My Last Year Of School

In 1988, I finished my last year of high school. Almost 30 years ago. Yikes. I'm OLD.

I have to admit, I don't remember a great deal about it. I certainly wasn't studying like a maniac for the HSC. I had a bit of a laid back, I'll-do-it-tomorrow approach to it all. Coughs. Nothing's changed...

I was most likely too busy doing other important things. Just like every 1988 era 17 year old. You know, like watching The Comedy Company (which apparently premiered in February of that year) and  listening to my Carpenters and Barbra Streisand records... Oh wait...

Okay, I have no idea what regular 17 year olds did. But I suspect they had boyfriends and would sneak out to drink and try to get into night clubs...

But I totally did wild and crazy things too! Like staying up really late and watching the US today show when it came on at midnight or something. I'm such a rebel. Snorts. Oh yeah, there was an embarrassing incident when I sarcastically announced to the class that I was rebel, but I don't remember the finer details. Hmmmmm.

I had absolutely no idea whatsoever what I wanted to do when school ended. To this day, I still don't. I'm sure I'll figure it out one of these days.

Anyway, I don't feel like ruminating about all of that. So, instead let's just laugh at the fashions and hairstyles.

Here I am with my infamous mullet-perm.

I was kind of cute in a dorky way. Sort of. Maybe. Oh, shut up.


As I've already mentioned, I loved The Carpenters and Barbra, but predictably, I also loved Madonna. It was 1988. I was 17. I think it was compulsory.

I was stupidly shy and insecure, but at the school formal I thought I was pretty special in the dress my mum made me (Pictured above). It was ruched and strapless, and then it had this tulle over skirt thing with a gigantic bow. I think bows were a thing in the 80s.

Also, check out the lovely old carpet my parents had.😂

Not to mention to the beautiful doiles on the armchairs. Noice.

The only other thing I remember is that I completely bombed out in the HSC. Sigh. Sad face. 😭 I guess I am one of those reasonably intelligent people who just doesn't do well in structured exams. That's what I tell myself, anyway. Or it could have been that lack of studying thing... Oops. 

Anyway, fast forward 29 years and here I am smashing life and being delusional awesome, so all good. 

To be perfectly honest, I'm glad those school days are over. I was always a Nelly No Friends and therefore desperately lonely. Sigh. 

So I'm quite happy to be old after all. 

What about you? 

What do you remember about your last year of school? 

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My Biggest Fashion Flop

I must confess that I've worn some truly hideous outfits over the years. I've blogged about them before. The thing is, I can't decide which one is the worst, so I'll let you draw your own conclusions. Go on, take a look! You will instantly feel ever so stylish if you do. You're welcome.

So, what do you think? Pretty bad, right?

It's a community service I offer, really. I wear daggy clothes to make everyone else feel like a fashionista. See? I'm just thinking of you!

But even after revealing all of the outfits in that post, I think I can recall yet another that was quite the shocker in retrospect.

Picture it: Sydney, 1989.

A young 18 year old Ness is clopping around to the Entertainment Centre, in all her innocence, to see a Simply Red concert (cutting edge taste in music, as usual), wearing a denim skirt with a red blouse and denim jacket with hideous, huge shoulder pads, and...erm...tassels. To complete this lovely look, I wore high-heeled, ankle length, lace-up boots and my smokin' hawt mullet-perm. Noice.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, as the case may be, I do not appear to have photographic evidence of the above. Your eyeballs are spared that atrocity. But I'm sure you all have a mental vision and it's not pretty.

It's interesting, because I'm on the spectrum but I was always something of girly girl. Apparently we're not supposed to be. I did like wearing frocks and jewellery and make-up. On the other hand I detest high heels (I did wear them occasionally when I was young - see above), pantyhose or stockings and bras. I like to be contradictory.

