Please...Don't Feed the Lush

I've reached the point where I've begun wearing lycra gym pants at home for comfort. I'm heading into Kirsty Alley territory here. I can feel a New Years resolution and gym membership coming on.

Entourage of One

The Lush has gone multi media during the past few months since NYC died in the arse. Yes it's true, I've entered the illustrious domain of TV and radio okay so it's a community foray into TV and radio but a foray nonetheless. Plus I'm getting into improv and loving it. Loving it I tell you.

News Flash: The Cherry Bomb and I are heading into the studio next week to cut our first radio demo - standby for our hot little show. We're officially in pre-production and hope to podcast to a computer near you soon - once we get our groove on we'll unveil/upload for your listening pleasure.

Side note: The Bloggest Loser has been a bit shite for me. I started off strong saying fuck you to 4.2kgs but it the bitches wouldn't stay away. Not only have they come back - those 4.2kg bought friends.

What I'm Watching:
Entourage Season 1 disc 2
The Last Picture Show

Loser Boozer

It's a funny thing - waking up and realising that you were so much drunker than you thought you were the night before - so you go to sleep for a few more hours and wake up at noon only to realise that when the previous assessment was made at 5am deciding that you were drunker - you were actually still drunk. In fact it's noon now and how can you be sure you are sober?

Here is my Saturday night in a serious of flashbacks.

Reality check #1 - You are going to achieve nothing today and will be lucky to leave your room. Weekend gone.

Reality check #2 - The people who were designated drivers last night were so obviously not drinking (unfortunately this was not obvious at the time.)

Reality check #3 - Can confirm was in bed with a gay man while his NYC friend was in the room. Nothing out of the ordinary there but first time meeting NYC friend. Wondering if I'll have to answer to this.

Reality check #4 - Lost silver necklace - found silver necklace as described by smarmy guy.

Reality check #5 - Called smarmy guy a cunt to his face (can confirm he was a cunt) for some reason found it hot changed his approach and kissed me.

Reality check #6 - was a happy snapper at party (granted was asked to take lots of photos) but was it annoying?

Reality check #7 - revealed to friend that I know he dislikes me. Yes - he agreed, recalling he was not drinking, also recall that this will not help the cause of him disliking moi.

Reality check #8 - Drunk dialed friend twice and my phone got passed around the bus by a group of 17 year old girls. When friend didn't pick up on second attempt I called back on the house phone - will have to answer to this later (ignoring for now).

Reality check #9 - - scab on left foot from falling down stairs on way out of party - nobody saw.

Reality check #10 - Had very long shower on arrival home and roommates are questioning me about it. Pointed out that I don't leave the lights on when not in the room and that I don't use the dryer - made a quick exit back to room (knowing should not have left in first place).

Rumps and Bumps - Bloggest Loser Week 1

I'm pumped to be part of the BLOGest Loser especially since I was REJECTED by the BIGgest Loser TV show a few weeks ago.

My BL obsession led me to applying for the Aus version only to receive the standard 'thanks but no thanks' e-mail. I was crushed.

So how am I going to compete in the BLOGest Loser?

Firstly, I'm steering clear of gyms and personal trainers - I can't go through the dramas like last time. I've joined Jenny Craig. Gasp. I know it's all a bit '80s but it's working. I'm really busy at the moment so it's a no brainer. So far I've ditched 4.9kgs (10.8lb) in 5 weeks. Hi kicks all round. I've not set foot inside a gym (just doing loads of walking as per usual thanks to living in the city/Pub transport).

The only big problemo is skipping the vino - coming into the holiday season i'm going to skip food in favour of wine. It's a given.

I'm submitted my weight based on the start date :)

Learning about the NNP

I met someone who works at one of those blokey mags with the busty tanned girls on the cover (you know - the girls most commonly plucked from the shallow end of the Big Brother talent pool.)

She was explaining the mag and how the one she works for is different to others since her mag can be read in public places without guilt due to the NNP "No Nipple Policy."

Leats hear that again: No Nipple Policy. I've heard of unusual work place policies but the NNP is by far the most hilarious.

The Bloggest Loser

I've entered The Bloggest Loser over at Cherry's.

I must admit I was pleased to have this opportunity to use my boxing gloves, especially since it's the only other time I've used them was on the day of purchase (vaguely sometime last year). I've since stopped donating to Fitness First.

The target is January 1 - it's going to be tough to go through the holiday season sans vino. Don't despair - I've already started looking at skipping food in favour of wine.

I'm going to create some sort of a scale to measure my success based on interest by hot men. It's not all about the numbers

Stay tuned.

My Silver Bullet and Me

This one goes out to my Silver Bullet that within in a matter of less than 5 minutes was written out of my will then was quickly invited back in to became the sole benefactor.

Sorry to break it to you but the Silver Bullet is not a vibrator it's a ceramic hair straigtener. Seriously with a hair straightener this good there is no need for the vibrator. The results speak for themselves.

The bitch packed it in whilst my hair was still wet - gasp - I had an important event to attend which demaned this frizzy curly haired femme fatal to look chic. Phew - a few of the old turn it off turn it on again and the angel worked.

Crisis averted.

Baby's Got Back

It's no secret that I'm on an eating plan AKA "loose your ass before next year so you can go to NYC and rule the world plan."

I was sticking so closely to it for 3 weeks then broke on the long weekend. It was a lovely sweet pastry that started it and a slippery slope from there that included a schnitzel but I'm back on it now.

I'm in the process of figuring out what food I can substitute for wine. Surely I can do a cheeky switch dependent on calories. Just skip a meal right? I'd be willing to have a glass of wine in place of say 2 apples.

Save the Dates

There's something about public holidays where I end up searching personal ads on the net. It's Labour Day and once again I've been lured into www.RSVP.com.au

I usually end up spending hours assessing profiles of eligible men who I'll never contact. I'll add a few to my hotlist - get quite addicted - and burn out after a few days. I've got a profile and all but it's not visible. I've had it up before but thought it wrong since I never contacted anyone back. I like to fly under the radar.

I even had a profile on J-Date which is ridiculous since I'm not Jewish. Naturally my preference was for New Yorker men. Yeah - that wasn't a success for obvious reasons.

Do the Bus Stop

I've had quite a few public transport tales over the years but this one is rather interesting.

I was riding the bus yesterday and the bus driver pulled over on the 16 lane freeway. He stood up the front of the bus and announced that the bus was alost out of petrol and to board the bus in front?

What ? I've never come across this before. Hello - a little preparation please.

Farewell My Gucci

For two weeks I have been ponying about town feeling fabulous due to the new addition to my wardrobe: hot Gucci shades. It just feels like more people are looking in my direction when I'm wearing the dark masters.

Yes, it might well be because they are covering the majority of my face but whose to judge the much needed male attention? I'll take it as it comes thanks.

I'll level with you: I tend to lose sunglasses, scratch them, or break them. This time was meant to be different. I promised myself to keep the man magnets in the case when I was not wearing them. Till yesterday I succeeded.

This morning in my usual mad rush out the door I couldn't find them. The penny dropped. They are lost.

Why sacrifice the Guccis? Why not take something less essential?

I still hold a glimmer of hope that they will show up. I'll start calling around a couple of bars I was at last night. Meanwhile some lucky punter is probably ponying about town in my shades...

Love Chances Love Shmances

"Around September 19 your love chances soar. " Sweet - "thanks www.Cainer.com" I thought to myself then glanced over at the calendar only to see that the 19th is today!

Well, those chances suddenly took a massive nose dive. Considering I was sitting at my desk shoveling down a Jenny Craig's microwaved shepherd's pie at that exact moment (it was only 3pm, I was alone in the office, and was now polishing off the last of my allowed food for the day.) I thought those chances remote.

It's day 8 of the new JC 'eating plan' after a long winters food fest. Stay tuned top see how far I make it.

Now back to bit about love chances - there is one contender: (isn't there always?) He's my new radio teacher. He'll be the only male I'll be coming across today (no pun intended) unless I want to count the randoms on the bus (and frankly I don't want to count them.)

Anyway, I'm not sure if I actually like Radio guy or if it's just a proximity thing. He does have a hot voice as required for the radio biz I'm sure. He's a baldy but I like it. The thing is - he used to be a vegan and is now a strict vegetarian so I think that's an automatic rule out. I once had a friend who wouldn't date a guy if he owned a cat or was vegetarian. Thoughts? Although, I am on Jenny Craigs so who knows what he's thinking anyway.

What do you suppose it means that he sent me an e-mail today about Tom Cruise being gay?

Hello Possums

Caught in the act- well not quite - enter the resident possum family. These litte buggers live in the palm tree behind my back balcony. The late night visitors love to play tricks on us. Their favourite is sneaking into the apartment and chowing down on our bananas.

