Life Coach!!

Have you ever recruited one? Have you ever wanted to be one? Foolish questions I know. After all it’s the desire of any sentient being in this the 21st century and in the top ten of your bucket list - that's a given. In the 1980's, however, the concept was off the wall.

Those who know the mistress, and you sweet little poppets who read this blog, are aware that she has had a checkered career (more technicolour than black and white but nevertheless CHECK-ERRED). Therefore it will come as no surprise to learn that the mistress was one of the world’s first life coaches. However in the olden days, the early 1980's to be precise, I was known as a motivator, the motivator once my powers of persuasive encouragement (not manipulation I swear) became renowned. (These days we say “went viral” – couldn’t say it back then because of the herpes and whatnot but nowadays having herpes is a vadge of honour going by the personal blogs on the Fairfax Press webpage; looking forward to Gina Rinehart's take).

Truth be told my success as a motivator/life coach was courtesy of Brian. You might recall Brian, my old friend the autodidact-come-municipal council librarian; I used to talk about him during the early throes of my love affair with the blogosphere. Brian and I have been feuding, i.e. not talking, for the past 2-3 years. Needless to say our capers in coventry have caused our mutual friends much awkwardness at self-actualisation workshops, parties, wakes and the like. Regardless, we are never to be reconciled. What happened between us I cannot divulge.  All I can say is what happens in the Shire stays in the Shire.

Still credit where credit’s due has always been the Mistress’s motto and it’s thanks to Brian that I met Rick at a pyramid wealth seminar.

Rick was an amazing motivational speaker and a masterful TAFE teacher. I enrolled in his TAFE Motivator Course – “Choose Life”, and yes,  Rick was bitter about the boys from Wham an' all but he let it go and props to him, I say.  One day I’ll do his Saturday CBT sessions and rid myself of this cockin’ hairshirt but not quite yet for I’ve become accustomed to its weight.

Choose Life was a sensational course and Rick empowered me with the confidence to set forth and track down some apathetic souls and get ‘em going. My first port of call was a Rock against Work lunchtime gig....

wordy go go

This morning's All things considered program featured  the Lake Superior State University 2012  list of words and phrases to be banished from English due to "overuse, misuse and general uselessness" (or is that Jerri Blank's description of her life on the streets?).

Here is a list of words and phrases  that have been causing hornet rose here to tut, rick her neck or fume when eavesdropping, listening to the wireless or watching the television.

period of time

back-story

literally

contagion

at the end of the day

it is what it is

awesome (or perhaps that is now extinct, well, only used by French nationals during  facebook frenzy updates. Here's hoping).

hopefully

Chips Brodie-Jellinek

Woah and yoah as me and all my posse used to say when we was young, fresh and fly.
Speaking of which, not the posse, oh has anyone seen mah posse?  (setlle, inner Slocombe, s e t t l e)this afternoon on my walk home from work ( i gave myself an early mark. DUDE  I don't need to wear jeans to work of a Friday to stick to it to the man, no old tough nut/hard as here gives herself an early mark ) i happened upon some spectres from a part of a  much younger bel's life. No madeleines required.

So there I was,  walking, walking, walking all the way hoame and within five minutes of hitting funkYtown (15 minutes 20 secondsish from the Mansions)  I happened upon two former studente of mine. (I was a teacher, sorry, educator, for a bit of a spell last century, don't ye know, and curiously it was not during the interwar years).

Hanyways, first student i happened upon i had taught for a couple of years and she did have a look of recognition when our gaze met (or was it pity? - oh i so want their respect), so I greeted her by her name and I think she twigged for she said "Hello, miss" (only one context for that and no, it's not when one is being upbraided by nanny in St James Park, nanny always called me Miss Bel, if you don't mind,  it's your local school).

Miss duly and  briskly strode on. 'Magine Miss's surprise when she happened upon another former studente who she had taught in practicum and the first year out. We  exchanged pleasantries  and then he ran into a friend and I heard him say to her as they embraced

"You must have missed me heaps".

this is not supertramp

resist, resist, away, away

So much has happened since I last talked at you but I cannot go into such matters for my specialty is the superficial and inane.

I have to table the following, for neither are original, significant, or of any consequence and (triangular formation of dots) very important to me.

1. Diana Mitford's nickname for   Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon  was 'Cake'  owing to gin fizz Liz's penchant for confectionery like costume.

2. While catching a taxi home this evening after a splendid day picknicking in a very big park,    I heard a song on the radio that always makes me feel very ill at ease, provokes utter distaste and causes marked vexation. It was not Video Killed the Radio Star which I really, really cannot abide.

It was that song by little Stevie Winwood called While you see a chance or something like that.

 I do not know why I hate it so  but I suspect it's the timbre of his voice, the general tune, I don't know its content because I cannot register, all the space between my ears gets very tangled and tetchy.

Oh such vexation!!  BUT WHY?!  Could it be the dicky keyboards and possibly some of that saxophone, could it be the timbre of lSW's voice - so squittery and oh so weedy, or could it, could it  just be  my all consuming, crazy,  furtive  love for Captain Von Trapp tainting everythink?!!!

