A Higher State of Being

Look closely at the cozy couple in the centre of the photo above. You may, or may not call at least one of them a Celebrity. 

It all depends on your definition which we won't go into right now.

 

If a Celebrity crosses my path, I go into High Alert, as if I've seen a lesser version of God &  desperately have to make contact on order to move up to a Higher State of Being. 

Yesterday, I had such an experience. I was lunching al fresco in Malibu with Marge, her teenage son Eddie & her brother David. We were eating Mexican which is all I eat when in California. 

Suddenly, I saw this couple coming towards us. I  went white, sat bolt upright, got v. serious & quietly exclaimed, 'OMG, there's Rachel Zoe. And her sidekick husband!!!'

Of course, no one knew who I was talking about.  Maybe Marge did. 

You probably don't know who she is either. So I'll tell you. Rachel's a Stylist to the Stars but I can't remember who she's styled. Anyone you can think of that's showed up to The Oscars looking like a Giant Stick Insect is bound to have been one of Rachel's clients. She's also got her v. own Reality TV show, The Rachel Zoe Project that I featured here last December.

Anyway, I was desperate to get a photo of  Me & Rachel. I know, it's really hypocritical considering what I just said about Stick Insects, but I'm Nothing if not Inconsistent, particularly where Celebrities are concerned.

As we helplessly watched Rach & Hubby drift out of sight, Marge suggested we follow them. But by the time I could get out of my seat, they were far ahead of us. 

So, we had to run.

Marge is miles taller than me & alot more robust. While she was athletically running along gripping my camera in true Paparrazzi style, I was pathetically limping behind.

'Just take a picture of them from behind. That'll be enough' I urged Marge.

'Nonsense. Do want to be a Complete Milquetoast for the rest of your life?' she inquired.

'Look, they're going into that shop. Let's follow them'.

I meekly followed, frantically mentally rehearsing how I was going to handle it when Rachel said 'NO'.

Inside the shop, Rachel & Handbag Hubby were gathered around The Bra Section. I lurked guiltily at the front door while Marge barged right over to them.

'Would you be offended if my friend had her photo taken with you?' Marge asked.

'Would you be offended with what I'm wearing right now?' Rachel humbly replied.

Maybe she didn't say those exact words. Neither of us can now remember. But something along those lines.

Whatever Rachel actually said, she was v. gracious, down to earth & cheerful. So was hubby, who seemed used to standing on the sideline out of the way. 

Hope I'm not sounding like I'm now trying to crawl up her arse, Heaven forbid.

I've spent ages staring at the photos. Sadly, I haven't been transported to another State of Being as a result. 

Maybe I should Aim Higher.

Reading Los Angeles

Let's pretend that I'm a Travel Writer.

Los Angeles is an ever-changing Landscape of Huge Signs. Every time I come, I can't wait for Marge to drive me around so I can read them & gauge my mood. 

It's a bit like reading tea leaves, I guess.

Yesterday's reading started out a Little Creepily. Marge bumped me & her brother David off on Wilshire in Brentwood where we caught the Bus that just  appears out of nowhere down to LA County Museum. As I looked out the window, all I could see were ominous signs featuring a dead-like creepy child that said 'Orphan'.  

Quelle Horreur, I thought, or I would have thought if I thought in French. 

Is this a warning , I wondered. And where do you put the question mark in a sentence like that, I also wondered. Perhaps here? Or here?

'Orphan' is one of those words that stand out like Dogs Balls to me. And now I'm wondering about where to put the apostrophe in Dogs. Perhaps at the end of it. 

 Being adopted has given me carte blanche to go Pear-Shaped every time I hear a word that remotely connects to Abandonment. And 'Orphan' spells Abandonment in Big Letters. One of my favourite anecdotes about an Old Hollywood Star concerns Clifton Webb, a clearly gay actor who reached his peak perhaps in the late forties in such Fine Films as 'Laura'  & 'Cheaper by the Dozen'. Perhaps you have never heard of him, so you just have to take my word for it that he was  Fairly-Big  inasmuch as an Slightly Effete Pansy could be back then. Or maybe even now.