I have to admit they are very neat and leave the skins in a neat little pile on the bench top. They also like running along the fence in the middle of the night.

Shaking the Maracas

The crotch watching event of the year is here (bar Mardi Gras - natch).

Tonight I will be zeroing in on the tight white pants painted on Hugh Jackman who will frolic around the stage.

Don't despair - I'm leaving nothing to chance and will be there binoculars in hand with my eyes on the prize.

Yes, it's all very gay and frankly that's the way I like it.

Champers all round please!

Cock or Sock?

I got 8 out of 10 correct!

http://www.cockorsock.co.nz

Speaking of I'll be getting an up-close and personal look at Hugh Jackman this week when I go see the "Boy from Oz." Tres excited about seeing him leap about in those tight white pants.

Spanish GYCO

Today was the Spanish Quarter Festival in Sydney and I have to say I am loving Spanish men at the moment. Absolutely adoring the cute accent - just sounds better with the lisp.

I sampled some Spanish sausage (not the kind your thinking of), sipped sangria and admired the sights. Yes, there were a few Gael Garcia Bernal look-a-likes. Yum.

(Cher forget the Italians- were going to hit up the Spanish Club when you get back.)

Spring is in the air and it's GYCO season.

I'm going to sleep while this is all fresh in my mind.

Good Head for Radio

New York has been postponed so I'll continue as a Sydney resident for the next year before jetting off to my new and fabulous life in NYC.

Big changes have happened during my hiatus and I've chosen to go multi media (it was an obvious next step really.)

Be prepared for a hot radio show starting in the next few months. Pre-production is under way and word is that Ms Cherry Banchele will be joining me on air upon her return to Aus.

Stay tuned

MIA

Currently MIA. Will be back once I've located amongst the clusterfuck.

Standby

Baby Don't Cry

The role of the 8-month pregnant wife will NOT be played by Lush.

I had my first TV audition today. The audition seemed simple enough - crying on cue. Walk into the room, hit the mark, and breakdown after hearing the news that your husband has been murdered. I practiced in the mirror last night and early this morning - it was believable.

But push came to shove in the room and there I was at 8am and I was not sobbing uncontrollably. Needless to say I am not expecting a call. Damn, I was rather looking forward to wearing the pregnant suit on set too.

Real Life Drama

I've been accepted into drama school in New York City!

Thanks to Sexy Clefty for helping me with my monologue. Why is it in situations like this I always seem to feel like a fraud?

I'm awaiting the official confirmation and visa papers but it looks as though i'll be in NYC this September (assuming I don't freak out and stay in Sydney .)

This move is a mere 6 weeks away.

What the hell did I get myself into and how will I be able to pull this off?

If you know peeps in NYC please contact me as I'll need a cash job as soon as I land. Something to pay my bills through drama school and is flexible.

Why Buy the Cow When...

In my torrid search for new flatmates something off-centre has happened and twice in the same week.

A girl showed up to meet me and check out the apartment. She texted me after saying she was keen to move in so I offered her the room. Okay that's fine BUT the thing is that she immediately started campaigning for my friendship - telling me how cool I was - how we should hang out - go for drinks - asking me if I party - do I want to work on her TVS 31 show?

What?

I thought this was a one off thing and agreed to meet up with her but then the same thing happened again tonight. I offered the room to another girl who also said she was interested in taking the room and she too turned it down but wouldn't let me off the phone because she was telling me how much she wants to hang out with me, go for coffee/ dinner, etc.

What? What?

Seriously - the apartment is fabulous so what the hell is this situation? Is this the Real Estate equivalent of "I don't want to date you let's just be friends?" or am I the slutty extra-realtor affair you are simply not willing to commit to?

Frankly, I really don't know what this means. Actually I do, it means that the hippy is moving in. Sod it.

The Hippie v's the Banker - Game On

I constantly get myself into jams, wonder why, then proceed to ignore the situation I have created by pretending that its not happening. Sooner or later I arrive at a point where I absolutely must deal with it.

For ridiculous reasons that made sense at the time the decision had to be made, I have agreed to allow a hipppie and a banker to move into the apartment . What the gunt was I thinking?

Well, I was loosely following the advice of my current roomie, Delta, who suggested that I not choose potential friends but rather select people who would be easy to live with. I am not one of those 'laid back' people that are described in the sharehouse adverts. I am more like one of those 'eccentric' types some may say 'high strung' but clearly they are the laid back types.

The thought pattern was somewhere along the lines of not wanting to get attached to the new people that would in the long run make it easier for me to leave. With this in mind I went for the quiet, chilled, and bland type of people who are very unlike myslef - in an attempt not to clash of course. What a dumb dumb dumb move this was.

The hippie chick is now constantly calling me asking weird questions about vegetarianism, incense and oil burning, parking and the philosophy of the council on the matter, meditation, the overall vibe of the apartment, and the appropriate hours to play her drum that she insists I won't be able to pronounce the name of.

The banker on the other hand has developed an instant hatred for the hippie who he has never met. Granted this is probably due to my mentioning of the incense burning and even more idiodic mention of the word hippie. IDIOT.

So, we are all having a rendevous on Saturday afternoon at which time a further decision will be made about the suitability of the hippie. What a stinking mess I have created.

Delts - for the love of Sexy Clefty - please stay!

This Song Shits Me

"I wish I Was a Punk Rocker With Flowers in My Hair."

Sandi Thom - do you even know what you are singing about?

Here's a news flash for you:

PUNKS DON'T WEAR FLOWERS IN THEIR HAIR.

I like the tune, I like your voice, I don't mind the song but my issue is that you don't really want to be a punk rocker you want to be a hippie.

Punks are a counter-culture formed in opposition to hippies. Hello? Green mowkawks, safety pins through their faces, black nails, the Sex Pistols, anarchists. Think the true London punks of the 70s, for quick reference even think the "Young Ones" but not for one minute should you think flowers in hair.

Admit it Sandi you really want to be a hippy don't you? It just had too many syllables and you thought that no one would notice if you slipped "Punk Rocker" through. WRONG .

Red Card - I'm Out

Sexy Clefty,

Even though I saw the signs, I refused to believe it was true but now I know. I got it - Loud and Clear. "You are just not that into me."

The red card you gave me last night was harsh but inevitable.

Yes, I still think you are amazing but I'm not going to pretend that my freshly manicured nails and I aren't shattered. We are.

I will get over this and when I do we'll cross paths again at which time I hope you eat your heart out.

Achtung Baby!

Sexy Clefty you have officially earned a yellow card for your performance or lack there of on Saturday evening.

You have one chance to redeem yourself on Thursday.

I'm not just 'holding hands' with this idea of a date I intend to 'shag it'. Your words - not mine.

Please know I have a time limit on the amount of time I can work on you. Stop playing with me and give it up.

If I do not get an indication from you on Thursday you will be awarded a red card and can fuck off!

Love,

The Venomous Bitch

Confessions of a Clusterfuck

The story of the personal trainer just doesn't seem to end.

One of my old crushes seems to have surfaced in a very public way. My former personal trainer, who I was totes in love with, has landed a job on an evening Aussie soap. It was bad enough when he was on commercials and I had to watch him being the Solo man but now he'll be on a nightly show for Australia and the UK to view. It just seems cruel.

I may have already told you the tale of the unfortunate event of the ticket debacle that ended up with me drunk in a bar in Paddington with him and his acting teacher. In short I was a bitch and still feel bad about it. So I did the only thing possible: avoided him at the gym. Quite a few months later I chose another personal trainer. This time I carefully selected a female to avoid another messy scene. Wouldn't you know that the person I chose was his ex-girlfriend who he lived in NYC with for a year while going to acting school and doing modelling. Ha ha go figure.
I'm sure ill probably have another encounter with him in the years to come.

In an effort to have good karma I sent him a little congratulatory e-mail but I'm not holding my breath for a response. Thank God his number has been deleted from my phone, I just can't be trusted. ...

Aww, he is rather charming and good looking. Best of luck hottie.

Spinster or Lesbian?

I guess the fact that I'm single must finally be blatantly obvious to the rest of the world and not just myself. Little reminders have been popping up everywhere of late. With my 28th birthday pending these reminders are becoming more frequent. Ding, ding, ding. I hear you loud and clear...Now even strangers seem to be bothered by my seemingly horrific circumstance.

I swear I was simply trying to be friendly to these two Irish guys on the bus. They were pleasantly chatty so I thought I'd kill 10 minutes and humour them with my charming personality but somehow right after the requisite "are you from Sydney?" the conversation plummeted into this:

I: How old are you?
L:How old do I look?
I: 25
L: I'm 28 but thanks
I: Are you married?
L: No
I: Engaged?
L: No
I:If you don't mind me asking are you a lesbian or bi-sexual?
L: Why? Because I'm not married or do I have a certain look?
I: I just thought that at your age...