Image credit: https://au.pinterest.com/pin/178244097730294241/

As I've gotten older I've become more and more lazy low maintenance. I very rarely wear skirts or dresses these days. I'm a pants girl. NOT skinny jeans. Skinny jeans are stupid. Especially when you're not. Skinny, that is.

As for the whole 'leggings as pants' debate. I'll wear them with a long top or tunic type arrangement that covers my arse. Otherwise, no. Well, only around the house.

I usually have similar taste in fashion to my Mum. Which means that I'm either dressing like some one 30 years older than me, or my Mum is a really groovy granny who dresses 30 years younger. Definitely the latter, right? Shut up.

I also find that a lot of women's fashion is very impractical. Even pants don't have pockets, let alone dresses. Then there are all sorts of floaty tops that seem to be virtually see through. Which is fine if you're comfortable with that, but I'd rather keep my love handles and back fat safely camouflaged, thanks very much.

No wonder I have back fat. Ahem.

Image credit: https://www.facebook.com/SOML/

Anyway, the basic conclusion I've come to is that my entire life is a bit of a fashion flop, with very rare exception. I did look exquisite in my wedding gown. Prim, but exquisite.

And I'm sure table cloth tops and pinnies will be back in fashion very soon, proving that I was cutting edge all along.

Snorts.

Linking up  (late!) for I Must Confess

What's your biggest fashion flop?

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I Don't Understand...

This weeks prompt is: I don't understand... 

We could be here for a while. I don't understand SO many things. Like, for instance, people. What are they about? So weird.

Plus, I don't understand Twatter and I'm hopeless with technology, despite having a blog. It's pretty obvious, isn't it? Sigh.

One of the thing that I REALLY don't understand is why bad things always happen to good people while arseholes roam the Earth unscathed and blissfully unaware that they are, in fact, arseholes.

I also don't understand:

Fashion

Small talk

Numbers
My kids homework
Morning people. And basically just people, period, as I've already mentioned.
Almost anything that other people find entertaining and fun. Think sport, nightclubs, amusement park rides or taking drugs. Yep, I'm a real barrel of laughs!

But anyway, enough of the boring lists of things I don't understand. I didn't want to bang on about my cancer 'journey' all the time in this space, but last Friday I got THE BEST news!

The professor type lady from the Familial Cancer Service rang me to inform me that my test results came back clear! This means I don't have any mutant genes! There is no increased risk of it returning in the other breast, or of ovarian cancer and no need for any further surgery!!!!!! WOO HOO!! I'm slightly ecstatic right now!

This makes me realise that I really don't understand how or why life is such a random lottery.  I don't understand why one person has a cancer diagnosis, breast or otherwise, and they can be going strong decades later, while another person isn't. While I'm more positive that I'm going be the former, there is always that teensy bit of uncertainty.

I've never been good at embracing uncertainty or change, so this is going to be a big lesson at learning to live with something huge that I don't understand.

Which brings me to all the inspirational sayings and memes. This one popped up in my Facebook newsfeed yesterday.

But I'm starting to think it's more of a 50/50 proposition. Life is 50 percent what happens to you and 50 percent how you react. In fact, I wonder if we have less control than we think over both of these things. 

For instance, you may have a picture in your mind of you think you'd react to a specific situation, but you honestly have no idea how you'd really react unless it really happens. And if that reaction isn't always positive, it's not a sign of weakness. I may be straying off topic here a bit, but I thought this kind of ties in with how I don't understand the whole 'life is a random lottery' thing. 

Having said that, maybe I should buy a lottery ticket after my good news last week? Of course, that was actually a better feeling than winning the lottery! But then again, I've never won the lottery so how would I know? If some one could please arrange a lottery win for me, so I can test my theory? Thanks! 

What do you not understand? 

Linking up for I Must Confess, Open Slather and Mummy Mondays. 

