Dazed and Confused...

Dear hearts,

It seems this little blog has ruffled a few feathers.

Hmmm…what to do. What to do?

Miss Mich is quite careful about naming names. Miss Mich is not even sure who is real and who is a just a lovely fiction. Who is but a dream within a dream, a fancy to while away the monsoon hours here in the far far north. It’s all about possibilities Dear hearts. About potential. About what could be.

Miss Mich loves to entertain you, engage you and sometimes arouse you. I should think I never offend you, because as we all know…it’s all about the love.

Well mostly. Sometimes there is a dark side that needs to air its dark heart. But only to educate and elucidate. How I love alliteration.

Sadly, this brings us to the thorns in Miss Mich’s side. Miss Mich is lucky to have only three unlike you know who; who suffered five. I would like to think we both have God on our side, but as we know there are times when one is compelled to say…why have you forsaken me? Alright, I’m coming over all Catholic and melodramatic and in fact, probably offending a whole bunch of people by alluding to me and you know who in the same par.

Which brings me to the point of this rather unnecessary and somewhat rudderless tete et tete. Referencing two players in the one par. It seems the Sperm Donor is concerned that you Dear hearts are so simple that you may confuse said Donor with that of the Last Charm….

I know. But what can you do? Some people are never going to get it. It hurts me that he underestimates you. And merely confirms my opinion of him.

It is interesting though. I honestly thought that the last Charm was different to the aforementioned Sperm Donor. He was fun, liked to play and made Miss Mich feel 16 again. And then it all went down hill. As we know.

Whilst the Sperm Donor did not assault me or slash my clothes like the last Charm, he did threaten to take me to court (just today in fact) and was as threatening over text message, facebook and email. All of which my very good Solicitor has logged copies of. Just in case.

So it is interesting and has been an exceedingly pointed lesson for Miss Mich to have to learn.

Not to repeat the mistakes of the past.

I implore you Dear hearts, to be on the lookout for the wolf in sheep’s clothing.

I suspect the Sperm Donor is going to be up in arms again over the mixing of Charm and Donor in this little entry.

What can you do? Dissapointment is as Dissapointment does. I’m channelling the dear Forrest Gump obvi.

Call me Robin Wright Penn ( I love her so please do call me Robin Wright Penn), there was a time when threats, bullying and coercion would have had me shaking in my boots. Would have made me want to run, Forrest, run.

But not anymore.

To the Sperm Donor I say this. You are not the Last Charm.

OK?

Miss Mich

The First Amendment.

Dear hearts,

Censorship. According to the Concise Oxford it is the suppression of whole or parts of books, plays, films, letters, news etc on the grounds of obscenity, seditiousness etc.

Hmmm…. If that which I write about here in this little tete et tete with you Dear hearts gets you thinking and talking, then my work is done. Whether you deem the content obscene or seditious, it really is a matter of your opinion. And you are most welcome to it.

The Internet is a wonderful open forum that allows freedom of speech without censorship. You can say what you like. Fact, fiction, it’s all here and it’s all ok.

We are big boys and girls and have the freedom to pick and choose from the vast volume of material that which we need, or like, or just simply wish to view.

Or not.

So much to see, so little download time.

Take this little blog. I have 12 followers and I thank each and every one of you. To those who have not pledged their allegiance on line and yet still dip in and out from time to time, I thank you as well.

Miss Mich is a girl after everyone’s heart. There is a little Miss Mich in us all. Even the boys. She has always described herself as a gay man trapped in a woman’s body. Just ask Sha ron Morrie…

She is a chameleon and so very proud of it. She can be whatever you want her to be. Sometimes you would be surprised. Really..

What she will never be Dear hearts, is censored. She will continue to tell you the stories that come to mind to entertain you, educate you, inspire and delight you.

All with love. Obvi.

Enjoy the first amendment.

With a twinkle in her eye
Miss Mich

Addendum - post Barbie.

Dear hearts,

Miss Christine has made the point, quite rightly, that I have missed out on a few Barbies. She feels that I have been a bit Goody too-Shoes about the whole thing. She wants to see a little balance. A little Yang to counter what she perceives as too much Yin.

So here, just for you Miss Christine, is my selection of Dark Barbies. And maybe a few Dark Kens. Just for fun.

Bitch Barbie comes top of mind. Bitch Barbie is your friend to your face and your enemy as soon as you leave the room. She wears the smile painted on her mouth while the gaze from her eyes is enough to cut through steel. It goes without saying you can’t trust a word she says.