I'm leaving it there.

Park my foot up your Arse

I would like to thank the Barina driving psycho who stalked me in the car park today during my lunch hour.

Thank you Asshole.

Thank you for getting out of your car and following me into the shopping centre while screaming at me for taking your park. The best part was when you did the hand actions showing me a car moving into a space. I never would have knon what you were talking about without the visual assistance.

Since you are such a considerate retail citizen and obviously so mindful of the of shopping centre car park etiquette. I would have thought that leaving your car unattended in the middle of the car park to inform me of my wrong doing would go against everything you stand for. This actually caused a much larger traffic jam and in fact inconvenienced dozens of other motorists not only yourself.

Did you not notice that I got out of the passenger side of the car? Do I just look guiltier than the person who got out of the drivers side and was walking next to me with the car keys in hand?

I deny all involvement in the matter of who has the right to the freaking car spot. I was a mere spectator caught up in this debacle. Fellow driver, it was a matter of equal timing. Yes, a coin toss or quick game of rock- paper-scissors might have been a fairer way to sort out this unfortunate event but a decisions had to be made and fast.

I hope you sleep better tonight for having educated me on the proper proceedings at Westfield. Thank you again for stalking me. Better luck next time!

It's Semi Official

It's official so not only has Delts decided to move out but so has my Brit roomie. Am I getting a bum rush here? Probably. But I just don't have the energy to get another two peeps in to the apt (even though it's tres fab and with a great view) so I'm going to give up the lease. I have to keep saying this out loud to make myself believe it. One more time for my benefit "I am going to give up the lease." I have exactly one month tomorrow to sell all my furniture, pack up my stuff and move out. First I have to actually give notice to the Estate Agent. I know this but the physical act of doing this seems to be rather difficult for me. I guess this is because this is the longest i've lived in one place since 2000. Giving official notice is the hard part, the reality check, the not backing out of this is actually happening part of the deal. Just breath...

Clefty: Are you Gay if NOT are you Single?

Sexy Clefty remains hot hot hot. We had our one-on-one session merely a few hours before my short-term relationship with the inside of a toilet bowl began (it lasted 4 days - not fun.)

So what at the time was a pending illness might have had something to do with my acting like a complete diva/knob/complete idiot in Clefty's presence. I've got another hot session booked with him this week - we're working on my d-school audition monologue. It's do or die time. Shit or get off the pot Clefty.

Okay, i'll admit that my Bridget Jones moments of ridiculousness and insantiy need to stop. This is something out of my control. But I have to say that my recent nightmare in which I discovered he was gay did not help. Say it aint so Clefty! Help me break free of the shackles that are my cock dodging ways.

Guest Blog- Ms Diva

This guest blog comes from a former roomie of mine from when I lived in LA. "Diva" and I were interns together and have been friends for more than 5 years. We've had loads of adventures in LA. In show business these kind of events are frequent and really are an occupational hazzard. Love your work Ms D...

Okay Lush so one of my old interns pulled strings for me to get into the hot Studio party- how funny is that. The whole "intern" thing really does come full circle. So, I get in and all the peeps from PRISON BREAK are doing the red carpet so I'm hanging out with work friends and we're all drinking cocktails. Keep in mind this is right after work so no dinner - they do have dinner there but I don't want to eat - for numerous reasons:

1) I don't want food in my teeth or gas or anything like that

2) I don't like to eat while hundreds of other people are looking beautiful and walking around

3) There wasn't a nice table to sit down at

So you can see where this is going: FREE Liquor, no food, celebrities, and I'm hanging around with a co-worker that gets me in trouble when we hit up the town outside of work.

After the peeps from the show are all done with the red carpet they scatter -some to the bar - some to the food - some to their friends.

Wentworth goes straight to the other end of the soundstage where the president of the Studio is introducing him. I make buddy with "Haywire" (real name: Silas) from the show - he was standing by himself. I told him I thought he was fabulous and I enjoy his "work." He thanked me and we chatted uncomfortably for a few minutes before I left him.

I'm on drink #2 now - it's only been an hour. My friend Jess is chatting it up with a guy who's a prisoner - forget his name - anyway, he's hitting on her telling us to go to the Four Seasons afterwards. Cool. Now I feel really cool - just got invited to the after party at this pseudo-Celeb's hotel room. This calls for drink #3.

Meanwhile, my friend Brandon is also doing quite well with his drinks and is drunk already - doesn't take him much - I find him outside chatting up one of the actresses from the show. I don't recognize her at first - but I sure did after her conversation with Brandon (B) that goes something like this (picture a drunken gay "Diva-acclaimed-him-to-be-a-queen" boy) hitting on a hot female actress (FA) - because that's how it went down:

B: So I'm going to tell you - I don't watch the show at all - but I know who some of the people are - and I don't know you.

FA: I'm the girlfriend to (forget the characters' name).

B: Diva - look at her! Isn't she hot!!!??!!

D: Yes, she's beautiful Brandon.

B: Well, I've never heard of you! Are you like an extra or something?

FA: No, I'm a regular

B: Really? Are you sure? Do you guys having acting tiers at Prison Break or something?

FA &D: Huh? What?

B: Well, c'mon are you a B or C list actor because you're not an 'A.'

(Yes, he straight up called an actress "C-list" - something you NEVER call attention too.)

D: Okay Brandon let's go.

B: But Diva she's so HOT! Look at her is she not the hottest person you've ever seen?

(Wanting to say she's not that HOT but after what he said) :

D: Yes, definitely.

At this point she's beginning to get freaked out and wants to get away, I can tell.

B: Can I get my picture taken with you?

She is freaked and reluctantly agrees. Brandon continues to tell her how hot she is - she is totally weirded out (she thinks he's hitting on her) then finally he says,

B: I'm gay I can say these things to you.

I finally get him away from her - meanwhile - there are a number of other work people who have witnessed this debacle.

Definitely onto drink #4

The work peeps and I hang out, talk, whatever...then I spy Silas (aka Haywire) over by the bar - again, by himself. I decide not only do I need another drink but Silas and are going to be friends. We're even going to be friends after this party.

I bring him to the table and no one says a word. NOT ONE WORD. They stare at him after I introduced him - oh and I mispronounced his name! Yep - it was the most uncomfortable situation in the world. He obviously felt as uncomfortable as I did and then he left.

So despite the whole Silas thing - I still get into the party and everyone knows me; people are stopping me to say hi. One of the actors invites me (well, via Jess) to his hotel. I have 5 drinks in me with no dinner - I'm feeling no pain...

The night however is winding down and people are leaving; I've got a good buzz going and then B and I realized we haven't met Wentworth yet. How is that possible? We met and shook hands with everyone but him.

We spot him. We go to him and the gaggle of people that surround him - he can't even take two steps without someone asking for a picture with him. And then out of nowhere I have an opportunity and I seize it. Wentworth leans in to me and gives me "that look." I shake his hand and tell him I think he's great and then proceed to make an ass out of myself and tell him how he met my friend in a New York Starbucks and she was so happy about it and so I just had to come to this party to shove it in her face and how good looking he is...

Everything I did NOT want to ever come out of my mouth DID...

Brandon then - and thankfully - interrupts and starts talking to Wentworth. B demands that Wentworth get picture with him and that I take it - so I do. Then my balls grow back and I ask Wenty to get a picture with me as well - he says sure (very humble man.)

Brandon can't get the phone working or whatever so it's taking what seems like forever- so long in fact that I realized:

"I'm SQUEEZING Wentworth Miller's BACK FAT!"

Yes, how embarrassing is that.

So then Brandon see's the pic of Wentworth and me and decides he doesn't like it and we need to do it again. Wentworth the poor thing just stands there. THEN the Studio publicist turns to me and says very rudely "That's enough. He has to go now" I look at Brandon - I'm embarrassed - Brandon looks at me and is about to pitch a fit like a two year old. I glance back at our publicist - I take the picture anyway - Brandon's kind of happy. The publicist says to me again "That's enough!" I then, with my holier than art thou attitude (that had been building through out the night) proceeded to say:

"Excuse me...do you know who I am?" (Oh yes I said it!)

He responds, "Yeah, you're Diva." Before sharply turned taking Wentworth with him. I stood there dumbfounded at what I just said and did.

Oh, did I mention the guy I said this too was also an executive - not only a publicist but an EXECUTIVE and the president of the studio was standing there as well along with other "suits."

Brandon, giddy after meeting the man of his dreams, and me stupefied, truffle on out the party with everyone else. By this stage Jess's too drunk to go to the hotel/other after party. I have to drive Brandon home as he was not invited plus I wasn't going to go if Jess wasn't so I went home.

Yeah, I haven't been back to a Studio party since but it's only a matter of time till I get back on the horse. As you like to say. NEXT!

