Being Italian

Published November 27, 2015 by helentastic67

Being italian

I should also mention, I will use the term “Wog”, from time to time and to those who are unaware.

Wog.

Now, I tried to do a Google search and after an attack of OCD and being distracted by rubbish for 20 minutes, the basic definition of Wog is ‘a foreigner’.

I learned from an early age , it actually meant “Western Oriental Gentleman”, but in Australian culture we really save it for Italians and Greeks that immigrated to Australia back in the late 1940’s and after. The immigrants also came from other European places too, however w!!hen Aussies use that term, we generally mean Italians/Greeks!

I went to a Private Catholic School where even the kids with 2 Italian parents would yell out and call me a wog! And I only have one Italian parent. I don’t consider myself a ‘wog’ per say, but I think I’ve .”

Great Italian food culture and that ‘feed an Army mentality’ and all the other good stuff from my mum. The great CWA –cooking/baking.

CWA being Country Women’s Association of which she does not belong and does not need to. Anyway, occasionally I’m going to drop the ‘Wog-bomb’ and I feel I’m allowed as I’m a little Italian as I like to say…

I speak a few words of Italian and even less Greek, but when I walk into my GP’s office, the 2 Greek ladies start speaking briskly in their native tongue and you can pick up a lot from their hand gestures and tone!

I have often discussed this with my GP who is Greek!

They’re tone says “Oh, that’s a pity, but she’s so pretty! Hopefully she has a husband!”

WTF?!

I usually get asked by the Greek ladies on my tram in guttural/broken English “you Greek?!”

I return in the same tone “no Greek, a little Italian.” I tell them from my father and they often ask from what part of Italy?

After the last 10 years or so living in an area with plenty of ‘wogs’ that can put my finger tips together and tap my forehead and reply “Calabeze!” Given up years ago saying “Calabrias” The hard movement is to symbolize “stubborn!”

The Italian from that area are known to be stubborn. Sounds about right!

Years ago, I worked across town in a Supermarket and a guy asked where the Tzatziki was? I confess I was younger and didn’t know what that was. I tried a cheeky question to ascertain what it was. FYI: If you aren’t sure, it’s a dip! It’s kept in the Supermarket in a fridge.

He looked at me rather disgustedly and asked how I would not know what this ‘thing’ was.

I asked “why?’, this wog motioned to my name badge and said ‘you’re Greek!”

Why do you say that?

“Your name is Helen!”

FUCK OFF! (Obviously not what I said, but I then explained I was not.)

So many times I’ve had to respond to the query “You Greek?” Always asked or as a statement and I always respond with “No! No, Greek!” Greek ladies always look so disappointed. I am surrounded by Greeks these days. The good ones luckily. My GP! My Chiropractor! My taxi driver, young John! So lucky!!!

I have a mobility scooter, which I like to call Hell on Wheels!

Not all Doom and Gloom

Published November 26, 2015 by helentastic67

Not all doom and gloom

I would like my blog to be something more than dark matter.

Doom and Gloom about disability, so as I had a life before I developed my diagnosis. Thirty plus years of normal life and a really good memory to draw from, so on a lighter note; here’s a little amusing story that I hope people appreciate.

THE FUNNIEST TEXT MESSAGE EVER!

In the very late 90’s I moved back to the country side with my mum and younger sister. I was there for 2 very long years. About once a week we make a trip to the country town I grew up in, about an hour away. Just outside town there is a sign on a gate to a property. The sign clearly states “Cattle!” Shut the Gate. We had many discussions that the cows must be ‘smart cows!’

Fast forward to about 4 years later and I was sitting at my desk, living in Melbourne working.

It wasn’t an extremely happy workplace as I was working for an NGO and had been there for about 3 years always applying for my job and being bullied by some colleagues who had no shame, collecting their pay, despite the fact they spent more time trying to get out of doing their jobs, than actually doing their jobs, which would have been easier.

So this particularly tense day in the office my phone pinged and I quickly glanced at my phone. The text message was from my younger sister. Four simple words that made me laugh so hare I couldn’t breathe and I had tears pouring from my eyes.

Clearly, not the best reaction in an open office, when two staff across the office want you gone and would not be at all thrilled to hear you enjoying “work”.

In front of me, about 4 metres away were my two admin. They both looked at me like I was a little peculiar.

One of the admin was a petite older woman with not a great deal of confidence. I smiled at her and beckoned her over with my finger.

I couldn’t just show her the text as it would have been completely out of context. But I couldn’t immediately tell her either as I was still laughing.

After a little while, I told her and with her British upbringing she patiently awaited the punch line.

The text plainly stated;-

“Smart Cows Got Out!”

Assistance Please

Published November 26, 2015 by helentastic67

Assistance please

Some people have really got no idea how the system I live in works and these are people that work in this system and generally (?) want to be helpful. But anyway;-

Example 1

I live in private rental, so when trying to negotiate extra assistance in other areas. I will mention, I live in private rental, to make the point that I’m already doing it tough, paying horrendous rental on a disability pension.

Instead of helping me in the area that I’ve called them for (maybe a donated computer or whatever) they suggest – have I considered applying for Public Housing?

