Beam me up Scotty, this planet sucks....

Am not going to write much, actually wouldn't trust myself to at present. I'm cranky, grumpy, grouchy, tired and emotional and just plain cross...

Even my boss asked me if I was ok today as she picked up a vibe that I wasn't my usual bubbly self... I'm normally pretty easygoing... I'll admit to being intense a lot and very analytical and introspective, but I can usually take most of life's small annoying things in my stride...

I jokingly told the Nature Boy a couple of weeks ago, that as long as I was kept in a steady stream of chocolate and dairy products, particularly icecream, I didn't get PMS.... I LIED!

There isn't enough chocolate and icecream on the planet
to keep me sane at present...

Add to that, Mercury is retrograde in Pisces (my ruling planet) at present

Mercury rules communication, but more informal communications, like writing, speaking, short shopping sprees and running other errands. So, while Mercury is Retrograde, don't give that party, be extra aware of what you say and what you interpret when chatting with or writing to friends, cut back on errands, expect that the check will be in the mail longer than usual. Since the car is usually used for shopping and errands, don't be surprised if the battery wire loosens or the fan belt snaps just when you have to rush out for that one ingredient you forgot to buy.

The good things to do when Mercury is Retrograde: meditate, contemplate, edit the book/poem/song/ essay you've been writing, clean house, talk to your pet, listen to music, paint, catch up on sleep! www.writerinthewindow.com

Oh god... I'm outta here ... before I poke someone's eye out with a stick... preferably my own...

Aphrodite with Training Wheels

Aphrodite, goddess of romance and passion, of fashion, beauty and art. Known for her numerous affairs of the heart, as well as her willingness to help others find the love they sought. Aphrodite had one gift and one gift only… to make love and to bring love into the world. Playful, sophisticated and full of zest, both innocent and seductive Aphrodite makes our world a livelier, and much more beautiful place…

Sigh… I wish…

Am in a strangely weird mood at present… am obviously giving off some sort of vibe – an unspoken message of ‘available’ woman… I’ve had 3 different friends ask if I’d be interested in meeting men in the last month.

I’ve surprised myself at how open I’ve been to the idea… not that any of them have actually followed through… except for Moon Girl and her pimping me out to the raffle ticket man at the local shopping centre…

But I’m trying very hard to channel my inner Aphrodite at the minute. Sometimes I manage to take on the whole sexy thing vibe, find myself sashing around, swinging my hips. Wearing what Cheesegirl used to call my ‘booby’ clothes…tops that tend to emphasis rather than hide my more than ample bosom. Having ignored those puppies for most of my adult life by wearing baggy clothes that come up to my neck, I’ve got into the flashing a bit of cleavage, figuring I should make the most of my theatre balcony before it slowly sinks into my orchestra pit.

Not that any bloody men would notice… I think I need to start sticking knock knock jokes on post it notes on each breast to even get anyone to look at them...as most of the time I’m being told by the men around me how funny I am, not how sexy I am…

It’s nice to amuse people but what I’d really like to being doing is making some gorgeous man laugh outrageously while we are naked… preferably cause I’m tickling him with a feather…

When my tarot teacher told me at the start of 2006 that I’d be having lots and lots of sex I kind of assumed there’d be someone else in the room at the time… growling with frustration…

Now it’s possible that there has been the odd bit of interest from a couple of boys lately, and I’m being my usual clueless self when it comes to reading men and just assuming they think I'm an endearingly klutzy girl rather than the red hot sex goddess I wanna be…

Someone did offer to let me whip him last week… but I have to assume he was joking… as this is the guy who a month ago said yes, he’d love to go to a movie with me, and he’d organise it… and I’m still waiting… so have to assume that he’s not madly plotting to get me alone in the dark so he can have his wicked way with me… more’s the pity…I like the dark... the dark is my friend...

MFF

(madly frustrated female), who is going to go and have a bath and read another trashy novel about handsome men with bulging bits whispering raunchy and ribald suggestions in to delicate but receptive ears...maybe I'll open a bottle of wine and crank up good old Burt B. and complete the whole miserable deal by singing along to Wishin and Hopin and Thinkin and Prayin...

Call me, call me now....

A conversation today:

MFF: Good morning, this is Miss Frou Frou

Stuart: Hi, this is Stuart from.... I'm the Food Safety Supervisor here, and it's my last day today so I need to advise that we have a new Food Safety Supervisor

MFF: Umm, hi Stuart - did you get put through from the main switchboard?

Stuart: Yes?