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Decisons

 

I’ve never been good at making decisions. Sometimes I find myself agonising over the simplest of things.  Deciding what to have on a sandwich becomes this epic debate in my mind, fraught with fear and self-doubt. Should I have tuna or cheese and tomato? Perhaps a good old-fashioned curried egg and lettuce would suffice? Then again, there is left-over chicken in the fridge!  There are just too many choices!

Plus, what if it my sandwich filling choice just doesn’t delight my taste buds on that particular day? I’ve already consumed the calories! What a disaster! See? I knew I would choose the wrong thing! 

This probably explains why cheese and tomato sandwiches were my staple diet for many years. It eliminated the decision making progress to opt for the same thing time after time. If I really wanted to be totally wild and crazy I might mix it up by having toasted cheese and tomato. I’ve always been cutting edge.

This cutting edge tendency is probably apparent in my choice of attire. Boring, bland and predominantly black sums it up. Therefore, the amount of time I spend ruminating and pondering over what to wear is patently ridiculous. Who cares what I wear?  As long as I’m covered and clean that’s all that matters.

This doesn’t stop me from wasting an inordinate amount of time fussing over my outfit. It seems that I must be under some sort of grand illusion that I’m a celebrity about to be hounded by the paparazzi each time I leave the house. It’s as if I’m making the important choice of whether to wear the Prada or Gucci instead of the Best & Less or Big W. Often, I mix it  up and team Big W garments with Best & Less ones because, you know, that cutting edge thing again. And do you know what? Except for all the times I’ve been mistaken for Nicole Kidman*, this hounding by the paparazzi hasn’t happened yet! 

Don’t even get me started on grocery shopping. It’s the stuff of nightmares for a scatterbrain like me. So many aisles, so many decisions! I do take lists but still get confused once I’m in the supermarket and all those rows upon rows of choices are around me. Suddenly, things appear in my trolley that weren’t on the list. Of course they are always organic kale and herbal tea, not chocolate or cakies.  No way.

I mean, do you know how long I’d spend agonising over whether to get the Maltesers or Mars Bars? It just seems easier to get both. Ahem. Except that these days I’m on Weight Witches, so I just walk very fast past the confectionary aisle. Then I get to the check out and there they are, right in front me. Sigh. Life can be cruel sometimes.

Anyway, I spend so much time agonising over these mundane decisions it may have prevented me from making any reckless, life-changing decisions that I’ve come to regret. I’ve never taken illegal drugs, gambled away my life savings or robbed a bank.

Yes, there is an infamous mullet-perm in my past but a) it was the 80s, and b) it’s provided ample entertainment as fodder for this blog. So let’s give it another whirl.

I should regret this hairs style- but I won't. I know
you're laughing. You're welcome.

There is one mild regret lurking in my past. Rewind back to around 1992 or 1993. By this time I had ditched the mullet-perm for an attractive poodle perm. Like I said, I’ve always been cutting edge and classy. I was in my early 20s  and working at the State Library. Somehow, on my meagre pay I had managed to save a sizeable chunk of money. I was able to do this because I lived with my parents and didn’t have a car or a social life. This totally confirms my cutting edge status. Shut up.

In the back of my mind I had some hazy idea that I was saving the money to eventually buy a car or go overseas. There were two problems with this grand plan; a) I didn’t have a drivers’ license, and b) I didn’t have any friends to drag overseas with me. The idea of taking off on my own never occurred to me. I was still a tragic Mummy’s girl and ridiculously shy.

Luckily however, around this time I ended up joining Rootaract. Uh, I mean, Rotaract and thusly acquired something resembling a social life. Consequently, I met Mickey Blue Eyes.  My parents were in the process of planning a trip overseas to the UK. It crossed my mind that I had the cash to go with them. I quickly dismissed this thought as absurd. After all, mature, worldly, hip 22 year-old Mummy’s girls who lived at home and proudly owned an entire collection of Carpenters albums didn’t go overseas with their parents!  This would totally tarnish my now legendary cutting edge persona!

