And just like clockwork...

In six days I will be 33, and you know what that means - yep, my birthday.

My Mum rang me last night to ask me what she should get me. Twenty years ago I would have been able to list within seconds about fifty items that I not only didn't need but probably, after a few minutes, wouldn't really want. Last night I couldn't come up with anything. Not a thing. Well, certainly I do not want anything in a tangible sense. And it's not that I even want "the answers" or "meaning". I think I have "meaning" and that makes me not want to "know the answers" but it's that same old bloody story isn't it? Another birthday, another mini panic attack.

I have liked my 30's - I guess that is to say, I've liked me in my 30's. (except for the whole anger thing I mentioned in my last post...but I'm working on it so lets not get all "pointy out the facts" on me.) Its just that I cannot help but look back on the year, as one does round birthday time, and think "what have I done?"

I am starting to wonder whether my recent-ish plan to start taking care of myself, exercise more, drink less, positive thinking thing hasn't been a waste of time. After all, I am still doing the "looking back" and though I have moments of clarity (that have replaced my once drunken epiphanies) and seem to have more energy, I still have to buy those special garments that smooth and tuck and flatten the wobbly bits and seriously, what is with adult acne?

So maybe I just have to take a big fat (garment assisted) breath and resign myself to the ebbs and flows. Actually that is one thing I do know for certain, that this has been a year of high highs and lower than usual lows. But those highs - late night dinners in Chinatown, festival bars, the moments before you exit a plane to see those special someones, faces of friends laughing till they're crying and all those terrifying moments as the house lights fades and the curtains go up - oh for Christs sake Amanda, stop whining and get back to work!!!

The Lowest Common Denominator

"You'll never believe what happened to me..."
"Guess what happened to me today?"
"So, I was just driving along when...."
"So tell me if I'm crazy ...."
"Why do these things always happen to me?"

On any particular day, at any particular time of that any particular day, you could probably put money on me starting a story using any one of the above lines of dialogue. These stories normally finish with :

• my car door being punched in
• a book being thrown in my face
• me "taking my business elsewhere"
• me narrowly avoiding some sort of physical harm
• rude gestures and swear words
• me kicking a car tyre
• me getting a man fired
• me calling the police to make sure that the man taking photos of my license plate cannot do anything with them.

I have spent many hours recounting tales of how hard done by I am. People in my office gather round to find out what mess I have myself in this time. Comments like "Only you" or "Typical Buckers" have been uttered more than several times. And it was only two days ago, after contemplating the road rage altercation I found myself in yet again, that I joined the dots. Did the math. Pieced the puzzle.

The one thing common in all my tales is me. Me. The lady who loses it more often than not is me. Me. I am to blame. I am the cause of all my grief. I am an angry woman. ME!

I think I have worked out what my problem though is. I actually hate confrontation. When I am dealing with my friends I am the first to concede. I apologise, accept responsibility, take the blame, feel the guilt. So much so that sometimes I do this even when someone else is entirely at fault. I would much rather do that though, then have an ongoing battle over something more than likely trivial. So when I am dealing with anyone who is not friend or family, who I have never met before, who I may never see again (except for possibly a court of law) I am mental. I am a force to be reckoned with. I am NOT to be messed with.

And it has to stop. So from today, I am just going to try being less angry with the general public. This may mean I get a little less agreeable with my mates, but I am hoping this won't be the case.

But just as a precaution, don't upset me, OK?

Rut.

Yep, I am headed into one. Maaaaaaan. How annoying.

Lifes Mysteries

I am daring to ask the big questions today :



If I didn't drink last night, why do I feel hungover?

Why have I got hayfever for the first time at 32?

What should I have for dinner?

Why do I speak before I think?

Why do I press send before I proof read?

Seriously, what should I have for dinner?

Why bother?

Spaghetti bolognaise it is.....

The early bird....

