It takes a village

First of all, let me just apologise. Blogger was in read-only mode yesterday so I couldn't post. Anyhoo.

The old saying that it takes a village to raise a child was demonstrated to me yesterday and was perfectly timed.

I'd had a bit of a flat week. You know when you just don't feel at your peak? A little off-kilter. A little under the weather. A litty bitty shitty. That was me.

BUT I had a hairdressing appointment booked so I felt confident that would reverse my melancholy mood. Particularly since some of my sadness could be attributed to the fact that I felt as though I looked like a swamp dweller and had done for some time.

A friend had offered to babysit but that fell through when Noam wouldn't stop howling as I tried to settle him at her house. She had visitors coming and I just couldn't leave him there, shrieking like a banshee, while she tried to entertain. So I took him with me and thought 'I'll just cut a few pram laps around the block before I go in and he'll fall asleep et voila!

But no. I don't know whether it was his teeth upsetting him, or the injections he got on Thursday or both, or perhaps he was hating me, but whatever it was, he was not to be consoled.

I entered the hairdresser on the verge of tears, knowing I would break down with the first word I tried to utter. And I did. I felt like such an idiot. Cradling the screaming Noam, crying myself like a spoilt lunatic who couldn't cope without a hairdressing appointment.

Fortunately, a client in the waiting area realised this was not the M.O of a spoilt lunatic. She bustled over, said 'give him to me' and proceeded to cuddle him and whisper to him as I was led to a seat in front of a mirrored wall so I could stare at my own pathetic form.

I couldn't even turn around to thank the kind stranger because my crying increased every time I tried to speak. Eventually I managed to regain control of myself and I turned to smile at the lady who was consoling my child. She smiled back and carried on walking him around the salon, rocking him and pointing at things of interest through the window.

He stopped crying after about 30 minutes and she transferred him to his pram where he slept, his little cherub face still red from crying, but peaceful.

With half my hair wrapped in foil and the other half covered in dye I got up and went to sit beside the kind lady. Emma was her name. She told me she has two year old twins at home. We spoke about all sorts of things and she gave me her phone number in case I ever needed help with things in the future.

How nice is that? I felt like a new person when I left the hairdressers. Mostly because I was reminded of the kindness of strangers and how the simplest deed can change the course of someones day, week, life perhaps.

So, thank you Emma, from Noam and I for helping me through a tough week and inspiring me to help others.

Until tomorrow xx

A lesson in manners

A smile costs nothing, as my mother used to say. Why is it then that so many people (particularly customer service operators) have forgotten that? I am far from perfect, I don't know anyone who is, but in all my years in customer service I can remember 2 times when I could've been considered rude. The first was when I returned to work at Safeway after my Mum died and was rather uncommunicative as I scanned people's groceries. One woman said to me caustically 'A smile wouldn't hurt love.' I didn't like her but fair enough, she didn't know my problems and I did have a face like a fried fart. The second time I got into a fight with a complete mole of a customer who was giving a colleague a really hard time. I told her she should strap on an apron and do it herself (make a choc-dip soft serve). A suggestion she apparently did not agree with.

Since I am never a rude bitch of a customer am I to assume that every person who provides bad service has just lost a member of their immediate family? I think not. A more likely answer is: they are nasty, vile creatures, who should not be in the industry. More frightening still is bad service from someone who actually owns the business. One assistant at Myer can't really damage the reputation of the department store, but one assistant in a tiny shop certainly can.

In my efforts lately to help a friend sell advertising space in her totally gorgeous magazine I have been visiting some of the local retailers looking for support. On the whole, people have been great. But there's always the great miserable lumps who seemingly put no stock in repeat business. One woman who owns what I would consider to be a specialty store did not even look up from her task to listen to me. She carried on, eyes down, before telling me abruptly that she would never be involved. Charming. What doesn't she understand about a small town? I won't shop there now. Not because she didn't advertise, that's completely fair, but because she was so rude.

