The grey clouds have parted and the sun shines once more on Charlotteland.
The nymphs are a gallivanting and the whores are a trolloping
The cherubs are a coo-ing, the angels are a chorusing and the trumpeters a trumpeting.
My dear sweet reader......you spoke to me!
(and if you take so long to respond next time I shall endlessly impose my appalling prose upon you. But for now, One is happy and wants to kiss you).
Thursday, March 24, 2011
"?"
I have absolutely and utterly nothing to write about.
My mind is a blank (but you already knew that didn't you?)
Whilst my life does involve more than contemplating my navel and giving Humphrey pedicures - really do you want to hear about it?
Perhaps you'd like to know that I saw my pubic bone for the first time in a few years the other day (it wasn't for long, but I got a glimpse)?
How about my poor mother in law dredging the floor of my sons' room to see if anything of value can be salvaged before she brings in a skip?
Or how my poor mother in law dredged my tongue after the indelicacies that flew from it burned her eyelashes? (It wasn't directed at her mind, it was directed at The System).
Nah, didn't think so.
(Charlotte is partaking of a bit of study at the moment. Her head is full of words. Big words. Words that are generally not used in conversation. Words that need dictionaries. Words that need thesauruseseeseesses.
So many words whirling around up there in the space that should hold grey matter that said Charlotte feels her head might explode into alphabet bits)!
Don't ask what I'm studying. It is irrelevant due to the fact that I rarely finish anything I start - although I'm still married and my children haven't faded away from malnutrition. I am also still making my OUTRAGEOUSLYGOREOUSJEWELLERY! However study is now an important part of my life. I no longer prop up bars on a Saturday night or contribute to the purchase of Dino-the-night-club-owner's Porche every Thursday night. So why not put that time that would now usually be spent watching The Bill (I'm still plotting my revenge against those who axed that show) into studying? I can always cuddle my velour Sergeant Kryer pillow when I go to bed.
Early onset dementia is catching I've heard. I'm sure I've already got it. Today I lost a cheque walking from the house to the car! How is that possible? It is a rare talent.
A woman of my advanced years still needs to use her noodle in a cerebral context, hence the study. Hell, I might even end up with a job that pays well at the end of it - so I'm thinking neurosurgery or astrophysics.
I'm also a tad put-out dear reader. You refuse to leave me little love notes after you have read my missives.....or even hate mail for that matter.
Just a word mon cherie, will drag me from this fug.
My mind is a blank (but you already knew that didn't you?)
Whilst my life does involve more than contemplating my navel and giving Humphrey pedicures - really do you want to hear about it?
Perhaps you'd like to know that I saw my pubic bone for the first time in a few years the other day (it wasn't for long, but I got a glimpse)?
How about my poor mother in law dredging the floor of my sons' room to see if anything of value can be salvaged before she brings in a skip?
Or how my poor mother in law dredged my tongue after the indelicacies that flew from it burned her eyelashes? (It wasn't directed at her mind, it was directed at The System).
Nah, didn't think so.
(Charlotte is partaking of a bit of study at the moment. Her head is full of words. Big words. Words that are generally not used in conversation. Words that need dictionaries. Words that need thesauruseseeseesses.
So many words whirling around up there in the space that should hold grey matter that said Charlotte feels her head might explode into alphabet bits)!
Don't ask what I'm studying. It is irrelevant due to the fact that I rarely finish anything I start - although I'm still married and my children haven't faded away from malnutrition. I am also still making my OUTRAGEOUSLYGOREOUSJEWELLERY! However study is now an important part of my life. I no longer prop up bars on a Saturday night or contribute to the purchase of Dino-the-night-club-owner's Porche every Thursday night. So why not put that time that would now usually be spent watching The Bill (I'm still plotting my revenge against those who axed that show) into studying? I can always cuddle my velour Sergeant Kryer pillow when I go to bed.
Early onset dementia is catching I've heard. I'm sure I've already got it. Today I lost a cheque walking from the house to the car! How is that possible? It is a rare talent.
A woman of my advanced years still needs to use her noodle in a cerebral context, hence the study. Hell, I might even end up with a job that pays well at the end of it - so I'm thinking neurosurgery or astrophysics.
I'm also a tad put-out dear reader. You refuse to leave me little love notes after you have read my missives.....or even hate mail for that matter.
Just a word mon cherie, will drag me from this fug.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Supermarkets, the Illiterati and The Rage.
Supermarket: n 1. a giant petridish of communicable diseases. 2. common habitat of mullets, moccasins and bad manners. 3. meeting place of the Illiterati.
A trip to the supermarket generally brings on a bout of hippy-ism. You know, the I'm-growing-dreads-and-will-live-in-a-rainforest-eat-beans-and-protest-at-G20-summits type of hippy-ism? And that's on a good day. On a bad day shopping just brings on a bout of The Rage.
Rage precursors may include :
Over to you dear reader. I would love to know what invokes YOUR rage. Do tell.....share with Aunty Charlotte.
A trip to the supermarket generally brings on a bout of hippy-ism. You know, the I'm-growing-dreads-and-will-live-in-a-rainforest-eat-beans-and-protest-at-G20-summits type of hippy-ism? And that's on a good day. On a bad day shopping just brings on a bout of The Rage.
Rage precursors may include :
- Always,always, always getting the poltergeist trolley, the one that steers itself into stacks of canned soup, other people and other peoples cars.
- Lady in aisle 1, do not scream at your child and use profanities. It is not only cruel, it make us all wonder what you do to that poor child behind closed doors.
- Man in aisle 3: Wash. How you can bear being around yourself is mystifying.
- Pod of surly adolescents in aisle 7: Move on or at least part when other shoppers approach. You are not intimidating, you just look like a group of shoplifters into whom Ragers would love to ram with their shopping trolleys.
- To my children: Do not leave my side. As far as I'm concerned everyone in here is a predator just waiting to snatch you away to their pedophile ring. Also, do not approach this trolley with anything wrapped in shiny paper or anything that has wheels, makes noises or contains trans fats. Do not request anything, except apples. Please don't treat the aisles as your personal skating rink or bowling alley. Old ladies quake at your approach. Thing One your brother is not a bowling ball. Thing Two, stop behaving like a bowling ball.
