Just two more sleeps...

And I'm on that plane!*

Wow that has come around quickly.

I will attempt to do as much holiday blogging as I can and keep you all (all, what three of you who still read my blog?!) updated.

I may even include photos. Although I don't have a theme. Last holiday my photo theme was pubs. Since I'm still not drinking (3 weeks left of antibiotics... grrrr) I might need a new one. Any suggestions?

Oh and I know I said I wasn't going to watch any of the Olympics but tonight Bestie P's hubby made me watch the kayaking. Well, not made, but he was watching it and I got sucked in by Tom Williams' classic commentary. The man makes Bruce McAvaney sound unpatriotic... he is hilarious! He deserves a gold medal for most unashamedly biased and amusing commentary.

Anyway.

See you from the Northern Hemisphere!

Oh and go Hawks. I'm taking my scarf with me just in cases.**

x











* "That Plane" being Virgin Atlantic. Right now I wouldn't fly Qantas if you paid me to fly first class... not only are their planes dodgy but everyone I know who's flown on Qantas in the last few months has had severe delays... Bestie P's recent SYD-HK flight was delayed by SIX HOURS! And she was flying with a 3 month old and a toddler. Imagine the horror...

** Love Actually. If you don't know the quote don't worry. If you do, then you'll get it.

Keep On Runnin'

Greetings from sunny downtown Coogee.

I'm still being a nomad... at the moment I'm staying with one of my partners-in-poetry-crime, at her lovely beachside flat.  We've just returned from a little sojourn to the Central Coast, where we did 8 school shows in 2 days.

I am knackered.

And we still have another 3 shows this week!  All I can say is thank god we're paid per show because at least I'll be raking in the cash for my trip.

Which is in under two weeks!!

HURRAH!

Yes, in just 12 more sleeps I will be boarding that plane (Virgin Atlantic... wouldn't touch Qantas with a sixty foot pole) to Blighty.

It hasn't quite sunk in yet that I'm so close to leaving, but I think it will once I finish up at the part-time gig this Saturday night and do my last school show next Wednesday.

Once those things are out of the way, I think I may well lose my head with the excitement of it all.  So its just as well I'm spending my last week before leaving with Bestie P... I can use all that crazed energy running around with Piper J.  I've taught her to sing an ABBA song, which is highly amusing.  Its on my facebook page, so if you are one of the chosen ones you'll be able to have a giggle at it.

Anyhow.

Just thought I'd stop by and say hi.

Oh and go Hawks.  Yay for serving up that (Mag)pie with extra gravy on the weekend.  I thoroughly enjoyed that game.  I'd like to see the same again this weekend and would very much like it if you made the finals.  Even though it would be a bit inconvenient for me to have to scour the streets of Edinburgh to find places showing the games.  I'm willing to make the effort if you are.

x

We're Not A Happy Team...

at Hawthorn.

Well done Melba... your boys definitely benefitted from your presence at the game on Friday.

They're looking good to win the premiership again this year!

My boys were rubbish. Lots of wasted opportunities. If I'd been there I would have gone and given them a (collective) sharp clip around the ear. Except for Campbell Brown. He's a good 'un.

x

Guess where I am...

Hungry Eyes.



Eric Carmen.














Yep. Still internet cafe-ing it.


Still stinks too.

What's in a...?

Dear Brangelina,

I know you like boys names that end in X, but really. Knox?

Stupid. Just stupid. Knox Pitt. Knock Spitt. No Spitt. Nosepitt.

Let's hope he's tough enough to live up to it.

You seem to have gone a bit off-the-rails with your daughter too. Vivienne is a bit fuddy duddy compared to Shiloh and Zahara, but I guess you were really going for the French thing huh?

Viv Pitt.

Oh well. I guess any name that ends in Pitt is bound to sound a bit horrible.

Nice touch with Marcheline after mom though. I'm sure she'd be proud.

Just try not to go stuffing junk food down their throats like you do with the other four. Honestly. Every time I see a photo of you with one of them they have their hands shoved into a bag of crisps or cheetos. WTF??? There are healthy portable snacks they could have you know - like fruit. And don't give me the "we don't have time" line - you could afford a personal chef for each of them.

Sincerely,
Magical_M

* * * * * * * *

Dear Matthew McConnaghey (and partner)

Levi. I know its an old Hebrew name meaning "joined in harmony", but really. It sounds like you named your son after a pair of jeans. Are you even Jewish?

Sincerely,
Magical_M

* * * * * * * *

Dear Minnie Driver,

Snaps to you for opting for a simple, old fashioned name for your soon-to-be-born baby. I always knew you were a top chick. And snaps for keeping schtum on the baby's dad and respecting his privacy.

Sincerely,
Magical_M

Just a Sample...

This is what has been playing in the internet cafe while I've been here checking my email (and slutbook):

Nothin's Gonna Stop Us Now - Starship

It Must Have Been Love - Roxette

Greatest Love of All - Whitney Houston

Cherish - Kool & The Gang




Kill me now. Please. Its almost as torturous as the pilgrims who have descended on Sydney and are walking around the streets clapping and singing god songs.

Must. Get. Out. Now.

Things That Make Me Go Hmmmmmmm...

So I've been doing a bit of housesitting over the last month or so and both places I've been at have Foxtel. A luxury I never allowed myself in my old place. With good reason.


I'd never leave the sofa.


Most of it is crap, but some of it is genius. I've been watching lots of West Wing and Location, Location, Location and Grand Designs (I have a bit of a crush on Kevin McCloud, truth be told).


But I've also come across a few absolute pieces of utterly wonderful rubbish, which I felt I must share.


The first is aired on MTV and is called Rock of Love. Its pretty much The Bachelor. Except the bachelor in question is this man. Now I must admit that back in the day I was a bit of a Poison fan. I may have gone to their concert and I may still have their albums and I'm fairly sure that if you got me bladdered enough I could belt out a pretty amusing version of "Don't Need Nothin' But A Good Time". I didn't love them as much as I loved Motley Crue or Bon Jovi, but they were slightly ahead of Guns'n'Roses and well ahead of Def Leppard.


What can I say. I was a teenage rock slut. I liked nasty musos with tatts and long hair who sang degrading songs about women. Thankfully my tastes have matured somewhat since then. Although I still have a thing for Tommy Lee which can't be cured.