Instead of people putting their energy into frowns, impatience and disinterest, wouldn't it be nice if they just smiled? It's not that hard. And even if you are in a rotten, stinking, foul mood, smiling and laughing can help reverse it. And bring customers back to your shop.

Until tomorrow my smiley, happy friends xx

It's BUDGET love. Really? How about I smash you in the nuts

Is it just me or does anyone else want to smash everyone in the Budget Insurance commercial? I don't even get the ad. Why is she bunging on a shit French accent? And most confusingly, is she meant to be married to that guy who looks like her Dad? I just thought she was some freakin' wacko riding around singing that stupid song when an old, patronising fart pulled over to tell her she was mispronouncing it. For the longest time I thought she should've just punched him in the face for sticking his bib in.

Then a mate told me no, he was supposed to be her husband, hence his condescending 'love' referral at the end. Really? I did not make that connection at all. And to be honest, I still thought she should've punched him in the face. Probably more so since he should be used to her (shit) accent if he's married to her.

Then I saw the ad's sequel (?!) when Michael (is that his name?) sticks his head into her shower to correct her again. I started to believe my friend was right that they knew each other. Otherwise she is a total faux-French slapper who gets off on being told what to do by geriatrics that she's picked up on her daily bike ride.

Now it seems the husband Michael has been done away with in the new commercial. Instead, some stranger sticks his head in her car window to tell her how to pronounce 'Budget' properly. She must be getting well pissed off with interfering fu**wits telling her how to speak. I'd start carrying a can of mace with me if I was her and the next smartarse male to tell me how to speak would cop a faceful.

The ad is so idiotic that it's upsetting me to even write about. If that commercial had have been pitched to Amanda Woodward at D&D Advertising on Melrose Place she would've head-butted the presenter and then fired them. And it's all they deserve!

Until tomorrow xx

Words I hate

There are some words that just really make you cringe. They seem to so aptly represent themselves it's scary. As Shakespeare said - would a rose by any other name smell as sweet? It's a good question - if roses were called 'anuses' would you shove your nose right in there? Anus, by the way, is a word I hate. The only acceptable pronunciation of it is by Borat 'Aah-noose' and that's just because it makes it sound like something different.

I know a lot of people who dislike the word 'moist'. Now, to be honest, that one doesn't bother me so much because I can still associate moist with a cake or other baked-good. Apparently though, many people can't get their 'moist' thoughts out of their panties. And that is a word I hate. Panties really seems like something a peado would say. It's creepy.

Another word I hate is fanny. I know a lot of my most hated words seem to reside in the nether regions but seriously...fanny? It's a woman's name for God's sake. And a bum in America. How come we've decided that fanny is a good synonym for vagina? It's not. It makes me think of big, flappy, dumbo ears waving around in desperate need of some femme fresh. Yuck.

What about puss? Not a cat but the stuff that oozes out of a septic wound. Puss. Doesn't it just describe itself perfectly? The very word conjures images of seeping, yellow gunk sticking painfully to gauze.

There are so many words that freak me out I could carry on all day. Foetus is gross (feet - eat - eating babies??), flatulence (grim), proboscis (sounds like someone is going to probe you with their enormous nose).

I'm going to keep a list from now on of all the words I hate and try to never use them in conversation or writing. Should make the porno set in a hospital I was thinking to start a bit difficult.

Until tomorrow xx

At the Movies...

One day, a few years ago, I visited a friends place, lets call her Kiwi, and along with a couple of other mates we watched a movie that we unanimously agreed was the worst movie ever made. It was called 27 Dresses.

Recently, at a dinner with another group of friends this movie came up in discussion and I proceeded to unleash a belated verbal assault on the abomination, which was met with some opposition. I was absolutely flabbergasted. To think that any of my friends would consider the movie anything other than a rotten corpse's foul stench of a film was incredible to me.

As if I wasn't horrified enough already, one of my friends, I'll call her Big Mac, then proceeded to produce the offending film from her own collection! The poor girl had actually paid money for the stinking pile of Hollywood faeces. She offered the DVD to another chum, I'll call her Lego, who had not seen the film but was intrigued by the controversy it had caused.