MFF: Ok, you've been put through to the Occ. Health and Safety area not Food Safety. Do you want to give me your number and I'll find out who you need to talk to.

Stuart: Ok, thanks my number is....

Hang Up

MFF: (dialling) Hi, can I speak to Stuart please?

Kitchen: Sure, I'll get him for you

Kitchen: (yelling) Stuart - phone!

Stuart: (yelling) who is it?

Kitchen: (yelling) Don't know... she sounds hot... must be your Mum

Stuart: Hi Mum!

MFF: Hi Stuart, this is Miss Frou Frou (laughing)

Stuart: Oh, sorry... they said it was my Mum

MFF: Yes, I heard (laughing more) Not sure if I should be complimented or offended...

Stuart: Well he did say you sounded hot! (laughing) And you do!

MFF: (laughing) Thanks, now the number you need to ring is..........

Have to tell you that it made my day... telling Moon Girl at lunch, she said actually now that I've moved upstairs and I'm not sitting next to you... you do sound hot on the phone!

I've had men reacting to my voice for most of my life... I sound a lot younger than I am, and apparently I've been told I sound like a naughty schoolgirl... don't ask me what that means. All I know is that it comes in handy when talking to salesmen over the telephone.

Boomerang Boy - used to tell me that I deliberately tried to turn him on over the phone... and I'll admit that sometimes I did... though when I once said "babe - you'd get turned on if I was reading from the yellow pages" he laughed and said "probably - why don't you try it and we'll see"

I once had a guy I was talking to ask me what I looked like, and when I said why, he said your voice is conjuring images. And I said really - who of... and he said Claudia Schiffer.



To which I laughingly replied... no, more like Magda Szubanski



I love Magda.. I think she's absolutely brilliant, and also really attractive, even though she's fearless when it comes to her work and therefore making herself look foolish. So I don't have a problem saying I resemble her, though he obviously did... you could hear the disappointment in his voice.

Always wonder what would have happened if I'd taken up the offer of working as a phone sex operator. This guy was responding to a personals ad, and ended up saying he didn't want to go out with me, but he'd really like me to work for him. Claimed he could make a lot of money off my voice, and when I said, what about me making money, said I could average $30 for every 15 minutes I could keep someone on the line.

Just to sit and talk all breathlessly and eagerly to guys on the phone... I told him I'd laugh... which is a big no-no apparently - not sure why... smirk...

Mind you, this is the same guy who wanted to know if I'd turn heads if I walked into a room. When I replied, it depended on what I was doing when I walked into the room. I'm sure if I walked into a room with a crocheted tea cozy on my head, I'd turn heads.... he didn't think that was very funny...

So, to Stuart the ex-Food Safety Supervisor and particularly his former kitchen colleague, thank you very much for making me smile today...

Ego is not a dirty word...

So if you've got an ego
You better keep it in good shape,
Exercise it daily
And get it down on tape (Ego is not a dirty word, Skyhooks)

It's been a funny week... sharing my blog with friends and getting some feedback. The question of blog names has come up a lot.

When offered the opportunity to come up with their own blog names the Groove Train Gang all responded in different ways, with one in particular, being incredibly paranoid about who would be reading this stuff...

We've come up with flickchick, for the movie-obsessed girl in our gang - she is my 'Melbourne international movie festival' buddy - dragging me along to see films I'd never actually choose to see normally.

And then on Friday night I had a hilarious telephone conversation from one of the gang.

From her conversation I have to assume that she had indulged in one or two or ten sherbets, and was one or two drinks away from the 'I loves youse all' phase. She was terribly excited, wanting to know if the savoury girl that I would buy gourmet cheeses for rather than chocolate in my Valentine's Day blog was her.

Her: That was me, wasn't it? The girl who likes cheese, that was me?

Me: Yes, that was you

Her: I knew it! I told everyone that it was me. They were all 'so what' but it is so cool reading these and wondering who everyone is, and then recognising yourself...

Me: Is it? I'm a bit worried about saying too much about everyone, hence my giving everyone blog names. You'll have to be cheese girl now?

Her: Cheese girl! That's so cool

She's gorgeous... and is so funny... at our last get together she announced to the table that she was writing a book 'The Year I turned 32 and became invisible' and then announced dramatically that she had NO FRIENDS!

We all looked at one another a bit perplexed, before laughing out loud and saying - what the heck are we, chopped liver!

My friend (loveulongtime) was a bit upset cause I hadn't given her a name yet... the loveulongtime tag she made up herself when she posted a message.