Anyway. Back to the topic at hand. Rock of Love. If you have Foxtel, check it out. Its astonishingly awful. These women will do anything to get a date with a crusty old 45 year old who has the same hairstyle he had back in the 80s. Its quite sad really, but rather fascinating. Like watching a car crash. There's a French woman with enormous lips (she must have used up all the collagen at the surgeon's office that day) who looks like she might have been a man at one point in the not so distant past. Its quite scary. In the episode I saw she was going in for a kiss with the Bretster and she had her tongue out ready before their mouths were even close! Eeeeeewwwwwwwwww. Much.


Now I feel a bit sick.


The second train wreck of a show which I am addicted to is Shear Genius. Its like Project Runway for hairdressers. They are beeeeyatches! Its hilarious. There's an Aussie chick named Tabatha who even has eyes like a cat, which is appropriate because she is the cattiest of the bunch. Its funny to watch though. She's brutally honest and "say it to your face" catty which I think intimidates a few of the American contestants who will be bitchy behind another contestant's back but not be gutsy enough to confront them.


Some of the hairstyles they come up with are hideous and they give them ridiculous challenges like "cut someone's hair using only gardening shears" but its fun to watch. I would hesitate to let any of them near my head with even a comb, but it makes for interesting tv.


The last show which I have been glued to is Gene Simmons Family Jewels. Yes. That Gene Simmons. The one who gave me nightmares as a small child. The man whose band's album was the first album I ever purchased with my own money. This show is kinda like The Osbornes, but with a few minor differences.

Firstly, the head of the household is coherent and articulate. He has weird hair and probably would look quite disgusting in those spandex outfits he used to wear (and let's face it, its unlikely he'd even fit into them nowadays) but he seems quite a decent bloke.

Secondly, his wife is not actually his wife. They've been together for 20 odd years but never married. According to son Nick, Dad calls it "happily unmarried" but Mom calls it "waiting". Oh and she's also an ex-Playboy model.

Thirdly, his kids are pretty normal. And nice. And pleasant. And not prone to throwing temper tantrums if things don't go their way. Nick is a genuinely nice boy who plays a bit of guitar and willingly attends his sister's volleyball games. Sophie is a lovely, sweet girl who is quite sporty and is interested in modelling.

The situations they show are probably all set ups and sometimes seem a little contrived, but they are quite an amusing family to watch. I'm hanging out for a Paul Stanley guest appearance... its unlikely though.



Anyhoooo... enough crap from me. I'd better go and do some work.

At least all this TV viewing is preventing me from spending loads of money... the current housesit is just a 10 minute walk from the city centre and all those shops and all those sales... eeek!

x

Meme for Melba

So one of my favourite blogging ladies has complained that no one does memes anymore. Which got me thinking. And searching. And I couldn't find any memes that I wanted to do that I hadn't already done.

And then last night at work I was bored silly and without either laptop or book to keep me occupied so I grabbed pen and paper and scribbled down some ideas. I'm not exaggerating when I say scribbled, my penmanship has been a disaster since the advent of email. Must work on that sometime.

Anyway.

Meme. I was throwing around a few topics. Random ones which came into my head. Involving things like food. Or theatre. Or football. Or TV. And then I came up with fashion. Or more specifically, childhood fashion disasters.

So I thought I'd do a little "fashion through the years" meme. Or something along those lines.


Let's start.

* * * * *

When I was 1, my parents dressed me in:
Romper suits. Bad brown corduroy ones. And a beige wool dress with a peter pan collar with pink embroidered roses on it. My mum still has it. The fabric is horribly itchy... no wonder I was a grumpy baby.

When I was 5, I dressed myself in:
A red and navy tartan skirt and a red and navy fair isle jumper. And brown shoes with yellow smiley faces on the toes. They were ace.

When I was 7, my favourite outfit was:
A white t shirt with an iron-on ABBA transfer. Navy flares with an embroidered apple badge on the bottom of the left leg. Red t-bar shoes.

My favourite school photo outfit was:
When I was ten. I was wearing a sky blue sundress which had a big draped off-the-shoulder-type collar and elasticised waist. There was navy embroidery on the collar - I think it was floral. I distinctly remember the photographer asking me if I was French because when I went home and asked my dad that night if I was French he laughed and laughed.

In high school the fashion trend I started was:
Band t-shirts in PE. The son of a friend of my mum's went to Melbourne to the Bruce Springsteen Born In The USA concert. He rather thoughtfully brought me home a t-shirt which I proceeded to wear constantly. The only time I could get away with wearing it at school though was during PE, with my ugly bottle green sports skirt. T-shirts from the INXS Listen Like Thieves and Dire Straits Brothers in Arms tours were also part of my PE wardrobe.

On my first date the outfit I wore was:
Skinny leg jeans, an oversized v-neck cardie and a fluro t-shirt. Long socks bunched down over the jeans and high top Reeboks. I think we were going to the movies to see The Breakfast Club.

For my high school formal I wore:
A sleeveless black velvet mini-dress with black tights and 8 hole black Doc Martens. My hair was curled into ringlets and held back with a thick black headband. I never was a peach taffeta kinda girl.

At my 21st I wore:
An all-in-one black catsuit. Seriously. What was I thinking?? I was one of the skinniest beings known to man and looked like a black gumby.

The oldest item of clothing I still wear is:
The black knee high Bally boots I bought in London in 1996. They cost me £200 and have been re-soled and re-heeled about three times, but they are still comfortable and classy and I LOVE them.

The item of clothing I wish I still had was:
My beautiful long brown cashmere coat I bought in Marks & Spencer in 1997. I stupidly loaned it to a friend of a friend in Sydney named Monica Steczuk and she never returned it. I'm deliberately naming and shaming her in case any knows her and how to contact her and can give her grief about never returning to me. I also loaned her the beautiful brown and orange scarf and gloves I had that went with it. Grrrr. I hope she's had nothing but bad fashion karma since.

My current favourite item of clothing is:
My new fuschia pink satin ballet flats, which were purchased yesterday in Nine West. They are lovely. And my dark denim jeans. And my fuschia pashmina.

* * * * *

Right. Melba, over to you.


x

I Gave Up Dinner with Tom Cruise...

Remember that ad? The one where Naomi Watts gives up dinner with Tom Cruise for a lamb roast?

