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LadyDiazepam has a website

January 27th 2012 03:35
Preparing for the publication of my first novel, I've built a website: www.michelleheeter.com
Comments on how to improve it are welcome--submit them via the Contact form on the website.
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Nagging DOES NOT WORK

December 4th 2010 10:03
In Women's Mag Mind Poisoning, I wrote about Dr Marie Claire, my neighbour, who has screaming rows with her de facto. Much of her dialogue is lifted from the 'Relationships' columns of glossy women's magazines. I find it baffling that someone with a medical degree gets her ideas from such low-brow sources.

I have discovered there is another source of the verbal birdshot she fires at her boyfriend--her mother, a social worker.

I met Dr Marie Claire's parents when they visited from England. The mother is friendly, bossy, outgoing, plain-spoken and down-to-earth. She also wears the pants in the marriage; Dr Marie Claire's father seems happy to be led around by the ring in his nose.

Dr Marie Claire has obviously imbibed her mother's idea of domestic harmony, and her mother's social worker mindset that it is both desirable and possible to change and improve people, even if they don't want to change. Weekends are meant to be spent in a cleaning and gardening orgy, with the female directing and the male happily doing as he's told. Unfortunately, Dr. Marie Claire didn't shack up with quiet Englishman. Her Significant Other is a passive-aggressive, fifty-ish Australian cashed-up bogan whose idea of the perfect weekend is lying on the couch watching the footy and listening to bad 60s rock. (Why did she choose him? Hmmm. He's not bad looking, and she's no supermodel.)

When the CUB humours Dr Marie Claire of a weekend, the sounds of cushions being thumped, carpets being vacuumed and hedges being pruned waft over the fence, accompanied by giddy laughter and music by the Beatles and the Rolling Stones.

Weekends when the CUB refuses to leave the couch start with wails and end with screams and tears. "We're supposed to be a team!" Dr Marie Claire wailed. Last weekend, this escalated into a three-hour nagging marathon. "YOU just sit there...I love you more than anyone else in the world and then you hurt me like this! No, that is NOT what I said.... Why do twist everything I say? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME?"

By 8:00 in the evening Dr Marie Claire was fully hysterical, and I'd had enough. I put my mobile phone in voice recording mode and propped it in the window, planning to burn the recording to a CD and leave it on her doorstep. When she went quiet(er) after 40 minutes, I figured I had an adequate sample and went to get my phone. It was dead. Would not be switched on. Would not be re-charged.

DR MARIE CLAIRE'S SCREECHING POMMIE VOICE BROKE MY MOBILE PHONE.

In the previous post, I noted that Dr Marie Claire kindly leaves her magazines on my doorstep when she's finished with them. The last lot of reading matter contained a weekend newspaper supplement. One page had the top right corner folded in as a bookmark--a full-page ad for a fertility clinic.

Watch this space.
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Reminders for my next London Holiday

November 25th 2010 09:44
1. Do more shopping at Harrod's--every item I bought has proved to be a treasure, the service is superb, Mohammed Al-Fayed doesn't own the store any longer, and they do all the VAT refund paperwork for you.
2. DON'T look at the endless queue for VAT refunds and think, "I'll just mail in the forms when I get back to Australia." It doesn't work that way. No customs stamp, no refund.
3. DON'T pour your favourite hair care products in those stupid little travel bottles they sell at the chemist's. Those little bottles leak. Anyway, the hotel will always have little bottles of shampoo and conditioner.
4. Do buy James Brown London hair products and bring them back--I'm having trouble finding his superb hair masque in Sydney.
5. DON'T take high heels. Yes, you were determined to dress properly for the theatre and prove that not ALL tourists are badly dressed. You ended up giving those shoes to a charity op shop in Bayswater. Flats will do.
6. Do stay near an indoor pool, and take your swimming cossie. Britain is not famous for hygienic swimming pools, but it's good to be able to keep at least part of your workout routine whilst on holiday. Just ignore the balls of dust/mould/discarded bandages under the changing room benches.
7. Do have an ample supply of benzos and prescription painkillers in your handbag. They come in handy when all ten babies on the flight start to scream in unison.
8. DON'T take your husband. After all, someone's got to stay home and mind the cats.
9. Do take your yoga mat, or at least remember to ask the hotel whether the floors are carpeted or not. A shoulder stand should not be done on a hardwood floor.
10. DON'T make airport pickup or other transport arrangements through an Australian agency. They'll fuck it up.
11. Do remember to take that neck pillow you bought at Harrod's. Made the return journey a lot more comfortable than the outbound one, didn't it?
12. Do spend more time south of the river Thames, and pay another visit to Southwark Cathedral. Maybe this time you'll get a glimpse of Dawkins Magnificat, the Cathedral's official feline.
13. DON'T wait too long to go back!

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Hints for American Tourists

September 3rd 2010 09:20
Lady Diazepam wishes to print the following guidelines and hand them out to all U.S. tourists visiting Australia:

1. The guide book that told you, "Australia is so casual, you should pack your old clothes and throw them away at the end of your visit" is wrong. It was probably written by someone who hates Americans and wants them to look bad. DON'T wander around Sydney dressed as if you're mowing the lawn or shopping at WalMart


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Diazepam tweets

September 1st 2010 07:16
Lady Diazepam now tweeting at Really Long Link
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Getting your David Jones Knee Pads

August 4th 2010 07:50
Kristy Fraser-Kirk's allegations of sexual harassment against David McInnes did not influence my decision to shop or not shop at DJ's. I long ago quit shopping at the Sydney David Jones, partly because I’m sick of overpriced, uninteresting rags passed off as ‘fashion’, but largely due to one saleslady, whom I’ll call Beryl. Beryl must be at least eighty, and has been with DJ’s for yonks.

Beryl guarded the dressing room of the lingerie department like a pit bull, brusquely demanding to count the items you wanted to try, then barking, “You can’t take more than five items in there!” Never did she offer to find another colour or size, but she always snapped, “Are you going to take those?” when you emerged from the fitting room


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Cold cream. Now there’s a term I’ll bet you haven’t heard in a while. Do they even sell it anymore? These days, women use a pre-cleanser, lait demaquillant, or some other pretentiously named and ruinously priced product.

I regularly bought expensive skin care products, until I started saving for an overseas holiday. When I ran out of Sisley White Lily Cleansing Milk, I replaced it with aqueous cream. When I ran out of Chanel eye cream, I rummaged around in my vanity and found a Sundari eye oil that I had forgotten about. When I used the last drop of my heavenly Sisley Floral Toning Lotion, I did a bit more rummaging and found a sample bottle of the same product, which is lasting longer than you would think. Since I’ve squeezed the last drop of Dermalogica Active Moist from its tube, I’ve been using all the free samples of moisturisers I’ve been hoarding


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Ballet Flats--Hot or Not?

July 30th 2010 05:43
Hot? Not? A classic that’s always in style, or a passing fad?

Today I bought the first pair of ballet flats I’ve owned in my entire life


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Shaming Fat People

July 27th 2010 12:15
Tried to post this as a comment on the Herald/Age's Beauty Beat blog, but the Add a Comment is not working.

Hmmm. I've been fat, thin, and just about everything in between. At 7 kilos over my recommended weight, I consider myself 'curvy'. (I'm 46, gimme a break.) I have, however, bought a scale with the aim of shaving off those pesky additional kilos


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I was prompted to write this by something I saw in the CBD at lunchtime—an obese older female office worker with just her fringe dyed purple. The rest of her hair was grey, and greasy.

My point? Unless you’re 19 and skinny, with edgy dress sense and/or an outrageous personality, any bleach or dye job you do yourself is likely to


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