- Regular checkout: Are you pushing in? Yes, I was next. Just because I don't have my trolley pushed up the arse of the person in front of me doesn't mean I'm not in line.
- And finally the Express Checkout, haven of the Illiterati. Yes, that sign does say 12 items or less, not twelve groups of eight items or 12 cartons of coke and miscellaneous items. Twelve INDIVIDUAL ITEMS.
- And to the man standing behind me, yes you mullet-head. Brush your teeth.
Over to you dear reader. I would love to know what invokes YOUR rage. Do tell.....share with Aunty Charlotte.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Payback
Oh. Indulging in a bit of payback are we....hey GOD?
After yesterdays rant I found a new tussocky growth on previously virgin chin real estate.
It's almost time to invest in a Mach 3. How very sexy.
Fuck.
After yesterdays rant I found a new tussocky growth on previously virgin chin real estate.
It's almost time to invest in a Mach 3. How very sexy.
Fuck.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Blame It On Eve.
There is but one great thing about ageing.
The older you get the less likely you are to give a toss what other people think.
That's it. End of story.
Everything else is just one step closer to the grave.
Humphrey scoffs every time I tell him it's time to trade me in for a newer model.
"It just wouldn't be worth it," he says, "I'd never see a return on my investment and I can't afford a later model."
He's right of course. I am a very expensive accessory, but of course I am, as I constantly remind him, worth every cent. He doesn't reply because he's too busy looking at vintage motorcycle magazines.
Cheese, wine and vintage motorbikes are desirable when they have weathered a few years because they become more rare and thus more interesting.
People become more rare, because they die, and sometimes less interesting because their world contracts around them. It is something I'm fighting. So God help me I will not lose my curiosity!
Unfortunately I'm more or less doomed to lose everything else (like my dazzling good looks?)
Well, my is duco is looking a little shabby and a bit of the shine has gone. There is a bit of rust on the chassis and the motor runs a little warm - at the wrong times. I don't start well in the mornings and can be temperamental in the evenings and warming me up can be touch-and-go.
OhforGodsakesImreadyforthescrapheap!
For you girls nipping at my heels in the age stakes....I'll let you in on a few little home truths. When Helen Mirren and Charlotte tRampling waffle on about being unafraid of ageing, how the best is yet to come and they feel sexier than ever. It's crap. Or oestrogen patches.
Maybe it's the cocaine, but they're lying through their veneered teeth.
In their spotlight you can afford highlights and lowlights and backlights and soft lights and vaseline on the camera lense. The rest of us will just have to get extra Berli scaffolding ..... and nothing short of an industrial vacuum is going to help those thighs.
The day I hit a certain birthday milestone two tussocky grows sprouted from my chin.
Yes, a beard.
There I was, minding my own business at the traffic lights and BAM!
God gave me a beard.
It's his little practical joke. Blame it on Eve.
Now, when I have my little glazed-eyed-goodbye-i'm-in-theta moments my fingers immediately fly to my chin and fossick....for tussocks. I can spend hours hunting down hairs and delight in strangling them before I yank them out. I don't keep them though. The memory is enough. The bastards come back as surely as the sun rises anyway.
Speaking of keeping odd things...allow me a meander. We humans are decidedly odd. Not only do we find American sit-coms funny, we also have a tendency to collect things. Remember that episode of Collectors where the girl collected pubic hair? What about that woman who kept nail clippings? There was another who collected navel lint? FORTHELOVEOFGOD! I'm sure there is a medical diagnosis for these pastimes.
I recently met a girl who used to sit in front of the tele and pick her toenails. Her mother had a tiny soapstone urn, probably like the ones you can buy in fair trade shops, on their coffee table. Into that little urn went the toenail clippings. This girl went overseas for a time. After a while her parents received a package. With great excitement Mum and Dad opened their parcel.....only to find a little packet of toenail clippings. The note said "Please put in little urn." When Mum opened little urn, which she considered to be purely decorative and not particularly useful, she found years of carefully pruned toenails - and a chunk of skin.
The girl had kept her plantar wart as well.
True story.
Back to Eve. Actually, when you think about it we should really be burning her effigy every International Women's Day.
We women have been blessed with periods, PMT, childbirth, the glass ceiling, menopause, and then general mental and physical degeneration.
Did I mention menopause? That's right MEN-o-pause. We turn into men. Any time from about 45 onward generally.
It starts with tussocks of hair, on your face. The hair on your head gets kind of wiry. Your skin gets sort of leathery and you lose....um....things....down there.
Don't get me wrong. I love the me that is me right now. My mind, that is. The way I'm more confident than ever and actually value my own opinion (whether other people do is debatable). That's maturity. But physically, ageing sucks. Why else would my girlfriends and I suddenly turn into gym junkies and health-food freaks? It's because we've noticed a groaning in the joints, a sprain that doesn't heal as quickly as they used to and it's just getting too damn hard to chase the kids.
Currently I'm in Ageing Phase One, which I outlined above, and as the Devil is my witness I shall go down fighting the rest.
The older you get the less likely you are to give a toss what other people think.
That's it. End of story.
Everything else is just one step closer to the grave.
Humphrey scoffs every time I tell him it's time to trade me in for a newer model.
"It just wouldn't be worth it," he says, "I'd never see a return on my investment and I can't afford a later model."
He's right of course. I am a very expensive accessory, but of course I am, as I constantly remind him, worth every cent. He doesn't reply because he's too busy looking at vintage motorcycle magazines.
Cheese, wine and vintage motorbikes are desirable when they have weathered a few years because they become more rare and thus more interesting.
People become more rare, because they die, and sometimes less interesting because their world contracts around them. It is something I'm fighting. So God help me I will not lose my curiosity!
Unfortunately I'm more or less doomed to lose everything else (like my dazzling good looks?)
Well, my is duco is looking a little shabby and a bit of the shine has gone. There is a bit of rust on the chassis and the motor runs a little warm - at the wrong times. I don't start well in the mornings and can be temperamental in the evenings and warming me up can be touch-and-go.
OhforGodsakesImreadyforthescrapheap!
For you girls nipping at my heels in the age stakes....I'll let you in on a few little home truths. When Helen Mirren and Charlotte tRampling waffle on about being unafraid of ageing, how the best is yet to come and they feel sexier than ever. It's crap. Or oestrogen patches.