I was reminded of that ad today when I heard the name Nic & Keith had inflicted on their newborn.

Sunday Rose.

Doesn't that sound a little bit too close to Sunday Roast to you? It certainly does to me. And this source of wisdom agrees with me.

Maybe Nickers still has subliminal unresolved iss-ews with Tom.

Or maybe she's become a bit of a chav since marrying Keith and moving to Nashville. It certainly does have a bit of a chav ring to it.

Poor Sunday Roast. I hope she makes friends with the Brangelina offspring. Because if you're going to get teased in the schoolyard about your name you want to be sure someone else is worse off and Shiloh Pitt (Piloh Shitt) beats Sunday Roast hands down.

If only celebs would put a bit of thought into it. Maybe they need name stylists.

Oooh now there's an idea...

Might go and offer my services to Brangelina before the twins arrive.

I Ain't Ever Satisfied

My adoration for John Mellencamp has been documented on this blog before. Ages ago. It has. Numbers 6 and 7.

Anyway. Its been fifteen years since JCM last toured Australia.

Fifteen sodding years.

And now he's coming back.

"Hurrah!", you would expect me to say.

But...

He's performing in Sydney on the weekend that my baby cousin Mark, who lives in Melbourne, decides he's going to get married and leave me the only single person of our generation on that side of the family. (Geeky second cousin Simon who still lives with his parents at the age of 36 doesn't count.)

You'd think Mellencamp and baby cousin Mark would have had the decency to check diaries before setting their dates.

Obviously not.

So on the one weekend my teenage hero Mellencamp will be in Sydney, I will not be playing air fiddle with Lisa Germano or belting out "oh yeah, life goes on, long after the thrill of livin is gone". No. I will be in Melbourne. Nay, Geelong. Defending my singleton status to the entire maternal side of my family (which is vast... my grandfather was one of six and they all had many children, who have many children, who have many children, who are all invited to this bloody wedding). It is apparently a source of family shame that I am still single and childless. Doesn't matter that its by choice, or that I'm the one with two degrees and the interesting career, who's travelled the world and lived in other countries and is the only one who can still fit into single digit clothing sizes (there are some serious heifers on that side of the clan). No. I'm a failure in the one area that apparently counts and that's all there is to it.

But you can bet geeky second cousin Simon won't be subjected to any of the same crap... apparently it is perfectly acceptable for a 36 year old man to have never stopped living in his parents' house, have never travelled anywhere and to have never, had a date in his life. I suspect the man is still a virgin. I wouldn't like to ask though - the image is not one that bears thinking about.

Anyway.

If I didn't love my baby cousin Mark so much I would tell them all to sod off and stay in Sydney and go see Mellencamp.

Bollocks.

Sodding, bloody, wanking, bollocks.

And I've just had a random thought. What if they seat me at the table with geeky second cousin Simon? Gaaaahhhhhh!! I'll be like Kristin Scott Thomas in Four Weddings And A Funeral... seated with the geeky vicar who's never had sex. I'll have nothing to talk to him about!

I'll have to get blind drunk. That's the only solution. And perhaps I'll take over the microphone and start singing Mellencamp's entire back catalogue. I could do that you know. I've got every album the man ever recorded. Half of them on vinyl. And I still have the tour t-shirts from the last two times he's toured. They're probably now classified as vintage. If the need to look hotttt wasn't a factor, I'd probably wear one to the wedding in protest.

Thank god I'm heading to the world fashion capital in September, where I can purchase an amazing outfit to wear (even if I do have to max out my credit card to do so). If I'm going to be the only single girl in the family, I'm going to make damn sure I put the married heifers to shame.

Don't You Remember You Told Me You Loved Me Baby

Well, I am all moved and settled in a Bestie P's for a few weeks of luxury (foxtel, broadband, central heating, a 4WD and a piano... what more could a girl ask for?) so I'm loving life.


The poetry shows are going brilliantly, although I still have to pinch myself sometimes - I can't believe I get paid 4x an hour more than my old job just to go and share the joys of poetry with a bunch of school kids. It seems insane. I'm not complaining though - I can now say with all certainty that I LOVE my job. I haven't been able to say that for years and years and years... except on the odd occasions when I was performing in shows and let's face it, most of them were co-oops, which hardly count as regular, paid employment!


I signed all the paperwork last week to finally dismiss with Casa Erko once and for all. I'm so relieved that its all over... I didn't realise how much my depressed, negative flatmate was getting me down until I didn't have to deal with her anymore. I'm hoping that I won't have to ever do the flatshare thing again... when I come back from o/s I'm hoping I'll be able to afford to live on my own (even if its a teeny tiny studio, I don't care!). That's of course if I decide to stay in Sydney. I am thinking that it might be time for a change of cities. I've been here in Sydney for ten years now and my feet are itchier than a pox patient perched in a patch of poison ivy.


Try saying that three times quickly.


So I'm here at job #2 (which I can't say I love but it beats working at the Toxic Workplace of Doom) waiting for the general public to arrive. They're no better here than they were at TWOD but at least my shift is shorter and I earn a higher hourly rate (especially on Sundays!). And there's internet access and nice co-workers and more than one piece of eye candy to keep me amused. One in particular who brings joy to an otherwise very dull shift. We like him. A lot.


Tomorrow I have four shows at a school out in woop-woop (Orchard Hills - hands up if you've heard of it. No, me neither). The first show is at 8.30am, which means leaving home at around 7am to get there for 8am. 7am! Yoiks. I normally don't get up until at least 7.30am. The second show is at 9.30am and then the third show is not until 1.30pm, so we will have over 2 hours to kill in woop woop. I don't think there's even a shopping mall. And to add insult to injury the final show is at 2.30, which means it won't finish until 3.30pm, which means we'll get stuck in rush hour coming back. Ahhhhhhhh. I will certainly be earning my moula tomorrow. Oh well. I still love my job.


Then on Thursday we have just one show at my favourite school - a Catholic school in the Eastern Suburbs. The reason its my favourite school is because they have the most awesome teacher who shares a surname with the artists responsible for today's blog title. He's seriously cool. He looks like an ex-military colonel (tall, very fit, with a shaved head) and could probably kill you with one hand. But that's not why he's my favourite. He is the most funny, sarcastic, witty and cutting teacher you could ever hope to have in charge of a bunch of naughty school boys. He's totally hard core (clips kids over the ear if they misbehave) and at first we were a bit scared of him. Then in the last show we did he was the only person to answer the question "Through The Looking Glass is the sequel to which book by Lewis Carroll?"* and our respect for him soared. I can't wait to see him again.