Case in point: The Carpenters were totally retro-cool in 1993! There was even an alternative tribute album recorded in their honour! This confirmed that I was ahead of the game and cooler than anyone gave me credit for. To my 22 year old mind I couldn’t risk the damage to my ultra-cool character. It would just be sad and pathetic to go away with my parents. Besides I would have to be parted from Mickey Blue Eyes for a whole month! We were still at that stage where we actually missed each other if we weren’t together every day.

Of course, 20 or so years later I’m wondering why this was even an issue. I see the  man all day, every day. Every. Single. Day. What was I thinking? A  month was a blip in the ocean in the scheme of things.

And the sad truth of the matter is, I would have enjoyed going overseas with my parents much more than going on some Contiki tour with a bunch of raucous, drunken twenty-somethings. Sad, but true.

So I guess what I’m saying is, if I could rewind back to 1993 I would have gone overseas with my parents. But it’s all good, because we’re currently in the process of obtaining our passports so I’m sure we’ll get there eventually. Except now we’ll have three lovely children to tag along just to make it extra special. This should be tremendous fun. I mean what could be worse: going overseas with your middle-aged parents when you’re young or waiting until you’re middle-aged and going with children? This is a totally rhetorical question, just in case you were trying to figure out the correct answer.

Oh well, I suppose I had better leave it there and go and decide what to have for lunch. After all, it could take a while.

 

Linking up for I Must Confess.

 *OK, so I've never been mistaken for Nicole Kidman. But it could still happen! HMPH!

What decision would you change if you could?

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Hello Again

Hello there! Me again. Thought you'd gotten rid of me, didn't you? Sorry!

As George Costanza would say: I'M BACK, BABY, I'M BACK!  SO NER! The 'so ner' bit was from me, not George.

I just haven't bothered posting here for a while for the following reasons:

Laziness
School holidays
Dodgy internet connection
Nothing remotely interesting to post about
I was too busy totalling our old car (ahem)
We had to get a new car (see above)
Did I mention laziness?

So now that I've confessed that I'm tragically lazy, (just to tell you something you didn't already know), I have a couple more shocking revelations.

As I mentioned above, I managed to write off our old car. On the last week of term before the school holidays, I set off one afternoon to pick up Mr 13. As I was driving along the narrow street at the back of the school which leads to the car park, I spotted him walking towards me. In my stupidity, I kept my eyes off the road for just a second or two too long and BAM! I hit a parked car. Genius.

According to Mr 13 it happened because he is just so devastatingly handsome that I couldn't take my eyes off him. True.

It's hard to explain, but because of the way or angle I hit the other car, the entire front left tyre and suspension were completely stuffed. Fun times.

On the positive side, we had been intending to get a new car for ages so this sped up the process considerably.

Meanwhile, here is the most shocking revelation of all:

I haven't really missed blogging much. I know. How shameful. I often read about how passionate others are about writing and realise that I'm not. Once I get started I do like it and usually feel better, just like with exercise. However, I'm not passionately driven to do it everyday.

Therefore, I have two choices:


1. Quit blogging
2. Continue with my ad hoc blogging approach
3. Realise that nobody really cares one way or the other anyway, so just get a life and get on with it.



Oh okay, that was three choices. I'm not good with numbers.

I have heard of something called 'slow blogging', so I'm sure I could make 'ad hoc blogging' a thing. It's totally revolutionary! I could even come up with a printable! It would say something like:

AD HOC BLOGGING

Blog whenever you like, however you like!

On second thought, it sounds like too much effort to come up with that printable, so just write it on a sticky note, okay? Done.

In keeping with the ad hoc approach, I'm just jumping from one topic to the next, in a totally random fashion. Which brings me to the topic of this week's I Must Confess: Fashion. Specifically our most embarrassing pieces. Now I'm laughing at myself for calling my clothes 'pieces'. Snort. Pieces of crap, perhaps.