I'm still struggling to come up with something... the only thing that keeps going through my mind is the weekend she and I and another friend went away and we gave each other nicknames. D.... fat bottom, J.... no bottom and V..... big all over. No prizes, for guessing that I was the big all over girl... but I'm definitely not going to start referring to her as Fat Bottom Girl!

She too has been enjoying reading the blog and trying to guess who everyone was.

It's all one giant self-indulgent wankfest really!

Though it's been lovely to get so much positive feedback. Cheese Girl, in her usual, backhanded complimentary style, said - I knew you were always pretty good with words, but I never realised just how good you were...

And the Nature Boy, has continued to give me lots of support, he said I was an artist... oh my... and said, yes, he would support me if he could afford to, when I laughingly asked him if he'd keep me in the style I wished to be accustomed to, so I could follow my muse...Really! - I squealed, in an embarrassingly girly fashion... talk about uncool... I can't help being such a dag!

I had to restrain myself from giving him a huge hug which would have been 50 types of wrong... not least of all because this conversation was happening in a crowded room of colleagues and said Nature Boy has a Nature Girl of his own... isn't he a treasure... and sorry, girls, I've already checked... no brothers... sigh...

So, I'm blogging along for now... though I'm conscious that it's going to be hard to appear mysterious to anyone if I keep baring my soul here... and I've just realised how weird it is, that I've just written a blog entry, about my blog entries... my brain hurts!

Dad...

I'll apologise in advance for anyone who is expecting a laughfest... though considering most of the people reading this are friends, I hope they'll indulge me.

I wrote the other day a Valentine to all my gorgeous girls, with the intention of following it up with a similar blog on the boys I love and have found I've struggled to do so. Not because there aren't any, as there are, though interestingly not as many boys as there are girls.

And what's been interesting for me, is how I've struggled to write about them, these boys, old and new, who have influenced, guided and encouraged me. I've drafted endless paragraphs in my head about them, but haven't been able to post something.

Today, one of those very new boys, told me that I often make dismissive statements, like 'I forget you're a boy' or 'of course, you'd say that, you're a man' etc. He's right, I do. There's some part of me that struggles to understand men, and I told him that the scary thing about him was that he didn't scare me... I think he's more than a bit perplexed... as he's not a scary person at all... quite the opposite, as he's been nothing but friendly and supportive and nurturing...

Bottom line is that I don't trust men... not easily... and therefore I let very few of them get close enough to truly know me... and in talking to a friend tonight realised that I can't write about those boys without writing about the first male to influence me... and I've been sitting here re-reading something I wrote about him in the weeks following his death. Below is the edited version of that writing:

My father died on September 3 2003, Age 68. He was a manic depressive, though he went undiagnosed until his 40s, prior to that self-medicating with alcohol and frequent trips in and out of hospital when the self-medication didn't work and he self harmed. We were estranged at the time of his death, something I chose to do, as I found that in order to be happy and healthy I needed to step away from the demands of his illness.

I've been thinking a lot about him lately, since the anniversary of his death, which coincides with the date I started my current job and it feels like the start of another chapter of my life. I've known for awhile that I needed to write about him...just couldn't work out in what way.

I loved him... as only a little girl loves her Daddy, but I learned very early on that I needed to read him to determine what kind of mood he was in, and as a consequence, learn to adapt my mood and temperament to match his.

While Dad was diagnosed as manic depressive what he really suffered or was blessed with, was too much emotion. He felt things deeply, and sometimes was unable to filter out those feelings till they overwhelmed him, and he'd need to retreat to heal himself.

He was quite open about his illness and taught us not to be ashamed of our emotions, nor to ever be ashamed of him or ourselves.

He would announce he was cured, flush all of his meds down the toilet, and then a week later give away all of his worldly possessions and often other people's worldly possessions and then ask for them back when he felt more himself.

His illness made him selfish, often cruel and thoughtless. He disowned and reclaimed us dozens of times in the years after he left Mum. And he used his illness sometimes as an excuse for terrible behaviour.

He was a naturally funny man... but behind some of the jokes, there was often an underlying cruelty. And while openly affectionate, every kiss you received might be followed with a slap!

For a chubby, shy and easily embarassed girl, having your father act the Court Jester was often a terrible thing, particularly when it was at your expense, probably why I'm so quick to make funny, biting remarks about myself... if I use those words, they're mine, I own them, and they no longer have the power to hurt me.

Probably also why I struggle to receive compliments, I keep waiting for the tagline... and for me to end up the stooge.