Maybe it's the cocaine, but they're lying through their veneered teeth.
In their spotlight you can afford highlights and lowlights and backlights and soft lights and vaseline on the camera lense. The rest of us will just have to get extra Berli scaffolding ..... and nothing short of an industrial vacuum is going to help those thighs.
The day I hit a certain birthday milestone two tussocky grows sprouted from my chin.
Yes, a beard.
There I was, minding my own business at the traffic lights and BAM!
God gave me a beard.
It's his little practical joke. Blame it on Eve.
Now, when I have my little glazed-eyed-goodbye-i'm-in-theta moments my fingers immediately fly to my chin and fossick....for tussocks. I can spend hours hunting down hairs and delight in strangling them before I yank them out. I don't keep them though. The memory is enough. The bastards come back as surely as the sun rises anyway.
Speaking of keeping odd things...allow me a meander. We humans are decidedly odd. Not only do we find American sit-coms funny, we also have a tendency to collect things. Remember that episode of Collectors where the girl collected pubic hair? What about that woman who kept nail clippings? There was another who collected navel lint? FORTHELOVEOFGOD! I'm sure there is a medical diagnosis for these pastimes.
I recently met a girl who used to sit in front of the tele and pick her toenails. Her mother had a tiny soapstone urn, probably like the ones you can buy in fair trade shops, on their coffee table. Into that little urn went the toenail clippings. This girl went overseas for a time. After a while her parents received a package. With great excitement Mum and Dad opened their parcel.....only to find a little packet of toenail clippings. The note said "Please put in little urn." When Mum opened little urn, which she considered to be purely decorative and not particularly useful, she found years of carefully pruned toenails - and a chunk of skin.
The girl had kept her plantar wart as well.
True story.
Back to Eve. Actually, when you think about it we should really be burning her effigy every International Women's Day.
We women have been blessed with periods, PMT, childbirth, the glass ceiling, menopause, and then general mental and physical degeneration.
Did I mention menopause? That's right MEN-o-pause. We turn into men. Any time from about 45 onward generally.
It starts with tussocks of hair, on your face. The hair on your head gets kind of wiry. Your skin gets sort of leathery and you lose....um....things....down there.
Don't get me wrong. I love the me that is me right now. My mind, that is. The way I'm more confident than ever and actually value my own opinion (whether other people do is debatable). That's maturity. But physically, ageing sucks. Why else would my girlfriends and I suddenly turn into gym junkies and health-food freaks? It's because we've noticed a groaning in the joints, a sprain that doesn't heal as quickly as they used to and it's just getting too damn hard to chase the kids.
Currently I'm in Ageing Phase One, which I outlined above, and as the Devil is my witness I shall go down fighting the rest.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Till Death Do Us Part or Texting in Silly Places
Text conversation.
Humphrey to Charlotte: "Have a great day."
Charlotte: "What?"
Charlotte: "Did you just send that to me?"
Charlotte: "Are you ill?"
Charlotte: "Have you crashed the plane?"
Humphrey: "I'm allowed to be nice."
Charlotte: "Don't send me nice texts. It makes me nervous."
Charlotte: "I do love you, by the way."
Humphrey: "I love you too."
Humphrey: "It's hard to text when I'm flying the plane."
Charlotte: "Don't text. Fly the fucking plane!!!"
And I haven't heard from him since.
Humphrey to Charlotte: "Have a great day."
Charlotte: "What?"
Charlotte: "Did you just send that to me?"
Charlotte: "Are you ill?"
Charlotte: "Have you crashed the plane?"
Humphrey: "I'm allowed to be nice."
Charlotte: "Don't send me nice texts. It makes me nervous."
Charlotte: "I do love you, by the way."
Humphrey: "I love you too."
Humphrey: "It's hard to text when I'm flying the plane."
Charlotte: "Don't text. Fly the fucking plane!!!"
And I haven't heard from him since.
Monday, March 14, 2011
International Friends?
Mmmmmm. Something is just not sitting right at the moment...... I'm unsure what it is......just a vague niggling.
I'm wondering whether some of my "readers" may actually be members of the Russian Mafia who are planning to gun me down in a blaze of spam.
Or am I just being paranoid?
I'm wondering whether some of my "readers" may actually be members of the Russian Mafia who are planning to gun me down in a blaze of spam.
Or am I just being paranoid?
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Future Criminals - in a Classroom Near You
Dear Parents of the Future Soccer Hooligan in my son's class,
Forgive me for being old-fashioned, but in my day kindness, respect and consideration were taught in the home. These qualities are the foundation of friendship and balanced relationships throughout life.
My son has autism. This means that the very task of getting through the day can be harrowing for him. Just getting him to school in a relaxed frame of mind takes a Herculean effort. Excessive noise and rapid movement can sometimes throw him into a meltdown - which is unpleasant for him and his teacher. Making friends does not come easily to my son, however he would dearly love to have friends. Your child poking and teasing my son for entertainment is not only unacceptable, it is cruel. This behaviour makes my son feels isolated and confused, although he is unable to articulate this.
I trust that you will speak to your child about this behaviour and ensure it doesn't happen again. I can't help but think that if this behaviour isn't stopped your son will become famous one day - probably on Australia's Most Wanted. Perhaps if he doesn't attain national notoriety he will simply be like others of his ilk and live quietly on a park bench surrounded by a family of needles.
Thank you for your understanding. I know you too understand that if this bullying continues I will be forced to stab your little fucker in the eye.
Charlotte.
Forgive me for being old-fashioned, but in my day kindness, respect and consideration were taught in the home. These qualities are the foundation of friendship and balanced relationships throughout life.
My son has autism. This means that the very task of getting through the day can be harrowing for him. Just getting him to school in a relaxed frame of mind takes a Herculean effort. Excessive noise and rapid movement can sometimes throw him into a meltdown - which is unpleasant for him and his teacher. Making friends does not come easily to my son, however he would dearly love to have friends. Your child poking and teasing my son for entertainment is not only unacceptable, it is cruel. This behaviour makes my son feels isolated and confused, although he is unable to articulate this.
I trust that you will speak to your child about this behaviour and ensure it doesn't happen again. I can't help but think that if this behaviour isn't stopped your son will become famous one day - probably on Australia's Most Wanted. Perhaps if he doesn't attain national notoriety he will simply be like others of his ilk and live quietly on a park bench surrounded by a family of needles.