Are all the people they deal with idiots? Applying for Public Housing was on my Top 5 list about 7 years ago and to make it clear NOT BECAUSE I WANT TO!

So, for those who don’t know, you apply for Public Housing and it’s a wait list longer than life itself. Then you get forms your doctor (generally GP) to fill in and that qualifies you for early housing because in my case I have a disability.

That is still 5 years away!

And this is still for Housing that will be smaller than what I want or need, in an area I should be paid to live in. Just so I can pay a fraction of the rent I now pay, so I will have more money to spend not to be home!

I’m a home body, so it seems to defeat the purpose agreed?

I don’t think I’m the type of person who would do well for very long in Public Housing. What remains of my Good Mental Health, would not last long around people who have bigger mental health issues than mine and I really don’t want to live in high density living with people of a drug element, when I’ve managed to not resort to drugs to fix my problems…

On a Happier Note

Published November 26, 2015 by helentastic67

On a Happier Note.

On the upside, as a Barren Spinster (thank you Kitty Flannigan for bringing back the term) and as the proud parent of a Fur Baby, in the family, I’m starting to understand the benefits of more than one cat. My cat is very fussy about her food at the moment. If I had several cats (not going to happen) surely one of those would eat the food, mine currently refuses!.

While I’m on the topic, I’m disgusted at the double standard that a single guy can have an online dating profile and think its okay to claim to have 3 cats, but he’s not interested in a single female with 1 cat – need he say more? – Screw him!!!

Torture for Sure

Published November 26, 2015 by helentastic67

Torture

Today, while I was in the shower, my carer was helping me with a chore, somewhere else in my home. She call out to me –

‘Has your boyfriend been staying over?’

To which I replied ‘WHAT! What boyfriend?’

‘Well, you have all these pajama tops and no pants!’

I told her I had folded the pajama pants already and put them away. Hence why she thought I’d been getting some “action” where the pajama pants were optional.

I informed her – ‘I prefer a little above the waist ‘action’ before any below the waist ‘action’!’

She called out that she was in agreement.

It would probably surprise people that most my friends these days are 10+ years older than me. We have little in common but they’ve seen me naked. They are my carers. I see them more often than I see my actual friends. But this is an example of my sass and why I think my carers like to work with me. Nothing at all to do with seeing me naked.

“Torture for sure!”

DEPRESSION! THE FUCKING POINT!!

Published November 26, 2015 by helentastic67

Depression I may have written this before, but there are a set of questions that people ask to assess a client/patients/mental status. Usually when I get asked these questions by someone who is trying to help me; A doctor, a psychologist, case manager etc. And they are often embarrassed to ask. (I have been probed by many embarrassing questions) After a few questions, I rush in and answer the ‘rest’ of the questions. Let me lay them out for you. They go something like this:-

Have you ever tried to kill yourself?
Answer – No

Have you ever thought about it?
Answer – Yes

Have you ever planned way’s to kill yourself?
Answer – Yes

At some point I cut off the steady flow of questions with the rest of my answers, something like ‘Yes!’ ‘No!’, ‘No!’, ‘Yes!’, ‘Hell No!!’ ‘My mother would revive me to kill me herself!’

This usually confuses the person asking the questions. So the rest of the questions go along the lines of – ‘Will you attempt to take your life?’ ‘No!’ Are you sure (or something along those lines)?’ ‘You will not take your own life?’ This is the answer where I mention my mother.”

I am largely seen as someone with a happy disposition and to be clear, it’s a façade! I cover my sadness with humour. I do it very well. But to be clear sometimes, I think – ‘what is the fucking point?’

So you better appreciate the ‘Fucking Point!’I am a 41ish year old single woman who was born with a brain injury.

After a reasonably “normal” life with the usual ‘hopes and dreams and aspirations for a kind world, love, family, children, a career with some moral standing and happy outcomes, a home, friends, holidays to faraway lands and enough abundance to give generously to others in need.

I was diagnosed with said brain injury and treatment to which ‘cured any potential of a stroke or certain death, and left me with ironically a permanent disability, resembling a stroke!’ And some!

Painfully, people don’t understand my chronic medical conditions and doctors have no answers how someone is born with a brain injury.

So it’s completely inconceivable that what my reality today wasn’t self inflicted.

I don’t fit into any ‘boxes’ for funding and now it’s questionable even the NDIS (National Disability Insurance Scheme) will solve any of my current problems either. It’s been the only beam of light at the end of the tunnel in the last 5 years I’ve had, my permanent disability and NO FUNDING.

So should anyone ever stupidly ask the question, “Why?” She seems OK. She seems happy. She was coping.

Let me answer this now!

I was not happy! Even with a disability, I was barely hanging in there!

To all those people tendering for business and doing big money grab to work in the Disability Sector, you dropped the ball! It was all about helping yourselves. I am NOT AND NEVER HAVE BEEN A COMMODITY, in your game.

My disability and my struggle has not been for your entertainment and your resources to beg corporations for funding.

Give me a Solution NOT MORE PROBLEMS!

If you can’t – STOP HELPING

*And to the best mum in the world! We fought a good fight and there was nothing more you could have done. You don’t deserve another of your children to have perished. However the constant dealing with all the idiots just got too much.