But despite all of that, I loved him. My Dad knew what it was like to be perfectly content and almost joyful and knew great happiness by taking pleasure in the simplest of things.

He loved a good joke - the cornier the better. Did you hear the one about the 2 peanuts walking through the park, one was a salted! If a bricklayer lays bricks why doesn't a plumber lay plums?

He was the first person to make light of a subject, particularly himself. He terrorised the neighbourhood kids with tales about his lost fingers (he lost 4 fingers on one hand at the first knuckle in a workplace accident at 15), telling them that that's what happened if you picked your nose!

He loved food - particularly sweets. ‘What’s for pudding” was often far more important than what was for dinner. His favourite words in the universe were 'all you can eat buffet'.

Dad loved music, almost all kinds, but particularly music from the 30s and 40s and the Broadway musicals, especially Rogers and Hammerstein. He had the soul of a musician but not a single musical talent at all, but it was a form of escape for him and we were able to judge his mood by the music he chose to play.

If he was playing You'll Never Walk Alone or Oh My Papa - he was best avoided. But more often then not he was prancing around the house singing I'm Going to Wash that Man Right Out of My Hair, or Oh What a Beautiful Morning.

He also loved movies – a legacy that lingers on his children and grandchildren, but he especially loved anything that was about families, Mrs Miniver, the Best Years of Our Lives, Cheaper by the Dozen, Little Women. Dad used to cancel bed times if there was a movie in the TV guide he felt we needed to see and I can remember sitting curled up on his knee watching Little Women (the June Allyson version) and we both cried when Beth died. And being allowed to stay up late to watch Carousel and crying with him again.

Movie’s for him had to be one of three things, they had to make you laugh, they had to make you cry and they had to have a happy ending. I guess that’s why he loved musicals.

He was simply a study in contradictions.

And I have discovered that I am very much my father's daughter. His legacy lives on in me, in my wry and slightly twisted humour and my willingness to play the clown. And also in my love of the shared experiences of meal times and conversation, music and laughter surrounded by family and friends - each are such healing things for me.

But at the same time I know I am stronger than he was... or I strive to be... aiming to make the most of every day and every experience...

I like to think I am the best of him...that after 45 years of trying... that I understand who he was and accept him for who he was...

Now I need to do a little bit more work on accepting who I am... so that when a handsome, witty, charming, intelligent (and modest) boy tells me that I'm funny and clever that I'll believe him... even just a little...

So Who Needs Roses...

So who needs roses
or stuff like that
so who needs chocolates
they'd make me fat

and I can get along just fine
without a gushing Valentine
and I'd get by, kid
with just the guy, kid

and if he calls me
and it's collect
Sir Walter Raleigh
I don't expect

and though I know I may be left
out on a limb
so who needs roses
that didn't come from him
(Jerry Herman, I Won't Send Roses - Reprise, Mack and Mabel Soundtrack)

I love the song above, and I guess it encapsulates how I feel about love and relationships. I've had several conversations about St Valentine's Day in the last week that have been a bit frustrating.

Peter Rabbit last weekend, used the very male excuse that it is a commercial ripoff...to which I asked, do you buy your Dad a Father's Day present, take your Mum out to lunch for Mother's Day? So what's the difference? Its an excuse to thank someone, to celebrate with someone you care about.

To which he replied, I'd rather do something spontaneous on another day than have to do something on this particular day... which sounds fine but is just ... more boy crap frankly... as February 14th is the perfect day to do something spontaneous... and really how many times do people do loving and special things for their partners or prospective partners that are truly spontaneous?

It then lead into a discussion about how much fuss do you make i.e. must you do flowers, and if you do what kind etc.

A friend once perplexed a room full of boys asking about the whole 'buying flowers' thing by saying she would marry the man who arrived at her door with a bunch of bananas wrapped in ribbon. They thought she was insane, but she turned to me and said you know what I mean don't you... to which I replied yes, you love bananas, and the guy who showed up with a bunch of them would know that, and therefore it would be the perfect gift.

In the same vein,one girlfriend is a savoury rather than sweet person - I'd never buy her chocolate, I'd buy her a gourmet selection of cheeses instead.

And here was I reassuring him that a gesture didn't need to be extravagant to have meaning, to then have two female friends say 'it's roses or nothing', though one then conceded that tulips were ok too. I wanted to bitch slap them both...

