And the critics love me!

Divorce

Years of waxing your pudenda into a heart-shaped lie and then he leaves you for a Cyborgasmatrix silicone doll called Cindy. And now you're alone. Possibly for the first time in your life. Possibly at the worst time of your life. Branded with stretch marks, greying hair, and shame. You look into the future and all you see are the birthdays, Christmases, and New Years Eves where you are the lonely object of pity and the fear is so strong that you can't even leave your one-room flat that will always smell slightly of the previous tenant's cat. 

Truth time. This divorce is the best thing that ever happened to you. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. 

I realised I had spent the whole of my marriage terrified of being left if I didn't stay thin enough, attractive enough, accommodating of his increasingly humiliating sexual habits enough. I thought being alone was the worst thing that could happen. It wasn't. I fought the fear and I won. I'm now three times the woman I ever was - quite literally - and I'm having more sex than Wayne Carey on a coke binge. On my terms. Leave the lube at home fellas. Hazel's plenty juicy already.

Divorce Fear. Live Free.

Religion

You're looking for answers to the big questions. Why am I here? Where am I going? How should I live?

I was chatting with my mate, the Dalai Lama. He's a lovely little peanut but totally mad, of course. Shuffling about screaming, 'I need pillow!' and crying, 'Do I look fat in this?' As I've always maintained, orange drapes don't do anyone any favours. But what the Dalai and I can agree on is that pessimists are right. No one gets out of here alive.

Let me tell you a story about a lady named Ruth. Ruth, like you, was looking for answers. She turned to God because she thought she'd be alright with the Big Cheese on her side. Insecure about her capacity to make connections with humans, Ruth fell in love with the idea of a higher being who would always love her, and always be there. She was using God as a crutch. I had to knock away that crutch. I had to make Ruth realise that she was alone. Hearing, helping and hissing that fear is painful - but you can't make a smoothie without squashing some bananas.

I sealed Ruth in a soundproof chamber devoid of light. The most effective way of stripping away someone's capacity to resist is to deprive them of sensory stimulation. Henry Kissinger taught me that. I needed to destablise Ruth's world. 

Ruth became paranoid.....

Anxious, depressed…

And aggressive...

But eventually she began to transcend her fear of loneliness. Sure, she may be 'certifiably' insane but who isn't? 

With my help Ruth came to realise that she didn't need God. She didn't need anyone. She finally understood when everything else is ripped away, all that's left is you. And that has to be enough. That has to be lovable. I lost contact with Ruth soon afterwards but there are reports of a Sasquatch-like creature that roams the fringes of Koolpinyah and feasts on camel meat. I like to think that's Ruth; happy and content with her friends, the dromedaries.

I tell Ruth's story to make you understand that there are no answers. There's only fear and fearlessness. How do you want to live?

Fear and Climate and Change

">

Parenting

You're scared of your children. You're scared of stuffing them up, or of not stuffing them up enough. You agonise over every decision. Should I let her wear that slutty dress? Should I let him go to the party with those boys where I'm certain he'll smoke pot and impregnate some slut? Should I force her to learn the piano so she doesn't become the type of slut to be impregnated by stoned boys?

It's natural to want to protect your children. A mother hen keeps her chicks close. But sitting on your babies increases the risk of suffocation. I almost lost my eldest daughter that way. I was going through a phase where I modelled my parenting on Canada geese. That had to stop when child protection were called in after neighbours saw me encouraging her to fly. 

The point I'm making is that it's natural to want to protect your children - but you can't. Your parents couldn't protect you. Look at how you turned out. You have to let your babies spread their wings and fly (though not literally, which I learned through an eighteen month period of incarceration for child cruelty).

You believe your children's actions, thoughts, the very essence of their being is all about you. If your kid gets into university it means you've done good. If your kid dismembers elderly pensioners it means you've done bad. Truth time. You can do your best but in the end it's up to them. If they turn out a crack addict fellating goats for money - well, you win some you lose some. That's why it's best to have a few offspring. Don't put all your eggs in one basket. Out of a brood of seven, sure you might get a couple of pure evil - a serial killer or an investment banker - but that means you're still in with a chance for an optometrist.    

Hazel wants you in Melbourne!

Hello friends

I'm pleased to announce that I'm coming back to my hometown of Melbourne!  I will be delivering a series of life-changing seminars for two weeks only. You can't afford to miss this chance. Seriously. How much longer can you suffer the sheer misery of your existence? The clock is ticking down to the moment you jump off the nearest building and have to be scooped into a vacuum-sealed bag. No one wants that. Least of all the firemen who have to hose down your membrane from the asphalt.

You need Hazel and guess what? Hazel's here. 

Book early to avoid crippling depression.

HAZEL CURTIS: FEAR DOCTOR

Written by Petra Kalive and Melissa Bubnic 

Performed by Petra Kalive 

Directed by Jason Geary 

2-14 March, 8:00pm Tues-Sun

Mark Street Hall, 1 Mark Street, North Fitzroy

Tickets $25 Full, $20 Concession, 2 March Preview $15 All Tickets  www.trybooking.com 

Weight

How many times have you failed to squeeze into your fat pants? You know, the ones you didn't throw away after that last diet just in case? How much money have you thrown away on Jenny Craig, Weight Watchers, Lite n' Easy only to pile the weight back on plus some extra chins? How many more times will you find yourself burning with shame, rooting through your children's schoolbags searching for forgotten cheese sticks and a strawberry Freddo frog? Enough.

Enough with the calorie-counting strategies, sacrificing a poached egg here for a third of a Mars bar there. Enough with all the fat jokes at your expense, pretending it's funny when your kids call your stomach 'mummy's jellies'. Enough with the lies, saying you're full when you know you'll go home and devour the cat if there's no chicken in the fridge. Enough.

Look at my arse. Look at it! Do you know what a starving Sudanese child would give for a bite of this sweet-tasting meat? Think about that the next time you find yourself on a stair master, selfishly burning flesh when others have none.

Thin is ick; fat is sick (or as my young wog fans would say, 'fully sick'). Embrace my delicious, no-hunger, high carbohydrate, snacking system and you too can have a body that impoverished African nations covet.