Box Office Bogan

It's quite obvious that my life should be made into a movie. In fact, I can't believe that nobody has ever approached me with a movie deal already. I mean, the story of my life has everything: triumph, tragedy, comedy, pathos, bogans AND cakies. Clearly all the ingredients for box office smash.

The only remaining question is: who should play the coveted part of yours truly? Just because Angelina Jolie is my doppelganger that doesn't mean she should automatically get the part. That wouldn't be fair. I'd have to give other actresses a fair chance too.

What do you mean you don't see the resemblance? You need to get your glasses adjusted! Or I do. As well as my medication. Oh alright, I suppose Nicole Kidman may be much more suited to the role being Australian and a tall, elegant, beautiful red head. Having two out of five of those things in common would certainly count as a resemblance, I'm sure. No? God, you people are hard to please.

Then again, you could have a point. After all, Cate Blanchett is the newest Oscar winner. Therefore she may well be keen to take on yet another stellar part which will be guaranteed to get another Oscar nod. She still has to catch up to Meryl, after all. This could be her most challenging role to date. A character who rarely talks. There will be no pages of witty dialogue to learn, instead she will have to use subtle nuances and blank expressions to convey the complexity of this bogan. Plus, there is the fact that she will have to shrink in height while quadrupling her width. I smell another Oscar right there, Cate.

Oh! I know! People were always telling me that I looked like Gillian Anderson when that Scummy and Mouldy show was all the rage. Well - at least one person did. They were being scathingly sarcastic but DETAILS. I'm sure that with some coaching from the brilliant Meryl she could pull of an Australian accent. Instead of "The dingo took my baby!" which became Meryl's oft repeated classic line from Evil Angels, the classic line from the movie of my life would be:

"The kids took my cakie!"

Riveting viewing right there.

However, after pondering on this important question for a while, I've realised that the perfect casting as me would be the wonderful Toni Colette. Not only is she Australian but she's also originally a Boganville girl herself. Apparently she grew up around these parts. I probably walked past her at the shops as a teenager in the 1980's, sporting a tragic perm, so I can practically claim to know her. The fact that she is jet-setting around the World starring in movies and my most exciting outing is STILL to those same shops every week, means nothing. My life is still worthy of a movie, dammit!

 From such humble beginnings Toni reinvented herself and went on to become famous and successful. And rich. And a great actress. And I think I hate her. What does she have that I don't? Talent? Yeah, you got me there.

Anyway, she's my ultimate choice to play me. I'm imagining her as a sort of middle aged Muriel (meaning me) which she could pull off with weight gain or a fat suit. It would almost be like a kind of sequel of sorts to Muriel's Wedding except it could be called Ness's Marriage or The Secret Dream World Of A Cakeaholic. The soundtrack would be peppered with Carpenters songs bringing back a wave of Carpenters nostalgia the way Muriel did for Abba.

"I want my life to be as good as a Carpenters song!" my character, played by Toni, would declare as Top Of The World trills cheerily in the background.

Then, in typical Hollywood fashion, there would be the obligatory, albeit completely fictional, happy ending when we finally leave Boganville forever having obtained that McMansion in Boganville Heights.

Micky Blue Eyes, the boys and I bundle into the car and drive off beaming at each other euphorically  as we shout:

"GOODBYE BOGANVILLE!" 

This time Please Mr Postman beats jauntily along as the credits roll. This song has absolutely nothing to do with the plot or ending. There just aren't that many upbeat Carpenters songs to be honest.

Alternatively, I could use my adult diagnosis with Asperger's Syndrome as the central theme. The film would then turn into a heartfelt and gripping drama about the complexities of living with High Functioning Autism equivalent to Rain Man or that movie about Temple Grandin starring Claire Danes. This would show how I have triumphed in life despite the diagnosis becoming a brilliant bogan blogger and enviable Yummy Mummy and MILF. I do have children and I find cakies and chocolate quite yummy so I eat them a lot. That is what being a Yummy Mummy is I think. And the boys tell me quite frequently that I'm a 'Mum I Love Forever'. That's the meaning of MILF, right?

So many options. Right. Time to place a call to Toni's agent seeing as though she is not responding to my emails. Can't imagine why.....