The only antidote to such a source of disquiet and moribund fate  is to listen to everybody's favourite tinker come pop star,  David Essex.

May tomorrow be a perfect day

Marie Osmond has been hospitalised with severe bronchitis. More alarming , however,  is her being referred to as "veteran performer, Marie Osmond."

FLIP!!

Forgot to mention Marshall McLuhan in the blog in July.

Oh the pain

 In addition to on-going blood testing, possible blood letting, and sinusitis , I’ve been fainting and whatnot.  Believe you me it's even more tedious experiencing it than reading about it...

Unfortunately  my new found delicacy caused me to miss a social event that I would have liked to have attended.

I’ve also been caught up in quite the cockup in cyberspace, with the electronic missives on the iPhone. It turns out that I'd been sending mental missives  to a stranger, instead of  one of my  good time charlie friends. Goodness knows for how long!  I daren't look at the sent box. Stranger only advised me in a politely sardonic fashion on Wednesday and the shock of the news  triggered one of my dizzy spells. There was NO sexting involved I swear!! Oh noes what if the missives go viral!!

O technology!  I’m up with the social etiquette but netiquette – really it's high time that a Sunday paper supplement featured an article about THAT!


When I haven't had my schnoz in a bucket of lavender coloured smelling salts or the Merk Manual,  I managed to notice  that a SMURF MOVIE  has  been released. I see that  Papa Smurf (IL PAPA?) leads the goddamn posse sportin' a beard, beanie and ray bans!!! Yowch (see Quack posting). The promotions for the film  feature smurfs frequently murmuring, "Oh my smurf" . Some catchphrase. Actually ...

In other news

Wagon Wheels are back (as is the avian flu but enough of my hypochondria for now). The confectionery of the old schoolyard, well along with quite a few other tuckshop dainties but WW was my favourite.   You can get original flavour  featuring choc coated biscuit with a  strawberry jam and thin vuhnilla marshmallow centre or a new variety called chocolate which must have like chocolate and marshmallow in the centre. Farout.

Queensland strawberries are still absolutely delicious, all types of pears are still good to eat, and those bananas, why they're worth their weight in gold, aren't they just, because let's face it that's the currency required to purchase them, oh i know  (but don't worry some vendors accept the chocolate money that is covered in gold paper).

Oh and how about that stock market and your super...Zzz

Quack

 I am often accused of worrying unnecessarily about my health. However, I believe that there is nothing excessive about an annual health check when it has recently been necessitatious to have a basal cell carcinoma and a squamous cc excised not to mention one having glandular troubles (and no, that is most definitely not a euphemism for excess pounds acquired by gluttonous consumption of cream buns; for it’s gluten free jam doughnuts what are my weakness). Why it positively behoves the mistress to be mindful of ‘er ‘ealth and to take heed when she feels ever so liverish, never humble, mind, simple of mind, yes, humble, never!
So I scheduled an appointment with my general practitioners.

I hasten to say that it was a very confused telephone conversation I had with the receptionist when booking a double appointment ( I had a list of things that I wished to discuss (not excessive, p r a c t i c al!)). So a week before my appointment I rang to confirm and it would seem that an appointment had been scheduled for Baby Bel’s 12 month check up featuring immunisations galore. I duly told receptionist that I was in fact Baby Bel and required a more age appropriate medical.

Phew, confusion avoided, double appointment assured, and the worry of finding a 12 month old baby for that initial  appointment evaporated, I shutdown the Ebaby search  and tucked into a lite low gi jam doughnut.

Relief, peace of mind and no June Allyson endorsed panty liner required.

Imagine my surprise when I turned up for my appointment and the doctor, a new one, well I had never been doctored by her, said she thought she’d only have time to do my “Puppa Smurf – if you are with me” (I’m quoting the cockin’ doctor here, nsrs!!) to which I replied if you mean Pap Smear yes, I do get your drift (as they used to say Milwaukee way in the 1970’s when they were trying to pretend that it was the 1950’s and were shouting “sit on it” every 15 seconds. (Apparently that expression (sit on it not puppa smurf) dates back to a Leiber Stoller tune penned for the Coasters, yours, language it’s a living thing).

Um, back to the 21st century and conversation at the Cabinet of Dr Cutesy…. I added that I was somewhat vexed by being rushed as I’d made a double appointment and needed to discuss a few matters and have blood tests. It was my annual medical after all. I sulkily  stuffed my A3 sheet listing ailments in my ugg boot. Upon seeing this insufficiently furtive action, she assured me that she’d do a “quick Puppa Smurf and see what happens.”

 Medicine - let’s see what happens, why don’t we? A possible title for some medical programme for juniors? And as for old “Puppa Smurf” the prospect of that old, tiny, blue character hitching a ride on the speculum, no doubt sporting a miner’s helmet with light  to examine one’s cervix was really too, too much. Following that hurried exploration it was on to the blood pressure check and some further curious ‘banter’ about other medical matters with  cutesy euphemisms to which i had to enquire if they too were cartoon characters. Consultation concluded.

And to think, my dears, that the encounter took place a few days before my special day.