It was indeed an elaborate plan. But it would make us millions.
Easy enough for me though, all I had to do was wait in the underground tube station, pick up the bag when it was dropped and then put the bag on the train. That was it. Simple.
Something was wrong though. The bag had not been dropped off to me yet and the train was due within the minute. I was doing all I could to remain calm but my wig was really hot and my new heels were really uncomfortable.
The train came and went, no bag. I could feel the sweat start to run down my neck - this wig was really really hot. And then I saw them. Police.
Ok Amanda, just stay calm and blend in. They don't know its you. Or did they? It was as if I had some sort of beacon that lead them to me. Bloody heels. I couldn't run. Maybe I shouldn't have hired the Marilyn Monroe costume. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Not exactly a nightmare, but I woke with a shock. It was 4:48am. After the usual calming oneself down post weird dream I started drifting back to sleep. That is until the sickening crash against my window.
Not at all groggy after that - I sat up wide awake staring at my window. Then it happened again. A stupid freaky bird was battering itself against my bedroom window. Like 6 times. It was 5:02am!!!! What is a bird doing up and at 'em at that time? The sun was not up yet!
Then of course, the bird probably concussed, fluttered about on the ledge, ensuring my rise and shininess and then, just as I had raised the courage to try and assist it, off it flew.

I have had better Mondays. Still though, I can confirm, I look pretty hot in a Marilyn wig.

Back by popular demand!

Ok, so I am exaggerating when I say popular demand. One lovely person asked me to "hurry up and bloody update your blog!" and so, I am doing just that!

Its been a while and a lot has happened but I can probably only remember one or two things.

Firstly, I had a whirlwind trip across the world and back again. It started well - as in, everything was great until I tried to actually leave the country. My flight, due to a typhoon, was delayed by 9 hours, which meant, I had no chance of getting my connection from London to Amsterdam. I was impressively calm (crying for only about 15 minutes to my Mum) and organised a hotel and a new flight once I hit London. All this for only the extra cost of the hotel which was a crazy cheap $90. For London - crazy cheap.
By the time I finally arrived I had the face of a severe bee sting victim and was pretty much dazed and confused until I was met (after 38hrs travelling in total) by my wonderful friends in Amsterdam.
I had 4 days there and can I just say, if you have never been to Amsterdam, please find a reason to go there. Its a truly lovely city with more than just drugs and a red light district (though they are a pretty interesting draw card!) and just knowing that the lovely Damien lives there is enough to make this place a very special one. Damien, as ever, was the most gracious of hosts, even entertaining my need to hunt down a little comic book shop nestled in one of the residential areas. This was my celebrity sighting for the trip. I normally have one every overseas adventure. Last year it was Sam Shepherd, Liam Gallagher, Rhea Pearlman and Julie Delpy. This year, disguised with weightloss and a funky pair of glasses it was Seth Rogen. Or Rogan. Or Brogan. Anyway, you know that guy from Knocked Up? Him. Alas, due to my not really knowing his name, I chose not to say hello and instead walked out of the store saying "You know, Knocked Up? That guy. The chubby one, but he's not chubby now. Him. You know him. Come On!!!!"

After a wonderful few days I left Amsterdam to hit the ground running in dear old Dublin. And then it was 8 days of camping, rock festivalling, pinting, laughing, crying, eating, drinking and reminiscing. All the familiar faces, streets, sights.... one day of sunshine - which I managed a touch of sunburn from! - and not nearly long enough. The Electric Picnic was as ever, brilliant. Sinead O'Connor. Franz Ferdinand. The Presets. Grace Jones. Gomez. Duffy. And like a heap more that I cannot remember. There were a few hiccups though - no. 1 being toilets and the lack of them. And the lack of them being emptied. Yep. 3 days of overflowing portaloos.... sorry, but its true. This indeed dampened the spirits of (mainly female) picnickers, but somehow we carried on regardless and managed to keep smiling and dancing even when stuck in a muddy paddock for 1hr trying to leave. Ahh Ireland.
Leaving much too soon and yet feeling like I had been travelling for months, I was then back to London for some West End action, a drunken pub crawl with two British comedians, a boozy lunch at Harvey Nichols and a lot of melancholic sighing as I wished I could stay another few days.
Before I could say "where do I collect my duty free" I was back in my apartment and stuck with some jetlag and the face slap that is my real life.