Butch Barbie. I want to see lesbian Barbies on the shelf. She can be in the box next to Equal Opportunity Barbie.

Lipstick Lesbian Barbie. See above.

My own personal favourite – Latex Barbie. Now she can be a Dominatrix or she can be passive. Or she can just be a very naughty girl. Personally, I like to think of her as all three. We all know that she will come with a whip and paddle as her accessories. Nice. Very nice.

And now to some of the Darker Kens.

First of all, these Kens are all anatomically correct. They have penises.

Latex Ken. Obvi. The perfect match for our Latex Barbie. Both dressed by Westward Bound (see the website and you will know what I mean). Looking nice, naughty and shiny.

Stalker Ken. Dear hearts I include this Ken as a warning to you all. Having had my very own Stalker Ken I think it only fair to have him as one of our Dark Kens, if only to use Lawyer Barbie and Lara Croft Barbie against him. It will make for good action play. Lawyer Barbie will crucify him in court whilst Lara Croft Barbie will crucify him in the 10 mins she is given whilst the Seargent is turning a blind eye in the Watchhouse.

Just a snapshot dear hearts, I’m sure you can all think of loads more. For Miss Mich, I’m a little distracted by the Westward Bound site and really must add to cart….

Enjoy…

With love
Mistress Mich

I want to be just like Barbie.

Dear hearts,

It’s funny how the rules of relationships make it almost impossible to succeed in any long term arrangement.

I am supported by statistics here. One in every three marriages will fail. Fact.

And yet. We are taught from very early that Ken and Barbie get married. Once. On the shelves of the local toy store, I have never seen Divorce Barbie…there’s a marketing opportunity. Or Blended Family Barbie. That one’s a challenge. Ooh what about Bitter ex-wife Barbie? Hmmm…she would be the one that comes with all the assets – Barbie’s dream home, Mercedes Benz, the kids and the dog. As you can imagine, you pay through the nose for her.

Being an Ex, without the bitterness, what would I be Dear hearts?... I’m thinking Second Chance Barbie. Allow me to explain.

I didn’t choose to change my life. It was chosen for me. Having said that I decided from the get go, and I’m talking Day Three (Jules will attest). Sitting at Jules kitchen table, shaking, with my twentieth cup of tea, that my success would be my best revenge. I would not need to resort to any of the common methods of torture, manipulation and destruction.

He could leave with the English Rose and I could stay with my dignity. That’s not to say there were not days of depression (Doona Days), days of resentment (Exercise Days) and days of Extreme Uncertainty (Panic Days). Without my girlfriends I could not have survived. Those girls remain Miss Mich’s bestest ever and I will always be grateful for their care and concern.

Back to Second Chance Barbie. Once over the hump of the aforementioned early days it was onwards and upwards. There were the charms and their lovely distractions. The last charm and the move to the far far north. When that whole thing went seriously pear shaped, then came the realisation that only I could be responsible for myself. That only I could direct and create my future.

It has taken nearly eight years to get to the point, Dear hearts, where I have finally decided what I want to be when I grow up. More importantly, Who I want to be when I grow up. Yes Capital Letter.

Who.

Yes. Stand alone par.

I want to be a role model for my children. I want to show them Strength and Consistency. Dependability and Generosity. Watch out, Capital Letters are going to fly Dear hearts.

I want to Contribute. To the Common Good. From the grass roots to the glass ceiling, I want to make some kind of difference. Personally, professionally and environmentally.

I want to share the Love.

With all.

I want to be Accountable. For the past, the present and the future. I am happy to confess my sins, reconcile my differences and go beyond the penance of three Hail Mary’s. If you have an issue with me. Bring it on.

If I can achieve all of that, I won’t be afraid any more.

None of this comes easily. And to try and be successful at all of that and an arrangement with someone significant is optimistic to say the least. But we must try. We must try to look beyond the complexities and beyond our own fears. We must value the good in each endeavour and honour the integrity of the original intent.

If Barbie can do it, then so can I.

So what does Second Chance Barbie come accessorised with I hear you ask? I’m thinking a mid-life University degree, a bunch of Capital letter worthy attributes and most impressive of all – Peace of Mind.

Enjoy the opportunity.

With love
Miss Mich

Spite the Difference

Dear hearts,

Spite.

A nasty emotion. I certainly do not wish to accord it capital letter worthy status, it is merely a function of grammer that I defer to. The fact that I give it a stand alone par is only to educate and emphasise in the hope that you, Dear hearts, never go down that bitter and twisted path.