While I like to celebrate others’ birthdays (my own special brand of schadenfreude I guess or is it existentialism) the prospect of my own always fills me with despair. But guess what  it's always darkest before the dawn and sure enough when Civic Video sent me a birthday text I knew that things were looking up and  it was going to be a birthday to remember, which also happens to be my favourite Alan Alda film.

Broadmoor nights

Walking past a newsagent the other day I saw a promotion for a publication, Cosmopolitan Brides. Curious what. Full circle and that. while I felt mild irritation with the turnabout for a magazine that once purported to be for the independent femme (or did it ? - compare, contrast and discuss, somewhere else), I'll reserve my  spleen and blimpian bluster for the following and possibly bottle the residual bile for my cunterie of copains.

During celebrations for a golden jubilee (or was it an end of financial year sale?)that i recently attended  I was called 'jealous', 'racist' and 'horrid'. C'mon plain, old 'Bel' is fine by me, i'm not fancy. Initially I was overcome, sorry, come over cranky, and thought allusions were being made to one's brief foray into the indiewindiepudden'n'pie popular culture when too young to make promises or just say no (oh how the eighties are back!),  but no, it was merely a slight on my character so that is A-OK, for the mistress gives as good as she gets, as unlike her preferred hair shade,  she is no shrinking violet.

Don't worry, things picked up, seven hours into the party an ambulance arrived, no fuzz, no swimming pools involved or smack for that matter, shame (oh actually he'd left earlier to prepare for some conference comparing kangaroos with wolves)  just good old Mr Booze and lashings of dysfunctional adults (scribe included) suffering from yet another big chill. Gosh it was a top night. (oops it would seem that bottle has been prematurely uncorked - oh don't you love the glug glug sound of bile being poured? ).

All of which confirms that, yes,  i can be horrid and have occasions of exceptional diction,  but NO I'm not a racialiste and, angels, when you're paranoid, insecure and hypersensitive  (to your own needs) you're never ever classed as  jealous you're a cockin' comic genius, don't ye know.  To think I thought you were all jealous of ME. Oh how we must laugh about this the next time we're in our cups and in between character assassinations and chastisements.

Curiously more and more of my nights out are becoming like Christmas Day circa 1983 with my menopausal mother,  great-aunt tanty du spaz-attack, Patrick White on the cusp of a feud with everyone (Huwo, is it me you're looking for?, actually I excel (is that how it is still spelt and does it mean what I think it means or is it a brand of fruit conserve or computer software - all the years i've spent with dysfunctional potheads is doing my head in) in all roles and it's cockin' exhaustin' for me and my audience! Why, I tip my hat to Alec Guinness; how did he do it - magic of fillum, I guess) and and yet still no-one of the calibre of Nanny Marr or Manoly. And, that, my dear, non sequitur squitter, is THE greatest sin of all.

In between these insouciant follies (opposed to those very heavy and deep ones),  I've just had the jolliest of times, basal cell carcinoma here and squamous cell carcinoma there, stitches galore, some  benders and bedridden weekends, rehab, and a spell in bed this week  with the influenza.. Just when I thought life could really not be much peachier,  I had to go chez medecin for my annual health check....

Toiley time

The neighbour who lived behind one's 2nd childhood hoame used to lure her child from our garden back to her fold by calling over the border of clivea, "Day-uhl, it's toiley time".

Why do the signs in supermarket aisles itemise toilet paper as toilet rolls? I am not going down that aisle to collect toilet rolls, as marvellous as they are for art and craft days but my useful box has plenty of them, thank you,  and i want to purchase rolls (rolls and rolls) of toilet paper. Is the term 'toilet rolls' considered more discreet? Perhaps "TP" ...

Nevertheless, I do rather like the aisle sign for toilet rolls because it reminds me of childhood and one Christmas morning in my first hoame... I had ripped into the Allen's stocking and was feasting on a curly wurly while my younger toddler sister was unwrapping a parcel ( I recall thinking that her method was rather messy) to uncover a prize that truly delighted her.  It was a set of primary coloured building blockular things. She exclaimed hoarsely and with great glee "Look! Lots and lots of torluts".

Plumping for it

Why such brouhaha about the theft of profile photos from facebook for use on lovely faces dot com. Frankly it’d be more upsetting to have one’s body used to illustrate articles and “news" "stories” on the obesity pandemic.

As you know I get about Sydney a fair bit, busy, busy - so many great places to eat and booze. So when I’m not bumping into Bryan, Pattie, Parky, Hugo or the nation’s favourite psephologist, I’m forever falling upon and shielding myself from the televisual journalistes filming stories in the ceebeedee.

When I pass the papps (don’t worry not as painful as it sounds) I always push out my tits and suck in my stomach  in case they’re filming one of their Straya a nation of fatties stories and use a profile shot of my girth/body  as I waddle about my very important business.

One evening, after a hard day nosing about and in the trough, I lay on my $20,000 couch chillin’ to the televisual splendour that is A Current Affair, when I thought I espied my body's profile in a reportage about adult-onset diabetes- why, I almost choked on my Pringles and dairy whip. Well that learnt me, let me tell you, I now only have Philly lite with my Pringles and reserve the dairy whip for my muesli. Salutary tale or what.