Not My Best

All posts in the Not My Best category

Aussie Rules

Published September 15, 2017 by helentastic67

Aussie rules

Aussie Rules

I grew up in an era where Aussie Rules was made up only of Victorian teams. Therefore, it was called VFL (Victorian Football League).


It was pretty stock standard that coming from a family of some Italian heritage, we went for Carlton, I’m not complaining, I understand Collingwood supporters that went for that team and more primary school kids growing up in Collingwood would greet new kids at school with the question “What team do you go for?”


Day 1. New kids would answer with another team other than Collingwood – they would get a hiding

Day 2. Repeat of day 1

Day 3. Repeat of day 1 & 2

New kids decided it was better to be a Collingwood supporter. I heard this story about fifteen years ago and I imagine it dated back to when I was a kid also.


I don’t really follow any sport, it was never really a huge interest of mine. Apparently, that alone makes me un-Australian.

However, in the late 90’s, I went out one particular Saturday night in Melbourne, I thought I was very obviously dressed for clubbing.

I wore a little Dottie dress, white opaque tights with black fishnets over the top (or something like that) 10-up Doc Martins and even though I wore make up, pale face (not white, but no highlights, and bright spicy lips)

Polka dot dress

I also wore my red and blue furry jacket, despite this jacket, I was likely going to a Goth club.

I understand that weekend was the semi-final for the football. There was an out of state team playing and a Melbourne Team.

I caught the train to the city and went to get off at Southern Cross station. As the train came to a stop I was waiting at the door ready to get off, the platform was packed with football fans. Must have been around 11pm.

As the train pulled up and the doors opened, the older guys facing me looked behind them and the crowd roared.


Normally, they should have parted to let people off the train before they all rushed to get on. They didn’t look prepared to move.

I reached up to my collar exposing my studded leather and spike bracelet and scratched at my leather and press stud choker.

The crowd parted and I had to move through the crowd to the escalators. It would seem my jacket was the same colour as the team that played that weekend.


Red and blue furry jacket

Admittedly, I’m not a big football supporter and at the end of the season. I care that Carlton is not on the bottom, Collingwood is not on the top and the Cup stays in our State.

I guess it doesn’t make a bit of difference to my life who wins or loses…




Published September 8, 2017 by helentastic67



You know those days where you have the best of intentions to make the world a better place for the next poor bastard whose life sucks more than it should? And well, it was never meant to be?

Had a lovely day on Monday. No appointments to work my stressed body or brain, so instead booked a friend to come do lunch.

There must have been way too many milkbars (or Corner shops) in my neighbourhood in the past as the ones that managed not to be renovated to within an inch of its life have become cool hipster Café’s. Beards, dyed grey hair, great food and coffee. Happy Days.


Add a trip to the cinema and you have a perfect Monday.

So, here’s the thing where I tried to pay it forward and make the world a less shitty place.

Before going into the cinema, I went to use the facilities. I generally use the disabled toilet, because A. I have a disability that is physical. B. I struggle in a normal public toilet cubicle. What with the wriggling around in a small space, closing and locking the door, putting my walking stick down, taking my bag off my body (it hangs from my left shoulder to rest on my right hip/buttocks). So, I digress, disabled toilet, NO TOILET PAPER! Grrrr!

No toilet paper1

Luckily, I always check before I pee, no drama. Go to the ladies, deal with getting stared at. Before and after I wriggle into a toilet cubicle. Deal with all of the above-mentioned challenges.

No toilet paper

Bit of growling, wriggling out hence probably the strange looks once I’d extricated myself from the cosy cubicle and before going into the movie session, I wandered back to the staff checking tickets to mention the lack of toilet paper in the disabled toilet…

disabled toilet


GDG – Grand Daddy Goth

Published September 1, 2017 by helentastic67



Something came to me in the shower this morning! Try not to visualize that if you can because, really it was nothing to do with where I was, but that I had a memory triggered to write about. More of a story about someone and he (it’s a ‘he’) would be a little amused that I thought of him while in the shower and I thought I’d write about some parts of my club days.

The clubs I promoted for were quite varied from Alternative, British Pop, Indi, (Independent) Goth, Industrial, Dance/Electronic/Doof! (Whatever you want to call it.)

GDG refers to a DJ who was a really sweet older man who in his earlier years was known as Grand Daddy Goth. He was around in the Goth scene before I was and to be clear, I never did Goth. I did Goth club appropriate. Which sometimes meant I wore black or not black streetwear and my Raver furry red and blue jacket. Think Elmo! I’ll have to put it on and take a photo of it.

But GDG was for some time the “oldest thing” in the Alternative club scene.

Towards the end of my era in clubs, he discovered electronic music and recovery mornings so that was very good.