Thank you for your understanding. I know you too understand that if this bullying continues I will be forced to stab your little fucker in the eye.
Charlotte.
Word of the Day - from our friend the Macquarie Dictionary
Spile: n. 1. a peg or plug of wood, esp. one used as a spigot. 2. US. a spout for conducting sap from the sugar maple.
Context:
Humphrey: "Just think of the money we could save. If I put this spile into your abdomen we will be able to harvest enough tallow to make soap for a year!"
or
Charlotte: "Humphrey, put a spile in it before I do it for you."
Context:
Humphrey: "Just think of the money we could save. If I put this spile into your abdomen we will be able to harvest enough tallow to make soap for a year!"
or
Charlotte: "Humphrey, put a spile in it before I do it for you."
Holy Spiflication Batman!
Just a quickie.
I've noticed that we have readers from China, Japan, Hungary, Malaysia, the US, Canada, Ireland, UK (other bits) Belarus and Denmark.
This is news of much excitements!!!!!
Would love to hear from these readers.....spin me a yarn......share a story.......share some laughs.
Here's to you my international friends!
To my friend in Japan......our thoughts are with you.
Love Charlotte.
I've noticed that we have readers from China, Japan, Hungary, Malaysia, the US, Canada, Ireland, UK (other bits) Belarus and Denmark.
This is news of much excitements!!!!!
Would love to hear from these readers.....spin me a yarn......share a story.......share some laughs.
Here's to you my international friends!
To my friend in Japan......our thoughts are with you.
Love Charlotte.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Just call me Dory.
Having the attention span of a flea and the memory of a goldfish makes life perpetually interesting. You're always trying new things and meeting new people even though you've tried those things and met those people before.
Having a life that is constantly new and exciting is a good thing, however losing interest half-way through cleaning out the office is not. As I speak a veritable Kilimanjaro of scrap paper is groaning at what was once the door to my office. It now looks like something you would see on A Current Affair.
Reporter: "It is believed the woman, only known as Charlotte, may in fact have become the victim of a paper avalanche....."
Cut to footage of hard-hatted rescue crews using bob-cats and graders to clear a path to the base of the paper mountain - legions of fans and family members are wailing and gnashing their teeth in grief.
Reporter: "Canadian mounties are en-route to the scene, but emergency services say it is unlikely Ms Charlotte has survived."
(Humphrey, meanwhile, has sold the children and is spending my life insurance at the TAB).
My Bootcamp Bitch friend, Sal, has diagnosed me as having autism. Since she did the autism workshop last Thursday she has diagnosed at least three friends, her son, her butcher, the lady who cleans the classrooms and herself as having autism, or at the very least, Aspergers. Sal is a generous soul and kindly gives her diagnoses free of charge - in fact you don't even have to ask her for a consult - she'll just tell you wherever you may be. (I was at a party in the middle of watching another friend do an interpretive dance whilst singing Sexual Healing with a speech impediment).
Anyway this ADHD/Autism/Premature Dementia does mean that somtimes one is interpreted as being a rude person.
Example A:
Lady with big hair and red fingernails is gesticulating wildly at Charlotte whilst going through Checkout 2.
Charlotte waves back, a little self consciously, after checking that the lady isn't in fact waving to someone behind her.
Big-haired lady enthusiastically bounds over to Charlotte.
"Hiiii yah Charlotte. Fancy seeing you here!"
Charlotte smiles "Hiiiiiiiiiiiiii" (mentally rifling through files, not a school teacher, not at gym, not at the dress shop......who? who? who? dammit!)
"So, have you thought about what we talked about the other day.....you still keen?"
"Um yeah, sure." (Scintillating conversationalist that Charlotte is).
"Great, well I'll give you a call and perhaps we can meet for lunch to talk some more."
And with that big hair lady pats Charlotte's arm and flounces off to the car park.
Charlotte thinks to herself "whoever the frig that was must think I'm a flippin' mouth-breather."
There was no phone call. That actually didn't bother me, because by the time I'd unloaded my groceries I'd forgotten about meeting big haired lady.....until there was a knock at the door.
"Hey Charlotte!" It's the big-haired lady.
"Heeeeeyyyyy."
"Mind if I come in, probably best we do this at the kitchen table....." and big-haired lady pushes past me on a cloud of Red Door and plonks herself on a chair and what looks like contracts (?) on the table.
"Um, would you like a cup of tea? Coffee?" (Mum taught me to always be hospitable to visitors, be they the postman or a highway robber).
"No thanks Luv. I've actually got another client in 15 minutes so if it's all the same to you we'll just get this finalised and I'll be off." Big haired lady smiles and I notice she has thick white veneers on her teeth making her look less human and more equine.
My eyes widen in recognition.....oh fuck. fucketty fuck fuck fuck!
It's Mora....or Moira...the "We'll save you thousands on energy bills if you let us paint your roof with this rubbery tar sun deflector stuff" lady.
I didn't sign the contracts and I've forgotten exactly how I extricated myself from the situation, but I do remember Mora or Moira pursed her red lips and flounced a bit more. Mora probably thought I was less rude and more dumber than a hammer.
More than once I've reacted to a happy greeting with a glazed nay, blank, expression and then discovered that I sat next to the person during a week-long conference or our children have had X number of play dates.
Perhaps I am rude.
Perhaps I just have a single digit IQ.
But if I do ever greet you blankly I apologise. Please be as kind to me as you would any dumb animal.
I'm truly harmless.
Now, where was I?
Having a life that is constantly new and exciting is a good thing, however losing interest half-way through cleaning out the office is not. As I speak a veritable Kilimanjaro of scrap paper is groaning at what was once the door to my office. It now looks like something you would see on A Current Affair.
Reporter: "It is believed the woman, only known as Charlotte, may in fact have become the victim of a paper avalanche....."
Cut to footage of hard-hatted rescue crews using bob-cats and graders to clear a path to the base of the paper mountain - legions of fans and family members are wailing and gnashing their teeth in grief.
Reporter: "Canadian mounties are en-route to the scene, but emergency services say it is unlikely Ms Charlotte has survived."
(Humphrey, meanwhile, has sold the children and is spending my life insurance at the TAB).