Anyway, Clifton was devoted to his Elderly Mother. They lived in Hollywood together & were famous for hosting Legendary Lunches every sunday that all the rich & famous attended. 

Of course Clifton's Mother eventually died & the lunches stopped. It was inevitable. He felt utterly abandoned & never got over it even though Mum was ancient & he was sixty-two. 

From that time, Clifton became known as The World's Oldest Orphan.

I certainly don't want to be like that. 

But then later, Marge picked us up from the Museum & we went driving along Fairfax towards Sunset. I suddenly came across the 'This is My Town'  sign & my mood immediately changed. 

Of course, LA is my town. I'm at home. Kind of.

By the time I came across the 'Do You Grunt?' sign, I was positively kicking back.

And when I discovered 'Hooray', I was euphoric.

So Much to Tell, but Not the Strength to Tell It

Have got soooo much to tell, but not the Strength to Tell It.

First, ever since I finished school for the term, which was last Thursday, I've been sick with Toy Swine Flu. It's been Utterly Revolting. Lying in bed like some Old Rotting Dowager whose servants have deserted her. Being forced to eat a huge plate of out-of-date spaghetti with absolutely no sauce on it. Finding a hard-as-a-rock block of Rogue Parmesan that had been hiding in the fridge & cutting it into slivers & mixing it into the pasta. Being amazed when the cheese didn't melt. 

At the same time , my daughter was regaling me by phone with Tales from Her Tasty Kitchen. Roasted Pumpkin Soup with Cocoanut Milk. 'Little Ears' Pasta with Field Mushrooms. Pan-fried Haloumi with lemon & chili. 

Anyway, I am Slightly Better today & I hope I'll be Even More Better tomorrow because I'm flying off tomorrow night to Los Angeles to spend time with MBF Marge & her family in Thousand Oaks, California. It's my possibly 24th visit. 

Ask me anything that you want to know about 'ol Thousand Oaks, & I'll tell you. It's in the Conejo Valley, which means Rabbit or maybe Hare. I believe that the place is absolutely brimming with celebrities, although I've never seen any. Marge once sat in a doctor's waiting room with Mickey Rooney. I like to imagine that Lisa Marie Presley who I have a Slight Fascination with, lives close by. 'Hopalong Cassidy', which was one of my favourite shows when I was a kid, was filmed in the hills of Thousand Oaks. So was 'Zorro'. Oh, and of course, 'Mash'. Some of the streets were named after television shows of the early sixties. Marge once lived in 'Big Sky Drive', which was the name of a show that my parents regularly watched. Thousand Oaks is about twelve miles inland from Malibu. 

For the past few weeks, I've been frantically collecting summer clothes from 'Bednobs & Broomsticks'. I've got Quite a Stash. So, most days I'll be posting Northern Hemisphere Clothes on my flickr & blog.  Hope you can wait.

Before I go, perhaps you're wondering why I posted a pic of Queen Victoria. You may have thought that she perfectly went with my Toy Swine Flu Moan. You'd be wrong.

Last week when I was visiting my friend Maud Lone Star at a quaint inner-west suburb, I found Queen V hanging over the Court House. I couldn't believe the synchronicity. Only that day, I'd been examining  the sad lines on the side of my mouth which I believe are technically called, 'Marionette Lines'. Or maybe 'Naso-Labial Folds'. But they should be called 'Sad Clown Lines'. Anyway, I couldn't help but feel sorry for Queen V. Note the way that the Cruel Sculptor has etched them into her face. Not to mention the Jowls & Double chin. No wonder the poor woman went into mourning for the last fifty years of her life.

Stranger in Moscow

Up until now, I've been patting myself on the back for My Low Key Approach to the death of Michael Jackson.  Admittedly, I did enjoy reading all the salacious little tidbits like when they took his wig off after he died, there was only 'peach fuzz', or was it 'peach fizz' underneath? Sounds more like a non-alcoholic cocktail than something that might grow on a person's head, don't you think?

When the news broke, I was at school. I suppose I'll remember that forever, like I remember where I was when I found out Elvis was dead (lining up for crap food at a cafeteria at University) or when JFK died (in bed in my family home being minded by my Grandmother, who burst into my bedroom with the news. I was shattered, which seems odd since I was only ten & definitely Not an American) 

When I found out about Michael,  a deeply respected fellow colleague who will remain nameless so she doesn't appear heartless, immediately reminded me that he was a pedophile & therefore not worth mourning . I was instantly relieved.  

