Nicole's Not Invited

So today I took a day off work because I'm sick with flu. No, really. I can't go two minutes without coughing up something nasty, I've been through three boxes of tissues, my throat is on fire and my head feels like its full of stuffing.

Its boring being sick. And daytime TV has really gone downhill. Its all cooking shows and talk shows and bad soaps recycling the same bad storylines. For f***'s sake - Frankie is back on Days of Our Lives. Last time Frankie was on that show was when I was a teenager (and probably so was he). He looks exactly the same, which is quite disturbing. I don't look anything like what I looked like as a teenager, and believe me that's a good thing.

The worst of today's TV though, was Entertainment Tonight. They kept banging on about Nicole Kidman's birthday and upcoming wedding.

Hey.

HEY.

It was MY birthday too yesterday ET. Why weren't you outside MY door, singing Happy Birthday through MY intercom?

HUH?

I hate sharing my birthday with Nicole Kidman. She always gets all the attention.

Next year, I'm going to throw a party with some other celebs who also probably hate sharing a birthday with Nicole Kidman.

People like:

Josh Lucas. We even share the same birth-year. And hands off ladies (and gents) - he's mine. You'll most likely find us tucked away in the corner booth going for it. So don't disturb us. Just leave the bottle of champagne on the table and sneak away.

John Goodman. He'll be MC and keep everyone entertained with funny voices. Just make sure you get a slice of cake before he gets to it.

Danny Aiello. He'll be on the door. Making sure no-one is getting in who shouldn't be getting in. Don't mess with him - he'll be packing a piece. And don't diss Hudson Hawk or you'll be outta there quicker than you can say Tommy Five-Tone.

Lionel Richie. He'll be singing of course. All the classics. Josh & I may briefly come up for air when he performs "Running With The Night". His skanky daughter may turn up and that's ok... she won't take up much room, and its unlikely she'll eat anything so there's no need to cater for her. However, if she brings along her even skankier on-again-off-again mate Paris, Danny has his orders.

Brian Wilson. He may do a couple of duets with Lionel, but he'll most likely be sitting on stage muttering and looking confused. Poor pet. Be nice to him.

Stephen Frears. He'll be filming a special doco entitled "People Who Hate Sharing Their Birthday With Nicole Kidman Because She Gets All The Attention". Don't be surprised if you're mid-conversation and he yells "CUT!" and then re-directs the way you're drinking your champagne.

And finally, just because its not fair for me to be the only woman-of-honour at the party...

Olympia Dukakis. She'll be dispensing advice, smacking people round the head, airing her political views and playing matchmaker. Just don't ask her about Michael.

Any suggestions for a venue?

Not wiser, but older

Its official.

I've gone up an age bracket when filling out forms. Sadly, I can no longer tick the 29-34 box, but have to tick the 35-39 one instead.

Thanks to everyone for their blog comments, text messages, emails and phone calls. I feel very popular!

Flatmate 1 gave me KISS Symphony on DVD as well as a voucher for a posh dinner out. She knows me so well. Flatmate 2 is extending the excitement by refusing to give me my present until this evening.

I also got an awesome book on Katharine Hepburn, some movie tix, a cool red belt and a gorgeous bracelet. I also got some gorgeous flowers from one of my colleagues... apparently they smell lovely, but since I have THE FLU, I cannot smell them.

That's annoying.

da Buddha, when she rang me this morning to wish me a Happy Birthday, wanted to know if I was "in da hobstible" because I had a cold. Bless. They really should take her to a speech pathologist... she's still got that stammer. It was more along the lines of "you you you you you... you in da hobstible?".

All's I'm sayin' is that the kid might need some assistance...

I had to work today (unlike the previous three birthdays which I managed to skive off), but at least there was cheese. In lieu of birthday cake, I had a cheese platter. Much yummier. There was even beetroot hummous which was awesome.

Yesterday I worked from 8.30am - 6pm at one job, then went and worked 6.30pm - 11pm at my new theatre company. So I wasn't terribly chipper this morning. Thankfully they new place has given me the night off tonight, after I suggested it might not be a good idea for me to come along and infect the cast, who open a show on Friday. But I found out I'll be doing two plays back to back in September/October which is exciting.

