It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time...

My life is a series of "It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time" moments, all randomly strung together.

A bit like this blog.

There's so much I could write about.

So much I want to write about.

A million thoughts running through my head but they're all fleeting.  

I'm really hating my job at the moment and I want to change direction and find something new, but the job market's tough and I can't even get a foot in the door at any of the places I'm interested in working.

Life would be a lot easier if I had a definite plan for what I wanted to do.  

Trouble is, I don't.

I don't have a single clue WHAT I want to do with my life, other than that I DON'T want to do what I'm currently doing.

Is that any way to live my life? I'm really not sure. It's the only way I've known how to live it.  I’ve never been much of a one for ten year plans or goal setting.  I mean, I am ok at setting goals in a “hey, that sounds like a good idea so I’ll go do it” kind of way.  Heading off to travel the world was a prime example of that.  Quitting the corporate world to go to drama school was another.

But now I have to factor in things like being able to pay the rent and bills; and I don't have any savings to speak of, making my current desire to give a big, fat "fuck you" to my job an impossibility.

It's frustrating me no end and I'm really in need of a big ol' cup of "sort it the hell out" before I lose my mind...

Anyone know where I can get one of those?

Champagne Tastes, Beer Budget

I've always found that particular phrase slightly inappropriate in my case, since I dislike beer.  Really dislike it. I've tried it and I just can't stand it. I'm a grape girl through and through.

Anyway, that's not what this particular post is about.  Well it wasn't.  What was it about?  Ummmm... sidetracked. Sorry.  

OH!

My new coat.  I got the loveliest autumn/winter-ish coat last week.  It's a black Gap trench, with cream piping and a black lining with pink, blue, orange, green and white spots on it. It's light enough for autumn, but with a few layers underneath will be great for winter as well.  I've worn it most days since it got it.

I say "got it" and not "bought it", because I bought it online. 

On eBay.  Which is where I've bought a good many of my coats and jackets... and the odd frock.  

Why?

Because I am a girl on a budget.  A girl with designer tastes on a very strict budget.

So this is how I roll.  

One of my colleagues finds it quite horrifying that I buy some of my clothes secondhand. She won't wear anything that's been worn by someone else - says it's unhygienic.  I could see her point if I was purchasing secondhand underwear or shoes, but it's a coat.  I've had it cleaned.  I highly doubt I'm going to be catching any diseases from wearing it.

But if I do, at least I'll have saved money from the purchase to spend on antibiotics...

How Much Is That Puppy In The Window?

I think I want a puppy.

No.  

I'm CERTAIN I want a puppy.  I know some people may say this is related to the ticking of my biological clock, but I don't want a baby.  Babies grow up to be kids.  Kids talk back.  Kids grow up to be adults and don't always turn out the way you think they should. Kids are expensive. Dogs are too, but not so much.  And they're always genuinely glad to see you.  There's no angst with a dog.  

So yes, I want a puppy.

Not just any puppy, but a wee Westie.  

Like this one:

(cue "nawwwwww"-ing)

I love Westies.  They're they only small dog I actually like.  Most small dogs I dislike with the same dislike I reserve for cats.  I loathe cats.  I am totally in agreement with Ron Swanson when it comes to cats and small dogs (see below*).  But Westies I love.  I think it's some Scottish genetic thing. They just melt my heart.

However, I believe that dogs should be rescued, not bought from pet shops or puppy farms.  It breaks my heart that so many dogs are routinely abandoned or abused and that our animal shelters are overflowing with beautiful dogs that just want a home and some TLC. 

So I've vowed that when (note I say "when", not "if") I get a dog, it will be from a shelter, not a pet shop or puppy farm.  

The trouble is, who would abandon a cute-as-a-button Westie puppy?  Not many people.  I doubt many people would even abandon a cute-as-a-button Westie adult:

 (seriously, is it not the cutest puppy face ever?)

The other flaw in my plan is I'm not sure I'm allowed to have a dog in my flat.  One of my neighbours does but I'm not sure my lease allows is.  I'll have to check.  Also, I'm not sure it's fair to a dog to have to live in a flat. I always grew up being told that "dogs need a yard".  Since I don't plan on moving anytime soon, it may not happen.