I went about My Life thinking that I'd gotten out of  Michael's death unscathed.  I didn't watch one single thing on TV about him. I watched Nature Programs instead.

Until last night. There was absolutely nothing on TV which is always a continual source of amazement to me considering the hundreds of channels that my television claims to have. So, I was forced to watch the last few minutes of 'Larry King Live'. At first, all I could do was stare at Larry's appearance & marvel at his hair. Now, that's what I call, 'Peach Fuzz'. Then I realised that he was talking about Himself & Michael. Larry gave us a blow by blow description of every time he'd ever met him, including the time he attended one of Michael's concerts at some huge stadium & could only see him with the aid of binoculars. If you can count that as a time you 'met' someone, then I can safely say that I 'met' the Beatles because I went to one of their concerts when I was eleven. 

Anyway, Larry whetted my appetite for more . So, I turned to MTV , who of course were Milking Michael to the Max. I watched song after song. That's what always happens to me when I watch those music stations. I say to myself, 'I'll just wait & see what the next clip is', & then it's five hours later & I'm still watching them. 

Most of them were pretty good, although I found myself Slightly Sneering at the ever-present wind machines blowing up a gale & Michael's persistent Christ-on-the-Cross pose in 'Earth Song'.

But my mood totally changed when they played, 'Stranger in Moscow'. 

I couldn't believe it. 

Here was the song that totally summed up how life has been for me in the eleven months since Mr. Ex-Middleaged left.

'How does it feel?

How does it feel?

How does it feel?

How does it feel?

How does it feel?

When you're alone & cold inside

Like

Stranger in Moscow

Like

Stranger in Moscow'.

That's Me.

Ear Chandeliers

It's sunday night. I've just eaten a couple of v. unsatisfactory supposedly organic sausages & some roasted vegetables. Now I'm Multi-Tasking.

Yes, I'm sitting huddled in front of a little two-bar radiator typing. I'm also waiting.  That's two tasks.

 Perhaps most people would not consider waiting to be an task. I beg to differ. 

And maybe  you're wondering what I am waiting for. I'm waiting for the next episode of Agatha Christie's 'Miss Marple' to begin on TV.

Ever since I gave up reading Enid Blyton, I have been obsessed with Agatha's Great Detectives - Hercule Poirot & to a lesser extent, Miss Marple. There's something incredibly comforting & cozy about people being murdered in the library of a large English Country House with a whole gaggle of  dysfunctional weekend house guests as suspects. And I just love getting whipped up into a frenzy by all the Red Herrings that Agatha generously throws about.

The other thing is that I can never guess who the murderer is. Even if I've read the book or seen the episode before. More than once.  It's a little favour that my Mind does for me so I'm Always  in Suspense. What a great way to live.

Anyway, this wasn't supposed to be a Blog Post about Me & Miss Marple. So, I'm not going to say any more about it because I'm In Charge.

This post is supposed to be about Me & My Ear Chandeliers.  I bought them quite recently at my favourite Cheap Jewel Shop in the Mall, 'Diva'.  They were only seven bucks. I have a rule when buying from 'Diva': I only buy stuff when it's Significantly On Sale. It's another way of achieving Abundance Through Frugality.

Anyway, as you can imagine, the Ear Chandeliers attract quite a lot of attention, which of course is something that I crave. But I'm not quite sure if it's really the Right Kind. Instead of saying something like, 'Oh, I just Love your Earrings', people can't help saying, 'Aren't your ears sore?' 

I always instantly snap, 'NO'.  And I'm not lying. Maybe my ears have become De-Sensitized from years of  carrying heavy weights. What a shame that the rest of me hasn't followed suit. I would just soooo love to sail through life Not Feeling a Thing, instead of being constantly gripped by some awful thought. 

Back to the Ear Chandeliers. 

On saturday I wore them to 'Bednobs & Broomsticks' Thrift Shop. 