Anyhow, the flatties and I are heading up the pub for a Rose Burger when they get home. Best burger in the Inner West. But I need to have a power nap before they get home... I'll be seein' ya!


xo

Hello...

Today I had the privilege of seeing this wonderful man...



Perform at the Opera House.

He was amazing. For two solid hours he sang everything from Sondheim to Kermit (I thought of you, Bevis, when he sang "Its Not Easy Being Green"!) and told us lots of funny stories in between.

One of the many stories he told us was about his father, who was a fan of the musical Mame and its star, Angela Lansbury. I won't repeat the full story here, because I couldn't do it justice... needless to say his father was obviously a huge fan. The upshot of the story was that Mandy's father died at the age of 53. Some years later, Mandy met Angela Lansbury and was having an amazing conversation with her, when it struck him that it was the wrong person having the conversation - it should have been his father. His father was such a huge fan that he would have been in his element having a conversation with Angela Lansbury.

Before Mandy even told that story, I was sitting in my seat at the Opera House, watching someone whose amazing talent I was introduced to by my dad (who was a big fan of his) and thinking "gee I wish dad was here with me - he would be loving this".

So when Mandy told that story I was really affected.

Its times like today I really, really miss my dad. Even though its been 12 years since he died, I still feel angry at the unfairness of it all. I just get so mad that he and I were both robbed of sharing wonderful experiences like the one I had today.

I especially think my dad would have loved Mandy's final goodbye (after a standing ovation and second curtain call). He struck a pose at the front of the stage and uttered those wonderful words:

Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You kill my father. Prepare to die.

Bloody brilliant.

A Letter

Hi Ma,

Sorry I haven't called. Been busy. Flat out in fact.

What's that?

No, I haven't been partying. I wish. I've been working crazy hours.

Yeah, the boss is still in Noo Yawk. Beeyatch.

I said bee-yatch ma, not bitch.

OK, I said bitch that time. And that time. Sorry. I'll go wash my mouth out with soap.

So...

You know that audition I went for? The theatre company looking for a new ensemble member?

I told you about that. I did. I'm sure I did.

Anyway. I got it.

You could congratulate me you know.

What's that?

No, its not paid. Its a co-op.

Yes, I'll be keeping my job that pays me money. I'll just also be working a shitload of hours with the ensemble.

Whoops.

Sorry. Let me just go get that soap again.

Huh? No, I haven't heard anything about that ad I went for.

Yes, I know it would be a good ad to get. It pays a shi... a lot.

I said "A LOT".

Jesus.

No... that was Jesus. As in "HEY ZEUSS". You know, Spanish.

Can we just stop harping on about my gutter mouth and move on please? What's new with you?

You're going where?

But you just went there last year.

Right.

And then you're going where?

Wow.

You're determined to spend my inheritence aren't you? SKI-er*.

I'm kidding! Kid-ding.

Do what you like - its your money.

Hey, you do remember its my birthday on Tuesday though don't you?

Yes. The 20th.

I'm assuming the presents will arrive on the day?

Delayed? Oh. I guess I can wait.

You will call from wherever you are though, won't you?

WON'T YOU????

Hey Zeuss...

I gotta go eat.

No, I've not been eating right. But I'm starting tonight. Spicy pumpkin and cous cous salad. Yes, its very tasty. Or at least it will be.

OK - you go watch The Bill from Tuesday.

No, I didn't see it. I was preparing for my callback.

Me? What, after I've eaten? I'll be learning lines for the play reading I'm doing tomorrow night. Ulysses. James Joyce. Bastard of a thing to learn... no punctuation.

I'll just go get that soap.

Love ya.

Bye.



* Spending Kids Inheritence

Oh Dear.

We're not a happy team at Hawthorn

We're not the mighty fighting Hawks

We love our club, but we didn't play to win.

We didn't fight the foe with a grin.

Come what may we were not striving.

Team work wasn't the thing that talked.

All for one but we had none.

Was the way we played at Hawthorn.

We're not the mighty fighting Hawks.



