The Great Undie Massacre

A couple of weeks ago I'd had enough.  That was it.  No more.  Something snapped, not my waist elastic but my patience and I decided that the Undies I had been wearing for the past 20 years needed to be exorcised.  These were my Undies from 5th Form.  Yup 5th Form.  I was 15 when I bought them?!  Some might be saying "Wow she stills fits her undies from when she was 15?!" and tempted as I am to let you go on believing that,  alas it's not quite as glamorous as it sounds...I don't care how much quality Bendon put into their underwear back then, they were never supposed to survive 2 Children and 20 yrs.  All that wear and pregnancies had stretched those bad boys into a holey, sad, depressed but dependable heap. 
They had become the Street kids of my Undie drawer, the homeless living under a bridge, the orphans, the ones no one wants to be friends with.
 It's not like I haven't bought other more comfortable, exciting pairs for my arse during these 20 years but somehow those old ones would retreat to the bottom of the drawer whenever the new fancy ones were put in and then slowly creep there way back up to the top when I ran out of clean washing. I'm surprised they haven't sacrificed themselves sooner by leaping from the open drawer, landing on the floor then scurrying under my wardrobe like one of all my bloody pair of socks have done!
It's not like they didn't know they were the last one picked for the team, the ugly ones, the Great-Aunt with a beard. It must've been obvious due to my dramatic sighing and the husbands screams of terror whenever they were pulled from the depths to feel the sunlight for a brief moment.
So I finally did it, I went out and spent $117 at the Farmers sale and purchased 7 brand spanking new pairs and before they were taken out of the bag, I had an Undie drawer Massacre.  I pretty much burnt those monstrosities on the stake, i sacrificed those demons, I threw them out with the dishwater, I put them out of their/my misery and God it felt Goood! I felt free.  I felt alive.  Now my drawer is a happy, colourful, comfortable place to venture each morning. I don't have to hide them amongst the towels on the clothes line so the neighbours won't see anymore.  I highly recommend a routine purge of all that old stuff.  It's amazing how a nice new pair of scants can lift your mood!

No 1 Fan Girl

I have this mental disorder when ever I meet someone who has been on TV.  I'm not even talking big celebrities or anything, if they have been on anything even an ad,  my brain just can't cope.  I blame society and the Woman's weekly for unrealistic fame stigmas and I'm a total sucker for it.
The reason I'm thinking about how stupid I act when standing in front of someone famous is because this weekend I get to be bridesmaid at my besties wedding Wedding No 7 and she and her soon to be husband cavort quite regularly with people who have been on the box.  Which also means I will be standing up and doing a speech in front of those friends.  I'm getting hives thinking about it.  They tell me they are just normal people and my brain totally gets that but when I actually get to have a small moment with anyone slightly famous I turn into a 14 yr old girl standing in front of One Direction.  I get all nervous and say the dumbest shit in a stupid voice and as much as I say to myself "Play it cool Shelley" that's the exact opposite of what I end up doing. 
The conversation pretty much always goes like this:
Them: Hi, How are you?
Me: Gulp Oh my god you've been on TV????
Them: ahhh yeah
Me: No you have actually been on TV????
Them: Yip nervous laugh
Me: That's so cool, I've totally seen you!!! manic laugh
Them: Rigggght Thanks awkward silence
Me: still manic laughing, staring and bright red cause now I've got nothing else to say.
I think half the problem stems from my unrealistic expectations for myself.  Whenever I have got to meet someone awesome in the music industry, just before the meeting I think to myself...this time I'm going to be so funny and awesome that they will want to invite me backstage and hang out and be best friends forever?! Ummm yip its fair to say that due to my disturbing behavior that will never happen in my lifetime.
 I'm a 36 yr old woman who can quite happily meet and greet strangers on a daily basis, I can answer phones no problem, doesn't faze me to walk into a party and make conversation with new people so why oh why do I get my spaz on when talking to a famous person?!
Imagine if I ever got to meet someone super famous like Madonna OK chances are slim but pretty sure her security would be all over me pretty bloody quickly.

Tell me the most famous person you have ever met and were you cool or a spaz like me?