My Bootcamp Bitch friend, Sal, has diagnosed me as having autism. Since she did the autism workshop last Thursday she has diagnosed at least three friends, her son, her butcher, the lady who cleans the classrooms and herself as having autism, or at the very least, Aspergers. Sal is a generous soul and kindly gives her diagnoses free of charge - in fact you don't even have to ask her for a consult - she'll just tell you wherever you may be. (I was at a party in the middle of watching another friend do an interpretive dance whilst singing Sexual Healing with a speech impediment).
Anyway this ADHD/Autism/Premature Dementia does mean that somtimes one is interpreted as being a rude person.
Example A:
Lady with big hair and red fingernails is gesticulating wildly at Charlotte whilst going through Checkout 2.
Charlotte waves back, a little self consciously, after checking that the lady isn't in fact waving to someone behind her.
Big-haired lady enthusiastically bounds over to Charlotte.
"Hiiii yah Charlotte. Fancy seeing you here!"
Charlotte smiles "Hiiiiiiiiiiiiii" (mentally rifling through files, not a school teacher, not at gym, not at the dress shop......who? who? who? dammit!)
"So, have you thought about what we talked about the other day.....you still keen?"
"Um yeah, sure." (Scintillating conversationalist that Charlotte is).
"Great, well I'll give you a call and perhaps we can meet for lunch to talk some more."
And with that big hair lady pats Charlotte's arm and flounces off to the car park.
Charlotte thinks to herself "whoever the frig that was must think I'm a flippin' mouth-breather."
There was no phone call. That actually didn't bother me, because by the time I'd unloaded my groceries I'd forgotten about meeting big haired lady.....until there was a knock at the door.
"Hey Charlotte!" It's the big-haired lady.
"Heeeeeyyyyy."
"Mind if I come in, probably best we do this at the kitchen table....." and big-haired lady pushes past me on a cloud of Red Door and plonks herself on a chair and what looks like contracts (?) on the table.
"Um, would you like a cup of tea? Coffee?" (Mum taught me to always be hospitable to visitors, be they the postman or a highway robber).
"No thanks Luv. I've actually got another client in 15 minutes so if it's all the same to you we'll just get this finalised and I'll be off." Big haired lady smiles and I notice she has thick white veneers on her teeth making her look less human and more equine.
My eyes widen in recognition.....oh fuck. fucketty fuck fuck fuck!
It's Mora....or Moira...the "We'll save you thousands on energy bills if you let us paint your roof with this rubbery tar sun deflector stuff" lady.
I didn't sign the contracts and I've forgotten exactly how I extricated myself from the situation, but I do remember Mora or Moira pursed her red lips and flounced a bit more. Mora probably thought I was less rude and more dumber than a hammer.
More than once I've reacted to a happy greeting with a glazed nay, blank, expression and then discovered that I sat next to the person during a week-long conference or our children have had X number of play dates.
Perhaps I am rude.
Perhaps I just have a single digit IQ.
But if I do ever greet you blankly I apologise. Please be as kind to me as you would any dumb animal.
I'm truly harmless.
Now, where was I?
Friday, March 11, 2011
The Latest in Self Diagnosis from Google University
The following diagnostic tool was formulated for the updated DSMVMA IV* (University of Google - 2009).
Please, feel free to print and use this tool if you are in anyway concerned for the mental wellbeing of someone you know, someone you know a little bit, someone you don't know, but looks odd; someone you don't know, but is definitely odd or someone who knows someone who knows one of your friends. In no way does it replace the recommended individual consultation with a mental health professional.
Please, feel free to print and use this tool if you are in anyway concerned for the mental wellbeing of someone you know, someone you know a little bit, someone you don't know, but looks odd; someone you don't know, but is definitely odd or someone who knows someone who knows one of your friends. In no way does it replace the recommended individual consultation with a mental health professional.
DSMVMA IV 2009
The following are a list of common causes of stress.
Tick next to the statements/situations that most apply to you.
10 Recently married.
4 Lost job.
4 Changed job.
5 Got a crap job
6 No job.
10 Work as a telemarketer.
3 Sold home
4 Bought new home
5 Shifted home
6 Thrown out of home.
10 Home is a park bench.
5 Given birth.
10 Given birth to twins
16 + Given birth to kittens.
4 Diagnosed with an illness.
7 Diagonsed with a serious illness.
15 Self-diagnosed with serious, life-threatening illness and will die within hours.
9 Death of a spouse.
10 Responsible for death of spouse.
15 Discover supposedly dead spouse still alive.
3 Brush with the law.
4 Very close brush with law.
12 Sentenced to six months detention in the special care of Brian and his truncheon, BigHal.
4Prangedyourcar.
6 Pranged your Dad's car.
9 Pranged your neighbour's car after you forgot to ask them if you could borrow it.
0 Divorced - YOU WIN!!
To score add the numbers next to your ticked statements.
0 - 5
You are annoyingly happy. Go away.
6 - 10
You are about to break out in shingles.
11 - 15
Put the gun down and step away from the razor blades.
16 +
You haven't been taking your meds have you?
We've called 000 and someone is coming to lasso the dragon you say is hiding in your closet.
DSMVOMA IV 2009 (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Veterinary and Medical Anomalies)
Dr Virgil Hammergodsom (Dean of Languages)
Dr Gail Guano (Pursor)
University of Google.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Cause Celebre
Barbara Walters speaks with SpoiledCharlotte
Transcript of interview, aired on Foxtel, 7.30pm 3/2/11
Your blog has been described as "crystal meth for the modern housewife", where do you glean your inspiration?
That's an interesting question. I truly believe it is a gift. Often inspiration comes to me when I'm watching the ShamWow ad.
You do have some followers - what would you like to say to all your readers?
It's my turn for the chicken skin.
It sounds like you have quite a close relationship with your readers?
Yeah my sisters and I are quite close. Mum reads it too.
What do you think would attract more readers?
Well I'm thinking of doing a promotion where the 10th person to join as a follower will get a counter meal at the North Star Hotel with that guy in the ad from Clare Valley Toyota. That idea's got success written all over it.
If you were Miss Universe what would you hope to achieve?
World peace. I would also encourage extra thoughtfulness and kindness towards poor children, cripples and old people.