Friday is our last show for about 3 weeks (school holidays - yay!) so I will have a bit of time to organise my holiday and work out where I'm going when. I also might have a little bit more time for blogging! I'm dying to write a post on the new series of Doctor Who which I have been watching (yay for friends who download as soon as the show is aired in the UK!)... its brilliant.


Happy Tuesday!


xox






* Alice in Wonderland. I hope you all answered that question correctly. We've had some astonishing answers from some very ignorant school kids. I do wonder sometimes what their parents read to them as kids.

Time to Move...

Well, all my stuff is pretty much packed (apart from the computer and a couple of bits and pieces) and I spent most of today cleaning the kitchen (I swear the oven is cleaner than when we moved in).

All I have to wait for now is Flatmate B to get her arse in gear and finish packing and start to clean her share. Flatmate A (the painful one) has been surprisingly efficient and thorough. Pity she hasn't been that way for the last 12 months.

Removalists arrive tomorrow, carpet cleaning on Wednesday and keys handed back on Thursday. I can't wait for Friday when it will all be over.

So from tomorrow I am living at Bestie P's house, housesitting while they're in the USA. Then I head to the Irish's Slurry Hills pad for a month, then I have a brief period of homelessness (I'm hoping someone might decide to head off on a holiday from 27 July until 16 August and ask me to housesit - otherwise I'll be wearing out my welcome at Bestie P's). And on 17 August I fly to London!!

Huzzah.

Until I get organised and settled at Bestie P's, I may be a little quiet on the blog front. But I guess y'all are used to that now. I won't make you wait too long though.

Back soon, I promise.

xo

Woman of the Week

Lily Allen, you are one top chick.

Love the image of Bambi with the slashed jugular. Goes nicely with the pink hair.

Firstly, you do what the average person would do when celebrating something major (in your case winning a Glamour award). C'mon people. Admit it. We've all been completely bladdered at some point in our lives. Bladdered to the point of "oh dear, now my legs won't actually carry me home". Don't lie. Yes you have.


However, In Lily's case, she had a few burly bodyguards to help her out. Most of us would have relied on the "not quite as trollied friend" to help us out.

Is it just me, or does that bodyguard look like the lovechild of Jason Donovan and Phil Mitchell from EastEnders?

But what I really love about you Lily, is that you do what most celebs wouldn't do the next day and freely admit your error instead of having your publicist try to blame it on some mystery illness.

Glass of chardy in one hand, Glamour award in the other. Stylish. Until it all goes pear-shaped.

You put it out there, on your My Space page and say " Yes, I did it. Of course I did it. But, no, I'm not proud of it and I think I ended up looking like a knob so don't try this at home kids."


And then you go for a fry up.


Top banana Lily.


TOP BLOODY BANANA.

Stay away from the shadows...

This man is genius.

"Hello, I'm Steve. I may look just like a normal bloke, but I'm actually a genius"

GENIUS.

Not only was he the creator of that brilliant show Press Gang, but he was also responsible for Coupling (very funny series) and Jekyll (I had serious nightmares about James Nesbitt after watching that series).

He is also the writer of the episode of Doctor Who which I have just finished watching. Silence in the Library.

Most. Brilliant. Episode. Ever.

I spent the last five minutes on the edge of my seat with my mouth hanging open in shock, fear and awe.

Mr Moffat, you are a truly worthy successor of the great Russell T. Davies.

Six Weeks Sober

To coincide with my departure from TWOD (Toxic Workplace of Doom), I decided to conduct a little social experiment involving my alcohol dependency.

Not that I was really dependent as such. It was more of a habit. Have a drink or two at the bar at work before heading home, stop by the bottle shop on the way home and buy a bottle, etc etc.

I wasn't what you'd term an alcoholic, but I certainly drank more than the recommended weekly intake.

And I realised that ever since I began drinking regularly at the age of 18, I'd never gone for any considerable length of time without drinking at all.

Hence, I thought I'd give it a go.

I also wanted to see if I enjoyed the company of some of my friends when I was sober and they were not. I suspected some of them may well drive me to distraction with their level of obnoxious-ness.

My first night of experimentation was at the combined birthday bash of two lovely mates of mine who have both appeared in this show and are currently appearing in this show.

Their birthday parties are always huge and go long into the night and involve lots of things probably best not mentioned here.

Perfect place to commence the experiment. If I could remain sober and sane here then I was going to go well.

And I did. Stay sober and sane. Until about 3am, when I decided it was time for me to go home, or else one of my friends (who is what could be called a "two pot screamer") was about to be on the receiving end of a slap due to her obnoxious-ness.

Needless to say, I haven't been hanging out with her much in the past few weeks.

And there are one or two other friends whom I haven't been hanging out with much either, which leads me to believe that a relationship based on shared alcohol consumption is not a healthy relationship.

But I'm learning that you can just as much fun without getting smashed and, in fact, there are several bonuses to remaining sober. Such as:

1. Not spending ridiculous amounts of money every weekend. I'm saving a huge amount. Which I will no doubt blow on alcohol when I go to Europe in August, but that's ok.

2. Feeling healthier. So far I've lost 3kgs without reducing any of my food intake. This is very good, as my favourite jeans were just that little bit too snug for comfort.

3. Improved skin tone. Its still not completely back to its smooth self after last year's bout of rosacea, but its getting there.

And there are probably others, which I can't think of now.

But its been an interesting six weeks. Let's see how much longer I can keep it up.

x

F(lippin') H(opeful) (aren't you) M(ate)?

So according to this article in today's SMH, one in three Aussie men want to marry a virgin.

Hilarious.

Good old FHM. Telling us what we really need to know.

Bit late now for most of me and my friends who are still single. Does that mean our chances of marrying one of these (clearly) eligible young men are dashed forever because (shock, horror!) we've engaged in pre-marital sex?

Gosh. Get me to a nunnery.

Funny how you never see these articles in women's magazines. I wonder how many Aussie women would prefer to marry a man who's a virgin?

I'd like to see that statistic.