 It would be far too difficult for me to single out certain things that are more embarrassing than others. All of my 'fashion' (and I use that term rather loosely, just as I wear most of my clothes, coincidentally), is embarrassing. This is due to the fact that 90% of it sports a Millers tag. Classy. That is a shameful enough confession without providing photographic evidence as well.  Oh all right, if you insist....

Micky Blue Eyes and I looking windblown and ever so stylish
in the Blue Mountains about a month ago

The other 10% of my clothes sport an equally classy label such as Best & Less. I like to mix it up a bit. I've even splurged and bought some shoes a week or two ago from Payless Shoes. Are you detecting a theme here?


If that theme seems to scream: Lifestyles of the Broke And Aimless, then you've totally got where I'm coming from. On the plus side, at least you can leave my blog feeling smug and superior. Unlike other blogs or on Facey where everyone seems to be just better than you. In every way: clothes, lifestyle, holidays, diets, running.

So I'm providing a community service really. No matter how pathetic your life seems, there is always somebody more pathetic! ME! You're welcome.

Over and out for now. Stay tuned for the next ad hoc post. It might be tomorrow, next week, next month or next  year, you just never know! Ad hoc blogging! It's a thing! Spread the word. Or not. Whatever. Only if you feel like it. That's the idea. Ad hoc.

Later dudes!  

Linking up for I Must Confess and Laugh Link

What are you having for dinner?

(You see what I did there? Totally ad hoc question, in keeping with the ad hoc theme!)  Shut up....

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Let It Go

I'm not sure if I can pin point one specific moment in my life that stands out above others. There was no moment when I could have chosen two different paths. I never really had any path. I just drifted along in my own little World. This has worked out well since I now have this space specifically for being in my own little World. See? I knew being a drifting daydreamer was a great Life Plan. Ahem.

It sounds a bit naff to say it, but probably the day that I first found out I was pregnant does stand out for me. It's a long story.  Suffice to say, I was already 26 weeks pregnant and had NO IDEA. But I was thrilled. For years I had believed that it could never happen. That day was better than winning the lottery. I wish I could bottle that kind of euphoria and sell it because I'd be a freaking millionaire.

While becoming a Mother was genuinely thrilling to me and I wouldn't trade it for anything, little did I know the sacrifices that were coming.

 In short, I have completely and utterly let myself go.

There was a time when I used to love dressing up. Donning a lovely frock was one of my favourite past times. Usually they were sewn by my Mum. I loved myself sick in these frocks. These days I hardly ever wear dresses.

Similarly, I enjoyed going to the hairdressers and whittling away several hours and a fair amount of cash to have my hair done. Although why I thought the mullet-perm was ever going to be a good idea back in 1987 remains a mystery.

I liked to wear make-up and would paint my face up with gusto.  I never realised that I was over-doing the eye shadow. Tragically, I believed that green or purple eye shadow were a good look, but at least I was making an effort.

Despite these efforts I've always had an aversion to high heels and pantyhose. I would occasionally wear them, though. Now they are like my once tiny waist - non-existent in my World. Sigh.

Yes, I certainly have let myself completely 'go'.

I know this because:

