talles?
Marie Antoinette: Among others.
Noel, Marquis de Maynes: I only scratched him a little.
Marie Antoinette: They say you crippled him for life.
Marie Antoinette And five minutes later, you killed the Baron Marblaux.
Noel, Marquis de Maynes: An unfortunate accident. He ran into my sword.


Michael Vanneau: Are you mad?
Andre Moreau: We're all out of our minds, haven't you observed it?


Perigord of Paris: You have a demon in you, this fine day. Lose it or you'll not live to see another.


Dr. Dubuque: You believe in liberty, you know it's being strangled.
Andre Moreau: l also believe in laughter and l know the world is mad.


Assembly President: Deputy du Rouge, representing the Soissons district?
Andre Moreau: Mr. President, the deputy from Soissons will be absent from this assembly... permanently.


Deputy DeCrillion (attempting to challenge him to a duel): Your face revolts me. Your eyes are pig's eyes, and your ears...
Andre Moreau: All right. Behind the cathedral at 6:00.

Justin Who?

As I am having quite the shitful time at the moment and cannot blog about it fully until it’s all over, I will entertain none and sundry with the amusingness of my parents.

We were watching a particularly buttock-clenching episode of Parkinson, where he fawned over Kate Winslet and Jude Law. Both were completely empty-headed. My parents have also never encountered Justin Timberlake before, and it was a nasty shock I must say.


Dad: Who is that unprepossessing person?
Mum (from the kitchen): Urgh!
Me: That’s Justin Timberlake. He used to boof Britney Spears, back in the day.
Dad: He can’t sing a note! Look at him – all those weird movements, and that voice! What is this musical style called?
Me: I think it’s some sort of hip-hop.
Mum (from the kitchen): Tch!
Dad: Hm. I suppose there’s elements of that in there.
Mum (from the kitchen): Gawd love us!
Dad: And is he considered attractive?
Me (knowledgeably): He is considered quite the sex symbol. He used to go out with Cameron Diaz. They broke up recently you know.
Mum (from the kitchen): He’s awful. JESUS.