Isn't that a bit patronising?
Oh I'm the most patronising person you'll ever meet. I fly the Australian flag from my car aerial, I've got Ken Done quilt covers and my dog exclusively wears Jenny Kee knitwear.
So you encourage kindess to the handicapped and elderly?
Absolutely. They are such a drain on the economy. If we're kind to them they will feel guilty and won't ask for the right to the same standard of living shared by everyone else.
What do you stand politically?
I believe Prime Minister Hanson is the best thing to happen to Australian politics.
Julia Gillard is Prime Minister.
Oh. I get them mixed up. Must be the red hair and dialect.
Where do you see yourself in five years.
Hopefully we will have evicted Angelina by then so that I can take my rightful position by the side of Brad, George and David.
David?
Yes, David Thorne He's a skinny, chain-smoking, unemployed blogger.
I am having an affair with him. Actually I'm having an affair with his brain. My synapses do high-fives when I read his work. If we ever corresponded ..... well, lets just say the millenium fireworks on Sydney Harbor would fade into insignificance. David doesn't know this yet.
What about Humphrey?
Who?
Your husband, Humphrey?
Oh, yes, we've discussed this at length and agree that I can keep him, as a pet.
And your children?
Who?
Your children?
Ohhhh. I was vaguely aware of some small people living in the house.....where are they? They might need feeding....and brushing.
If your life was a theme song what would it be?
Watership Down, performed by chipmunks.
Any projects in the pipeline?
Well, when George and I are no longer tackling the misappropriation of aid in third-world countries, sitting on the War Crimes Tribunal in The Hague and coordinating multi-national cooperative research into locust control, I think I'll take over from where Princess Diana left off with the land-mine thing.
I think Prince Harry is already doing that?
Yes, but the cause needs some real celebrity and substance behind it so I'm willing to step up to the plate.
You seem to be involved with so much on top of your glittering literary career....
I'm aiming to become the first person to win and Nobel Peace Prize and a Pulitzer in the same year. It's important to have goals.
Where are you going after this interview?
I'm going to Hostage Negotiation Training and then Zumba classes.
*This interview was available on YouTube, but was deemed to be discriminatory and in contravention of child protection laws. It has since been blocked by administrators. Of course you'd expect that from a bunch of one-armed lesbians.
Transcript of interview, aired on Foxtel, 7.30pm 3/2/11
Your blog has been described as "crystal meth for the modern housewife", where do you glean your inspiration?
That's an interesting question. I truly believe it is a gift. Often inspiration comes to me when I'm watching the ShamWow ad.
You do have some followers - what would you like to say to all your readers?
It's my turn for the chicken skin.
It sounds like you have quite a close relationship with your readers?
Yeah my sisters and I are quite close. Mum reads it too.
What do you think would attract more readers?
Well I'm thinking of doing a promotion where the 10th person to join as a follower will get a counter meal at the North Star Hotel with that guy in the ad from Clare Valley Toyota. That idea's got success written all over it.
If you were Miss Universe what would you hope to achieve?
World peace. I would also encourage extra thoughtfulness and kindness towards poor children, cripples and old people.
Isn't that a bit patronising?
Oh I'm the most patronising person you'll ever meet. I fly the Australian flag from my car aerial, I've got Ken Done quilt covers and my dog exclusively wears Jenny Kee knitwear.
So you encourage kindess to the handicapped and elderly?
Absolutely. They are such a drain on the economy. If we're kind to them they will feel guilty and won't ask for the right to the same standard of living shared by everyone else.
What do you stand politically?
I believe Prime Minister Hanson is the best thing to happen to Australian politics.
Julia Gillard is Prime Minister.
Oh. I get them mixed up. Must be the red hair and dialect.
Where do you see yourself in five years.
Hopefully we will have evicted Angelina by then so that I can take my rightful position by the side of Brad, George and David.
David?
Yes, David Thorne He's a skinny, chain-smoking, unemployed blogger.
I am having an affair with him. Actually I'm having an affair with his brain. My synapses do high-fives when I read his work. If we ever corresponded ..... well, lets just say the millenium fireworks on Sydney Harbor would fade into insignificance. David doesn't know this yet.
What about Humphrey?
Who?
Your husband, Humphrey?
Oh, yes, we've discussed this at length and agree that I can keep him, as a pet.
And your children?
Who?
Your children?
Ohhhh. I was vaguely aware of some small people living in the house.....where are they? They might need feeding....and brushing.
If your life was a theme song what would it be?
Watership Down, performed by chipmunks.
Any projects in the pipeline?
Well, when George and I are no longer tackling the misappropriation of aid in third-world countries, sitting on the War Crimes Tribunal in The Hague and coordinating multi-national cooperative research into locust control, I think I'll take over from where Princess Diana left off with the land-mine thing.
I think Prince Harry is already doing that?
Yes, but the cause needs some real celebrity and substance behind it so I'm willing to step up to the plate.
You seem to be involved with so much on top of your glittering literary career....
I'm aiming to become the first person to win and Nobel Peace Prize and a Pulitzer in the same year. It's important to have goals.
Where are you going after this interview?
I'm going to Hostage Negotiation Training and then Zumba classes.
*This interview was available on YouTube, but was deemed to be discriminatory and in contravention of child protection laws. It has since been blocked by administrators. Of course you'd expect that from a bunch of one-armed lesbians.
Monday, March 7, 2011
The Most Dangerous Game
Dear F*ckwit-with-whom-I-shared-a-lift-at-the-Women's-and-Children's-Hospital,
Despite your advanced age you obviously haven't been taught the nuances and mores of social interaction with females. Because of my socially conscientious and generally kind nature I have burdened myself with the task of educating you.
1) Do not assume that just because you are sharing the lift with another person that you should initiate interaction with them. This should have been taught to you, at the age of three, under the title "Stranger Danger." That sweet little old lady in a wheelchair with rheumy eyes? She could be a vampire slayer.
2) Should you insist on "shooting the breeze" with stranger limit the interaction to comments about the weather. This is called benign, or non-threatening behaviour. As a rule these brief exchanges ought never include your opinions on politics, the judiciary or your parole officer.
3) Do not attempt to be funny, unless you are Jimeoin. And if you are Jimeoin, can you please autograph my breasts?
4) For the love of God please, please, please THINK before you open your gob.