• I haven't seen the inside of a Hairdressers since....never mind....
• I'm looking forward to embracing my inner Prue or True and having a silver bob or pixie cut because I CAN'T BE BOTHERED ANYMORE.
• I have clothes in at least three different sizes. I convince myself that the larger ones clearly have the wrong label on them. Ahem.
• The real reason I have three different sizes is because most of my clothes are stretchy, floaty, elastic waisted or tunics etc.
• The rare times I do actually slap a bit of war paint on for a night out my son enquires in perplexed tones: Why have you got make-up on?
• I took a selfie or two for the first time ever, but only after carefully checking for poses that don't emphasise my double chin. Okay, chins.
• I often seethe inside at the injustice of how much easier it is to be a man. So much so, that I've seriously considered just shaving my hair off and wearing Micky Blue Eyes' clothes out to the shops. After all, these days I can manage to sport quite an impressive moustache, so I may get away with it. Until I speak. But it could be quite amusing to see the check out chick's reaction. No?
• The only clothes I buy are from 'Nanna' stores like Millers or the fat plus section at Best & Less. Classy.
• My skin care routine consists of slathering on a bit of sunscreen if ever I should log off the computer and emerge blinking and bewildered into the sunshine.  I may whack on a bit of the old Oil Of Olay once a week or so when I notice my sand-paper like skin.
• I wear make-up so infrequently that I appear to have developed an allergic reaction to it. As soon I apply the slightest amount, my eyes sting and water like crazy. Or I could just be weeping that there is no miracle cream to disguise double chins.
• I am clueless about the meaning of words like 'threading' and 'shellac' and have to Google them.
• I am baffled by the apparent burning urge of every woman in Australia to want to dress like Nina Proudman despite being a fan of Offspring.
• I look back at old photographs of myself and am astounded that I wasted so much energy thinking I was fat when I wasn't. Immediately a foreboding feeling washes over me that I may be looking back at current photos ten years from now and thinking the same thing. *shudders*

• If I posted an Outfit Of The Day, as some bloggers do, it would mostly be an alluring mix and match of joggers, track suit or yoga pants, jumper or polar fleece jacket.
• I never actually do yoga in the afore mentioned yoga pants. Shut up. I do aerobics in them. So ner.
• I still need to wear these items despite jumping around like a lunatic doing aerobics on a virtually daily basis. *sobs*
• I have never worn skinny jeans. See above.
• I believe all jeans are over-rated.

After writing this list I feel like a cup of tea and a good lie down. What I really need is a good long look in the mirror and to get a grip. On something other than cake. That might be handy.

Linking up for Laugh Link and I Must Confess.

Have you let yourself 'go'?

What moment in time would you go back to?

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Fashion Fails: Bogan Style

Hello all! Another Monday. Another Confession. This week Kirsty has asked us to share our most humorous post. I wasn't sure which one of mine to choose considering they are all  pretty ordinary comedy gold but judging from the comments, this one seemed to elicit a few laughs. So for the second time around, I present my Bogan Fashion Fails. You're welcome!

This week the illustrious Lounge Lizards have us talking fashion. It tends to strike me that 90 percent of the fashion I spot on the telly or in magazines looks completely and utterly hideous even on tall, slim, stunning models.  I shudder to think what it might look like on me. Perhaps it's a blessing that I can never afford it anyway. Therefore I've cultivated a certain look and style of my own. I like to refer to it as - Bogan Chic.

Once upon a time I delighted in clothes shopping.  This was some 20 years ago when I could dress in clinging black lycra, unperturbed by the thought of any bumps and bulges. Or a tragic combo of hot pants and doc martins. Observe.

 

The only snap I could find of
this alluring attire appears to
have something stuck on it
which I couldn't get off, but you
get the idea.

 

Actually this is not strictly true, as  I used to worry unduly about being supposedly 'fat'. Pah! I didn't know the meaning of the word.  I have since discovered it though.

Anyway, it's always interesting, when I go to the local shopping mall here in Boganville.  The are many badly dressed, unattractive people there.  I fear I am one of them.  Then I catch a glimpse of myself in a shop window and my fears are realised.

I notice that my backside is astonishingly large.  This always comes as a tremendous shock, as when I dress, I tend to only look at myself front on to avoid reality.  Side on, I also look distinctly pregnant.

Then, inevitably, some old dear, at least 85 in the shade, will hobble past on a walking frame, wearing an identical shirt to mine.  Millers.  Size 16. On Sale.  This once horrified me. The fact that I no longer care is evidence that:

a) I  am getting old

b) I am getting fat (oh okay, I already am fat), and

c) I am too broke to have any choice in the matter, anyway.