So, here are the Miss Frou Frou rules for St Valentines Day:

Yes, I'd love flowers thank you very much, any kind really, though I'm actually not much of a roses girl. I'd much rather have a posy picked from the garden, or a cheerful bunch of multi-coloured gerberas or a bunch of violets. In response to my pretend whinge to my first love that he'd never bought me flowers, he showed up at a pub to celebrate my birthday, many years later, with 10 foot tall sunflowers, carried like a spear over his shoulder. His then girlfriend, now wife, said if you'd seen him at midnight climbing over the back fence stealing these from the neighbours garden, chuckling to himself about how cool these would be, you'd have been in stitches. I loved them, had no flipping idea what to do with them, but I loved them, cause he had taken such pleasure in getting them for me.

And yes, chocolate is also always good... though I'm going to be a bit more of a chocolate snob, and say if you're thinking of buying me a jumbo tin of chocolates from the Reject shop, please don't bother. Lindt chocolate, particularly Lindor, will get my undying gratitude, and I'll even share...

I like the idea of being surprised at work... so send me flowers or a bunch of balloons in the office. I know some people would be mortified if you did the same to them, but heah I love being the centre of attention, so bring it on... though maybe not the male stripper... thanks anyway... But if you're really brave, and you know that I like you, deliver them yourself... but be prepared to be slobbered over...

Again, it's not how much you spend, but it's how much effort you put into it that counts... I like the idea of someone making me a mix tape of songs that remind them of me... or a mix tape of songs they love that they wanted to share with me...

Take me to the movies, to see some sad, soppy film... or better yet, invite me home to dinner, and have the DVD set up with A Room with A View, or When Harry Met Sally or Little Women, and wine and chocolates and a big box of tissues, and be prepared to let me sob into your neck...

I want a card... doesn't have to be a mushy one... actually I prefer funny, weird cards... but I want something that I can keep, with a special message inside... so write an ode to my loveliness and I'll be yours forever...

Grin and bear it... if you're someone who'd rather have a back, sac and crack wax then dance... take me dancing... or some other thing that you know I love that you hate... and I promise to go with you to the monster trucks or the cricket or whatever it is that you do, that I hate. Except camping... if you really want to sleep in a tent and pee in the woods, you can park me at the nearest b' & b' and when you come back after your he-man adventure I'll be there with a bubble bath and a warm bed...

And most importantly of all, let me spoil you... let me buy you flowers and chocolates... or invite you over for a game of strip poker...

And for my Valentine, wherever he may be, in the words of Rodgers and Hart:

My funny Valentine
Sweet comic Valentine
You make me smile with my heart

Your looks are laughable
Unphotographable
Yet you're my favourite work of art

Is your figure less than Greek?
Is your mouth a little weak?
When you open it to speak are you smart?

But don't change a hair for me
Not if you care for me
Stay little Valentine stay
Each day is Valentine's day

To All the Girls I've Loved Before...

For helping me to grow
I owe a lot I know
For all the girls I've loved before...(Willie Nelson)

I'm feeling very indulgent...I've just come home from my weekly meditation class and over the last few weeks I've been reminded of the number of extraordinary women in my life and how blessed I am to have them.

As it's St Valentine's day this week, this is a Valentine to all those gorgeous girls out there (in no particular order), who not only allow me to be myself, but actively encourage me.

Miss La De Da - what is it that they say... you can choose your friends, but you can't choose your family! Well, MLDD is a family member I chose as a friend. Growing up we didn't see each other often, but when we did, usually much mayhem ensued, particularly when we choreographed outrageous dance routines and performed them for our family. She's allowed me to find the inner Miss Frou Frou that lives inside us all. And been there through the most amazing times... laughing at each other while I do my pathetic version of the shimmy, tap dancing badly on stage dressed as a cow... holding my hand while I got my first tattoo... helping shop for things for my very first home... and through those first tentative moments of being in love and the heartache and heartbreak when he choses someone else.

And more recently, the Giggle Girl... Miss La De Da's sister. I introduced her to her husband, though she doesn't hold that against me... this beautiful woman, is shy, and funny and loving and has a giggle that just melts your heart.

She's christened herself loveulongtime here... but what she is, is a wonderful friend. Sixteen years ago, she wandered into my workplace to interview for a job, and we started to chat, and I feel in love... I can remember sharing a secret with her that I hadn't told a soul one morning eating cold pizza and birthday cake for breakfast (as you do) and having her hug me and say it was ok. She talks even more than I do, and listens like nobody else I know... and made me cry recently when she told me if she'd been a bloke we would have been married 15 years ago. There have been times when for various reasons we haven't connected for awhile, but each time is just a continuation of the last and I can't emphasis enough how much I value her friendship.