On one hand, it might be nice to get a bloke who doesn't know what he's doing and train him up, so to speak.

On the other hand, isn't it better to have someone who's gone through all that fumbling, awkward, no-idea-what-he's-doing stage and is confident in their level of ability?

I really don't know what this reveals about the male population of this nation, other than that one third of FHM readers really are best avoided by the female population.

Anyway. As you were.

Rebecca

Well hello!

Long time no blog. Sorry about that. Have gone through just a few life changes. Actually, I'm still going through some of them. But I appear to have almost completed my resolutions for 2008 which is quite impressive. I don't think its ever been done before. By me, I mean.

To elucidate:

First
I've changed jobs. No longer am I working at the Toxic Workplace of Doom (TWOD). Hurrah! My resignation was just the first of quite a few... the place has changed so much from the place I loved to go to each day - I think all of us who've now left felt that. Shame. But it was time.

Anyway, now I am travelling around Sydney performing poetry for angst-ridden teenagers. It's awesome. Except when we had to perform for the Year 8 boys at a certain college in Prestons. That school sucked. Even the teachers couldn't control the brats. But the majority of the kids are brilliant. And funny. And I'm performing. Which is what I'm trained to do and love to do.

It has also renewed my long-forgotten love of poetry and introduced me to some wonderful new (to me) poets.

And it pays decently.

And my working day finishes by 3pm at the very latest.

Awesome.

Second
I have a part-time gig (nights and weekends) which is so easy and so far removed from TWOD that its almost laughable. Handing out tickets and little goodie bags to people. For less hours and more money than I was earning at TWOD.

Insane. Brilliant, but insane.

Third
I'm moving out of Casa Erko next week. Well, on 11th June. Flatmate A has driven me too crazy for too long and Flatmate B is heading off to PNG, Europe and Ghana so won't be around for a few months. Oh and the landlord is selling. And being a tosser. So we've given notice.

All my stuff is being stored in the massive shed at the back of Bestie P's house (apart from the bits of furniture she wants to use) and I will be spending June housesitting for her whilst they're in the USA visiting her family. Then in July I will be housesitting for a friend who is heading over to Ireland to see her family.

And in August...

Four
I'M GOING BACK TO THE UK! Hurrah. Just for 6 weeks. Unless I can find some miracle way to get myself a visa and stay there.

First up is Edinburgh, the Festival and Fringe. Staying with ex-flatmate Kate who lives there. And hanging with Locket who is making the trek up to the 'burgh from London.

And of course I will be spending a rather large amount of time in my old hood - Lahhhn-din. I've missed that place. I hope its as fun as I remember.

I'm also going to Antwerp, to see Bestie Ems and her bump (hurrah!); to Paris, to see mon amie Sophie; to Dublin, to see crazy Tink; and to Sweden, to see the beautiful Bengtssons. And for some strange reason I'm really wanting to go to Guernsey. No idea why, its just one of those places I've always fancied going.

And of course, I will be seeing the wonderful David Tennant playing Hamlet at the RSC in Stratford. So excited about that. And Patrick Stewart will be playing Claudius! Bonus.

Five
My boys are on a 9 game winning streak. We're top of the ladder. We may come crashing down in a heap soon, but I don't care. They've been brilliant this season. Predator, Buddy, the Cap'n - all of them BRILLIANT. I can forsee a trip to the Grand Final. Purely because I won't be in the country to witness it. Typical. But don't let that stop you lads... a win is more important than me being there to witness it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Right. Time to go and watch another episode of Doctor Who which one of my fellow poetry performers has been faithfully downloading for me as soon as they're released in the UK. Love that lovely Doctor.

I'm going to leave you with a poem which is my current favourite. It's by Hilaire Belloc and it quite childish but I love it. Probably because I was quite the door-slammer in my childhood. My mother still points out the cracks in the walls every time I visit.

More blogging soon. Promise.

xox

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Rebecca (Who Slammed Doors For Fun And Perished Miserably)

A trick that everyone abhors
In little girls is slamming doors.
A wealthy banker's little daughter
Who lived in Palace Green, Bayswater
(By name Rebecca Offendort),
Was given to this furious sport.

She would deliberately go
And slam the door like billy-o!
To make her uncle Jacob start.
She was not really bad at heart,
But only rather rude and wild;
She was an aggravating child...

It happened that a marble bust
Of Abraham was standing just
Above the door this little lamb
Had carefully prepared to slam,
And down it came! It knocked her flat!
It laid her out! She looked like that.

Her funeral sermon (which was long
And followed by a sacred song)
Mentioned her virtues, it is true,
But dwelt upon her vices too,
And showed the dreadful end of one
Who goes and slams the door for fun.

The children who were brought to hear
The awful tale from far and near
Were much impressed, and inly swore
They never more would slam the door,
-- As often they had done before.

So I Think I Can...

Judge, that is.

I love how those Australians who are addicted to So You Think You Can Dance have suddenly become overnight dance experts. Including me.

Tonight I was very seriously explaining to my flatmate in great detail just what it was about Jemma & Anthony's cha-cha which made it so blah when it suddenly struck me that I really have no idea about the cha-cha and I was talking utter bollocks.

Too funny.

I have to say though, I am enjoying the Australian version of this series much more than I expected. I adored the American series and thought there was no way the Aussies could match it, but so far I've mostly been proven wrong.

Some of those boys are just amazing... especially Jack, Rhys and Graeme. Anthony is good too but he's a bit too Hugh Jackman-ish for my liking. Henry I like sometimes. I liked seeing him work with Rhiannon tonight - they made a good match and brought out qualities in each other we hadn't yet seen.

There I go talking utter bollocks again.

I'm not a huge fan of the girls apart from Kate. She rocks. Rhiannon is growing on me... tonight I saw some improvement. Demi I really admire, but I'm in two minds. Jemma was great with Rhys but now she's treading on shaky ground. And Vanessa is a lovely dancer but that VOICE! Oh my goodness. How annoying. She needs a vocal coach, pronto.

As does Natalie Bassingthwaite. Talk about One Tone Tami. Every word sounds the same - nasal, monotone and annoying.

While I'm on my soap box, a word on the choreographers. Early on in the series I thought the choreography was pants. Absolute rubbish. The standard of "corrie" (I'm so down with the lingo...!) has improved vastly in the last couple of weeks though so I think the producers must have realised they needed to step that side up.