 

Other Bogan Chic Tit Bits. Or is it Tid bits? Or is it not even an expression at all? Who knows. Let's just call them Bogan Fashion Tips then, shall we? Fine. They are:

• I mostly wear black, as I am a fatty boombah.  Sadly no amount of black can disguise my double chin.  Okay, chins.
• I don't  do pink, frilly or sequins. Ugh.
• I don't do white. I am fat, fair skinned and a Mother. Enough said.
• Jeans are over rated. Skinny jeans are probably single handedly responsible for many an eating disorder. Not to mention how inconvenient they are if you are ever in the habit of say, for example, sitting down. Which I am. Frequently. Which is probably half of the reason that I cannot wear skinny jeans. The other half of the reason is that, when I am sitting, I am usually eating cake. Meh, details.
• I simply detest bras. Luckily I was always small breasted, so therefore I was able to get away with not wearing them for many years. Those days are over. Now that I have droopy National Geographic boobs, I need the best push-up bra I can get my hands on. That, or a boob job. Hard to figure out which is the more expensive and painful of the two.
• Trackies and polar fleece jumpers and jackets are the most unchic, unflattering, daggy clothes ever known to the human race. They are also the most toasty warm when I'm freezing my butt off, as well as being affective contraception. So, who cares. I am a bogan after all.

 

Now, onto some more of my Fashion Fails. Check these out. And while we're at it, whoever stole my twenty something body, can you please return it. Pronto. Obviously the fact that it has disappeared to be replaced by something resembling a Teletubby has nothing to do with the afore mentioned cake eating. No way. It must be some sinister type invasion of the body snatchers super natural thing. Only possible explanation.

Me, as Morticia. That's my Dad hovering
protectively next to me, possibly reluctant to let
me leave the house dressed like that.

And now for something completely different.

My 'Laura Ashley just
threw up all over me' look. Lovely.

 

Continuing the floral theme, I appeared in public wearing this.

The early 90's look of
high waisted jeans and
a body suit. Floral of
course. So sweet. A
poodle perm completed the look.

A gorgeous floral blouse, primly buttoned
right up to my throat. My Mum's spoon
collection in the background. Nobody collects
spoons anymore. Or wears hideous floral blouses.
Sad, really.

This next one is especially for Mumabulous. She is not the only one who could rock an emerald green taffeta frock.

Dressed like a Bridesmaid, but not actually
a Bridesmaid. I was just ducking out to the
shops for some milk.

When I met Micky Blue Eyes, the bogan chic tradition continued unabated. This one speaks for itself.

Micky Blue Eyes and I wearing
clothes that appear to have been
made from hotel bedspreads or
curtains. His shirt, my pants.

Following this lovely 'Best Western Bogan Chic' style, I went onto my next

stunning look. Wearing clothes that resembled table cloths. Not to mention ridiculous bloody hats. But I'm a ranga, I have no choice! Especially when visiting places like Darwin, which is where that shot is taken.

 

 

Breathtaking Darwin scenery. Not so breath-
taking shirt and hat.

 

 

 

 I had to survive the heat somehow. Similarly, when it was cold I had this absurd notion that I should keep warm and wear silly jumpers.

Stupid jumper, leggings and
boots and a stupid expression
on my face. The wombat attached to
my leg was also a unique fashion accessory

It's hard work being
this stylish.

Or an attractive combo of a turtle neck and - wait for it, a pinafore. I couldn't find a full length shot. But you get the idea.

Of course. with that track record of fashion flair, once I became a Mum I was really onto this whole 'Yummy Mummy' thing. As you can see, below.

At my bogan best. Comatose in trackies, clutching
my similarly comatose infant.

 Imagine my delight to discover that Miller's currently has a sale on, so I can continue the bogan tradition of bedraggled frumpiness. I like the sound of that. Bedraggled frumpiness. A shame that the sight of it isn't so becoming.

Linking up for The Lounge which is being hosted this week by Slapdash Mama Sarah.