The Groove Train Gang... it's funny the connections you make in a workplace. This group of 5, ranging in age from 25 to 45, have established a friendship that surprises and delights me on a regular basis. While we all interact with one another individually in different ways now that we no longer all work together, once every two months or so, we manage to coordinate ourselves into a dinner at Groove Train at Melbourne Central that has to be seen to be believed. Our conversations are absurd... and most recently have included:

• why it is that Catholics are the only faith that make reference to being non-practising, which lead to our giving each other our own non-practising names i.e. one of us is a non-practising nice person, another recently has declared that she is a non-practising introvert whereas I faciliated between being a non-practising skinny girl and being a non-practising heterosexual - which still has them shaking their heads (I understand exactly what I meant!)

• how hosting a costume party with the theme Once Upon A Time... Fairytales, Fantasy and Myths is the only legitimate excuse for hiring a Jumping Castle for an adult party

• The merits of hundreds and thousands as opposed to sprinkles on fairy bread

• And why I want to be Little Red Riding Hood**

The PW's are another group of former work colleagues, who for over a decade have met a couple of times a year, with the odd 'dick free' weekend thrown in. I've seen some of them have their babies and watched them grow in to amazing kids, and have enjoyed the delight of their partners on the odd occasions that they've come along to what they refer to as 'secret women's get togethers'. Just a casual arrangement of brunches and dinners, where sometimes we all make it, and sometimes we don't, but are just as precious as the most elaborately planned affairs.

The Monday Meditation Mob are the most extraordinary group of women. We have nothing in common, except an interest in exploring the world and our place in it through guided meditation. A diverse group of six who have meet each week during the school term now for over 2 years. This group of women have provided a sanctuary of peace and acceptance. At the head of the group, is our teacher, a guide, a mentor, a friend - who opens up her home to us and allows us to truly be ourselves. I am so lucky to have found you all.

And there are others:

• Jappa - who has offered to knit me a bloke!
  
• Moon Girl - a very new friend who makes me laugh and has given me courage and support while I settle into a new job
• The Bookworm - my oldest friend - we've known each other since preppies - she introduced me to the joys of cross-stitch and mills and boons... and had the happy knack of being invisible and able to eavesdrop on the boys in high school when they were talking about us, until she'd give herself away when she laughed
  

**
GTG: Why do you want to be Little Red Riding Hood?

MFF: Cause I want to meet the Big Bad Wolf

GTG: But the Big Bad Wolf ate her?

MFF: I know!!!!

GTG: Oh.OH.. that's dirty as....

Much hilarity ensues....

Fashion...turn to the left... Fashion... turn to the right... We are the goon squad and we're coming to town...beep, beep

I have a confession to make... I'm an uncoordinated, fashion tragic... I shouldn't be let out of the house without a keeper... sigh...

Yesterday I was on an interview panel. Have only been at my job for 5 months, so still finding my way, and getting to know people and them getting to know me. I was the token chick on a 4 person panel, and was joking around prior to the first interview...contradicted one of the guys when he introduced me as the OH&S guru, and said no, I'm the OH&S Diva!**

Things going swimmingly until we stopped for a loo break after the 2nd interview. Washing my hands and looked at myself for the first time in the mirror and realised I had my top on inside out... the print on the inside was similar to the print on the outside, but I've got seams running down my arms and across my shoulder blades and the tag hanging out on the back...sigh...

This will teach me to wear things that don't need ironing, and to be such an undomesticated goddess that I drag clothes out of the basket of washing I've taken off the line a week ago that is still sitting in the middle of the kitchen table as I stagger bleary eyed towards the kettle and the caffeine.

But in driving back to the office afterwards I started to remember the number of times I've had a 'wardrobe malfunction'. What is it they say about humans... we're the only animal that blushes..or needs to... I do a nice shade of blush!

So here is recorded for all posterity, Miss Frou Frou's advice to avoid fashion faux pas:

Before making a grand entrance always look down - Fronted up at a party once, and didn't realise until I'd arrived and was inside that I was wearing one brown shoe and one white... same style, hence I hadn't noticed when I was walking, just different colours...as I was wearing a brown dress with white spots, bluffed my way through and said I had planned it.

If you must wear a bathing cap make sure it's not red - went to a fancy dress as Raggedy Ann once. I loved that outfit, red tights, black mary-janes, white pantaloons, with a white with red hearts smock, and a white pinafore. As my hair was short, I'd made a red crepe paper wig, and cause my hair is dark, bought a red bathing cap to wear underneath it. I looked cute as, and was having a lovely time dancing energetically. Took a toilet break and discovered to my horror that sometime on the dance floor I'd lost my paper hair, and there I was in all my bald glory... I looked like Telly Savalas with a bad case of sunburn.