DO NOT approach an unknown woman and child and say to the child "Oh, did Granny leave some lipstick on your forehead."
I can only assume that you'd had a bad day and were feeling suicidal when you said this to my SON.
Perhaps you come from the wrong side of town where women, on average, give birth at the age of eight.
You possibly considered that remark completely innocuous, however the ramifications have been far-reaching and tragic. This confident, outgoing and intelligent woman has degenerated into an individual who frequents abandoned warehouses at night to share needles with other botox abusers. I cannae attend any social event without some degree of botoxication. Sadly, it is only a matter of time before I resemble the Bride of Wildestien.
You actually came out of our exchange rather well.
After I stabbed you with my incisor the lift serendipitously opened at the haematology department.
May God bless you with migraines.
Yours Truly,
Charlotte
Vampire Slayer.
Despite your advanced age you obviously haven't been taught the nuances and mores of social interaction with females. Because of my socially conscientious and generally kind nature I have burdened myself with the task of educating you.
1) Do not assume that just because you are sharing the lift with another person that you should initiate interaction with them. This should have been taught to you, at the age of three, under the title "Stranger Danger." That sweet little old lady in a wheelchair with rheumy eyes? She could be a vampire slayer.
2) Should you insist on "shooting the breeze" with stranger limit the interaction to comments about the weather. This is called benign, or non-threatening behaviour. As a rule these brief exchanges ought never include your opinions on politics, the judiciary or your parole officer.
3) Do not attempt to be funny, unless you are Jimeoin. And if you are Jimeoin, can you please autograph my breasts?
4) For the love of God please, please, please THINK before you open your gob.
DO NOT approach an unknown woman and child and say to the child "Oh, did Granny leave some lipstick on your forehead."
I can only assume that you'd had a bad day and were feeling suicidal when you said this to my SON.
Perhaps you come from the wrong side of town where women, on average, give birth at the age of eight.
You possibly considered that remark completely innocuous, however the ramifications have been far-reaching and tragic. This confident, outgoing and intelligent woman has degenerated into an individual who frequents abandoned warehouses at night to share needles with other botox abusers. I cannae attend any social event without some degree of botoxication. Sadly, it is only a matter of time before I resemble the Bride of Wildestien.
You actually came out of our exchange rather well.
After I stabbed you with my incisor the lift serendipitously opened at the haematology department.
May God bless you with migraines.
Yours Truly,
Charlotte
Vampire Slayer.
WORD FOR THE DAY
behemoth, n: Bible. an animal, perhaps the hippopotamus. 2. Colloq. a huge powerful man or beast.
Context:
"Oh Humphrey, you naughty behemoth!"
or
"Does my bum look behemoth in this?"
or even,
"Jimeoin is a comedic behemoth whom is welcome to ravish me at his whim."
Context:
"Oh Humphrey, you naughty behemoth!"
or
"Does my bum look behemoth in this?"
or even,
"Jimeoin is a comedic behemoth whom is welcome to ravish me at his whim."
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Corruption of an Innocent and Computer Ebola
I've always fancied myself as a reasonably open-minded individual. I nary offered a blink when (many years ago) a friend asked me to have a threesome with her and her husband (I mustn't have looked like Gollum on that day). I find p0rn, well, amusing - and I'll try almost anything once (much to the delight of a gleefully clapping Humphrey). HOWEVER............my illusion of sexual sophistication was recently shattered....nay ANNIHILATED.....by an experience that will forever be branded on my cerebral cortex.
My Whatever-Rocks-Your-Boat attitude has deserted me. I now wear Mary-Janes and a chastity belt.
All I can say is; Don't try this at home folks. Your innocence will flee and you will never. ever. be the same again. Don't be fooled; if you have participated in multiple-partner-naked-activities YOU ARE STILL AN INNOCENT. If you have tied your husband/wife/friend/dog to the bed and whipped them with feathers YOU ARE STILL AN INNOCENT. If you get your jollies from chocolate sprinkles and nappies...YOU ARE AN INNOCENT. Even if you want to wee on someone, fine, just don't do it in front of me and don't tell me. (A quick disclaimer here....no, I haven't done any of the above..... and if I have I won't be telling you about it.)
I am here to serve and protect.
I AM that someone who is stupid enough to Google something I was told wasn't child safe (or even remotely normal-brain-safe).
Do not Google anything even vaguely referring to two girls and one drinking recepticle.
Let me just say that as a result of doing that thing I wrote about just up there.....I am now anorexic, and possibly frigid.
My computer has seized and has fifty gazzilly million trojan viruses and cyber-ebola.
What the hell is wrong with humans????? Can we not derive enough excitement from Ferris Wheel rides, the scent of rain or a quickie on the kitchen table???
Coprophagia is the domain of DOGS and even then it is GROSS. IT IS UNNATURAL. period.
It does beg the question; are humans so over-stimulated that we have experience fatigue? How does someone even imagine something like the two-girls-one-drinking-vessel game?
For God's sake, get a hobby....fly a kite....just leave animals, children and poo out of it.
My head hurts.
My Whatever-Rocks-Your-Boat attitude has deserted me. I now wear Mary-Janes and a chastity belt.
All I can say is; Don't try this at home folks. Your innocence will flee and you will never. ever. be the same again. Don't be fooled; if you have participated in multiple-partner-naked-activities YOU ARE STILL AN INNOCENT. If you have tied your husband/wife/friend/dog to the bed and whipped them with feathers YOU ARE STILL AN INNOCENT. If you get your jollies from chocolate sprinkles and nappies...YOU ARE AN INNOCENT. Even if you want to wee on someone, fine, just don't do it in front of me and don't tell me. (A quick disclaimer here....no, I haven't done any of the above..... and if I have I won't be telling you about it.)
I am here to serve and protect.
I AM that someone who is stupid enough to Google something I was told wasn't child safe (or even remotely normal-brain-safe).
Do not Google anything even vaguely referring to two girls and one drinking recepticle.
Let me just say that as a result of doing that thing I wrote about just up there.....I am now anorexic, and possibly frigid.
My computer has seized and has fifty gazzilly million trojan viruses and cyber-ebola.
What the hell is wrong with humans????? Can we not derive enough excitement from Ferris Wheel rides, the scent of rain or a quickie on the kitchen table???
