Clothes maketh the school

Monday night and I’m at the Opus Concert, a concert put on by the Department of Education to celebrate musical excellence in our public schools. Hugamuga was in the Chorale and it was a fine concert.

Anyway I’m sitting there next to an older father who also has a daughter at Hugamuga’s school in his year. We do the polite how is your son/daughter finding the school and then it begins:

“Oh well I think they’re pretty slack on the uniform.”

“Mmmm?”
“Have you seen the girls? The skirts so short they look like hookers. Girls wearing stripey socks, I saw a girl smoking in public. It’s terrible. The school should be more strict.”
“And have you communicated this to the school?”

No. He hadn’t.

And there’s my point. Don’t whinge at me if you’re not prepared to do anything about it!

I felt quite disgruntled.

Partly because I hate the no action thing but also because frankly I think he’s right. They could smarten up the uniform just by insisting on “proper” school shoes and dropping the polo shirts which just look slack. They could smarten it up just by insisting the kids actually wear it.

With one child now at a private school and the other at a public school the gulf between the pride in the uniform (and by extension the school) is very obvious. It even affects how I feel about the schools. I’m second guessing my decision to send Hugamuga public despite the sound academic reasons for doing so… and partly it’s because of the uniform.

Which is crazy.

But it does reflect the universal truth that first impressions count. We judge others on the state of their dress. Are his shoes clean? Does the tie clash with the shirt? Could she wear a shorter skirt? Lower cut top? Dowdier cardigan? Why would a school be any different?

Clothes maketh the man, and in this case, the school… and yes, I’m going to contact the school. Because I’m bolshy like that. :)

Nothing like a biosolid necklace to make you feel better

I’ve been feeling poorly over the last 24 hours. Vomiting. And I never vomit. In fact I reckon you can divide the world into vomiters and non-vomiters. Vomiting is much more stressful for a non-vomiter. Such a shock to the system.

Anyway, it’s all been a bit bleah.

Luckily I live with Groover who cheered me up with a little article from “Flowing Forward” produced by the Water Corporation’s Communication Division.

Margaret Domurad (pictured) is wearing shit. Yes. Literally.

She collected some “biosolids” - that’s Water Corp speak for poo - and crystalised them at about 1400 degrees centigrade. She then asked a friend to make them into a necklace. Apparently it doesn’t smell.

I can’t see it taking off though. Not in a big way.

Fingernail vanity

I know posting about this is tantamount at waving a red flag at fate and saying “Yoo hoo! Over here! Time to break a fingernail!” but I don’t care.

I’ve managed to grow my fingernails quite long and they’ve not broken all week, despite gardening on Sunday and I wanted a record..

Noice.

By the way anyone watching East of Everything on Sunday nights? What do you think?
I’m thinking it’s not quite Seachange but I’m starting to enjoy it three episodes in… and that Richard Roxburgh is pretty cute…

OMG I’m a D-Cup

If only it was just the breasts that put on weight.

Don’t you love those lingerie ladies in the big department stores? Mine would have been in her mid fifties and an E cup she told me.

I knew my old bra - a B cup push up - wasn’t really fitting all that well - so I decided to invest in some new scaffolding.

The first thing you do is find the most senior looking assistant over floor - the older the better - they’ve seen it all. She will come in and measure you and then bring you a couple of bras to try on. Then she will “fit” you. She will make you lean over at the waist and “drop” your breasts fully into the cups. Then she will assess the fit.

Being a D-cup means some of the cute bras are no longer on my availability list but your assistant will know her stock well and has probably tried them all on for “product knowledge”. She will bring you a selection.

If you get on with your assistant this is the best. She will treat you like a long lost daughter and it will be a fun, positive experience.

I came away with two bra and pantie sets and some “guaranteed to take an inch off everywhere” undergarment thing.

Which I’ve bought for “thermal” purposes of course. :)

What are rashies?

River asks following my last post: “What are rashies?” I wrote a reply in comments but since a picture really is a thousand words I thought I’d illustrate with a couple of pics.

Now you’ll note that the children in this photo look quite young - that’ll be because these photos were taken in 2002 - 5 years ago. In those days my boardies fit and I wore skin tight rashies… :)

Anyway you probably get the idea.

I really don’t know why I stressed out about tight fitting boardies and my muffin top breaking loose. Once there we were treated to a great number of fashion victims people who just didn’t care.

Part of me was rejoicing. “You go girlfriend!” I thought Marcia-style as a woman who as a clear muu muu candidate chose instead to wear a bikini, sat eating her lunch not 20 metres away.

She obviously subscribed to my theory that the less material contained in the bikini the smaller your derriere looks. An acre of pink lycra fairly screams “big arse” n’est-ce pas? I’m rethinking my theory.