Appalling effort boys. Appalling. I've seen more fire in a pilot light. At half time I was ready to slash my wrists... 2 goals to their 15 was an embarrassment even I found hard to deal with.

But what's most embarrassing is that you lost to Port Adelaide. PORT ADELAIDE!!! Do you realise how much I hate that team? Despite being a loyal Hawks girl since age 5, I did happen to grow up in Glenelg you know. Its mandatory to hate Port Adelaide if you grew up in Glenelg. OK, so due to a cock-up of the father-son rule they have the Cornes boys (sons of super-coach Graham), but they're still scum. I wouldn't have minded if you'd lost to Geelong or Melbourne or even Freo. But Port Adelaide is something my little Glenelg-raised heart cannot deal with.

Very disappointed in you all. Very disappointed.

No ticker.

Oh and a message to the Bombers - shift over. We've got our eye on that wooden spoon.

I'm going to the pub now... drown my sorrows.

Oh my audition went fabulously by the way... I have a recall on Wednesday. Thanks for asking.

Neglect

Wow... this working full-time thing is a killer!

There are bills sitting on our kitchen bench waiting to be paid (ummmm... flatties... maybe you should do it for once instead of assuming I have the time?), my bedroom is a tip, I have a pile of laundry to do, there is no food in the cupboard and my poor little blog is feeling neglected.

How did I ever work a full-time job*? Ems? How did I cope when we were working those stupid 15 or 16 hour days in London?

Bevis did I put the asterisk in the right place? Should it have gone after the question mark?

Anyway.

Although I've worked many, many jobs in the last few years which probably all equate to a full-time job in terms of hours, I've not had to work at one place for such an extended period of time since... ummmm... last century.

I. Don't. Like. It.

I wish my boss would hurry up and come back. She's in New York, lucky moo, doing an internship at two theatre companies over there. I helped her score one of those internships, through friends of mine. Grrrrrr. She gets to hang out with my friends for 5 weeks. Double Grrrrrr.

And of course, because she's away and because I'm working all these extra hours, the acting work is picking up again. Bloody typical. Before she left, I was working reduced hours (to compensate for working extra now) and do you think I got even a sniff of an audition? Of course not! But now... well. Let's just say there's going to be quite a bit of juggling and late night line learning over the next few weeks.

No sleep till Brooklyn.**

The only good thing about working these extra hours is that I have some weekends off. Not that I'm going anything wonderfully exciting with them. I'll be playing catch-up.

Tonight I'm babysitting Miss Piper, who is, as of last night, officially my god-daughter. Awesome. I'm a godmother. Even though I'm not into god or religion. But neither are her parents, so its all cool. I like to think that I will be more of the artistic godmother rather than the spiritual kind anyway. She'll get dragged along to so many plays and concerts and galleries that she won't even have time to watch The Wiggles, let alone care who they are.

I have an audition tomorrow, so its good that I'll be having a quiet night going over my pieces (yes - that's plural - two pieces are required for this audition). However, I just found out that they're doing a Fame marathon on musicmax this weekend, so I suspect I will spend the bulk of my night dancing around Bestie P's living room singing along with Coco, Doris, Leroy, Bruno, et al.

I'm searching for The Eagles on iTunes. But there's only tribute bands and other rubbish. I find it very odd that iTunes doesn't carry any of their stuff. If you do a full album search it brings up albums called "Cookie Makin' Satan Haters" and "Bipolar Bear". Weird.

Right. Enough time-wasting. The longer I sit here the more songs I download. And I'm getting into dangerous territory... I just downloaded Julian Lennon.

I'm going to go and bleach the bathroom.

Oh what an exciting life I lead.

For those of you having a long weekend, have a nice long weekend. For those of you who don't, have a nice weekend.

xo








* I define full-time job as working for one organisation, at one office, sitting at one desk.
** Beastie Boys

Don't Mention the Da Vinci Code

Here's an odd thing.

Context first:

I can quite often be found listening to a certain "Classic Hits" radio station.

Don't get all high brow on me, I bet you've all found yourselves listening to it (or a similar station for those of you interstate or overseas) at some point or other. I bet you can even sing along with most of the tracks.