But in the meantime, I'll keep on thinking about it... and checking the rescue websites (because, let's face it, if I was to actually walk into a shelter, I'd come out with a dozen dogs).

* COSIGN (except in the case of Westies):

Smack. Down.

This video has been doing the rounds of social media today.  Rightly so.  I refuse to post the revolting Letterman interview with Joan Rivers where she insults Adele, because I was so offended.

Adam Hills was clearly offended too.  His response is nothing short of brilliant.  I love a man who stands up for women in such a way.  His comment that "Adele is one of the very few women in pop music that I want my daughter to look up to" made me a little teary.  If only all fathers held these kinds of beliefs and instilled them in their daughters (and sons).  

Joan Rivers makes her living out of being offensive. I get that. But Adele should be applauded for her (well-deserved) success in an industry that objectifies women and treats the majority of them like mindless puppets. If I had daughters, Adele is exactly the type of woman I would want them to look up to.  Definitely not a Rhianna or a Miley Cyrus or a Taylor Swift.  And DEFINITELY not a Joan Rivers.  Women have a difficult enough time in the entertainment industry - she should be supporting Adele, not making fun of her weight.

So, Adam Hills - I applaud you.  Your daughter is one lucky girl and can only grow up to be an amazing woman, with a father like you to guide her.

Body Clockin'

My body clock is so out of whack.  I've just spent the last few days in Perth, where I worked 16 hour days (people think touring with rock bands is glamorous... oh, how little they realise) and then I spent today travelling back.  All day.  My flight was at 9.30am Perth time and landed 3.5 hours later, at 4pm Melbourne time. Then it took me an hour (and $90) in a cab to get home.  I was exhausted when I finally got home, but forced myself to stay awake and eat something so I wouldn't go to sleep at 7pm.  

That was a dumb idea.  

Now I've missed the window of going to sleep and have perked up again.  It's almost 1am (which is 10pm Perth time, I think) and my body has no idea what it's supposed to be doing.

Sigh.

So anyway.

Touring is actually quite a cool experience.

Fans can be scary in their obsession.  We had one woman in the KISS meet & greet who had Gene Simmons sign her breast, with the intention of going and having it tattooed over the next day.  

Yep.  Scary.

Fun facts I've discovered:  I'm taller than Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley, but Nikki Sixx and Tommy Lee tower over me.  Having a personalised 'Access All Areas' pass is extremely handy.  These are things I would never have experienced first-hand in an average 9-5 job. I have to keep telling myself that when I'm over-tired and annoyed at having to sit in my hotel room clipping lanyards at 1am.

OK, now I think I'm tired enough to get some sleep.

Rock on peeps.

\m/

Impervious

Today I am impervious.

Impervious to the sounds of the seven-thirty-pm-and-it's-almost-bedtime screaming of the toddlers in the flat two above mine; but not impervious to their hilarious chatter as they made their three-minute walk down the stairs this morning.  

Impervious to a Sydney colleague who (ever since I pushed back on his attempt to offload some of his workload on to our team) sent me a very rude email in which he tried to bait me into fighting with him over a truly trivial matter.

Impervious to the guy in the flat above mine as he washed his balcony (something he does at least three times a week), in which bucket loads of dirty water are sent cascading down onto my balcony, covering my BBQ and Kitty Lucy.  (The fact I've bought covers for them now has helped with being impervious.)

Impervious to the realisation that a get-together I'd scheduled weeks ago with a friend has not been postponed because she's got to work (like she claimed when she cancelled), but because she got a better offer from someone else. (Hey, if I'm not a priority in someone's life, I refuse to get all anxious about it any more.)

Impervious to the scales who informed me that my diet isn't going quite as well as I'd hoped.

Impervious to the lack of communication from a particular organisation on a particular matter which will affect so many things over the coming months... more to come on that topic at a later date.

So...

How are you today?

In MY world, that's what they're for.

Today I went on a mission to find some new work clothes. 