To avoid post-travel blues there is only one sure fire way - keep travelling. Since I have gotten back I have had 2 trips to Melbourne and 2 trips to Adelaide. I have had nephews being Christened and nephews turning 1 and fly by gigs and joyous reunions with dearly missed loved ones.
And I had Beaconsfield the Musical. I spent one brilliant week in Melbourne for the Fringe Festival performing in Beaconsfield the Musical. It was a somewhat controversial show and managed to make headlines across Australia including a headlining possie on A Current Affair. So in a week where we were under media scrutiny and having only had 5 rehearsals, we opened and did a 5 night run to sell out audiences (ok, so the theatre only held about 30 - still, it sold out!) and rave reviews. I was so proud to be a part of it and it looks like we are going to hit the road and so some shows in Sydney, Adelaide and Melbourne in 2009! Very exciting.

Oh and I purchased a new washing machine. A brand new one. How very adult of me!

So that has been the last 2 months of my life. Very exciting. I am now possibly about to stare down the barrell of dispair as my tax bill is about to arrive and I have the rest of the year to think about how much I want to resign from my job and escape any ruts that see fit to place themselves in front of me. We'll see.

I have another trip to Melbourne in just over a week. That may stave it off a little longer. Gosh but how I love that city .... you know, except for when its rainy and cold.

A rose by any other name...

Yesterday I caught a bus. I got on and scoped out a seat. There were quite a few available, though three passengers were not moving their bags in a hurry so I could sit down. And then I saw the friendly looking blue collar worker who had moved his bag and therefor was allowing me a seat.

He smiled when I sat down in that strangers on a bus kind of way.

Now, I work with blue collar workers daily. I am not a newcomer to the ways and smells of a hard days work. I was expecting, late in the afternoon, that this man, this kind man who had offered me a seat, might just be a little on the nose. I was surprised however, when the smell I was expecting to be sweat based, was urine based.

Now, I could only see in my peripheral vision, but he was flushed. In the face. His face was flushed. I took this as his shame. You know, that he knew and now I was sitting next to him and obviously knew. I felt bad. It probably wasn't his fault and now he was all embarrassed and yet, he was the only one who lifted his bag to let me sit, even though he had the best reason to not.

After one or two stops and people getting off, seats became available elsewhere. The wee smell was strong, but I felt it would only make him feel worse if I moved. I powered on. I breathed through my mouth, realising I was now eating the wee smell, I switched back to breathing through my nose which very quickly reminded me why I started breathing through my mouth in the first place. A cruel circle to be sure.

Maybe ten minutes had passed when the man spoke "excuse me, I am getting off here". I tried to make my smile look like a polite one instead of the "thank goodness pissy pants is leaving" relieved smile that it really was. And that was that. Off he got.

But the smell didn't.

It wasn't him. I now think it was the woman sitting in front of us that had gotten on at the same time as me.

And if it that were the case, there is every chance that the man sitting next to me thought I was the one emitting the odour. That I was the pissy pants. That the red, flushed face of his was only because he was trying to hold back the tears. And that he thought HE was the one soldiering on. He probably didn't even have to get off at that stop, he probably just saw it as the only chance to escape past me.

I don't know what I feel worse about, the fact that I wrongly accused a man of peeing his pants, or that he thought it was me.

It wasn't me.

Honestly.

I blame the Doctor

Ever since an encounter with the BBC Orchestras recording of the War of the Worlds, I have been scared of Aliens. Seriously. They are my big fear. Velvet is my ridiculous fear. Aliens are my unreasonable.

My Dad used to play the War of the Worlds on cassette tape and I would scream and cry until he stopped. He feels guilty about it enough now, some 28 yrs later, but he used to laugh as I would freak out. I remember hiding in my wardrobe once waiting for it to end. The "Dooooo Laaa's" and Alien base guitar still make unnerve me. A few years ago, my then housemates tried to help me get over it. We bought the CD. We opened some wine. We made sure it was daytime. We laughed at the 70's disco and early electronica stylings.... but as soon as that base guitar kicked in, I turned that freaking thing off.

So when I got home late last night and started watching the latest episode of Dr Who, I should have remembered this. Instead I watched at midnight as Aliens took over Earth and although not that scary (it is Dr Who after all) I went to bed with Aliens on my mind.