Having Kelley Abbey choreograph that gorgeous piece for Henry and Rhiannon tonight was fantastic... she is the closest thing to Mia Michaels we have in this country. And yes, I know Kelley has a jazz background and Mia has a contemporary background, but they both choreograph beautiful, evocative stories rather than just tricky dances, which is where they are so similar. I adore Mia Michaels work - she's amazing. How cool would it be if they got her over here to work with them?

Oh and one last thing. I really want to see more variety. Every week its Jazz, Hip Hop, Contemporary and maybe one of the ballroom genres. I want to see the Lindy Hop or African or Rockabilly or the Samba or even (and I'm channeling my inner Dirty Dancing geek here), the Merengue! I admit that throwing Capoeira in there was a nice diversion, but choreographing it to Brit-Brit was just weird.

Anyway.

That's my opinion of So You Think You Can Dance.

Now that I've successfully wasted twenty minutes of my precious line learning time, I must away back to the poetry of Wilfred Owen. "Gas! Gas! Quick boys!"

First day of rehearsal tomorrow morning for my new gig. FOUR different scripts to learn in 3 weeks. Yoiks. And tomorrow night is the dress rehearsal for the Mamet play I'm doing. Its going to be a hell of a busy week.

And my boys are still on a winning streak. Does two from two count as a winning streak? Who cares. We're top of the ladder and that hasn't happened in over a decade. Hurrah.

xo

Its Official...

Well, it is official. This has been the DREAM WEEK.


(See final paragraph of the post below)


My boys went above and beyond. ABOVE AND BEYOND people! A winning margin of 104 points far exceeds my expectations and gives me great hope for the season ahead. And good news with Croad's wrist being only dislocated... not broken as we first thought. That's a big relief.

6 goals... Buddy Brilliant.

We are TOP of the ladder, with a whopping 308%. 308%!!! The Bombers (huzzah for the team of the Mater, Bee & Benny G) are next with 182.09%.

I'll say it again. DREAM. WEEK.

If only I could find someone who has a copy of the game. Free-to-air TV in Sydney is rubbish when it comes to showing AFL.

Its almost enough to make me fork out for Foxtel. Almost.

No he's not mine...

I'll admit I have put on a few kgs in the last year, but not because I've started sprogging. I leave THAT to my friends. There's plenty of them out there procreating... I'll leave it up to them for the time being. (BTW congrats Bevis!)

This cutie pie is my new (and first!) god-son. I have several god-daughters (including his big sister) but little man Tate (or Potater or the Tater Tot as he is already being called by we evil adults) is my first god-son.

I'm rather proud of him. He on the other hand, seemed none too enamoured by our first meeting two weeks ago:


How funny is that look on his face? I'm sure he's thinking all kinds of crazy thoughts. Like "who is this woman and why is she grinning like a maniac?"

So. Anyway. Tater-Tot. His arrival two Sundays ago was the start of a busy couple of weeks for me. Lots of things happening. Like...

I QUIT MY JOB!

Yoiks. Yep. Quit the company I've worked at since my first year at drama school about 6 years ago. As regular readers may remember (non-regulars, scroll down a few posts - I can't be arsed linking it), I had applied for a couple of different jobs at the place, but they turned me down. That turned out to be the big kick in the butt I needed to get me looking elsewhere.

And you know sometimes when you start looking elsewhere, how things just fall into place? Within ten days of missing out on the two jobs at my current company I was offered two jobs in other companies, both of which are infinitely better (as well as being better paid - woohoo!).

So I finish at my current employer on 18 April. Before then, I'll be starting on the other two jobs (both are part-time - one during the day and one at nights/weekends). And best of all the day job is paid acting work. Doing workshops in schools. Cool.

So that's one of my resolutions for the year well underway to being ticked off the list! Now I have to concentrate on the other important one which is finding a new place to live. Not the easiest, given the state of Sydney's rental market, but I reckon it'll happen sooner than I expect.

And its not quite April. Which means my first quarter of the year is ticking along in time to The Plan quite nicely.

Huzzah.

If my boys win on Sunday then this week will officially be classed as a dream week.

x

Write or wrong

Today's horoscope:

Are you an intellectual or a poet, Magical_M, a novelist or a playwright? The celestial energy is leaving you alone with your anxieties and questions. You are sure of only one thing: words are the friends you have decided to spend the rest of your life with. This is a kind of dream and a challenge that corresponds well to your sign as a Gemini. Get to work. You will find your vocation as well as your passion in your writing...

No time for writing today... we're supposed to be off-book at tomorrow morning's rehearsal and I'm not entirely sure I've mastered the final part of my last scene.

Tomorrow I will write.

Promise.

x

Game Plan

Its time to re-think the game plan.

A while ago (5 weeks in fact), I applied for a new position at the company I currently work for. In actual fact, I applied for two jobs (each being part-time, my logic being I could do both in tandem).

One of the jobs I have yet to formally hear that my application was even received, let alone considered, but the Artistic Director did tell me during an unrelated conversation last week that I wasn't successful (although he was quite surprised that no one had informed me earlier, given they'd made their decision weeks before). I wasn't totally surprised, as I wasn't really qualified for it, but I wanted to put my hand up anyway.

The other job, I was granted an interview for. I should add at this point, that I have essentially been doing aspects of this job as part of my current position for the last two years. Its a reasonably junior position I guess, but one which I saw as having the potential to grow and develop, and certainly one that would be far more interesting than the job I'm doing now.

My interview for this job was TWO weeks ago. Yes. Two weeks ago. Its taken them that long to decide that they're going to give the job to someone outside the company, who has no company knowledge and no demonstrated passion or loyalty for what the company does.

Their justification to me was that because I was doing such a fabulous job working on the aspects of the role in my current position, they wanted to keep me there.

Doing a job that is clearly below my skill and experience level, and which I've made abundantly clear I no longer want to do because I am BORED SILLY.

And then the GM (who rang me on a Saturday to tell me this!!) had the gall to sound surprised when I said that their warped rationale was going to mean a loss for the company, because I would now be looking for alternative employment.

"But we'd hate to lose you from the company" said she.

