Almost Liberated

I have an interview at the new-age shop tomorrow. Ella has been mocking me upon discovery of this and the fact that I must try to summon my inner eye and connect with my higher self. Despite her wearing a bandana and constantly pretending someone called ‘mother earth’ is on the phone for me, I’ve still managed to reach deep, semi-conscious levels of meditation that feel much like sleep.

Indecent thoughts of the local law enforcer are possibly interfering with my summoning of the gift. Having not spotted his perfectly toned bod ALL weekend, has had the effect of propelling him to sex-god status, causing my inner eye to become extremely distracted. To combat this, I have decided to only drink herbal tea until the interview, thus cleansing my impure mind.

Speaking of impure, Eric is safe and well clear of any cliffs. He only wanted to change arrangements for Ella this weekend.

It's possible I no longer possess decent-man dating qualities. I spent the entire morning reliving the horrible date and have now made a resolve – I will never subject myself to that again. Therefore, I need to consider, either celibacy, lesbianism or nunnery.

To make things worse, Ella has informed me that she's given ALL the sordid details of my date to Paul, who she's obviously mistaken for the dating police. I must stop that child playing in the street.

As far as jobs go, a friend of mine has told me of a vacancy at a new-age thingamajiggy shop, I’ve always wondered if I have The Gift, if I have a connection with the other-side. Somehow, I sense they only want gifted ones, so I'll give them a call.

I still can't get Eric. The cliff thing would be really sad.

Despite angelic and lulling accounting-type qualities, tall Dan also exhibited a very, very dirty streak. Put bluntly, he's a groper. If he was somewhat shorter and had a set of handcuffs or a riot outfit, then I might have been able to tolerate the following:

A grown man drooling
Him speaking to my ample and perky bosoms as if they were the only ones in the room.
Making weird and spooky tongue contortions in an attempt to sexually lure me or the waitress.
Attempting to spoon HIS dessert into my mouth.
Him loudly referring to his manhood as "the nozzle" (who does that?).

As such, will now only refer to him as dirty Dan or filthy fucker.

Eric phoned and left a message, I haven't been able to reach him yet - maybe I won't need to, because he's fallen off a cliff or something (that would be sad).

Hopefully, if he fell he left his wallet behind, because the bills are mounting up and I have now taken to ignoring the telephone or getting Ella to answer in a fake Chinese accent. I definitely need to look for a job this weekend, or find a non-perverted rich man.

Fuck. Just realized I've forgotten how to date. What the hell do people do on the first date these days? Is it appropriate to "park" when you're an um, mature-dater? Not that I have any intention of parking anywhere with tall Dan.

Given this is not really a "normal" height date, I'll put spark and spontaneity to the back burner and take comfort in tall Dan being a safe and sensible date. I am eternally grateful he's not an axe murderer.

Last night, Jess's high heels gave way and snapped. This could be due to improper use of catwalk parading on the backyard pavers - thank-god I didn't break my neck. Ella said they looked silly and were too way high anyway.

No further discussions on balls with uniformed policemen, forcing me to mentally conjure exciting and more successful encounters with Paul, such as being pulled over (and maybe even cuffed) for "stealing his heart" – yes, I am romantically depraved and sick.

I must get ready for the date, tall Dan arrives at 7pm and it's already 2:30pm. Bit of a rush, but should just make it.

Ella has taken to throwing balls of all sizes and nature over the fence, possibly causing the neighbourhood eye-candy to suspect foul play and forcing him to haul his sexy-assed body over to my front door with Ella's tennis ball in hand.

"Hi, your daughter lost her ball – again" He looks with a boyish grin and hands me the ball.
It's then I realize I have a total loss of cerebral function and mumble "Oh" Oh? Fucking OH? Is that it? Is this what's become of me since Eric left?
"Um, yeah, just thought I'd let you know, it's ok for her to just go out back and get it without asking – no need to keep knocking on the door" Now he's going on like we're a pair of pests!
"Sorry, I'll make sure she doesn't disturb you again" I tried to give my best I don't give a shit look.

He looked like he had something else to say, but didn't - probably because he now thinks I'm an absolute fucking twit. So in true twit manner, I watched ga-ga as he flashed a sexiest man in a uniform smile and left.

So I went inside and wallowed in self-pity with a family size bag of Smarties, whilst I thought of quirky, intelligent things I would have said if I was quirky and intelligent.