Standby

Things have been manic. I've even had to attend a mandatory educational seminar on the bird flu pandemic. I'm now the proud owner of one of those sexy surgical masks previously modelled by Michael Jackson. Word is that we should be expecting the emergency gel any day now. Hmm, the seminar was educational but not practical so I doubt there will be a gel application demonstration. Damn Gina.

My former LA roomie is cooking me up a delicious blog on her unfortunate evening spent at the cast party of 'Prison Break.' Yes, she is also a lush so there is lots of celeb goss mixed with cocktails. In the meantime I'm playing tour guide to a friend from London for the weekend.

Delta Pre-Departure Dates

My roomie, Delta, has decided that Sydney no longer blows her hair back and will move to Melboune in July. A big sign to end the lease? I think so.

The best part is that she's taking this opportunity to cash in on all the dates she's been promised over the past year. "Let's give him a call" she says. "He owes me dinner and drinks." Sounds like a fab idea to me so I say.Why not! Throw caution to the wind, Delts. Line 'em up out the door for you 'guilt free no possibility of making a connection or screwing it up' sticky date. She's got two lined up for this week. I'll be on standby just in case it all goes pear shaped. A well timed emergency text or phone call from moi might be in order to liberate her from said date if it's a bomb.

Delta has just whispered in my ear that she will consider all date offers prior to departure. Send me a pic (best to be more than 6ft tall as she is 6ft1).

Good luck Delts!

HNT

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Dear Eurovision,

I am eternally grateful to the Eurovision Song Contest for producing such musical heros as Abba and will forever hate it for subjecting me to the musical ferret that is Celine Dion. But this year I am just shocked and confused: a monster-themed hard rock band from Finland?

Surely I am not alone in thinking - what in the munter is going on?

2006 Winner - Lordi (Finland)

Lordi told the BBC, 'This is a victory for rock music and for open-mindedness. This is proof that there are rock fans watching Eurovision. Maybe in the future we'll see rock bands, metal and hip hop'.

Since when did Eurovision become a battle of the hard core rock bands? Don't get me wrong I'm not anti rock but there is no place for this in the purity that is Eurovision.

Yes, okay, it's such a piss take but this whole Monster thing is just taking the piss. It's gone too far and needs to be stopped.

I like to see pop hopefuls battle it out - fake tan, eighties hair, mini skirts, furrowed manicured brows, confused Euro pop diva looks, and sequence a-plenty. It's all so serious and such dirty work.

1974 Winner ABBA (Sweden).

American Idol contestants could learn a thing or two from Eurovision. It's so trashy and it's oh so very good. So good.

More than 100 million peeps tuned in and people from 38 countries voted. But the 51st winner romped in wearing monster masks? Puh-lease! Give me a freakin' break. Where is the glitter, the big hair, the jump suits?

Eurovision get a grip. Keep it real. Revoke this award!

I See You Watching Me Watching You...

I'm taking stock of my weekend and can't remember if I left the house yesterday or not. Bloody hell that's a bit freaking sad. It all seems to be a bit blurry. Wait - I went for another round of hypno that lasted for 3 1/2 . That's right then I watched a French film and baked some chocolate mud muffins with hot chocolate sauce that were divine.

I'm no longer crushing on my hypnotherapist; my sights are now back on the acting teacher. After closer inspection of my teacher's rugged looks I think that he has a broken nose so he's really "Sexy Without a Clefty." He still has a Joaquin 'the Dream' Phoenix vibe about him. There's something in the eyes that tells me he's slighlty fucked up and a little rough. Yes please! I just those artistic types slightly on the edge.

Last class there was an "I see you watching me watching you" thing going on. I'll be doing my scene from 'Closer' this week. Hot.

Fuck You, That's My Name.

[Drunken blog]
The other actors from class were talking about a scene from "Glengarry Glen Ross." One of the characters asks another character their name and the response is "fuck you, that's my name." I just love this.

It's Friday night. 8.46pm. I'm home alone and already pissed from going to the bar and having quite a few glasses of champagne. I'm really beginning to love the people I work with but the job is pedestrian. My boss told me she want's to contract me for a year but I really don't give a shit, I'm bored and no longer wish to work for peanuts.

My high school friend turned up at the bar tonight, she has just bought a second house with her partner. Reality check: a) partner b) house - 2nd house in fact. What the fuck am I doing?

Oh yeah, I'm am such the drunk dialer or 'trashed texter' to be more accurate. Give me a mobile and a few glasses of vino and I'll show you a nice phone bill for the evening. I like to go international too. I've been texting away searching for answers.

I bumped into another Vipassna person on the way home. That will be the 3rd this year. She was on the bus, hasn't meditated since the retreat, isn't a vegetarian, and was also on a vino buzz. Sweet.

Can at least one man in Sydney who wears an Ohio State shirt actually be Buckeye? All these Sydney guys have such attitudes about it. Hey, if you're sick of being asked about it don't wear the fucking shirt.

'N' is for...

Here is my first ever tag given to me by sexy Mike.

"This is how it works: Comment on this entry and I will give you a letter. Write ten words beginning with that letter in your journal, including an explanation of what the word means to you and why, and then pass out letters to those who want to play along."

I got the letter 'N' so here are my teN:

Nemesis
Through out my life I have always had a nemesis. I've also always had a crush too one for every period of my life: high school, college, various jobs, share house situations. My most recent nemesis was the drama school freak but since the change to Sexy Clefty's class (aka my new crush) I'm sans nemesis. It's not so bad.

Nuts
Well since I am a cock dodger of sorts, the real life male kind rarely makes a daily appearance. So I like to replace it with other kind of nuts: nutella, peanut butter etc. I'll admit I had an unfortunate experience this year when I accidentally saw my friend's Dad's nuts. Don't ask -- it was in public...

Nice
This is the kind of person I am not. I wish I was but then I think about it and being 'nice' is overrated. I'd rather be described in so many other ways than boring old 'nice.' Neurotic is probably one -- I prefer eccentric but alas it doesn't start with 'N.'

New York City
It's calling me. It's on my mind but I don't seem to be taking any action. I hate being an Aussie with no visa prospects. Maybe I've just seen too many TV shows and movies but NYC screams challenge, opportunity, excitement, new beginnings etc. Part of writing this one is to talk myself into doing taking the plunge.

Noisy Neighbours
I've said this before but my neighbours like to fuck and fuck loudly. Lucky fuckers! I'm an AV girl so that's the audio component sorted. I guess they are doing community service really.

Okay so that's only 5 but i'll keep thinking and add a few.

HNT - Half Nekkid Thursday

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Cock-a-Doodle Do Me

I go to his beautifully decorated apartment in the city and we talk for hours. He brings me a drink and listens intently to every single word I say. He eventually draws the blinds and works on putting me to sleep using only his voice then he sits and watches me; the whole time I'm completely relaxed and willingly tell him the answer to a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g he asks. Afterwards he gazes into my eyes and gently brushes a piece of hair away from my face. He kisses me. We're done. I leave the cash on the table and agree to see him next week for another session.

I swear all of the above is true but it's not what you think-- he's actually my hynotherapist and yes he's tres sexy and gay -- so of course I've developed an instant crush.

I've decided that next session I'm going to come clean about my cock dodging ways and see if he can assist me with permanently ridding me of this curse. Using only hypnotherapy - natch.

Someone in my apartment complex isn't dodging the cock. Noisy fuckers... Literally.

Dead Sexy Clefty

.I heart my acting teacher.

He's got some kind of a nose thing going on (broken?) and possibly a cleft palette but I find him to be dead sexy. A beautiful face with scars and a gorgeous voice to match. Hey, the cleft palette thing works for Joaquin Phoenix so why not my hot new teacher aka"Sexy Clefty"?

By the end of the class he'd cast me as 'Anna' in a scene from "Closer." If you haven't read the play, she's the photographer character played by Julia Roberts in the film who's married to Clive Owen and having an affair with Jude Law.

Anyway, I saw a wicked sparkle in Sexy Clefty's eyes shoot over in my direction the moment he declared his love for the word cunt. Some of the other actors weren't such lovers of the 'c' word but it's their loss really. They need to get in a production of the 'Vagina Monologues' or get some hot gay male friends to help them get desensitized and start appreciating the versatility and usefulness of the word 'cunt' for any number of situations.

So, the reason I'm in Sexy Clefty's class to begin with this semester is essentially because I refused to leave.

My name was called out in my original class but I just couldn't handle another semester with a certain classmate. She's was absolutely doing my head in and is psychotic. She says she's 'psychic' but since she also claims that she lost her memory at 12 but now has 360 degree vision, even with her eyes closed, then I don't really think I can trust her understanding of the difference between 'psychic' and 'psychotic.'