"Well you haven't given me any option" said I, "I have made it clear on several occasions that I feel I am under-utilised and clearly working below my skill level. The only reason I've stayed at the company is because I am passionate about and proud of what the company creates and I was waiting for an opportunity to be able to step into a different role. If you can't offer me that, then I won't be staying."

Honestly. I never thought they'd be so short-sighted and narrow minded. Keeping someone in a job (who is clearly capable of more) because it suits them? Did they honestly not think that by not giving me the job and saying "we're not giving it to you, even though you're qualified, because we want you to stay where you are - it suits us better" is going to induce me to stay??

Think again bucco.

Its time to re-think the game plan.

I currently have 6 weeks of annual leave owing to me. If I hold out until August, which is when I'm planning to go on hols to the UK, I'll have about 7 weeks, maybe a little more. If I then quit, they have to pay that out to me, which will mean I have quite a bit of spending money.

In the meantime, I've been offered some other work, which I wasn't going to consider, but now I think I will.

It just really shits me that I've worked in this company for five years now and they obviously think so little of me that they believe I will stay doing the same job forever with no desire for promotion, purely out of loyalty to the company.

Grrrr.

Oh and I went and saw a terrible piece of theatre today which was so bad I felt like sticking (hat)pins in my eyes. That's 2 1/2 hours of my life I won't get back.

Thanks for letting me vent.

x

A moment in time

This weekend, I have to attend a 1 year old's birthday party.

I always feel like Bridget Bloody Jones at these things... horrific. Its not that I don't like kids. I love kids. I find most kids more intelligent and fun than most adults.

But I hate the "oh, you poor thing, you're still single, when are you going to get married and have kids of your own" questions.

As if you need to get married to have kids anyway! Bah. And most of my friends are NOT the poster children for marriage being a good thing, I have to say, so why try and push me into entering the miserable state in which you chose to enter?!

But I digress.

This post isn't about my Singleton status, its about soliciting assistance in what I am required to take to said 1 year old's party.

The parents of Miss Ruby Violet (yes, that's the tyke's name - Red Purple), have requested that instead of bringing a present as such, we each contribute something from past year to be included in a time capsule they're putting together for her to open at her 21st birthday.

Quite a good idea really, but I'm a little stumped for ideas.

My initial idea was a truckload of trashy mags (NW, Who, Famous), the "Sorry Day" liftout from the SMH and a DVD of last year's Oscar winning film, The Departed.

Thoughts and suggestions on anything more interesting would be gratefully received... I need more inspiration please!

Her mother did suggest a piece of clothing or jewellery which is currently in fashion (and therefore by the time she's 21 will be "vintage", but I don't want to offend the kid by buying something that ends up being way too small (if she turns out to be a boomba) or way too big (if she doesn't).

x

Hamster

Long time readers will no doubt remember this mildly controversial posting from back in the day. Whilst I stand by those choices to this day, there is another fella who has, of late, been attracting my attention and I'm a little conflicted as to whether he belongs on this list, or perhaps the "opposing" Guilt Free Three list.

This is the man in question:






What do you think?

I have to say, for quite some time now, the lovely Mr Hammond has been making my Monday nights something to look forward to. I even set the video when I know I'll be home watching, purely because I know I will want to watch it again and again. Last week's "turn an ordinary sedan into a stretch limo" challenge was hilarious, as was the "can you buy a car for less than hiring one in the US" special. And don't even start me on the tractor special... watching the Hamster driving the world's biggest tractor through a tiny village, I was laughing so hard I fell off the sofa.

I've even joined a Facebook group called (wait for it) "I'd Do Richard Hammond".

Because I would.

Really.

Anyway. I'm in a quandry. Not about why I adore him, but as to which of the lists he really belongs on.

Thoughts?

'Tis the Season

Ahhhhh, its that time of year again. Time for my beloved boys to return to doing what they do best (well, most of the time).

I thought for sure, that the game today would be televised in Sydney, since we are playing the Swans.

Right?




RIGHT?




No. Non. Niente. Nein. Noooooo siree bob.

No. Channel Ten, in its infinite programming wisdom decided that instead of watching the world's greatest game, those staying in on a Sunday afternoon might like to watch this piece of bollocks.




For fuck's sake.

If it wasn't for So You Think You Can Dance, I'd boycott Channel Ten.

Tossers.

The Rules (According to Burt)

Whilst listening to a bit of the Bacharachster the other day, it struck me that you really could use all his song lyrics as a guide for life. Seriously. Consider the following pearls of wisdom old Burt has offered up over the years:

1. If you get caught between the moon and New York City, the best that you can do is fall in love.

I'm not exactly sure how one would get caught between the moon and New York City, but its good to remember that if one ever did, the best thing one could do would be to fall in love.


2. You'll never get to heaven if you break my heart.

Nor should you, swine. You break my heart you are heading straight to hell in a handbasket.


3. LA is a great big freeway. Put a hundred down and buy a car.

Because you sure as hell wouldn't want to walk everywhere like you do in NYC. It'd take you all day to get from A to B and there's not much that's of any interest in between.


4. All the stars that never were, are parking cars and pumping gas.

Let that be a lesson to all you celebrity wannabes who don't have much talent. Have a better fall back option. Or be ready to head back to San Jose.


5. You see this guy? This guy's in love with you.

Not with me. You. Apparently you're the one he wants. And Burt came up with that waaaay before those Sex and the City writers came up with "he's just not that into you". Who da man?


6. If you see me walking down the street and I start to cry each time we meet... walk on by.

Because its embarrassing, quite frankly. For everyone.


7. Once in your life you'll find her. Someone who turns your heart around.

I'm not quite sure which way it will be turned, but it will be turned. Just once though. She's a busy gal - got lots of hearts to turn.


8. What the world needs now is love, sweet love.

As opposed to bitter love or sour love or some other nasty tasting love.


9. Dearest darling, I had to write to say that I won't be home anymore.

I couldn't call. You might have answered the phone and that would have made for an awkward conversation. Best not to let you get a word in.


10. I just don't know what to do with myself.

Sometimes there just aren't enough rocks.*


11. The moment I wake up, before I put on my make up, I say a little prayer for you.

God doesn't listen when I've got my slap on. He likes the natural look.


12. Breaking up is so very hard to do. If you really love him and there's nothing I can do, don't try to spare my feelings, just tell me that we're through. And make it easy on yourself.

However if there is something I can do, please let me know. I can't promise I'll do it though. You did just cheat on me you know.