Tomorrow's date is still on, despite my misgivings about the height of Dan the accountant. Jess is lending me the highest heels anyone ever owned and babysitting Ella.

Now all I have to do is try and remember what Dan's face looks like.

Despite my best efforts, I was an absolute party twat.

Only freakishly tall accountants over the age of forty were lining up to dance with me. Leaving me no choice but to feign a foot injury and consume large quantities of wine. My miracle bra did little to attract the only handsome non-accounting male at the party, therefore I was forced to stand close to him and make a date with a passing 45 year old accountant in an attempt to appear popular and date-worthy.

I guzzled a whole bottle of wine and then fumbled with my key in the door at 2am on Sunday morning. Cursing and banging my head also failed to open the door – scantily clad bare-chested policeman WAS able to open the door due to it being his door.

I now appear to be a drunken harlot who picks neighbours locks at night.

The sexy muscle cop has apparently reported me to Ella, as she has told me at dinner on Sunday that I shouldn’t come home so late, otherwise people will talk about me - that child knows too much.

With date looming on Wednesday I must :
Find a babysitter, as nanny-rooter Eric has prior engagements (Possibly swingers night?).
Stop repeatedly fantasizing about being cuffed and arrested in my bikini.
Find super high stilettos, so as to reach at least chin height of my date.
Practice staying awake when people use accounting terms in everyday speech.

I'm sickend to my core.

The visitor last night was his mother ..... He fed his mother an aphrodisiac cake - Oh lord help him.

On a brighter, more normal subject, the party is tonight. I've found the best Audrey Hepburn style shoes and will possibly be very breakfast at Tiffany’s.

Look out bachelors Sara is single and she's on her way – AND she's wearing a miracle bra.

Oh my God!!

I can't believe this, he's got a visitor next door.

I just saw the back of a womans head going around the corner into his house.
I am fighting the urge to march in and knock on the door and demand my cake back.

Arrgh! The last shopping day before the party.

Still not a fancy kitten heel shoe in sight, although I do have a new lust for life, passion and the longing to be in the muscular arms of a hunky woman-lovin' man. This is due to the following:

Seeing that bastard ex of mine in a brand new car, possibly gained through illegal means (ie.by pimpimg his nanny-whore).
Having to constantly witness blatent displays of raw masculine talent in a police uniform.
The hell bent desire to at least make it to second base with a delicious man (other than Eric) before I turn 31 (or at least have someone want to make it to second base with me).

Also Ella was really annoyed with me because I baked a cake for the uniformed hunk and generously sprinkled it with horny goat weed (despite it's aphrodisiac qualities this wasn't my intention). I only baked it to welcome him and make him feel accepted and wanted in the neighbourhood. Despite my good intentions, Ella said it was a really try hard thing to do(what would she know in the ways of the world, she's only 10).

Also I've set a very strict agenda for this afternoon: Shopping for shoes, relaxing facials and half a bottle of wine to prepare myself for any worthy bachelors I may meet tomorrow night.

The sexiest man alive has moved next door. I was caught gawking open-mouthed out of my lounge room window - without miracle bra. Possibly mouthed the word 'fuck' when he saw me, giving the impression of a wonderless harlot.

Ella has already spoken with him, and managed to find out that:

He's a Police Officer.
He has noticed my broken tail light.
His name is Paul.
He's single

What Ella didn’t notice was:

His hunky man muscles bulging out of his tight t-shirt.
His rampant availability due to him being divorced.

If such overt sexy behaviour does not cease immediately. I shall be forced to cancel all other plans and sit and spy on him from my lounge room window.

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I had a very near miss today with a removal truck in my driveway, possibly due to my miracle/wonder bra distracting me. Ella said she saw a man in a police uniform next door. So, my new neighbour is either a police man or a crack head that the police are on to.

With my luck, if he's a cop, he'll pull me up in my own driveway for bald tyres and a broken tail light.

Apart from the near miss, my miracle bra is doing fantastic things. The following has happened since I first wore the miracle:

Ella choked on her Weetbix when I walked into the kitchen this morning.
I got all green lights on the way to the shops.
A man at least 2 years younger than me offered his place in the supermarket queue (possibly expected a quick squeeze in return).

The only problem is I may have triggered lesbian tendencies in Ella's teacher, as she could not stop gazing at my ample bosom this morning.

Jess has confirmed there will be 7 single men and 11 single women at the party, she was unsure if the other women also had miracle bras.

I'm thinking very seriously about a job, so I'll keep my eyes open and look in the weekend classifieds.