Clefty didn't truly appreciate my situation and even after my desperate plea still asked me to go back to the other class but I simply refused and there really wasn't much he could do about it. Before I knew it class had begun, he had cast me as Anna and we were sharing a look from across the room over the 'c' word -- come to think of it maybe he was just thinking that I was a cunt...

Nudie Knee Highs

Today I'm wearing nude knee high stockings. Okay so the truth is they are more like the kind popular with grannies. I threw them on in a hurry this morning and not noticing they were two different shades:one tanned leg one pale leg. Shite. Ahh amusement for the masses again. Yesterday it was my apple rolling down the aisle of the bus and out the front door.

I've finally got my appointment with the hypnotherapist. Hoorah! It's set for this Saturday and I can't freaking wait. The hypnotherapist I'm seeing, who I met at the 10 day meditation retreat, used to live in LA and work with actors there. Something about finding their mojo again. I hope I can locate mine and send it on its way to NYC (with me attached). Stand by for a full report post my first 3hr session. Maybe he can also help me memorize lines easier. Stand by for full report.

Last post I was considering Boot Camp. What the hell was I thinking? The colder it gets the less appealing it becomes. It's just not really a winter thing to do is it.

Who's the Biggest Loser?

My obsession with the Biggest Loser led to a gym phase (at least my Fitness First membership was no longer acting as a monthly donation)

Personal trainers at my gym were circling gym goers like sharks all of them waiting to prey on desperados like myself. One PT in particular (PT Gal) took a shine to me luring me into a false sense of security. She started with a string of innocent 'chats' I knew she was selling me so resisted.

Last year I had an extremely hot personal trainer who also happened to be an actor/model. I swear I didn't know this when I signed him up but I must say I wasn't dissapointed with his smooth advances. Anyway, this situation ended up with me out with him one afternoon knocking back a few too many vinos. We were supposed to go see a special advanced screening of a film but there was an embarrasing cock up with tickets (totes his fault but I was blamed) hence us ending up in a bar. It was very messy and needless to say I didn't enter the gym for quite some time after that. Shite. He was hearing the sounds of $$ while I was hearing something quite different.

Anyway, last week in my moment of weakness I finally gave in to PT Gal's lure signed up for a 'comp' session which is actually code for 'I will make you feel so guilty that you will have to take me on as your trainer.' I would love to have my own trainer on a daily basis but hello this is real life not Fantasy Lush Land. It was during this meeting that PT Gal revealed that she was actually the ex-girlfriend of the Trainer Model/ Actor guy aka my former PT. Apparently they lived on the Upper West Side together in NYC while he was off modeling.

"Well this isn't awkward at all then is it?" I though. I did my session with her and she wan't that fab so I'm not really wanting to train with her. But bloody hell I do feel guilty since she gave me the comp session and all. Backed into a corner again.

I'm half arsed considering signing up for Boot Camp (3 mornings a week for 4 weeks). It would cost the same as seein PT Gal. Actually, I pretty much know for a fact know that I won't haul my butt out of bed to be anywhere at 6am but maybe now I have a reason.

Speaking of magic, I'm still waiting to hear back from the hypnotherapist I met at Vipassna. Ooh, in that case Boot Camp or PTs won't be necessary at all. Hooray for hypnotherapy!

BTW this is day two on my binge fest bought on my well meaning colleague who left a candy bar on my desk. I was strong for about and hour then gave in. It was a slippery slope from there that later involved many doughnuts. Plus my roomie is selling Cadbury fundraiser chocolates so of course today I decided to donate to the funds three times. On finding this out she has now hidden the chocolate in her room with strict instructions NOT to go searching for them or I will find a nasty surprise. Maybe she has a sneaky sex toy box hidden away somewhere in which case of course I want to know what is hidden in there. It's a dangling carrot really...or chocolate...

It's so Wrong It's Right

New York, New York

I’ve been seriously considering moving to NYC for a while. Two years at drama school is the plan du jour. It's something i've always wanted to do and never had the guts to do it. I'll have to sell everything (bed, couch, tables, all that apartment stuff), end my lease, quit my job and start again with only two suitcases. That in itself would be fine it's really the whole US visa crap that is the thing that freaks me the most.

I ended up on IM with Cherry last night and had to confess exactly what I was doing : searching Craigslist for marriages of conveniences...Oh save me, save me now!

Australia just has too many bad memories for me and I just can’t shake the feeling that I am in a parallel life to where I should be. Something like Back to the Future part II.

I’m in the process of applying for a new passport (the old one got soaked when I was in Venice back in 2002). Alas, there are not too many jobs wishing to sponsor in my line of work so maybe i'll have to jump right into the US debate with all the other illegals. Gasp* I've been checking out Mimi's article for tips of how to sneak under the radar.

Is anyone living in NYC at the moment?

The Biggest Loser

I walked out on my blog for one reason: I am addicted to the Aussie version of the BIGGEST LOSER!

I freaking love that show. It has consumed my life for the past few weeks prompting me to make my own chart and post it on the fridge and haul arse to the gym between 4-6 times a week.

Last night was the season finale and I sat my arse on my fabulous blue couch. I am in love with Bob. What can I say he's really the perfect man: American, sexy tatoos, a great body, a beautiful accent and is gay. I'm a sucker for what I can't have. I totes want him to be my trainer.

I had a haircut last week and forced my hairdresser discuss the BL with me. Turns out my salon is contracted to do the hair for the contestants for finale. I immediatley whored myself proclaiming how fab I was and why I should be allowed to go along with them acting as an assistant for the evening. No cigar hence my watching the end game from my living room.

Alas, the BL has been replaced with Big Brother and I couldn't give a shit about Big Bruv. It just reminds me how much I hate my fellow Aussies. OK, I'll admit I was addicted to the UK version when I lived in London. But I refuse to be suckered into the world of Big Bruv!

Thank God there is one more Biggest Loser special this Sunday. Can't wait.

HNT - Angle in

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HNT - Interactive

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Vote for your favourite title or suggest one.

1. I've Got an Itch to Scratch (Rocky Horror)

3. Scratch n' Sniff.

A Hickey from Kenickie

St Patrick's Day - the city is dripping with drunken leprechauns who never returned to their offices from that very long Friday lunch. Everyone seems to be getting a piece of ass these days.

Cherry has a hot Italian on her books/ raring to go with the promise of STRONG sex. Shudder with excitement.

MNH had a story to tell me Saturday morning that involved a liplocking.

Poor moi only got hit up by a sweaty old train driver outside the Empire.

Anyway, my flatmate - who was mistaken for Delta Goodrum and will henceforth be known as Delta - got a hickey from a hottie much younger than her.

Now, hickeys are so retro but this guy is a toy boy so I think we can all marvel and flashback to the the surprise hickey one discovers the morning after. I copped and eyeful Saturday morning and Delts was horrified at first but quickly warmed up to her tongue trophy donated by her sexy 19 year old German backpacker.

Really, he is the perfect toy boy accessory for this fall. We've dubbed him 'Hans the Disco Fox.' Apparently the Disco Fox is a cool dance move in his native Berlin but that and a few other things have been lost in translation. I can't even remember his real name but I'm counting on her calling him Hans by mistake in a moment of passion.

I want a fucking hickey of my own damn it!

*Pashed is to make out.

HNT - St Patrick's Day

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Pic taken from a boozy night in Dublin last summer. Drinking Guiness of course.

Hitchhikers & Magic Kebabs

I had to turn down a hot dinner invite to MNH's place as it was closing night of the Vagina Monologues.

Naturally I felt compelled to join the cast for a few post show vinos and even though I was offered a few rides back to the city I stupidly chose to catch the bus back with another actor. Mistake #1.

We waited...and waited...and waited. No freaking bus.

We examined the time table a little closer only to see the 11.19 bus had a very tiny 'b' next to it wich means that it boards on the opposite side of the road i.e the same bus stop we got off at to go to the theatre (not logical).

So to add insult to injury we had sat watching our bus drive past us. Now that I think back, I swear that bus driver snarled while waving at us. Bastard. We were pissed and we were screwed. The next bus due was at 7.50am. In 8 hours time. I repeat 8 hours!Hitchhiking quickly became our only option.

Arm out, leg arched in true slapper style we thumbed a ride from the first car that came by.

Introducing: Claire and Jeff.

A mid 50s pair of booze hounds who had a heated arguement right in front of us with the windows open. Luckily they finally agreed to drop us in Hornsby. Sounds great? Well, they also explained that they would be avoiding the main roads because of breathalizers. Oh, fucking great.

My fellow hitchhiker, having only moved to Sydney 3 weeks earlier was freaking out and mouthed to me "are you scared?" The only thing that scared me was the freaky Phantom of the Opera sountrack on their stereo. Claire's driving wasn't so bad. I'd certainly been with worse sober drivers in the past. However, none that played Phantom.