Anyway, I'm listening to it now, as I try and get an emailable version of the songs on my iPod to send to Ems. I think I've cracked it by the way Ems... keep a look out for it in the next day or two.

Keep with me, I'm getting to the point.

This station just played an ad for The Da Vinci Code. And it was very static-y and fuzzy and very difficult to hear and therefore caught my attention.

And it suddenly struck me that the couple of times I've heard it at work was also been static-y and fuzzy and very difficult to hear.

But each time, the ads preceding and following have been crystal clear.

Is this some conspiracy by those opposed to the film?

Its very puzzling.

I have this image of a Catholic priest in a little shed somewhere with some homemade radio trying to prevent the ad from being heard clearly each time its played.

But that's just silly really.

Let's be realistic.

With the money that organisation has, its probably a state-of-the-art studio at the top of a cathedral somewhere.

Gives a whole new meaning to the term "interference".

Good As Gold (Stupid As Mud)*

Apologies for the lack of posting this week.

Its been caused by:

Opening night of this show, followed by the opening night party, which ended up in this dodgy joint until 4am;

Opening night of this show, followed by the opening night party, which ended up in this dodgy joint until 3am;

My boss taking off to NYC for 6 weeks, thereby (a) increasing my hours of work and (b) leaving me in loco parentis against my will and/or better judgement; and

Preparation for a couple of auditions which actually require me to do more than stand in front of a camera and pretend to feed non-existent babies. One of them even wants me to prepare two pieces. Two! I haven't had to do that since drama school auditions.

Blimey.

So... I'm a little busy. But I'll be back soon.

And I thought I'd just stop by and say hello before sitting down to eat dinner (roast chicken, roast potatoes, cauliflower cheese, honey carrots and baby beans... does that make your mouth water?) and watch a bit of Galaxy Quest.

Hello. How are you all?

Incidentally, is it really wrong that I really, really, fancy Alan Rickman? Even with that ridiculous headgear he wears in Galaxy Quest or when he's all greasy as Professor Snape?

Don't answer that.

Oh and mg - bad luck today. You must be filthy at them... giving away a lead like that. Inexcusable.


xo



* Title of a song by The Beautiful South which popped up in my iPod yesterday on my way to work.

Knickers

Its a lovely, sunny Sydney Monday and I have the day off from work.

So why am I not out enjoying the beautiful weather?

Because I have to sit here and wait for the bloody washing machine repair-person to arrive, that's why.

"Sometime between 10am and 1pm" was what the nice lady told me when I rang her in a panic on Friday (I'd run out of clean knickers). "Oh and $94 call out fee, plus $17 per 15 minutes... not inclusive of parts".

Thanks ma'am.

There goes my fee for that corporate video I did a couple of weeks ago. I was planning to put that towards my trapeze lessons.

Damn.

So here I am.

Waiting for the...

STOP PRESS!

HOLD THE PHONE!

He's arrived. And left already.

I. LOVE. THE. WASHING. MACHINE. REPAIRMAN.

He's the same young spunk who has come to fix our dishwasher (twice).

His name is Andrew.

Andrew, bless him, just fixed the machine in about 5 minutes and did a nifty little by-pass the switch thingy which meant I didn't have to pay an extra $60 for a part that is "actually unneccessary"*.

Bless his cottons. Socks, I mean. Not the other cotton. Although bless his too... I went to his show last night. He did a great job of playing the nasty schoolboy. He was so nasty that at one point I wanted to run on stage, cuddle the guy he was picking on (who, incidentally, is a mate of mine) and shout at Cotton to "STOP PICKING ON JOHNNY AND GIVE HIM BACK HIS GLASSES".

I restrained myself. But only just.

Anyway.

My washing machine is fixed. I can put on a load of knickers and leave the house now.

Hurrah.
.
.
.
.
.

* Unless I have small children running about the house. No, spunky Andrew, no young kids in this house.

Henry Rollins. Genius.

My fab friend HD (who also works in the arts so knows the pain), just sent me this.

I want to print this out and put it in the dressing room of a certain cast of a certain play I am selling tickets for.

One or two of them are a bit precious.

Unfortunately they're so precious, I suspect this would probably go straight over their heads.

But I think its mandatory for all dressing rooms.