13. If you should find you miss the sweet and tender love we used to share, just come back to the places where we used to go and I'll be there.

Unless one of those places is Camden Market, in which case just give me a call and we'll do coffee somewhere else.











* I know we're mixing things up here, but I'm sure Burt and Forrest won't mind.

Doin' It For the Kids

1. Leave his family alone. We know how he died, so can we now stop with all the awful rumours and leave his poor family in peace so they can get on with raising his gorgeous daughter to know she had a dad who adored her and didn't mean to leave her.




2. Leave her alone. She's nuts. We know that. She sure isn't going to win any Mother of the Year awards any time soon, but heck, look at who raised her and you get an idea of why. You chasing after her waving cameras in her face isn't helping her any. Give her time and space to get better so her kids can have a mom who's sane and might actually be around to see them grow up.





3. Leave her to grow up out of the spotlight. Stop flaunting her like she's some kind of fashion accessory or puppet. She'll end up like her mother. Or Brit Brit. Is that really the life she deserves?



That is all.


x

Spicy

Furious. I am FURIOUS.


If I'd known this was going to happen I would have gone to the UK last month to see them.


Really. I would have. And if I'd won lotto I would have taken MG and Princess with me.


Now I just have to live vicariously through my friend Loz, who did see them in London a few weeks back.


He missed out on seeing Take That though, so reckons we're now even.

This Is MY Dance Space...

I heard a funny story the other day about a woman who went to see the fabulous Black Watch at Carriageworks. She went to find her seat, but couldn't work out where she was supposed to be. So she asked an usher, who pointed her in the right direction. So she tried again. Still couldn't find it. Went back to the usher (who by this time was probably a little annoyed), who escorted her to her seat. Or, rather, where her seat should have been.


Turns out there were two extremely large ladies sitting on either side of her seat. So large that each of them actually took up more than their own $70 worth of space and were sitting on $35 (each) worth of her space.


Goodness knows how the usher handled it. I hope the woman refused to sit squished between two enormous people. Black Watch was almost 2 hours long with no interval and those chairs were un-frickin-comfortable - I couldn't imagine anything worse than sitting there with strangers sandwiching you between them.


But then I got to thinking. This has been happening to me a bit lately. What's going on?


On opening night of Ngapartji Ngapartji I was seated next to a woman who took up half my seat as well as her own. Luckily I had our very slim publicist on the other side of me, so could scoot over a little. But it was quite uncomfortable and impacted on my enjoyment of the play.


And tonight I went to the Open Air Cinema to see Cactus (excellent new Aussie film) and was sat next to a very large man who insisted on spreading his knees wide and crossing his fat arms across his chest (and part of my chest too).


What annoyed me most (both times) was that the oversized people in question were getting pissed off with me for asserting my space and refusing to shrink into a corner of the seat to enable their comfort. Honestly. It was like being back at school and having the big fat bully pick on the little skinny kid. Except this little skinny kid was standing up for herself.

As someone who works in a theatre, I know you can't very well ask people when they purchase a ticket if they might take up more than their allocated seat, so do they really need two? And let's face it, who is going to admit that they're so fat they need a double wide seat? As a nation, apparently we are getting larger but refusing to admit it. At least that's what the SMH says today.


I know some larger people can't help being big, but I think a great number of them can. They eat too much. They eat crappy fast foods. They don't exercise enough. They chug back beer like there's no tomorrow. Why should I be penalised for your excesses? I paid the same price for my ticket, I deserve to sit in the whole of my seat and not have to share it with your fat ass.


I'm thinking of demanding compensation next time this happens.


What do you think would happen if I said "excuse me, you're taking up at least $20 worth of my seat... would you like to pay for that in cash?"

SATC

Flattie G (the good one) and I have spent many nights over the last few months re-aquainting ourselves with those lovely Manolo/Cavalli/Prada clad ladies of the Big Apple.

Having today watched six episodes of Season 4 back to back (including the one where Carrie breaks up with Aidan, at which I remember shedding a few tears back in the day... I just didn't understand why she wouldn't stay with a man who was so devoted and adorable), I have observed an annoying script device which I don't remember really paying attention to back in the day when I would watch it once a week, late night on Channel 9.

I refer to the predictable mid-episode voice-over of:

"Later that day/night"

...as a (usually) scantilly-clad SJP curls up in her fabulous $750 per month rent-controlled apartment on the Upper East Side (do those apartments even EXIST??), (usually) puffs away on a Marlboro Light and taps on her Macbook...

"As I [insert theme of episode], I couldn't help but wonder [insert witty observation about said theme]"

After the word "wonder", cut to said witty observation being typed out on the screen. Always with perfect spelling... I have yet to see her make a typo. No one is that good a typist.

Scene then cuts to somewhere else and voice-over is (usually):

"Meanwhile, uptown/downtown/on the West side... Samantha / Charlotte / Miranda was..."


I couldn't help but wonder tonight (as I sit here, scantilly clad, tapping away on my ancient PC)...

Why, if this show is so predictable and formulaic, do we love it? I use the royal "we"... I'm sure there are plenty of people out there who dislike the show immensely, but you can't deny, it was a huge hit for women the world over. Especially ones like me, who found solace in the fact that we weren't the only ladies who found themselves single with a shoe-fetish, an addiction to cocktails and inappropriate men and even more importantly, were reassured that there was NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT.

Maybe that's why. Maybe its nice to for the media to affirm that its ok to be single when you are surrounded by smug married types who shoot looks of pity on a regular basis and flaunt blatant PDAs in your face. No. There is nothing wrong with being single and having a life filled with shoes and not children. We don't all have to live on Walton's Mountain or at the Huxtables you know.

Its nice to be visiting the girls again.

But another thing I can't help but wonder is will these new shows (Cashmere Mafia and Lipstick Jungle) live up to the standard already set by Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte? They do have the Star man (Darren) behind them, but has he already had his one Big show?

I await February (and the return of the ratings period) with great anticipation.

In the meantime, Seasons 5 and 6 will have to keep me happy.

I just wish I could find an apartment like hers, for only $750 a month.

And an Aidan. I always had a soft spot for John Corbett, although I did go through a brief faze of thinking Chris Noth was attractive. I got over that every time he sniffed (those enlarged nostrils... ewwww).