Don't ever go to costume parties organised by boys - same costume, different party. Invited to a BBQ Costume Party at a friends. This time, no wig, as my hair was long (half way down my back) so I tied red rags through it. Except, only person in costume was me, and for a brief time the host, dressed as a footballer - what kind of a costume is a footballer anyway... To add insult to injury, he went and changed when he realised none of the other guests were dressing up... and I'd driven from Heidelberg to Keysborough dressed like this...

The gothic look is fine but take an umbrella - once arrived for what was thankfully a telephone job interview at an agency after being caught in a sudden downpour. I knew my clothes and hair were sopping wet, but was surprised at the look on the receptionist's face when I introduced myself and thought how nice she was when she went away and came back with a clean handtowel and a key to the bathroom and said you've got time to dry off before the call comes through. Until I looked in the bathroom mirror and realised my mascara had run to such a degree that I looked like Alice Cooper/ Marilyn Manson's love child... streams of black running down my face...

Weddings are hideous and always make sure your underpants are nice - I once walked across a crowded function room and stood with my back to the room at a wedding with my skirt tucked into my underpants. Not sure what was more embarassing, standing there with my bum hanging out for all to see, or the frantic manouevres trying to extract my dress from my knickers and stockings after the waitress whispered quietly into my ear.

Weddings are hideous, elastic is the bane of my existence and it can always get worse - picture this... my one and only experience as a bridesmaid. Bride, ex-fashion model, 5ft 9 in her stockings, slim and gorgeous. Other bridesmaid, about the same height, slim and very proud of her recent boob surgery to lift and separate. And me...5ft 2, almost as round as she is tall dumpling. Bride, in her wisdom, decides that the 'maids will wear burgundy Scarlett O'Hara style dresses, complete with wide off the shoulder flounces and multiple petticoats and pink stilletto heeled shoes (remember, for a girl who trips over ants regularly, any heel is a health hazard).

So, pick up the dress the night before the wedding. Already very anxious as I'm going to have to go braless. While the boulder-holders might be the first thing that comes off of an evening when I get home, I haven't been braless in public since I was 10!

Put the dress on morning of the wedding, only to discover the elastic in the off the shoulder neckline has gone... and I'm thinking I'm going to have to tuck my boobs into my underpants! Some needle and thread and I am literally sewn into the dress with very strict instructions not to move my arms too high or too wide.

It got worse... the bride decided to have Jaguar wedding cars. Gorgeous cars, but you try and look elegant while climbing out of a jag in an off the shoulder dress with hooped petticoats, held together with thread and a prayer, at the same time that you're trying to get a 3 year old flower girl to stop pulling her dress up over her head to show everyone her pretty knickers (heah that's my gig). I ended up flashing major cleavage at the collected wedding guests waiting on the church steps... talk about upstaging the bride.

It got even worse... wedding over, photo's taken, Toast to the bridesmaids, and I'm sitting with the now exhausted almost asleep 3 year old flower girl on my lap whose got one finger up her nose and the others clutched around the edge of my dress. As I start to stand up with her in my arms, the top of the dress starts a slow descent down... . The groomsman saved the day, with a frantic whisper from me, he wrapped his arm around me, clutching acres of cloth (and breast, come to think of it) and held on for dear life.

And then there is the whole 'if you don't want them looking at your feet, look ridiculous' school of tap dance costumes - I'll have to save that till another time, better go and organise something to wear to work tomorrow.

** Wonder what an OH&S Diva would wear? Rhinestone/Cats Eye Safety Goggles, with a orange flourescent hazmat suit with purple safety boots?

Can I get you fries with that?

My friend Moon Girl, brought me something amazing back from lunch yesterday... she brought me a man!

Now considering she had lunch at a suburban shopping centre, I was pretty astonished. In particular, as I may have on occasion asked for someone to buy me a sandwich, or a muffin etc. I’ve never actually asked for a man. Probably cause I didn’t know they were so readily available… talk about retail therapy!

Actually what she brought to me was a business card and mobile phone photo of a man she’d meet who was selling raffle tickets. Apparently she had a conversation with him that lead to her asking if he’d like her to pass his details on to her friend (that would be me) and he consented.

This has led to my mulling over a couple of things and raised a number of questions:

Why would she assume I would go for it?