What followed was 5 hours of the most horrifying nightmares. Damn freaky scary Aliens!!!!!

Give me velvet any day!

Sweet Talk?

So, at 6:58am, a man I work with said -

"God, imagine being married to you... what a nightmare...."

Needless to say, I am in a super mood.

4 Sleeps

4 more sleeps til I board a plane.

well, 4 more attempts at sleep.

3 more early mornings.

well, 3 kinda early mornings after I snooze for an extra half hour.

3 more days of work.

well, 3 more days of turning up.

2 more gym visits.

resulting in 2 more days I cannot walk properly.

1 more singing lesson.

well, half a lesson and half a councilling session.

1 more machine load of washing to clean the clothes I intend on packing.

Countless moments of anxiety, heartache, fear, depression, excitement and hope.

This rollercoaster is taking its toll.

Its a Small, Small World

Over the past few years a pattern has been forming.
If you are important to me, chances are you live in another state or country. Of course this does not include my parents, who, lucky for me, live a nice 30min drive away. And of course this does not include all my loved friends in Sydney who I would be absolutely lost without. Or my brother, who, pending notice, can share a beer and a laugh only an hour away.
OK, let me rephrase this whole idea - if you are my sister, my old flatmates, my Irish friends, my Scottish friends, my English friends, my friends living in the States or the man I get drunk and call late at night whinging about how much I miss you (you know who you are - I hope!), then you are living in another state or country.
I am not necessarily the best at writing letters or phone calls, but where once there would have been a feeling that I had lost these incredibly important people in my life to distance and borders there is now a constant feeling of hope and excitement. I have every confidence with every farewell that I will see these people again. And its nice. A continuing countdown towards the next meeting.
This has all been highlighted again with recent trips to Adelaide and Melbourne, visits from folk from Edinburgh and Dublin and my having only 11 sleeps til I board a plane and head to the Northern Hemisphere.
Life is not too bad. Not to bad at all.
Now if I can just get better at regular phone calls .... or at least a better Internet connection for Skype.

Reasons to wear glasses

1. To see.

eg. Imagine you are at an International Airport Arrivals Hall, and you might see someone you think is your friend. The friend you are there to meet. You smile. You wave. You wave again. You yell out. You are not wearing your glasses. This person is NOT your friend. You have drawn attention to yourself. You are now turning red as the person you thought was your friend is walking towards you. She smiles as she walks past as if to say "You thought I was your friend didn't you, but I am not. Ha! Ha Ha Ha!"

2. Refer to 1.

A Work in Progess

My Salad Days - where did they go?

There was a time, many, many years ago (30th October 2000 to be precise) when I could happily fall down two flights of stairs in an Edinburgh bar and break my ribs on the second weekend of a two month holiday and not blink an eye.
In fact, history would show that the very next night I would slip on the cobbled Royal Mile pretending to be an Olympic Gymnast (this was 2000 after all) and land uncomfortably on my back. Did it stop me from six more weeks of crazy fun? No freakin way dude.

Funny now, eight years later, I should be doubled over and hobbling after, wait for it, not falling down flights of stairs, but, and this is pathetic I know, dancing. Yes, I have jarred my back or at the very least pinched a nerve, dancing. Sure it was rock opera style and I was doing a scissor kick (well, my version of a scissor kick) across the Enmore Theatre stage at the time, but really? Dancing? Come on!!!

I have previously held the title of "Miss Skullarama 1996 - 98" and now, three glasses of Bubbles and I wake up with a headache. I never used to get sick. Like ever. Then, bang, this year I have chest pains, back pains, suspicious lumps and pink eye. What the? And these things are less and less glamorous every dose. The lump was diagnosed as a fat deposit (relieving that its not serious but hardly one for the self esteem files) and the pink eye, well, its only slightly less embarrassing than saying conjunctivitis. Thank goodness I got to see the sexy Doctor to be diagnosed with that one.

Against my better judgement (and youthful appearance) I am getting old. This is completely unfair as my hair has never looked better and I have only just started to enjoy not having to run everything past my parents. (Hey Dad, you know your tax return? Well could you do mine while you're at it?)