 

Also linking up with Cathy from The Camera Chronicles for Flashback Friday.

 

 

 

What are your most memorable 'fashion fails'?

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Frocked Up

It was 1986. I was 15 years old and madly in the throes of an Anne Of Green Gables fixation. I always had been since I'd read the book at age 10, but now there was also a current mini series starring Megan Follows and Colleen Dewhurst. I loved it. So naturally, when my formal came around I wanted a dress with puffed sleeves, just like Anne had always longed for. Marilla wouldn't let her, but Matthew sneakily got her one.

Happily, my mother wasn't like Marilla and obligingly sewed up the puffed sleeve extravaganza in mint green taffeta with white polka dots and a satin bow sash. It looked like a typical 1980's bridesmaid's dress. Ignoring this, I loved it and thought I was quite special in it, which is apparent by my pose. Love the hand on the hip. That was as close to an attitude as I've ever had.

Initially, I wore it to a cousin's wedding. On that occasion, I teamed it with lace pantyhose and fingerless white lace gloves,like the ones Madonna wore. Thus, I cleverly and creatively, in my mind, combined my love of Anne with my love of Madonna.

I honestly don't remember much of the actual formal itself. It was in the school hall, where I probably hovered around awkwardly as usual, not fitting in with the crowd.  But at least I got to wear my puffs. I most certainly did not have a date. There was no Gilbert Blythe for me. Sigh. Not that I was remotely interested in boys anyway. There were so many much more interesting things. Like Anne Of Green Of Gables and Carpenters records.

There may have been a rousing chorus of That's What Friends Are For at the end of the evening.  Several class mates started bawling. I looked on, from my awkward position in the corner, impervious. I didn't know what friends were for, since I didn't have any. Impossible to believe, when I looked like this:

LOOK at the puffs!!

Two years later, in 1988, for my Year 12 Formal, I was so much more mature and sophisticated, going with elegant black. This time I decided to forsake sleeves altogether. However, the bow/sash became larger than ever, attached to a tulle bustle with little colourful diamantes decorating it. I had a lovely 'up' do, instead of the 'big' Eighties perm for a change. I finished the look off with some bling, which is not very visible in this photo. The carpet we used to have was quite eye catching, however. As well as the lovely lace doilies on the lounge chairs.

Incidentally, I actually have one of those chairs in this house. It rocks. Not in the sense of being awesome. In the literal sense of, it is, in fact, a rocking chair.

Which is more dated, the dress, or the carpet?

We set off to the Formal, which was in a function centre this time. I took along a girl friend,who didn't go to my school, oblivious to the thought of this seeming, erm.... odd. (Not that there's anything wrong with that..as they say).

In those days your parents dropped you off in the station wagon and you didn't think anything of it. There were no stretch limos or any of the over the top goings on of today's teens, who think they are all some kind of celebrity strutting down the red carpet. Seriously? 

Another school friend arrived shortly after us, dressed in some sort of weird Cyndi Lauper meets Carmen Miranda get up, featuring every colour of the rainbow, and some I'd never even seen before. She managed this on her face as well, with green mascara clashing with purple eye shadow. It was quite blinding. There was fruit and feathers in her hair. People gushed over my dress, saying how lovely it was then turned to hers and said things like:

 "Erm..it's different."

 Or "It's very..um..colourful."

She pouted at this, looking quite peeved. Long story, but there were times when she'd been a bitch to me (and other times,when she'd been kind and the only friend I had). On that night I seemed to only remember the bitchy moments, so I was not that sympathetic.  I flounced about in my frock, loving the swish of my tulle bustle.  While other girls would have been horrified for their mother to sew them a frock, I thought it was awesome. There was no chance that I was going to experience THE HORROR of another girl turning up in the SAME DRESS. I was unique. I was special.  I was frocked up.

Linking up with Cathy from The Camera Chronicles for Flashback Friday.

What did your formal frock look like? Do you like getting frocked up?

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