Coprophagia is the domain of DOGS and even then it is GROSS. IT IS UNNATURAL. period.
It does beg the question; are humans so over-stimulated that we have experience fatigue? How does someone even imagine something like the two-girls-one-drinking-vessel game?
For God's sake, get a hobby....fly a kite....just leave animals, children and poo out of it.
My head hurts.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
The Potato and How My Children Became Addicted to Crack.
The following post may or may not be a true story, but if you are my neighbour, I'd be checking your porridge each morning for ground glass.
Thing 1 and Thing 2 are rather fond of telling each other they stink.
"You smell like a stinky old goat bottom," says Thing 1.
"You smell like a dead goat rhinocerous bottom boils," replies Thing 2.
And so it goes on until they have covered the entire zoological, dermatological and infectious disease spectrum.
Speaking of fragrance spectrums, the domestic setting plays host to all manner of apongination (that's a distinctive blend of abomination and pong).
Humphrey's metwurst farts spring to mind. These are so bad that he can sometimes be seen scrambling to escape from himself. I prefer to quarantine him in the garage, but he says this banishment constitutes domestic violence. I told him perhaps he'd prefer to be tried for murder....as in "Man Kills Entire Family With Flatulence" type murder.
His socks come a close second.
Being a farm girl my pong radar is pretty well tuned; dead foxes (9/10), dead sheep (6/10), flyblown sheep (8/10), blocked septic tank (7/10), bore water (2/10), putrid water (5/10) Humphrey's morning breath (900/10).
Nothing, however, packs an olfactory punch quite like the dead potato.
I say this because I'm sure one crawled into our wall cavity and died.
It wouldn't be so bad if it had the manners to die with dignity, like lettuce.
Lettuce is a well-mannered vegetable. Generally lettuce is all bouncy and green for a few days and then suddenly one day you open the fridge door only to find it sliding from the crisper toward the compost bin. Carrots are rather considerate too. They alert you to their imminent death by getting a bit droopy and then break out in melanomas.
Onions are fickle creatures. I'm yet to meet one I really like. They tend to be a bit sly when it comes to death. They can look all fresh and crisp.....until you pick them up and realise that all their papery skin encases is a puff of green spores. Ponk level: Moderate.
Potatoes win in the Ponkinator stakes - especially when you can't find them.
Our wall cavity victim has left us all smearing Vicks Vaporub under our noses which is akin to using hairspray as an asthma inhaler. Our entire family has been whacked out on Vicks for the last three days. Whilst it makes for interesting dinner conversation, I think the likelihood of Things 1 and 2 graduating from primary school has somewhat diminished.
I suspect they are not too far away from becoming fledgling criminals because everyone knows that once you've tried Vicks the next stop is crack and I just can't see Humphrey going out to score.
Anyway, the local media has been parked on the front lawn ever since men in nuclear fall-out suits knocked on the door Thursday morning. Apparently neighbours had been complaining about the smell so the EPA investigated and their little ponkimetres had peaked out at our front gate.
I don't know if we'll ever get our house back. Right now it's under a giagantic sheet of plastic and the men in suits with Darth Vader breathing apparatus are trying to locate the source of the odour which is apparently a violation of the smell pollution code.
I'm guessing that I'll have to wait another year for my "World's Greatest Mum" mug. It is generally expected that anyone initiated into the delicate art of housewhiffery could keep track of their potatoes.
I need some Vicks.
Thing 1 and Thing 2 are rather fond of telling each other they stink.
"You smell like a stinky old goat bottom," says Thing 1.
"You smell like a dead goat rhinocerous bottom boils," replies Thing 2.
And so it goes on until they have covered the entire zoological, dermatological and infectious disease spectrum.
Speaking of fragrance spectrums, the domestic setting plays host to all manner of apongination (that's a distinctive blend of abomination and pong).
Humphrey's metwurst farts spring to mind. These are so bad that he can sometimes be seen scrambling to escape from himself. I prefer to quarantine him in the garage, but he says this banishment constitutes domestic violence. I told him perhaps he'd prefer to be tried for murder....as in "Man Kills Entire Family With Flatulence" type murder.
His socks come a close second.
Being a farm girl my pong radar is pretty well tuned; dead foxes (9/10), dead sheep (6/10), flyblown sheep (8/10), blocked septic tank (7/10), bore water (2/10), putrid water (5/10) Humphrey's morning breath (900/10).
Nothing, however, packs an olfactory punch quite like the dead potato.
I say this because I'm sure one crawled into our wall cavity and died.
It wouldn't be so bad if it had the manners to die with dignity, like lettuce.
Lettuce is a well-mannered vegetable. Generally lettuce is all bouncy and green for a few days and then suddenly one day you open the fridge door only to find it sliding from the crisper toward the compost bin. Carrots are rather considerate too. They alert you to their imminent death by getting a bit droopy and then break out in melanomas.
Onions are fickle creatures. I'm yet to meet one I really like. They tend to be a bit sly when it comes to death. They can look all fresh and crisp.....until you pick them up and realise that all their papery skin encases is a puff of green spores. Ponk level: Moderate.
Potatoes win in the Ponkinator stakes - especially when you can't find them.
Our wall cavity victim has left us all smearing Vicks Vaporub under our noses which is akin to using hairspray as an asthma inhaler. Our entire family has been whacked out on Vicks for the last three days. Whilst it makes for interesting dinner conversation, I think the likelihood of Things 1 and 2 graduating from primary school has somewhat diminished.
I suspect they are not too far away from becoming fledgling criminals because everyone knows that once you've tried Vicks the next stop is crack and I just can't see Humphrey going out to score.
Anyway, the local media has been parked on the front lawn ever since men in nuclear fall-out suits knocked on the door Thursday morning. Apparently neighbours had been complaining about the smell so the EPA investigated and their little ponkimetres had peaked out at our front gate.
I don't know if we'll ever get our house back. Right now it's under a giagantic sheet of plastic and the men in suits with Darth Vader breathing apparatus are trying to locate the source of the odour which is apparently a violation of the smell pollution code.
I'm guessing that I'll have to wait another year for my "World's Greatest Mum" mug. It is generally expected that anyone initiated into the delicate art of housewhiffery could keep track of their potatoes.
I need some Vicks.
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