Hitchhiker Girl moronically revealed the name of our show. Jeff flat out did NOT approve. It was sour faced cats bums all round and I personally don't think that either of them had had much vagina action in a while anyway. I still had my flaming red lipstick on that served me so well at mardi gras and I'm sure they thought we were a pair of lying slappers heading back to the city.

By the time we arrived at the train station we had missed the last one and had to wait another half hour for the infamous night bus. Lucky for us we spotted a fellow Vagina Monologue actor who pointed us in the direction of the Magic Kebab Shop yonder:$3 Magic Kebabs. Uber bargain.

The owner of the shop's own skinny kebab was a little overactive and the sexual innuendos were flying around. Magic Kebab Owner Guy was offering his 'fresh meat' to me, did I want it 'cut' or on a 'thick slab' and would I like his 'creamy white sauce? Don't worry baby. I'll tell you when it's coming so you can be ready to swallow.'

'Umm, thanks kebab man but, no. Fuck no actually.'

'Oh, so you want to fuck me?' he asked.

At this point Hitchhiker Girl tried the ole faithful 'she's my girlfriend' routine but Kebab guy wasn't buying it and turned his attention to her. It was at that very moment that she revealed to him she was bi. The penny dropped:

Oh God was I on a lesbian date without realising it? Had I initiated this by offering to get the bus with her? I flashed back to the glasses of wine she plied me with. The compliments on my performance. The saving me from Kebab man. The 'missing' the bus!' Did she think that I had planned all this? Had she planned all this?

Oh, fucking fabulous just what I need a fellow vagina after my vagina and a greasy kebab man that just won't quit. I just want to get home into bed sans both of them.

I picked up a couple of college boys to amuse me while waiting outside said Magic Kebab Shop. The bus ride also took ages as we had to make special stops for a blonde broad to puke on the side of the road. She's got a way to go before becoming a fully fledged lush.

Before Things Got Messy- HNT

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Okay, so these don't belong to me but I'm borrowing them this week for HNT. Yes, that is my vino charged pout on the right next to my former flatmate.

This pic is from an impromptu party we had with the neighbours. The boy-next-door whom we like to call neighbour boy (we still don't know his name) came by with his opera-singer-in-training sister.

It started out as a friendly neighbour thing and ended up rather messy. Having had a few too many vinos I was texting a few SOS messages to my flatmate from the bathroom meanwhile she ended up doing the neighbourly thing, Desperate Housewives style, with neighbour boy.

He moved out soon after that then so did she. It's too bad his sister still lives next door.I used to be fine with opera but once you've heard a trainee singer squarking away at 7am, in the midle of the day and at midnight one's tune quickly changes to hatred.

I doubt I will ever go to an opera again and shudder at the mere sound of her and any mention of opera.

Enjoy HNT!

Hello Boys - Mardi Gras 2006

Alone, drinking at the bar while waiting for my fellow revelers to arrive. The life of a lush-cum-piker magnet continues. By 5pm I'm on my third vodka cranberry and the parade doesn't start till around 7.30pm.

This is the third night in a row I've been slushing around Oxford St aka Sydney's gay Mecca. Until I get my own damn parade I'm going to make this one mine. But please - whatever you do - don't call me a fag hag. I hate that term. I'm not a prude and am constantly amazed and impressed by Todd's use of the word cunt but the word hag just brings me back to the association of an ugly evil-looking old woman. I think it has to do with a line Macbeth. Anyway, much to my chagrin my friends have settled on the term handbag - at least it's not hag.

Thursday night turned into not going to work on Friday but in the evening I got a call from MNH - My New Hero inviting me to go out. No arm twisting required there. Friday night turned into a 1pm Saturday breakfast with MNH eating designer cup cakes so really I only had 3 hrs to clean my apartment in preparation for my friend staying over, get ready, and go pick up the Mardi Gras tickets. Enter the Garbage Grouch (see previous post).

Luckily I found some solace in slapping on the brightest shade of red lipstick I could find. It's amazing what a whorish shade of red can do for a girl's ego. Alas, it's Mardi Gras and unless you are baring you arse in a pair of chaps or budgie smugglers* no one's a lookin'.

I marveled at the beautiful bodies strutting around. Structural wonders created by hours spent at the gym, tanning, waxing, and dance rehearsals. Some are physical feats that make ones mouth water not to mention other parts. It's hot. Men dressed as cowboys, cops, firemen all in a drunken and drug induced haze some wandering some prowling the streets of Sydney.

The personal training industry is probably rubbing it's hands together awaiting calls from parade attendees who didn't quite get enough arse over the weekend. It kind of guilts you into a gym membership. If I owned a gym I'd certainly be there doing a little marketing exercise to get the punters in.

The parade was a champagne soaked event. Yes, my friend who agreed to go out on Oxford Street post parade and stay at mine piked. Another one bites the dust. Oh well.

But all was not lost thanks to a sexy French man for his drunken interest in moi- nothing like getting a cat call in Francais as you walk by. It's the red lips I tell you. Maybe he thought I was a lipstick lesbian and I would be shocked by his advances. He'd be wrong...Ooh la la!

*Aussie slang for Speedos - a budgie is a small bird other terms for Speedos are 'dick stickers.'

Garbage Grouch

It was my second trip to the garbage room when I was accosted by a fellow resident in the garage:

"Excuse me, that last bag you took had recycle materials in it. I sorted it for you this time BUT in future please make sure to sort your rubbish and place it in the coloured bins provided" she snarled.

It's true, my recycle bin in the kitchen was overflowing so I quickly shoved the excess stuff into a bag and chucked it in the regular bin in haste. I was on my way to Mardi Gras and had no time to wade through the bin room.

I guess this woman had been spying on me walk through the car park garbage bags in hand and felt the need to do some further investigation.

In order for her to know this about my rubbish she made a special trip to the garbage room after I left. She opened all the bins to find my particular bags then physically untie the knotted bags all before riffling through my trash.

Yes, she riffled through my trash in the garbage room and then told me about it!

I felt kind of guilty about having mixed in a plastic bottle with the other stuff but wasn't in the mood to deal with her attitude so I smiled said thanks and kept on walking with my second load of already fully-sorted recycle garbage.

She would not let up and kept starring at me at which point I turned and asked point blank:

"Why did you look through my garbage?"

That was it - she practically started to spit. She embarked on a rant about how she had seen a plastic bottle through my bag and how there was a garbage problem in the building. What, does she have x-ray vision? How many other times has she pulled this garage garbage room stalker business on others or was I simply the lucky victim of her rage.

I recycle. I promise I do. Hence the overflow from the recycle bin in my kitchen but at what point does this bitch with the blonde bob cut believe it's okay to go through my garbage and lecture me about my recycling practices?

I think this incident says far more about her than me. If only there was something manky in the bin bag. I would have just loved it.

Waking up with a Hangover

HNT- Happy Mardi Gras

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Happy Half-Nekkid Thursay to all. It's 2.49am Thurs and I am just home from clubbing with Sydney's finest. We hit up the Stonewall, Columbian, and the Shift. Special gust stars in from Dubai and California for this weekend. The cabbie missed my street so I was forced to walk up the steep hill - I was in no state to direct him through the maze of one-way streets to my apartment. That cemented it for me: no work tomorrow.

Alas, my pout is without action tonight. Tres sad. But I got to see the beautiful people going hard and fast. Mardi Gras is truly upon us the parade is Saturday. Earlier today I saw boys in sailor hats dancing in a perfume shop window on Oxford st.

I'd like to send love to Andrew Somewhere who I saw out tonight and probably scared the shit out of. We've never met but I recognised him from his pic having been referred to me by Cherry. It looked like him so I thought I should call out. Well "Fuck me gently with a chainsaw Heather" it actually was him! A phone call is on the cards if not a liquid lunch.

The Lost Vagina's of Manly

I was late for my first rehearsal of The Vagina Monologues. It seemed like such a simple task: go to the rehearsal in Manly. I'd been to this hotel before for a few vinos.

I asked if there was a rehearsal happening and nothing but blank looks came my way. I gave the name of the bird running the show but again nothing. I finally leant over and slowly and quiety elaborated saying that I was there for the 'Va-gin-a Mon-o-logues.' The looks changed and I was directed to room 41 where a band was playing. Alas no vagina's to be seen. - Hello, I'm after a rehearsal filled with women doing monologues about their vagina's not a room full of blokes wanting to put their pickle in one.

I barreled up a backpacker who directed me to an internet cafe. The whole time I kept up an internal running commentary David Attenborough style:

"Where are the Vagina's? Have you seen my Vagina's? I've lost my group of fellow vagina's. The Vagina's were last seen in Manly." How ironic that out of all the places in Sydney this could happen it happened in Manly.