Also, have still not found strappy sexy party shoes.

I am possibly the dumbest 35 year old on the planet. Also, possibly the only 35 year old who's never used a miracle bra. With new amazingly pert bosoms, I now look at least four years younger and expect to have to turn down men much younger than me at the party.

I even managed to find a fantastic "little black dress" (LBD) to cover my newly perky bosom. The LBD also adequately conceals my larger than necessary rear. Even Ella, my 10 year old fashion guru was impressed with my loot.

There's just a few more things I need to do :

Get vampishly sexy hairstyle.
Buy strappy, devil-may-care looking heels.
Make sure lying bastard Eric picks Ella up later on Saturday, so as to see deliciously sexy Ex wife ready to leave for party full of eligible and handsome bachelors.
Confirm with Jess how many of the Bachelors are indeed handsome

I am destined to be a fashion mistake, because there is nothing in this entire city for me to wear to the party, not one single dress, or fancy skirt....nothing.

I'll probably have to cancel party plans, as I cannot possibly show my face at a party, knowing that bachelors of all ages, are checking me out, when I am so un-with-it.

When did I become a divorced freak with a wardrobe from the 80's, and more importanty - why?

Ella is very sweet and possibly wiser than me.

'Mummy, you should be happy with who you are, not what you look like, but you're very pretty still,'
'Get over here and give me a kiss, you're a smart girl,'
'Anyway Mummy you can buy a miracle bra and a tight pair of gurdle knickers if you want some lift.'
'Oh, really? You know about these things? You're only 10.'
'Mum, stop being so silly.'

So now I need to add a miracle bra to my list, so I can be perfect for the party. I will give the dress hunt one last try, after first making a good offering to the shopping gods.

Burning ceremony was brilliant, although I might have gone a little overboard burning Eric's CD's, as he did plan on picking them up this weekend. Oh well.

Also I drank just a tad too much and might have ruined relationship with neighbour by repeatedly saying 'Fuck him,' loudly in back yard.

Jess is throwing an enormous 40th for Rick on Saturday and has insisted I attend. First of all, arrgh....I cannot believe my best friend's husband is 40, almost a collector's item now.

Also parties are fine for married happy people, with good clothes and tight little bottoms, but what about me. I have nothing to wear, no partner, and an ass so large it's sending me into clinical depression.

At present my choice of clothing for the party consists of a very short silver dress that I purchased in the eighties when I was sexy (apart from that big hair), or a red frock, possibly handed down by a distant aunt who used it for Saturday night dances.

Why don't I have a little black dress like normal women.

I'm also getting an 'auctioned meat' feeling about the whole party, as Jess is hell bent on lining me up with eligible bachelors.
'Come on Sara, these guys are gorgeous, just come and meet them,'
'Jess, I cannot believe this, you're supposed to be my best friend, not a pimp.'
'Fine, then just come and we'll pretend we never had this conversation.'

Hmmm.

So now I have exactly six days to find the perfect dress, a man and some magical slimming spell that will shake a few kilos off my butt. Otherwise, I am sure to be taunted with phrases like, 'hey nice to meet you, you're the first wall flower I've met in many years,' or 'wow you bring real meaning to the word fashion freak,' or worse still, 'is that lard on your ass or have you borrowed someone else's.'

To remedy this, I must :

Look for a slimming, youthful, dress that isn't silver or twenty years old.
Practice my best 'I am so beautiful I don't need a man' look.
Practise ways to stand so no one can see my wobbily ass.
Accept there may have been good reason Eric screwed the sluttish babysitter.

Today is a special day, it's our one year anniversary. Anniversary of the bastard leaving with the shameless hussy, who also called herself the nanny. What kind of man does that, what kind of nanny does that.

I've learned a lot in this past year. Things I've learned:

Men are bastards
Nanny's (especially busty blonde ones) can become whores at the drop of a hat
Wine is a great companion
Chocolate will make my butt larger no matter how much I regret devouring it.

I read a wonderful quote, 'make this day the first in the rest of your life,' so I shall. No more whining, no more hating that nanny-slut, now I am finding me, as well as a job, a male nanny to care for Ella, and a brand new haircut.

Jess, the best friend who knows all, suggested a burning ceremony, to rid my life of all empty memories, so tonight we shall drink wine and burn wedding photos.

It's time to move on, albeit with the knowledge that nannies with big boobs can't be trusted.

Tonight, I'm toasting my liberation. To the new me.