Spite. It sounds as it is. A thing of ugliness that is spat out and flung at the target with no thought. No care. No concern for the recipient. I won’t say victim, because I wont entertain that word . It is not in my vocabulary.

Sadly that does not make us exempt from the glare of its gaze. Trust me I know.

Without going into the sordid details, or maybe I will just to make the lesson count, the last charm employed said Spite to, at the least unsettle, and at the worst terrify Miss Mich after she made the decision to leave the Big House.

I was astounded at the intensity of the spite. I was astonished that someone who, at the same time as I was leaving said relationship (now you know why I abhor the word), spoke of true and undying love, and yet at the very same time could employ such tactics as physical abuse, harassment of oneself and one’s children, slashing of one’s clothes, theft, destruction of property, fraud, summons to court, and defamatory accusations to one’s employer.

I was speechless. I was without speech.

For a moment.

Then I picked myself up. Dusted myself off. Wiped the spit out of my eye and walked on.

He taught me a lot. Nine court appearances in twelve weeks. 4 kilos lost. One upset stomach. A physical reaction that lasts to this day when I may, on the rare occasion see him. And I know he reads this blog.

But let me tell you Dear hearts, no amount of spite or coercion, or bullying or stalking or downright intimidation and assault is going to do this little black duck in.

And nor should it ever happen to you, God forbid.

I have a friend. A friend who is experiencing the same amount of vitriol, of spite. To you my friend, I say learn from my experience. It has been the hardest thing I have had to bear. The sperm donor and his infidelity was no match for you, last and smallest charm.

But I thank you. You have made me dig deep. Made me find what I am truly made of. And that is steel. Without you I may never have reached my true potential.

To my dear friend who is sadly wearing shoes similar to mine two years ago, I send my love and urge you to look within yourself and find the determination to succeed.

When the Sperm donor left to be with the English Rose, I said then as I say now, my success will be my best revenge.

It is the same for all of us Dear hearts. We don’t have to be stalked and bullied to employ these pearls of wisdom.

Use the experience of adversity to encourage you, not defeat you. I don’t want to hear you whine. Ever. I don’t want to hear excuses that it’s all too hard. I’ll tell you what’s too hard. Don’t get me started.

Don’t be a baby. If you give in to the torment, you will never get out. We are all better than that.

Don’t whinge. Get up and make a cup of tea. Twinings Orange Pekoe makes everything feel better. A good run before and a cold shower after is the ticket.

Think of me as your coach. Your coach against the negative. The spiteful and the nasty.

There is no competition. Snuff it out like a flame. Give it no credence, no value and it will only have retreat as its only sorry sorry option.

I might sound tough, but you know me well enough by now to know that I am only determined.

Determined to share the love.

Enjoy strength Dear hearts.

With love
Miss Mich

Get Your Motor Running

Imagine Dear hearts,

Imagine if you could say you are truly satisfied…that everything was in place and the planets aligned…there’s not many of us that can say that, are there?

I don’t think we are trying hard enough. No, I don’t.

The Libertine and I went for two walks yesterday. The first along the most beautiful stretch of beach here in the far far north. I can’t tell you where it is because it’s a secret. Our little secret. The second walk was later under the most perfect crescent moon. We could have been in Morocco, we could have been in India. Turns out we were in Paradise. Which makes me think of that classic 70’s chestnut and in my top ten …”I’ve been to paradise, but I’ve never been to me…” I want to wear Halston and hang out at Studio 54. I want to wear “Le Smoking” and speak French with Serge Gainsbourg. All on the beach here in paradise. All with the Libertine.

I am digressing, it’s true, but there is a point to my meanderings.

It doesn’t take much to feel good. Really good and satisfied. The Libertine satisfies me. Also makes me hungry for more, but that is a hunger that will never be satisfied. And I’m ok with that.

But I don’t understand what it is that holds most people back. Or maybe I do. Most of us make everything so bloody complicated. We have too much. Too much choice, too much opportunity to dwell on what we think we are missing out on. Too much aspiration. Too much exposure to too much of little value.

Just too much.

And then there’s not enough. Not enough money. Not enough time. Not enough Super. Not enough wine…(maybe I’m channelling Serge…)

I am going off and I don’t care. We are all too avaricious. Myself included. Case in point. Here I am with 20 handbags strewn about the Cottage, and I’m contemplating the next handbag purchase. Am I nuts?

I have a sunglass wardrobe. Did you hear what I said??... I am nuts.