I think GDG was originally his label when he made Candelabras. You see GDG was good with his hands. He actually settled on a trade of French Polish in a rather exclusive part of town. I don’t remember when he told me this story but this was his story……….

He told me he worked on a beautiful desk for a High Court Judge, who came in to thank him for a job well done. The boss told the judge he hadn’t done the work and to go down the back and thank GDG.


Now, GDG wore black jeans, black mesh tops without sleeves, old tattoos on his arms from the era before the ‘Kids’ have them now. (I’m suggesting old sailor-type tattoos but) from the days before everybody had tattoos and while GDG had little hair on top he wore a leather studded collar around his neck and had hairy arms and shoulders.

Sailor tattoo 1

That said, I now hope I’ve painted a sufficient enough picture to say he looked up and saw the judge moving down towards him.

To start the judge looked very happy to be going down to meet this genius who had made his desk a masterpiece. The way he described it when he saw what GDG looked like, his smile slipped and his step faltered. Until GDG smiled and then the judge’s original pleasant smile returned and his step hastened and he put out his hand.

Apparently, the judge was so impressed he told GDG he would be recommending him to all his friends. He was then inundated with someone’s Wine Racks and he told me he was called to an older woman’s mansion in Toorak.

She bustled about pointing out several different items in a fluster. He was obviously good with the older ladies, also because he set her at ease understanding she was expecting company for afternoon tea (or High-Tea) later that day.

High tea

She kept adding to the list of items she wanted done and that he could finish them by a particular and imminent deadline.

Apparently, she bought out a tiny little table made of pine (Oh! I thought I was the only cheapskate with pine), he assured her he would get it all done in time and not to be stressed.

What a sweetheart right?

GDG married a younger lady when he was in his 40’s Now some years ago, I understand he had a brood of kids, so I’m told. I haven’t seen or spoken to him for 20 years, but he was a significant part of club life for me…

Goth kids

To be sure, there will be more GDG club stories soon.




Published August 25, 2017 by helentastic67



Are our parents rich or something? Um, remember those days of yester-year, where social etiquette dictated at a dinner party one didn’t discuss certain topics? I recall, many politics and religion. Or as I prefer sex, drugs and rock’n’roll.

sex drugs rock n roll

But it’s all much of a muchness. There is a huge misconception from people who meet me or see my home that prompt people to ask “Are your parents Rich?”

Are your parents rich

Um, define rich? And in any way, shape or form. No, my parents were not rich.

I was raised in a single income family and when I was about thirteen my mum also returned to work for a few years before having my youngest sibling. Mum would say that income she had clothed us. I recalled being fifteen and having one pair of jeans, one shirt and I don’t recall what I wore the rest of the time.

Parents not paying

Anyway, again people visit my home and they assume someone has given me all the nice things in my home. I don’t have expensive furniture, some of my furniture is even second-hand. I just have an eye for “things” and I like to collect things. I have pine furniture (so cheap) that for my bookcases and when you enter my front door, you are greeted by my Artbook collection and my Vogue Living collection, which I’ve been building on both for 20+ years. It didn’t happen overnight, but consistency is the key.

Second hand furniture

Not only is it that they see I’m doing better than they are, however, they see that they want what I have.

Can't have it

Motion Sickness

Published August 23, 2017 by helentastic67

Motion Sickness

Motion Sickness

I never understood why, but I was always plagued by motion sickness as a kid. Family road trips always started with me in the seat behind the driver with my head turned towards the side window (on the right) and my knees turned towards the centre of the vehicle. Did not allow for much room when the family car, growing up was a Valiant Charger.


Valiant Charger


Car trips usually ended with my mum in my seat and me in the front passenger seat!

These days any family car ride it becomes automatic that I ‘bags’ the front seat. While it’s been a long time since I’ve been ill in a car. With the exception of having a migraine once while back in the country for a brief visit and a trip in mum’s ‘Racing car” to the closest staffed emergency room, that day I needed a bucket, but that was extreme circumstances.

Front seat


Over the last few years, living where I now live mum an I have had many an adventure to the Swedish warehouse to get ‘storage solutions’, to the point we not only avoid the showroom, but we even drive up the exit (a spiral design) and park next to the pick-up area to go straight into the warehouse where we make a snatch and grab before getting the hell outta there.

Swedish Warehouse

One painful day, I was feeling more than a bit ‘seedy’. Lack of sleep, too busy, too stressed, migraine, whatever it was. Mum told me as we arrived at the spiral exit to get ready.

Reaching across my body, I held on to the handle above the door on the roof. I swear my mum was a rally car driver in a previous life.

Sitting in the front

Of course, I told her to take it easy. To which she chose to mention the sick bag in the pocket in the door beside me INSIDE A SNAPLOCK BAG!