At this point you are probably fairly pointing out that the kettle may be calling the pot indigenous. And it would be a fair point.

Then we noticed another lady who had obviously come straight from the office. She was wearing a knee length skirt, a singlet and one of those little V-necked tops with three quarter sleeves and the ties that go round the back. Down the Aqua Racer! Of course she might have thought to herself that she wasn’t going to go swimming but was tempted by all the fun we were having and decided WTF I’m just going to swim in my clothes.

But perhaps she tried on her boardies that morning - like me - and found they were a little snug. Maybe she went down to her local surfshop - like me - and the shop assistants were so unhelpful she thought “fuck that I’m just going to wear my smart casual clothes to Adventure World”. Maybe.

The blokes of course don’t care at all.

 

I am a skittle

Average tits

Slim waist

OK tummy

Big thighs

Chunky calves

Sounds attractive doesn’t it.  Well Trinny and Susannah haven’t given up hope!

Wide legged pants (check)
Cropped fitted jackets with wide lapels (really?)
Flared skirts to the knee or longer (hmmm)
Low leg bathers????

My fellow skittles are Meryl Streep and Sharon Osborne.

Well we’ll see.  I’m not sure I want to be a skittle…

Hair, there and everywhere

Today you find your correspondent at the hair salon washing that grey right out of her hair.   I got up early to act as scorer at The Orchid Hunter’s cricket match.  Four hours of morse code later (have you ever scored a cricket match?  It’s all about dots, trust me), we lost and I joined the coven for lunch.

The Coven is The Poshi and the Software Engineer and I and we haven’t seen each other for ages so a lunch was in order, sandwiched (omg I’ve just wet myself with the wittiness of that pun) between cricket and my hair appointment.  Much gossip was shared.

So this is me pictured with the grey remover in place and foil on the arms of my glasses.  It kind of looks like there’s a small man on my shoulder sticking his arm in my brain. 

The result is a little boofier than I thought but I think will be okay in the end.  Afterwards I picked up a tray of peaches - that is the real hallmark of Christmas!  And dropped in to see The Poshi for a quick pre-dinner drinkie.  It’s good to have her home if only for a couple of days. :)

Wigging Out

Groover bought me two wigs for my birthday. What an awesome present! I love wearing wigs and up until now only had a blonde one to have fun with.

I wore the black one to watch number one son play cricket yesterday and my friend said … how on earth did you have time to get to a hairdresser (as she’d seen me at 6pm the night before and it was now 8am in the morning).

And before you start worrying… no I don’t have a dread disease… apart from ridiculous amounts of grey hair… I just like dressing up.

I’m going to wear the red one to Groover’s Christmas Party where I’m playing a saucy barmaid called Mad Rose (they have a pirate theme going on). Can’t wait!

Sandshoes and Cinnamon

Groover has bought some new sandshoes. Or to be more accurate, I have bought him some new sandshoes. It had to be done.

His last pair - note those stylish ones behind the gleaming new white ones - were bought in 1992. And he has worn them every year since. Sure he only puts them on once or twice a year and the rubber crystalised from age but they did last well.

In fact apart from the back-to-the-future-flashdance-esque-black-speckledy-trim - they are not that much different.

Except that now, I will be seen dead with him wearing sandshoes - his new ones.

Carol has asked me to relate the Cinnamon Roll story Armistead Maupin told when he spoke at the Octogon Theatre lately… it’s a little R-rated so children… turn away now!

Apparently Armistead had a friend - gay friend - who wanted to check he was not hetero. So he “went down” on a female friend who nervously had sprayed herself with a cinnamon scent. Afterward he was so traumatised by the whole affair that he could never bear the smell of cinnamon rolls and felt physically ill when he smelt them in malls and airports… something like that anyway. Sorry Carol - he tells it better. :) So much so that now whenever I hear the term or see a cinnamon roll… I’m not thinking pastries.

Freedom through eye-wear

Still on public transport in Melbourne - I’ve caught a train and a tram now - it occurs to me that society wouldn’t function as well if it wasn’t for sunglasses. Sunglasses, especially those with reflective lenses, allow you to examine your fellow passengers without feeling self conscious or rude.

Well perhaps a little self conscious…

What freedom it is to stare at another person, a person you don’t know and may never know. Is that a mole on their neck or the edge of a tattoo or just a speck of dirt? Why did she choose to wear that particular shade of green with that orange skirt… I wonder if they’ve noticed they haven’t done the buttons up quite right this morning. Oooh I love those reading glasses… I wonder what brand they are… I wonder what you do, sitting there all cool and self-important, earpieces in, D&G oversized sunglasses covering most of your face… hang on…

Could you be looking at me?

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