I'm about to go on tour for a few weeks with a couple of bands whose (male) members are quite well known for their love of (amongst the usual things like sex, drugs & rock'n'roll) spandex, platforms and makeup; and my current work wardrobe is getting a little threadbare.  The only work skirts I own are quite tight (I've gained a little weight) and are bordering on the short side.  Given I'm in charge of running the meet and greet for one of the bands (whose reputation for the ladies is, ummmm, a little... shall we say, legendary), I want to present a reasonably professional image.  I'll let their (female) fans take the dressed-to-score-impress route.  I just want to fade demurely into the background on this one.

Anyway. 

A plain black skirt.  Preferably cotton, knee-length, maybe with pockets.  Shouldn't be too difficult to find, right?

Right?

Wrong.

Fifteen stores later and I realise how very wrong I am.  

Not even Gap, my old standby for work clothes back in my US and UK days, yielded any joy.  On a side note, it drives me mental that we only have Gap here in Australia.  I'm gagging for them to open a Banana Republic and an Old Navy.  I'd never shop anywhere else but those three stores if they did.  

But I digress.  Despite Gap being disappointingly lacking in skirts in general, I did manage to stock up on tanks and tees.  I highly recommend Gap for tank tops and t-shirts. They're 100% cotton, excellent quality and come in a range of colours and styles.  I also stocked up on several pairs on men's cotton boxer shorts.  This is where I (apparently) caused a stir.  

I was dithering over sizes (see previous admission that I've gained a little weight) when a sales assistant jumped in and told me that I could "return them if they weren't the right size for my boyfriend".  My reply of "no - they're for me... I wear them to bed" was met with a reaction not dissimilar to this:

Now, let me explain.  I'm not a lacy nightie kinda gal.  Never have been.  Once I graduated from the "grandma-bought-me-new-pyjamas-for-my-birthday" stage, I usually just slept in old oversize t-shirts belonging to my brother or dad (both of whom were considerably taller and bigger than me).  I've always been quite low-maintenance in that regard.  I mean, I was a teenager.  I slept alone.  Who the hell (besides my family and the occasional bestie who came for a sleep-over) was going to see what I wore to bed?

Then I hit my twenties.  The first time I stayed over at my (then) boyfriend's place, I decided I needed something to wear the next morning while he made me breakfast, in case his flatmates wandered into the kitchen.  (I barely knew them, I didn't want them getting that good a look at me and the dress from the night before was going to scream "trashy-walk-of-shame-type-girl".)  A search through the boyfriend's rather meagre wardrobe revealed very few oversized t-shirts (we were of a similar size... that is, he was a short, scrawny kinda guy, so his t-shirts barely covered my ass), but he did happen to have a drawer full of cotton boxer shorts.  I borrowed a pair, grabbed a t-shirt, discovered what a comfy outfit it was and have worn boxers and old, [insert-name-of-favourite-band]-neck-and-sleeves-cut-off t-shirts to bed ever since.  When I'm not sleeping naked of course.

Incidentally, I've found that most of my boyfriends have found this quite the turn-on.  Only one has ever bought me a lacy, skimpy, Victoria's Secret-style nightie to wear and it not only looked terrible on me, but was really uncomfortable to sleep in, so I ditched it. And him.

Now usually, when I'm in need of a new pair of boxers, I nick them from whichever man I'm dating at the time, but since I: (a) haven't dated in a while; and (b) haven't dated a guy who wears cotton boxer shorts for even longer, I've been forced into actually purchasing them myself.  Hence the incident at Gap.  

You see, Gap boxer shorts are of a highly superior quality.  This I have ascertained over the years.  They're my preferred brand.  So, if I'm going to buy them, I'll go to Gap.  This was never an issue in the US and the UK - they're totally across my theory.  However, the Australian Gap sales assistants are seemingly ignorant of the fact that their men's cotton boxer shorts make excellent sleepwear for the ladies.  

Not any more.