Sick bag

I suggested if I was going to be sick I would not have time to deal with a snaplock bag one handed. I cannot tell you how quickly I was made to give her that bag so she could get it out.

Even at the time and no matter how many times I share that story it gets a laugh.

Sometimes, you just have to laugh…


Swedish Warehouse

Published August 18, 2017 by helentastic67

Swedish Warehouse

Swedish Warehouse

This week I had to deliver some paperwork to Stupidlink, inconvenient as that is, as I refuse to go to my local office, I have to go by car to an office in another area. Clearly, I don’t have to go very often, but as I refuse to do this stuff on-line (wanting people to have actual jobs) I had to go in.

My friend (not sure she wishes to be named) Jane told me she would read her book (while seated in her car directly in front of the office) Handicapped parking permit finally something about a permanent disability that pays off.

Stupidlink on Monday around 2.30pm was rather spartan in this neighbourhood and has undergone renovations at front of house since last, I was there.


There is no longer a reception desk and a queue. There is now a staff who comes out with an iPad to take your CRN (Customer Reference Number) and to put you in an electronic queue. There is just one woman standing to one side at the lectern type desk, who literally does the same thing on an iPad on the desk.

As I was discussing whether it was worth waiting an hour to give my forms to someone else and book my JCA (Job Capacity Assessment) appointment or just give her the forms and be on hold later in the week.


The argument internally, was that I could be much more productive at home on hold to Stupidlink on speaker than sitting there when Jane came in from behind and cuddled up behind me.

There was a time friends would do this a lot and get away with it. But at first, I wasn’t sure who it actually was. The voice said “Just wondering how long you would be?”

The staff member looked at me strangely, Jane moved around to my right side so I could see her and she repeated her question stating she needed to go to Ikea as it was close by.


I think my eyes very much expressed how little I wanted to wait there when she would be visiting my favourite shop to visit in that vicinity.

I told her I would go with her. Because as I said to the staff member “you cannot say the word Ikea and expect me not to want to go too.”

Visitin Ikea

Of course, we left and three days later, of course they had not yet scanned in the entered documents I had delivered and they had damn well better. (I did keep copies, just in case obviously).

Off to the Swedish Warehouse we go. I no longer do the showroom, if I can help it. What’s the point? Noelle states it perfectly, she hates any shop she can’t find her way out of. We entered through the checkouts (they must hate us.) and headed into the “scratch and dirt seconds’ area” and after a little browsing we found an orchid.

Lost in Ikea

They were practically giving them away. Jane had picked it up, discovered one flower stalk was broken and had put it down and moved on. I had indicated I really wanted it. There were a few other people quietly moving around checking out the other great finds.


In controlled areas that are not busy I will walk without relying on my walking stick, leaning it to dangle by my wrist. I called after Jane and said “What’s that? I can have it if I can carry it?”

She and the other people (not that many) had a little chuckle. I confess to say I do like to rescue plants from their gardening level as it’s completely indoors with no natural light.

So that orchid now lives on my kitchen window ledge. Jane bought some doors and bookcases and I really hope she didn’t require an Alan-Key.

Ikea assembly

Communication – Part 1

Published August 11, 2017 by helentastic67


Communications – Part 1

I’ve been told/accused really of being terrible at communicating. I think verbally and written I communicate my thoughts rather succinctly.

Some years ago, I was expressing this issue with a friend (let’s call him Fred). Now Fred to be clear has several TBI’s (Traumatic Brain Injury) from a car accident, but let’s not hold that against him.


He suggested I do a course he did in communications. Fred told me he had thought he was really good at communicating, but having participated in the course, he realised even he could improve.

I told him, I had no time to do a course, no cash and no ability to get to a College or University. He told me not to worry about it. It was FREE and she would come to me! What? Sounds too good to be true. Fred gave me her number and I rang her and it wasn’t an actual “Course” but I think it was more of a study. I had to explain, who I was how I had “gotten” my ABI (Acquired Brain Injury). Keeping in mind I was born with my AVM (Arterial Venus Malformation).

Listening skills

I thought I was having a decent conversation who actually seemed excited to be working with me. That sounded weird, but seriously.

Then she asked me when I’d had my CAR ACCIDENT?

Car accident


I was not eligible for this communication course.

What’s worse than that is, this list of things.

  1. I don’t have a communication problem
  2. People have a hearing/listening problem.
  3. All of these “research” trials are based on people with TBI’s because they can dip into the TAC bucket of money.
  4. No one is doing any kinds of study on the different kinds of ABI/TBi’s and how they are different.


I think my communication is different to other types of ABI, particularly TBI (no offense to people with TBI’s). So many more things wrong with this…



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