After getting the address I high-tailed it to the other hotel where a pair of squeaky clean front desk guys were congratulating each other on their good looks. They must have been first year uni guys they were just so sparkling, a twinkle in their eye, shiny faces. Forget the era of the sugar daddy - the toy boy is the new accessory.

Anyway, I wasn't dancing around why I was there and got straight to the point. "I've got a rehearsal for the Vagina Monologues, I've been wandering around Manly, went to the wrong place is it here? Are the other vagina's rehearsing here?" They seemed to enjoy my frankness and directed me upstairs where I found nothing but the crusty old Toastmasters.

Frankly I'm not too sure what these people do. Do they make toasts? Give speeches? Spend hours shouting cheers and drinking to one another? Actually if that is what they do then maybe this is a group I could really embrace. I'd have to ignore the fact that they wear name tags and are all over 70.

Another trip downstairs and the shiny boys said that the woman I was meant to see was definitely with the Toastmasters. I knew this was bollocks. I'd seen them and they were NOT vagina people at all but I still went back upstairs. I was now ridiculously late and was over it so when one of the blue hair friendly toastmaster ladies asked if they could help. Do you think that I can be blamed for her death if she carks it from complete shock?

Back downstairs again and I now have a shiny guy as an escort. He finds the vagina's for me - funny that. They are behind an unmarked closed door. Phew, I enter in the middle of a monologue and take a seat.

Since this was my first rehearsal and the show is next week I get a quick run through of what I'll be doing. All the monologues had been assigned and I was left with Theatresports. Okay, that sounds interesting, theatresports, but what do I have to do in the show? I thought.

So we all got up in a group to give me an example.

"Okay everyone BE....A.....VAGINA!"

What, you want us to BE a vagina? I mean seriously, I go to a rehearsal where I am in a theatresports segment in the Vagina Monologues and I should expect something other than this? No, this is probably to be expected. However, having someone direct you to "be a vagina" "make a vagina with your bodies" is still kind of odd to hear. Well, I was there and had such a shit fight to get to that bloody hotel that I did it with the rest of the group and together we made a pretty damn convincing vagina.

And that was it. I heard only one monologue and was a vagina for about 30 seconds and the rehearsal was over. So much running around for so little. All the other monologues had happened.

The Vagina Monologues is a greatly respected piece of theatre but next week I will be one on stage in front of hundreds of people 'being' all kinds of vaginas. A vagina swimming, a vagina shopping....

*Since posting I have been offered a bigger role. I'm now part of "Short Skirt".

Pikers Pikers Everywhere

Pike #1*
Saturday - I had tickets and my former roomie Sarah changed her mind/ didn't return my calls. There is a whole story there but lets just say this is the final straw and her number is now permanently deleted from my phone. (not forgiven)

Luckily I offered myself up to a very sexy guy who wined and dined me. He picked me up from my apartment, drove me into the city in his convertible, bought me drinks and dinner etc. He is absolutely hot and yes the only downfall is that he is gay.

How unfair, if only I could sprout a cock, become a man, and date him I would. In fact he's good looking in a traffic stopping kind of way and it happened twice while I was in his presence. Who knew that really happened? He's My New Hero - but Cherry Banchele is still up there and can incidentally also be named and shamed as a piker herself for her Italian weekend effort of "I'm not going to Venice with you and you can't make me."

In true Cherry style she blames the evil Maritza. Loves it. However, if it was to me Ms Cherry- I wouldn't loves it so much and your arse would be in Venice and having a damn good time sourcing out the saucy hot Italian sasuage.

Pike#2
This probably isn't a technical pike but I must name and shame myself. I was scheduled for an interview this morning. A 7.50am interview that is! Who the bollocks schedules an interview for that time on a Sunday anyway? NOVA - the people who interview for English teachers in Japan, that's who. My alarm went off at 6am (way to early after getting back late from my faux date) and I was on the phone soon after spouting some bullshit reason as to why I couldn't make it. NOVA will be back next month but I'm sure my name has moved from the A list to the black list so we'll see if I'm invited back.

Pike # 3,4&5
Tonight is Tropfest. The annual outdoor film festival in Sydney. Last year I didn't get to go because Sarah piked on me at the last minute (ooh, running theme here.) So I thought I would line up three different groups with the intention that one of them would surely show. WRONG.

After an all night sexathon my friend was simply too tired to make it (forgiven). Ex roomie Drew just landed from a week long business trip in Bali so he was out too (forgiven.) KJ didn't call either but lives far far away out of the city (forgiven). And now it's raining and the bloody festival has been called off early - that teaches the organizers for marketing it as going ahead 'rain, hail or shine.'

Next Week
Next Saturday is Mardi Gras. I'm going to the parade but am starting to sniff more pikers. The guest list is always long at the beginning but they drop like a glitter from a marching boy's shorts when Saturday night rolls around. I am going to that parade even if it's on my own.

*I can't remember any other terms for piker - it's a person who ditches out at the last minute.

Wonka and One-Night Stands

I'm hung over from last night and the only thing that seems to make sense to eat is a weird combo - hot dog frankfurts, a croissant, a wagon wheel and pineapple juice. I can't find the Advil and am too lazy to walk to the shops so i'm suffering through it.

I was lining up to see a live re-voicing of the original Willy Wonka movie when my guests and I got antsy. We felt that the bar was calling our names louder than the Oompa Loompas were PLUS the door bitch was being over zealous with her clipboard antics so we fucked Wonka off, and headed to Bondi.

Now, I'm generally a vino or cocktail girl but if you put a beer in front of me I’m not one to pass up it up. A bevoir is a bevoir and I’ll accept all offers. Sure, lets blame my being polite as the reason for my being drunk.

My friend's ex/friend was out with us and on the prowl for a one-night stand. He's a gardener/landscaper - the equivalent of the Desperate Housewives guy but Aussie but more of a rugged type.

So gardener guy revealed he has a pre one-night stand domestic preparation routine that he undergoes. It's essentially tidying up his house and making it 'female friendly.' You've got to be ready I guess. I wonder, is there also a plan B, C, D in place in case something goes wrong?

Sadly for gardener guy there was no one-night stand but he did get to take his ex and me home with his brother. That actually sounds far more interesting but really; it's not at all what you think. At least if it were to happen he would have been prepared.

The Half-Nekkid Eye

.In the spirit of continuing with the naked theme here is my first 'Half-Nekkid Thursday' pic. Check out Mike's blog for some sexy HNT.

The Naked Truth, Almost...

If a punter chooses to bang his co-worker over a desk while in plain view from their office block it's my right to look. Connel Wagner building in Neutral Bay - Mondays around 9.30pm 4th floor.

If a neighbour chooses to leave their window open while shagging and screaming up a storm it's my right to listen. My apartment block - any Sunday morning and she is loud.

But what if you've seen someone naked and they don't know it?

I'm due to meet a guy I've accidently seen naked. Yes, accidently I swear! Do I go on pretending that I don't already know his religion based on his choice cut (not Jewish for the record.)

It wasn't like he was a private dancer dancin' for money. There were loads of people. Although I did pay for it but it's not what you think.

He's an actor in a play and I've been e-mailing him re: NYC stuff. I thought I should go see the play beforehand. I do my research, you see.

In the second act his kit was off and he was standing there delivering a monologue stark bullock naked. There was no where else to look. Maybe at his face but what fun would that be?

I think I'm going to tell him that I plan on seeing the play and see what he says. Unless he likes the fact that I've seen it. It's possible. If he's willing to show the world his bits then I'm sure my having seen it is the least of his concern.

N.B Naked actor boy is not the guy pictured that is Antonio the Italiano (consider him a little gift from me for reading the blog.)

Flat out Sharing

Over the past 6 years I've lived with 32 people in 11 different places. This spans 3 countries and 4 cities and does not include my summers spent sharing a platform tent with a Dutch and Israeli girl. 8 of these people are from my summer spent interning in London. My happiest time was in the ground floor apt in the London Docklands. Great apartment, great view, great people, great life!

My sitch now in Sydney has been an asshole of a ride. So far 6 people have lived in this 3br that we call resort style living. The roomie history for this apt goes like this. Drew and Sarah were here first and got me in. They remain cool esp Drew who is letting me house sit in Newtown next week. Cheers thanks a lot (I promise I'll be vegetarian while in the apt).

Flat mate replacement #1 was a personal trainer who lied about cash and moved out within a week. He's left his live in girlfriend to join our home and we suspect he went back to her. It wasn't us he was a shifty bastard who later told our friend sheen that he had to go look after his sick mother!

Had Drew not bumped the freckle muscled lad one morning we would have returned to an empty apt. 6 months later he still hadn't returned to collect his 25kg bucket of body builder protein powder or faux Aboriginal artwork (even though he called 3 times to arrange pick up.) This guy had a truck outside and was busy loading it while Drew was still in the apt. He saw Drew in the hall and less than 5 minutes later called him saying that he was leaving and would be out by night.