At least not for cashier #5771 at Gap Melbourne Central.  No. She adopted my suggestion of men's-boxers-as-female-sleep-attire so enthusiastically that I'm pretty sure she's going to re-style several of the mannequins to illustrate her point.  She pointed out the concept no less than three times to her colleagues and other customers while I was still in the store... I shudder to think how many people she told once I'd walked out.  I'd even hazard a guess that she took a few pairs home for herself to test out my theory that you really cannot get anything more comfortable to sleep in. 

I'm glad I inspired someone today, even if was only on something as trivial as sleepwear. 

Now, if only a designer could inspire me with a decent skirt.

Auspicious... Not

Hmmmm.

Scrolling through my final post for 2012 and my eye caught this:

"Will also set a goal for 52 blog posts in 2013.  That's one a week.  Surely that's manageable."

Christ.

I haven't done terribly well so far, have I?  It's halfway through February and this is my first post.

Ah well.

I am keeping up with my One Line A Day.  Tales From the Ticketing World is on hiatus, due to some rumblings from some anonymous staff members of a certain arts organisation. I feel like I'm back in grade school with their pathetic "we're gonna tell on you to your company because we think your blog is unprofessional" threats.  I'm so glad I only have to deal with them for another few weeks.

I really have very little enthusiasm for writing at the moment. I actually have very little enthusiasm for anything at the moment, period.  I thought I had an exciting new job all lined up, but that's been put on hold.  Bureaucracy at work again.  It may still happen and I need to have patience, but my god, it's difficult. My current job is changing, and not in a way I'm particularly pleased with or that I feel I have any control over.  I feel like a glorified administrator in an organisation which doesn't reflect my morals or ideals.    I want to be doing work that's important and which will benefit people.  What I do right now benefits no one, including myself. 

What I hate most at the moment though, is the way that I feel unable to truly express myself, especially through this blog.  I feel like I'm being spied on by the same people who threatened my other blog.  And hey, if I am right and you are reading this?  Fuck off and get a life.  What did I ever do to you?  If I did do something to piss you off, then grow a pair, man up and tell me to my face.  Let's duke it out and resolve it.

Anyway.  That's not a terribly positive blog post to kick off the year... apologies to my regular (read: lovely) readers.  I'll try and come up with something a little more perky for my second post.

For now, I just wanted to drop by and say hello.

*waves*

*winks*

*hits the save button*

See you soon.

Oh and Happy Valentine's Day... if that's your thing.  Personally, I'm more of a fan of Galentine's Day (Feb 13).  Don't know what that is?  Let me share...

 *hits the publish button*

Almost, but not quite

This is my 24th post for 2012. 

That's a bit rubbish.

2007 was my worst year for blogging... 20 posts in total.  In my defense... no.  Wait.  I went overseas and moved house a few times in 2008 - I can't use that as an excuse.

Fact is, there is no excuse.  I've been very good at maintaining my other blogs, but that's just a line or two about my day and the occasional rant about the downside of working in a box office.  I'm also apparently very good at writing lengthy, yet humourously entertaining status updates on Facebook.

I've been working almost every day for the last week - I only had Christmas & Boxing Days off.  The downside of working in the arts.  It's not often I miss working in the world of investment banking, but this time of year I do.  Decent salaries, plus big, fat bonuses (with at least three or more zeros on the end), a huge Christmas party and no work between Dec 24 and Jan 2.  Those were the days.  Oh, how they've changed.

This year, our CEO decided that no one would get anything.  Nothing to say thank you to his hard-working staff, many of whom have had their workload tripled since he decided to make some redundancies to save costs.  I'm sure that several of the staff are headed for nervous breakdowns with the amount of extra work they've been lumbered with. Admittedly, Sydney got a Christmas party (bowling and a couple of drink vouchers each... hey big spender), but Melbourne?  No. The CEO wasn't going to give us diddly squat.  I managed to blag us (all six of us!) a free lunch at one of our hotel partners and my manager, bless her, bought us gift cards (out of her own pocket, I suspect), but from the CEO?  Not even an email to say "thanks for working so hard this year".  Disgust doesn't even begin to describe my thoughts about our CEO's behaviour towards us all. It's definitely spurred me on to actively seek alternative employment in 2013.  