Well, to be fair to MG, I had told her about a chat with a very close friend earlier in the week asking if I might be interested in meeting a friend of her hubby’s that had expressed an interest, and that I had cautiously but tentatively said yes.

And its common knowledge amongst the girls in the office that after licking my wounds over a very on and off relationship, that is now irrevocably off, I was finally open to the possibilities of meeting someone.

Why wouldn't I?

I’ll admit that in the recent past I’ve advertised in both the personals in print and on the net and meet ‘strangers’ via those mediums and actually enjoyed myself, something MG was also aware of.

But I could not get my head around what she’d done, and under no circumstances was I prepared to consider it… though I did have a moment of quiet empathy for this poor guy, who may be looking forward to a phone call that is never going to come.

And in trying to explain to her why yesterday realised the difference to my putting an ad in the paper or a profile on the net and this was, that in the former, I got to control the process and in the later, it was all arranged for me, hence why I cringe at the thought of being set-up.

Why do I seem to attract the lamest set-ups?

When I asked MG what about this guy made her think I’d be interested – her response was that he was single and 47 – right status, right age, why not? Oh, and he was taller than me, but considering I’m 5ft 2 that’s not exactly unusual.

This made me recall similar thought processes from friends and family including my sister and her husband trying to set up with one of his friends by saying we had a lot in common i.e. he was fat too!

Or my godbrother arranging for a friend’s brother-in-law to be at their home one evening when I was visiting – again with the, he’s single, you’re single line. Sounds fine, except the guy wore a parachute silk tracksuit and admitted that his favourite movies were the Porkys series. When he took out a tiny comb and started to groom his moustache at the dinner table, I made my excuses… and gave my godbrother a clip over the ear next time I saw him.

Why would a man agree to having his photo and number taken in the first place?

This is the most fascinating question! I would be more likely to agree to be used as a human cannonball than I would to having my photo and phone number passed on to a stranger, so assumed that this guy smacked of desperateness.

MG challenged me, by saying would I have reacted differently if he’d looked like George Clooney, which he didn’t, but then there’s only one George Clooney, and the only thing I’d be interested in in that instance would be if the raffle tickets were for being allowed to lick George from top to bottom…very, very slowly (oops, I digress)

And I could honestly say that if he’d been incredibly attractive I would have thought it even stranger… why would an incredibly attractive man agree?

And I puzzled over it, until I spoke to my friend Peter Rabbit, who kindly allows me, on occasion, into the inner workings of the mind of a single, heterosexual male.

Peter said of course he consented, as Peter would have readily done if Moon Girl. had spoken to him. He was a guy, and guys usually take what opportunities come their way.

Though I’m not so sure about Peter… considering we are friends because he responded to a personals ad that went:

ME = funny, smart, loyal, independent, articulate, loving, spontaneous, honest and sometimes difficult and argumentative

YOU = ???

You’d think he’d have learned his lesson by now…

Not with a bang, but with a whimper...

Well, here goes I guess...my first baby steps into sharing my thoughts with the wider world.

Why am I here? Have always loved telling anecdotes and stories, and riffing on whatever stray thought has settled long enough in my brain to actually register.

And a very new friend, after playing email tag where I think I have mildly amused him with said riffs has encouraged me to actually 'write'.

Mind you this could be the Nature Boy's sly attempt to get me to stop pestering him with email. But if you're reading this and thinking you want to do permanent damage to someone as a result, then he's the one you should go looking for - let me know, I'll give you his address...

Writing is something I've done for most of my life, but never in any serious and committed way. There's a shoebox full of short stories started, most featuring a little, fat, funny girl who closely resembles me, except she's much wittier and prettier, and everybody loves her. Heah, if you're going to write fictional stories about yourself, you are allowed to embellish!

And for a brief and shining moment I thought I was going to make my fortune as a writer of erotic fiction... well the guy I wrote them for liked them... except he said there was too much description and not enough action... but that's a whole other tale to be told...and not one I'm ready to share as yet, if ever.

As for the blog name? I used to be (fill in the blanks) but I'm alright now is one of my favourite things to say, and depending on how you say it, and what the missing word is, can get the whole gamut of reactions, but usually a laugh.

Some of my examples:

• I used to be a Collingwood supporter, but I'm alright now
• I used to be a good girl, but I'm alright now - this works particularly well when talking to boys if you say it absolutely deadpan, and then do the whole coy smile, flutter of eyelids outrageously routine
  
• I used to be skinny, but I'm alright now - in my case, usually results in sniggers, as it's pretty clear my blubber has been around long enough to set! Sigh...