The Personal trainers successor had scored a job working for the government in the money laundering investigations department. This lemming had the government call me requesting my personal details and a list of every country I've ever been including exact dates. Screw that. Nobody has that information so I rejected this request in a not so polite way. The Lemming stayed in his room for hours and most of the time you wouldn't know if he was there or not. Freak.

The new generation here are busy starring in their own soapy. They've each dated the other's best friend and now after both being dumped, their best friends are dating each other. So all that is left to finish it off is for them to date each other or date their own best friend.

Side note: Michael Jackson's "Liberian Girl" is playing. I always thought it was "librarian Girl."

Market my Arse out the Door!

Week two of my marketing class and I've already quit. This wasn't via fax or phone or e-mail this was one of those grand exits -- walking out in the middle of class.

"Had ENOUGH have you?" the rotund Scotch teacher asks looking puzzled as I'm halfway out the door.

He's oblivious to the idea that his ranting could have offended anyone.

"I've had ENOUGH of your derogatory comments" I say flatly looking him right in the eye.

Ahh, the penny drops and panic sets in as he starts to plead "please forgive me" but I sharply cut him off "no, I don't forgive you" and keep walking.

He was telling the class how he was homophobic and started asking "What is a heterosexual anyway? (confused with the meaning of metrosexual) I can't tell the difference in Sydney between boys and girls. Poofters this Blah Blah Blah."

My blood was boiling, my heart was racing and my anger building. Frankly I could not believe what I was hearing. He continued on to say that "poverty is self inflicted." What the?

The second time he used the word "poofter" that was it. I was up and out of there like a bullet. I just couldn't take it any longer and someone needed to let him know that this was not okay.

Once I was out of class I paused at the end of the hallway to listen to the aftermath. He launched into damage control apologizing if he offended anyone. Sadly the class was silent but at least my ojection was noted.

Round two tomorrow. Jude calls the school...

Mortified by my Mobile

My V-day traumas continue. I was in the spirit sending a few texts here and there and was shocked when my ex-boss texted me "Happy Valentine's Day!"

What? It must be a group text as the one I got wasn't personalized. That's a bit cheeky. What the bollocks am I supposed to write to that?

It was about 20 minutes later when I stopped dead in my tracks and realized the error of my ways. Oh shite, she was responding to a text I sent to her. Fuckety, fuck.

I had written a text to a friend who bares the same name as my ex-boss and sent it to the wrong one. I have a flash back to my writing of the text in between phone calls while on assignment . Of course the note included my revival phrase "eat your heart out" and a bastardisation of her name.

I convince myself that I didn't send it. I remember the phone ringing but I don't quite recall the part where I press send. Maybe I didn't press send.

I used to have the proof of delivery function set on my phone but since I found out that they count as a text I cancelled. Clearly Vodaphone is at fault here. Bastards.

I place an urgent call to friend. No answer. I send another text asking for confirmation of my V-day wishes. The response stings "I hate to break it to you but you..."

I did all the right things; I listed (WORK) after the bosses name in the phone. The only reason she is still there to screen calls from her. I haven't used it I swear. This phone ettiquete is meant to be idiot proof (possibly). Jude proof, (No). Now it says BOSS great dirty big caps. B-O-S-S and then the name.

On the embarrasment scale of ex-boss relations this one just registers -clearly not the worst. Maybe I should send the number to the mobile phone graveyard where the number of my ex-personal trainer resides. R-I-P model/ actor /trainer number.

Dirty Dazza Ditched Me

That Bastard. Should I be at all surprised that my garage squatter Dazza has moved his stuff out and ran off owing me money? No. The message was sent to me via text. Considering he was forced to sleep in a garage for 5 days it's no real shock. Luckily for me he was nice enough to return the clicker and the key. Happy V-Day Jude. At least you're getting screwed by someone.

Eat your heart out on V-day

I am trying to bring back the saying "eat your heart out" and have decided that V-day is going to be the day to start. It's such a hot little saying; you are sure to appear hotter by using it. It's so retro.

The sexy Ribena guy who works at the outdoor cinema is my first target.

A perfect place would be at the cereal dating night at Westfield Bondi Woolies or Coles. You know, the place where you dolly around with your trolley and a box of cereal sticking out the top that best describes you. e.g Fruit Loops for the eccentrics, Variety Packs for the one night stand types, or Nutri-Grain for the gym buffs. I used to think this was an urban myth until I saw a press release put out by Westfield although, i've never met anyone who has admitted to doing it.

This year V-day is on Tight Arse Tuesday so going to the cinema is guaranteed to be a maze of clinging couples out to see Cassanova.

Hula Hoops and and a Head of Lettuce

I was on my way to Woolies to pick up a head of lettuce when I spotted a girl carrying 3 hula hoops. Well, not spotted from a distance like "look up there yonder what are those hoop like things that person is carrying?" More like she was walking past me and I said "What's up with the hoops?"

Apparently she takes a weekly Sunday evening hula class here in Sydney town! I guess if there are pole dancing schools why not hula hoop schools.
Anyway, these were no ordinary hula hoops. They were special weighted ones with red and white/blue and white stripes like a candy cane. They were kind of like the ones in primary school that were used in p.e class for athletics day, not the dodgy Barbie pink home version that always had a couple of sharp bends and a ball spinning around inside. These were bona fide professional hoops.

I was eager to find out more from hula hoop girl; was she a circus performer, a cheerleader, a go-go dancer or maybe a stripper and most importantly could she do it while on rollerskates (the old school kind)?

She claimed she was doing it just for "fun" but I think we can safely assume that she was really a go-go dancer in training Boogie Nights style. She did after all have those bitty shorts with the racing stripe down the side. Maybe there is a new cool bar opening in Syd and if there isn't there should be.

Nope she can't do it on skates but I assured her it would only be a matter of time. And before we knew it we had reached the literal fork in the road. As she veered off to her apartment we paused and smiled at each other for a second, me knowing she was really an in denial go-go dancer and her knowing I might be going to buy a lettuce but I sure wasn't going eat it. She was right.

What is a Bogan?

A bogan is a yobbo or a bevan, typically with a mullet haircut and tight jeans. Some bogans are obvious, like Warwick Capper, others are understated like Tina Arena or Kate Langbroek. But the question remains, are you a bogan? Well with the following quiz, by choosing answers A, B or C, we can establish for once and all, if you are a bogan.

This comes from: http://phat.shafted.com.au/text/bogan

At the Fish and chip shop you would order:
a. Chiko roll and chips... extra salt.
b. Piece of flake, banana fritter and some wedges.
c. Grilled piece of flake, small salad and a can of diet coke.

When you go on a holiday you choose:
a. Bali, Surfers or Rosebud.
b. Noosa, Lorne or Thailand.
c. Broome, Vietnam or Europe.

Your favourite holiday is booked with:
a. Contiki
b. Flight Centre
c. STA

You buy some smokes, you prefer:
a. Winnie Blues
b. Benson and Hedges
c. You don't smoke, it's bad for you.

Your favourite person on 'Neighbours' is:
a. Toady
b. Brooke Satchwell
c. Harold

You watch Melrose Place and look at Amanda, you think:
A. She's a spunk
B. She's alright
c. She's a slut

The sticker on the back of your car says:
a. If it's rocking don't bother knocking!
b. No Fear
c. Magic Happens

You call your Dad:
a. The old man
b. Dad
c. Father dearest or Sir

The last book you read was:
a. Anything by Max Walker, he's a pisser.
b. Anything by Stephen King, he's brilliant.
c. Anything by Irvine Welsh/Will Self, they're wonderful.


If you answered mainly A's. You're a full on moccasin wearing, holden driving bogan. You're proud of the fact and you aspire to be like Gary Ablett or Jimmy Barnes. You were spewing when Rose Tatoo broke up and your idea of a good saturday night is footy replay, followed by Sizzler/Smorgys then a Van Damme Video from Movieland.

If you answered mainly B's. You're what we call a 'Closet Bogan'. Someone who has the basic bogan instincts but is supressing them. You most likely grew up in the outer suburbs then moved into the inner suburbs when you went to Uni. But you can't deny it, you love playing kick to kick in the street, you've got couple of flannies in your wardrobe, you secretly sing along to The Angels tracks when your radio 'accidentally' finds itself on MMM. Face up to it, you're a bogan.

If you answered mainly C's. You're a snob, any bogan would call you a poof, regardless of sex type or orientation. You have no bogan in you at all. No amount of Cold Chisel albums or tight stretch jeans will ever change you. You sit in cafes where you work on your screenplay/play/book. All your friends are all called Jeremy and Tash and you grew up in a middle class suburb. Sorry your bogan credentials are zero.