When I walked in, Cherie, The Cheerful Assistant, took one look at them & said:

'You know, your ears remind me of my Great Grandmother Sibyl's Ears, who died three days short of her 100th birthday. She wore v. heavy gold earrings all her life & by the time she died, the holes in her lobes were the size of Large Peas.'

It's great to know that I've got 100 year-old Ear Lobes.

My Slightly Rotting Bruno Magli Shoe Collection

I imagine that there are many people out there who find the idea of wearing Someone Elses Shoes Simply Disgusting. Particularly if that Someone Else is now Dead.

If I thought about it for too long, like longer than it would take me to write this Blog Post, I may well be One of Those People. 

Fortunately, I am not going to allow myself to think about it. I am not going to imagine my Dear Little Foot snugly squeezing into a shoe which contains the imprint of another foot & perhaps some of their residue sweat as well. 

It's probably a Bit Late to be all of a sudden Queasy about it as I've been wearing what might be described as 'Dead Shoes' for years. 

And I haven't had a Hint of Gangrene. All of my toes are intact. And there's no sign of infection either.

Now that we've got that Settled, I must tell you about Me & Bruno Magli.

In case you don't know anything, Bruno Magli is an Italian Upscale Shoe Brand that were heavily featured in the OJ Simpson trial. Magli's 'Lorenzo' men's shoe was somehow linked to the killer but OJ denied ever owning a pair & even called them 'bad ass' even though there was definite photographic evidence of him wearing a pair at a football match.

Anyway, I'm suddenly finding pairs of Maglis at 'Bednobs & Broomsticks', my Magical Thrift Shop which I'm sure has got nothing to do with OJ. I imagine that there's this One Wealthy Elderly Tasteful Woman who's finally decided to clean out her closet that's bulging at the seams with Slightly Rotting Elderly Maglis. You can see the Slight Rottingness in the close up of the buckle, above.

But maybe she's Dead & her relatives are donating them.

I've been hoarding My Maglis next to my desk in the Staffroom so that every now & then I can look down & admire them. I find it comforting. Not to mention the great Sense of Accomplishment I gain from having a Slightly Rotting Magli Collection.

I'm even allowing myself to wear Dangerously High Heeled Maglis as you can see in the Slightly Slutty look from yesterday, below. I was teetering around like one of those Tragic Slurry Cheap Champagne Slurping Horserace Goers. Trixie Drew said that the whole thing was becoming Silly & not to mention, Dangerous, as it was raining & I could have easily slipped down our hazardous overcrowded stairs on my way to the Classroom & then I would have had to sue the school as well as have a Knee Reconstruction.
One last word on my Slight Sluttiness. The whole outfit - from the 'Scanlan & Theodore' dress that is so tight that I look like I've been sewn into it like Marilyn the night she sang 'Happy Birthday Mr. President', to the Slightly Stained 'Calvin Klein' jacket, to the 'Tie Rack' faux Burberry Scarf & to, of course, the  Majestic Maglis, is from 'Bednobs'.

Meetooism.

vintage brooch & muppet
Originally uploaded by middleagedteacher

I was reading a post from Elena-Lu where she was extolling the virtues of wearing brooches.
One of the many many things that I Suffer From is 'Metooism'.
So, you think you've got a cool brooch collection, what until you see mine. That's how I think.
As soon as I read her post, I ran to the section of my wardrobe which houses The Brooch Collection & frantically chose one.
Although I've had it for years, I've hardly ever worn it. There's two reasons for this:
First, I'm like a Squirrel or perhaps a Chipmunk who likes to hoard Acorns in a cozy little bolt hole inside a tree.
I like to be secure in the knowledge that there's a little treasure trove of unworn stuff in my wardrobe Just in Case.
You might wonder, Just in Case What?'
I'm not quite sure.

Second, I forgot about it.
Third, it was given to me by a ruthless ex-colleague some years ago who I think had ransacked the contents of a Recently Deceased Neighbour's house & found the brooch in a drawer inside the original box that it came in along with a yellowing card that said, 'Dear Mum, Happy Mother's Day, love Beryl'.
It was obvious that dear old Mum had been saving the brooch for some Special Occasion that Never Came Along. And so she died without ever wearing it.
There's a Lesson in This for all of us. But I'm not sure what it is.