Still, there are advantages. 40th birthday parties are fun to plan. Especially when they involve your Irish best friend, an international destination and three years to save for it.

And I do still hold on to some of my youth - there are two and a half weeks until I hit the Northern Hemisphere and rock out at the Electric Picnic. Brilliant. Gosh how I love a countdown.

Awkward?

So this guy you like makes some CD's for you and coz you like him so much you wanna listen to them all the time. So you take them to work and you put them on your computer.
And you play them out loud all day with a big fat smile on your face.

You go and make a cup of tea.

You come back to find three men standing around your desk.

Listening.

To a song that has the lyrics, "I want those Big Titties. Those Big Titties. Those Twin Cities."

Awkward?

(by the way, for those interested, the song comes from "Fame Becomes Me - Martin Short" ... and its brilliantly funny... but maybe just listen at home ....)

Universe - you cheeky monkey!

I am back in the good books (with myself) again after a few weeks of being somewhat melancholy and self indulgent.
I have survived the wastelands of distance and time and have arrived at the money end of the middle of the year.
Tomorrow I fly to Melbourne for a long overdue catch up and to see Wicked. I am very very excited about this. I saw the London version and Idina Menzel was playing Elphaba and I think I wee'd a little bit with overwhelming joy and sorrow. It was amazing and I am really curious to see how the Aussies stack up.
Also, its the 4 week countdown to my trip to Europe. Well, Amsterdam, Dublin and London anyway - there are a few friendly faces I have been missing terribly there, so with that getting closer I am steadily getting my merry on.
AND to round things off nicely, I landed a commercial this week, so that will take some financial strain off the Europe trip.
All of that and the Melbourne Fringe approaching, I'll most likely wake up and Christmas will be here - I see more smiles than frowns in the future for this little punter.

Whats left to say but Hip Hip Hoooray?

Oh and one more thing

Did you ever wonder, if Big used to read all of Carries columns and be a little disturbed that she wrote about him the way she did?

I often wonder that whilst writing this .... making sure I leave names out, only kinda refer to actual people or events if I think the person/people involved would rather remain anonymous, I mean, for God sakes Carrie, have some respect!

I am Woman, hear me whine.

I am worried I am becoming a jealous person, so I looked up the meaning of the word jealousy. Just to make sure.

1. jealous resentment against a rival, a person enjoying success or advantage, etc., or against another's success or advantage itself.
2. mental uneasiness from suspicion or fear of rivalry, unfaithfulness, etc., as in love or aims.
3. vigilance in maintaining or guarding something.
4. a jealous feeling, disposition, state, or mood.

The thing is, I am a woman, with a vivid imagination and a tendency to lean toward the melodramatic. I would like to think these are interesting qualities of mine and that it all adds to my allure. I would like to think that. Not everyone else does.

If left to my own devices, I will indeed imagine the worst case scenario, in which either everyone dies and I never got a chance to tell them I love them, I hate them, I was the one who stole the cookie from the cookie jar OR I die, never giving others the chance to tell me they love me, they hate me, they prank valentines day'ed me three years in a row.

So my advice to most is either be prepared for my melodramatics, or don't leave me to my own devices.

After all, I am a woman. Apparently. And this is my birth right.

(I apologise to all the women out there who fought for my right to carry on.)

Poser!

Happy New Half Year

Lets face it, I will use almost any excuse for a little self assessment.

In the past, I have pretty much thought that I was an easy going chilled out type of lady. Willing to roll with the punches. Phased not by change. You could count me in for an adventure. Yes. Yes. That was me. I was the "yes girl". At least I aimed to be.

Now I lay awake at night wondering when it happened that the "yes girl" became the "maybe girl" and when the "maybe girl" became the "chest pain, fat deposit, neck ache, anxiety ridden, hormone driven cry baby girl" currently invading my space?

I don't know how or what, but its time for some changes. Options - quit job? Move? Travel? A new hobby? I need a challenge and I need one quick sticks!!!!

Maybe I just need a "do"?

Yeah, thats probably it.