Linking up with Tegan from Musings Of The Misguided for I Must Confess.

                                                    
                                                 Who would play you in the movie of your life?

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My Tragic Life as a Nerd Girl circa 1992

I remember when I used to live a tragic life. You know you have a tragic life when you're sitting at home on a Friday night, at age 21, watching Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory, thinking "Something isn't right here."

It may have a been around this time that I went out with a person who was nicknamed Walrus. Because he looked like one. Using the term 'went out' rather loosely, in the sense of spending an entertaining evening passive smoking in his vicinity at a local night club. And I really, really hate night clubs.

My desperation sunk even lower however, when on one shopping trip, I was trying on clothes. There may have been lycra involvement and body suits.(I know, I can't believe that I wore that stuff. Or more to the point that I was thin enough to wear it 20 years ago. Sigh)  The sales girl was rather chatty and somehow the conversation veered to discussing that it was hard to meet anyone decent these days in the fast paced 90's (or the 'olden days' as my boys now refer to them). 

Next thing you know the sales girl whose name was Faye, if I remember correctly, ( and I only remember that because it is my middle name) said she knew some decent guys and could fix me up if I was interested.  Showing how utterly desperate I was I agreed and gave a complete  stranger, albiet, a seemingly nice, friendly stranger but nevertheless, a stranger, my phone number and permission to play cupid.
                                                                               
The following day she rang.  "Okay, I've got two guys," she began "now, they're not exactly Tom Cruises, but we're no Nicole Kidman's are we?"
"No, of course not." I concurred, secretly wondering why nobody ever seemed to notice my striking resemblance to Ms Kidman. I mean, I had the red hair and the erm...well okay, just the red hair, but that's a resemblance, right?

Obviously the resemblance is uncanny

It transpired that she had two possible guys for me, one had just come out of a break up, the other had never had a girlfriend before as he was very shy and quiet, according to Faye. "Like you." she added.  However, the only boyfriend I'd ever had at that point had been a complete wanker who'd been obsessed with a previous girlfriend so the latter guy actually sounded more appealing.

So it was all set.  We were going on a double date with Faye and her partner.  When we arrived to pick him up, he wasn't there. Not a particularly promising start. His Mum informed us he was at the Gym.  "Oh well, at least you know he works out." Faye reassured me brightly, trying to put a positive spin on it, as we headed to Penrith Panthers Leagues Club to wait for him to meet us there.

About an hour or so later a very reluctant looking young man arrived, staring at the floor, as if he was willing it to open up and swallow him.  After mumbling hello, he then proceeded to steadfastly stare at the floor for the entire night, not once making eye contact.  To make matters worse, neither one of us uttered a single word to each other, but sat there in excruciating silence, while Faye tried to make polite chat chat to diffuse the situation.  It was beyond awful.

The only thing more awful was yet another blind date I went on, this time arranged by some friends of the family.  We went to the Burning Log Theatre Restaurant, and made it through dinner and the show okay, but things disintegrated quickly when we ended up on the dance floor.  This guy obviously fancied himself as some sort of super suave and sexy cross between John Travolta and Patrick Swayze and began gyrating in front of me, urging me to "Move your body!"  Instead I just began to laugh at him helplessy.  Oddly enough, this did not seem to impress him.

On the way home he abruptly pulled the car over around the corner from my house, lunged over and stuck his tongue down my throat.  I remained completely unmoved by this display of passion. 

Needless to say, I never saw either 'date' again.  And I am very glad those tragic days are over. There was a very happy ending of course.  I met an enigmatic, brooding Mr Darcy type and went off into the sunset to live in splendour in a luxurious estate. Um, wait,  no...actually I've just been reading too much Jane Austen. 

I mean, I met Micky Blue Eyes and we ended up here in Boganville.  Stay tuned for the whole touching love story. Coming Soon.

 

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I  Must Confess

 

 

Did you ever have any dating disasters? Tell all...

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Bad Hair Life

My hair is alarmingly grey. Presently, I desperately need to dye my hair and have decided on the D.I.Y version to save  a few dollars.  Micky Blue Eyes recently resigned from his job (recently as in six months ago) so this means I need to be thrifty and economical as opposed to the opulent, lavish lifestyle I used to lead.  Damn, there go the trips to Paris and designer clothes. Sighhhh...