Back to the classic…”I’ve been to Paradise…” Maybe it’s because we are too busy being told what we should be doing, eating, wearing, driving, reading, and thinking that we don’t have the opportunity to strip away all of the extraneous, clear our head space, lie back and day dream and let it come to us. Let the joy of a crescent moon wash over us. Let the thrill of cold water run over our feet. Feel the thrill of skin against skin when fingertips touch.

Are we too busy taking the photograph to see the view? Are we too intent on the next big thing that we miss the achievement of what is here and now. Are we simply marking time until the next Iphone is released and the next gen Ipad is available.

I am so sick of stuff. And people who covet it.

But I do have a hankering for the 70’s. I had a dragster bike in the 70’s. My little brother and I both had one. We would ride our bikes together in the street behind our house. I would leave my mother a note with a great flourish to say we have “gone riding…”out on the open road (albeit a sleepy little street) wind in our hair and the feeling of freedom. We thought we were daredevils. And we were 12 and 7 years old. We didn’t wear helmets and I had hot pants and a halter neck top. My little brother had a Batman cape and an attitude to match. We were Kings of the Road.

I am not going to let myself contemplate that 21st handbag. No I am not. In fact, I am going to donate handbags. And more than one Dear hearts. I am going to practise a little giving instead of acquiring. A little less rather than more.

What I am going to acquire is more crescent moons. More walks. More stars and more hunger for good loving. And maybe a new pair of hotpants and halter neck top….

Enjoy giving.

With love
Miss Mich

The Perfect Storm?

The Perfect Storm?

Dear hearts,

Was it the Perfect storm? I think perhaps it was. Because it missed hitting us head on. It was a little to the south, just enough to save us from the eye. The little sugar town of Tully (Pop approx 2500) took the force of that cyclonic stare and as a result every second home is no more. So as much as I breathe a sigh of relief for the Northern beaches of Cairns I say a little prayer and shed a little tear for the good folk of Tully.

It was my first cyclone and a Category 5 to boot. I would like to take you through the experience. The text messages from the State Disaster Coordination Centre started the morning of the whole affair. If that was not disconcerting enough, Anna Bligh was warning of our impending experience as “ a catastrophic weather event”

As the day progressed the hyperbole and warnings increased, but the weather remained calm. Which was confusing as our constant scanning of the BOM weather website showed an ever increasing angry swirl malevolently covering the coast of our fair state with its black and red heart. We were all getting a little bored to be honest and at 4pm began to wonder if the whole thing was going to be a no show. The text messages continued urging us to evacuate low lying areas and the urgent pleas of the Premier that the “window of opportunity to relocate was fast closing” made all feel uneasy and slightly put out that perhaps we were missing something.

Be careful what you wish for Dear hearts.

By nightfall the wind began to pick up and the intensity of the warnings were delivered at fever pitch. The Baby and I were lucky to be with seasoned Queenslanders. Salt of the earth die hards who were not too perturbed by the whole thing. It was decided we would all bunker down in the living room and just see what Yasi had to throw at us. We cooked dinner. We watched a movie. The wind increased and we continued to ignore it. The boys had their beers and the girls had their wine. Even the Spaniels lounged around.

Then the power went out.

You could hear the wind whipping those palm fronds into quite the frenzy. I took the super duper LED torch for a look outside and found those palms bent over trying to hide under a bush. The rain was chasing us from all angles and the noise was like nothing I had heard before. Intense is the only word I can think of.

We decided to stay in after that. We spent the night listening to ABC local. Weather updates on the hour and reminders on the half hour. In between the calls in from listeners all over the region describing their experiences. From Mossman to Cardwell and Atherton to Cairns City the story was similar but different. I lie on the sofa with my torch in one hand, my phone in the other. The Baby on the floor next to me. The puupies finding possies in between. The Boys snoring their beers.

I was alert and alarmed. But calm.

The camaraderie that came from the callers into ABC local made me feel like I was not alone. I was tense, tired and unsure of what was going to happen next. But so was everyone else. It was an extraordinary feeling of community Dear hearts. My hat is tipped to the ABC broadcasters. My heart is forever with those who endured and lost so much more than we.

The eye of the storm crossed at Mission Beach at 12am Wednesday February 2nd 2011. The Captain’s father lives on the hill overlooking South Mission Beach and out across to the beautiful Dunk Island. I haven’t heard if all is well and am praying that it is.

I was only afraid twice. When the wind moved up to an intensity I hadn’t felt or heard before and when there was no sound at all. But that is nothing compared to some.

Say your prayers Dear hearts, give some thought to those who have lost everything. This state is a cracker. All or nothing. We live in paradise, but there is a risk when one chooses to dance so close to perfection.

With love
Miss Mich