Anyway.

I worked today, I'm working tomorrow (day and night - oh yes, New Years Eve!) and on New Years Day.  Joy of joys.  Oh well.  At least I get double time on New Year's Day.

Today I looked through my list of what I wanted to achieve this year, which I wrote in the back of my diary.  Of the ten things, I achieved one and a half (finding something to laugh about every day and going to the gym three times a week... I only managed that one half the time).  

Must try harder in 2013.

Will also set a goal for 52 blog posts in 2013.  That's one a week.  Surely that's manageable. 

We'll see, shall we?

Happy 2013 to all of you who still stop in here every now and again.  Hope it's a cracker.

xo

Ten Things About Les Mis...

Today the GBF and I took ourselves off to the cinema to see Les Mis.  We're both big fans of the stage version (I was a HUGE fan back in the day... I even have the Swedish cast recording, thanks to the lovely Lotta who was just as big a fan).

But the movie?  Well I had reservations.  But I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.  These are my thoughts:

Ten Things I Love About... Les Mis:

1. Aaron Tveit. I knew he'd be an amazing Enjolras after seeing him in Catch Me If You Can last year, but he surpassed my expectations. Fabulous. Why wasn't he Marius?

2. Anne Hathaway. Gorgeous, fragile, perfect. Loved her.

3. Samantha Barks. Beautiful voice and did a great job of convincing me she was in love with Eddie Redmayne, even though any smart woman would be pushing him aside for Aaron Tveit. 

4. Gavroche. Cracking little kid. Gutted they didn't let him have a full version of Little People. And his death scene was brilliant.

5. Both the Cosettes. Amanda Seyfried did a pretty decent job with a sappy role and the little one's version of Castle on a Cloud (although cut down) was enchanting.

6. Helena Bonham Carter. Stayed fairly true to the score, but still managed to add in a hint of her own take on the character. Enjoyed her immensely.

7. Colm Wilkinson's cameo as the bishop. 

8. The epic-ness of Do You Hear the People Sing and One Day More - the final shot was spectacular.

9. The attention to detail with makeup. There were rotting flesh wounds and grotty teeth. Given one of my biggest gripes with period pieces is actors with straight, shiny, white teeth, they've done well.

10. The resounding "crack" as Javert hit the concrete before being sucked into the water. I damn nearly cheered, I was so relieved that he was finally off the screen and I wouldn't have to listen to him attempt to sing anymore.



Ten Things I Hate About... Les Mis:

1. Russell Crowe. 

2. Russell Crowe's strained, nasal delivery of Stars and Javert's Suicide (two of my favourite numbers from the show). I've had to listen to Philip Quast's versions about ten times since getting home, to try and block out Russell's butchering of it.

3. Russell Crowe turning into a wooden statue whenever he had to sing... I'm not saying he need to tap dance, but fella, there's a body attached to your head - use it.

4. Eddie Redmayne. I bet Michael Ball wishes he was about 30 years younger... I know I do. I've had to listen to his version of Empty Chairs at Empty Tables about ten times to try and block out Eddie's whiny version.

5. I'm sorry, I know everyone thinks he's amazing, and his overall portrayal is great; BUT I'm just going to say it... Hugh's version of Bring Him Home? Appalling. 

6. Hugh's nasal delivery of a huge number of his songs. Mate, you're better than that. Use some chest voice once in a while.

7. Hugh's bizarre Irish-sounding accent in the early part of the film. Jean Valjean is French, you git. At least Sasha B-C was attempting to put a touch of a French accent in there, even if he did sound a bit Borat-ish.

8a. Note to Hugh and Eddie (and a few others): a little diction wouldn't go astray. Opening your mouth to sing also helps.

8b. The cutting of verses from so many of the songs. The young Cosette was adorable - cut Russell's songs, not Castle on A Cloud if you're short on time. Same for Little People. Gavroche was fantastic - let him have his full number. 

9. The addition of the new song. Musically, it just didn't fit.

10. Russell Crowe. Seriously. How did he even get cast?