Anyhow, I'm not sure why I even bother, over the years my hair has almost had a life of it's own.  First of all, it was interesting enough growing up being a 'Ranga' the scathing affectionate term for a red haired person.  This meant putting up with all the usual jibes like: "Red Head Match!" or "Carrots!" Or, my personal favourite: "Aw ya, red headed rat rooter!", as I was innocently minding my own business.  That, or they would gaze at my hair (when it was very long) with worshipful eyes, sigh and say: "Gee your hair's nice.  Pity it's not blonde."

On the flip side, occasionally some old dear would stop my brother and I to ooh and ah over our hair and announce: "People  pay a fortune to make their hair that colour you know." before slipping us the odd 20 cents.  Which was a fortune back then.  You could buy a whole bag of lollies with it.  Now you wouldn't even get a single black jelly bean.  

I've lost count of all the bad hairstyles I've had over the years.  I've gone from having very long, straight hair, long enough to sit on, as a girl. Then, quite long, with a daggy sort of a fringe (a bit like Agnetha from ABBA). Incidentally, why do Americans call a fringe 'bangs'?

Mullet Perm. I don't know why I'm smiling.

Then, I had the first of many truly hideous perms, including the woeful 'mullet-perm'. See above.  In my defence it was the 80's so I was suffering from a severe case of T.E.S (ie. Tragic Eighties Syndrome).  In my early 20' s I progressed to the spiral or 'poodle' perm when I was frequently mistaken for Nicole Kidman.  Oh okay, never. Not once. I still don't get it.  I mean, the resemblance was uncanny.

Nicole Kidman eat your heart out.

In my mid 20's I sported a preppy bob, and being the height of the X-Files craze I was frequently mistaken for Gillian Anderson.  Oh okay, only once, and the person was being totally sarcastic and me being typically Aspie, I didn't pick up on it.  So it was nice to have that illusion for a while.

At age 30, I sported a short blonde crop and a pregnancy I remained clueless about, but that's another story.   Yes, too many bad hairstyles and bad hair days to mention.

Blonde crop. Also pregnant and clueless. Noice.

The problem is I have absolutely no idea what to request at the hairdressers.  I totally blame this on some of the idiotic books I read as a girl. This time in the form of teen romances.  The heroine was usually a shy, nerdy sort of girl who gets dragged along the hairdressers by her more outgoing sister or bestie.  Once at the salon, the hairdresser takes one look at her and knows in a nano-second the perfect style and cut to transform her from nerd to fox instantly.  Suddenly revealing cheek bones she never knew she had and perfect almond shaped eyes.

Nerd-girl walks out of the salon a new person, gorgeous, confident and naturally she gets the guy. I kept on expecting a similar experience of being transformed from the tragic nerd I was to super chic.
Imagine my consternation when on one occasion, at around age 15, I was transformed into Leo Sayer with a singed scalp instead.

I was far too shy to say anything to the hairdresser who had blessed me with this beautiful look.  Instead, I actually paid them money for the indignation and scurried home, mortified.  My mum took one look and went ballistic, dragging me back and demanding they fix it.  They must have permanently damaged some brain cells with the perming solution however, as, years later I happily sported a do that wasn't entirely dissimilar.  I don't know what I was thinking.

To achieve this look simply channel Leo Sayer. Or not.

Some years after I had left a job, I met up with a former work colleague. By then, I had cut my hair short. Surprised, she commented "What happened to your curls?" I then told her that I  used to perm it. She clearly couldn't believe that I had actually paid money to have my hair look like that, replying "Oh, I thought it was natural." Nope. I did actually pay for bad hair. So, why pay for it, when I can acheive the same thing at home, with a cheap and nasty DIY dye job. I think I'll give the home perms a miss though. I am off to cling wrap my hair. Classy.

I STILL have bad hair, without the perms. Sigh.

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Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.

 

I'm also linking up with Cathy from The Camera Chronicles for Flashback Friday, after deciding I haven't embarrassed myself quite enough.

 

 

 

Do you have a 'Bad Hair Life'? Or do you love your locks?  

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