I received a text message yesterday from Lego, saying she'd watched the movie and it was a couple of hours of her life she'd never get back. Indeed. An accurate summary. Upon reading this I turned to another friend who I was with at the time and said something like this:

'You know that movie with Katherine Hiegel, 27 Dresses?'

To which she replied, 'Oh yeah, I love that movie!'

WTF?? It seems as soon as one buddy sees the light I lose another to the dark side. For shame!!

I guess the lesson to be learnt here is each to their own, live and let live, one man's trash is another man's treasure and so forth. Of course, it may also mean that my '27 Dresses' loving friends are very, very sick and if their illness is left untreated may result in a terminal obsession with movies starring JLo.  

Until tomorrow xx

Look into my eyes, don't look around the eyes

I am absolutely terrified of flying. There is, quite seriously, nothing I hate more than boarding a plane. Contrary to popular belief, the more I fly the worse I get. And I spend the entire flight in a state of silent horror waiting to plummet to my death.

To give you an idea of the extent of my phobia - I would rather have all my body hair tweezered out by a blind person. I would rather watch Grant Hackett's journalistic efforts on a constant loop for a full day. I would even rather be stuck in a lift for 24 hours with Sam Newman, Steve Price AND Andrew Bolt. Dear God, that is how bad it is.

Never one to let phobias fully get the better of me, I have always tried new things in an attempt to quash my fear. I've been to one of those flight simulator things where you sit in a cock pit and fly the plane yourself. That didn't help because my 'pilot' looked about 14 and would've been more at home at Timezone. I've tried every sort of (legal) drug available. Valium washed down with a glass of white? No effect whatsoever. I've tried meditation. Whatever.

I have to fly again soon, so now I've brought out the big guns. The hardcore shit. Yesterday I had my first hypnotherapy session! And it was WEIRD. The lady was lovely and we had a nice chat before she put me in a light trance and started asking all sorts of questions, which I answered, though I had no control over my answers.

Apparently my subconscious was doing all the talking and I spent the majority of the time in tears (while she was talking to my little 'sad' emotion). Yes indeed, lots of different emotions popped up wanting some attention - angry, mean, relaxed, happy...they were all there (I shit you not) and she spoke to each of them to find out how they were helping me or what they needed in order to help me better.

When I came out of the trance I had mascara from eyelash to arsehole but felt as light as (probably) the day I was born. All the thoughts that thump through my head night and day were quiet and it felt good.

So, I think I will go back. It was definitely very unusual but I am hopeful it will help. Oh and by the way, there was no swinging pendulum before my eyes or any utterances of 'and, you're under'. Bit disappointing that :-)

Completely unrelated - 'Run' of Run DMC was on Sesame Street this morning singing a duet with Elmo. They were encouraging a grasshopper to 'Hop this way'. Aw, cute.

Until tomorrow xx

Can you tell me how to get, how to get to celebrity street?

I'm not sure when it happened or why, but Sesame Street, sunny, sweet-aired Sesame Street is under attack from the underexposed (?) celebrity masses. Obviously they don't get enough air-time in their music videos, TV shows, films and general papparazzied lives that they need to target the infant market as well.

You may've heard about the controversy recently when Katy Perry shot a scene for Sesame Street but it was dropped because she had her baps so far out the little kiddies watching were trying to suck some brekkie through the screen. As her husband Russell Brand so aptly put it 'Sesame Street will not be brought to you by the letters DD'. Ha ha ha - I'm still laughing about that.

Monday I saw Adam Sandler prancing about singing a song he'd written for Elmo. Which was actually quite funny because nothing rhymes with Elmo. And today Jude Law was on, demonstrating the meaning of the word 'cling'. I can explain it pretty easily Jude - I will 'cling' to you until you take out a restraining order. Cling'.

I haven't seen Charlie Sheen yet but he's looking for a new gig so he might pop up soon. That will be the day Sesame Street is brought to you by the letter E's.

Until tomorrow xx