Happy New Year

This is on the side of the Macy's Store:

I found it rather inspiring, even though I believe one should avoid Macy's shopping experience at all costs.

I believe in New York.

And for a laugh:
Huffington Posts 25 Funniest Sketches Of The 2000's (VIDEO)

See you in 2010!

Christmas Poem - NY

Twas the night after Christmas, and in Ada's house,
The creatures were stirring, cockroaches and a mouse.
The exterminator was closed, I told friends with a frown,
Tis common - pest problems, in this old New York Town.

Groundhog Day

When you live with someone with severe dementia, it often feels like you’re living in the movie Groundhog day. Or perhaps you’re trapped inside a long-running repetitious play.

 

One scene I don’t mind re-living day in day out is this one:

Ada: “How old I am?”

Nurse: “87”

Ada: “What?”

Nurse: “87!”

Ada: “EIGHTY-SEVEN?”

Nurse: “yes. 87.”

Ada: “EIGHTY-SEVEN!??”

Silence for a few moments, then...

Ada: “I though maybe forty or fifty, but EIGHTY-SEVEN?!!”

She shakes her head in disbelief.

A few minutes later, they have the exact same conversation again. Pause, repeat throughout the day. J

Office Tid-bit

The office I work at shares it’s space with an online company that interviews fascinating people, like a smaller version of TED: http://www.ted.com.

This is supper cool because I get to meet and greet these people at the door. It would be even cooler if I knew who on earth they were, but I rarely find out until after the fact.

Unbeknownst to me, I’ve met the editor of The Onion, several famous novelists, a former NY mayor, an astronaut and even – The Satorilist.

(What!! What was I wearing that day?)

Luckily one of the staff members and I are becoming fast friends, and she’s letting me in on some of the guests before they arrive. She even lets me know who has humility and who is full of self importance. Not that there’s anything wrong with either, but it is rather fascinating.

I heart NY.

Silly Season Indeed!

If you’re an Aussie on the ‘tight-ass’ side of life, which we mostly are, then I suggest you stay the hell away from New York around Christmas.

Holiday tipping – is customary, and it’s way way out of control.

In my apartment building alone, just this week, I must tip: the security guard who sleeps at his desk as I struggle to unlock the door to the building, the guy who mops the elevator, the super intendant, the super’s kid who does the gardening and the maintenance man. But how much? A couple of bucks each? Maybe five because you’re feeling generous? No.  Try a minimum of $20 and preference towards $100.

Think about how much you resent paying your hairdresser for a normal cut and dye. Now move to New York and add a 10% tax then a 20% tip on an already pricey service. Now, because ‘tis the season’ you add an extra big Holiday-bonus tip! God knows how much this is, but you can bet it’s around $50 plus.

Needless to say I am ignoring my shabby split ends for another few weeks until the silliness is over.

Also – how do I even do this tipping thing? The men in my building are starting to stare at me expectantly when I see them, and I’m totally unprepared (do they take credit card?). How do you go about slipping strange men loads of money on your way through. I guess I should embrace this New York moment, and make it look as shady as possible. Maybe pull it out of my bra, and give them a wink. Or hand it over, and ask them to please release one hostage. 

Actually, if I can wear dark glasses a hat and very red lipstick, and live out my fantasy - making it look like I’m bribing them to make someone disappear from my life, then the tip will have just paid for itself.

You Don’t Win Friends With Salad

Today I lost half my salad on the floor of a busy shoe store.What does one do when they see their precious lettuce, olive and fetta scattered across the carpet, like a Ken Done creation? They smile graciously, and gently gather it up in their bare hands. Then they go in search of a suitable bin to give it a dignified ending. Finally they subtly lick the salad dressing off their greasy hands and take comfort in the fact that the rest of their salad is still intact, as long as one doesn’t mind eating it out of the plastic bag it has just spilt into.

On Dating the Wrong Guy

Eliza Skinner says it perfectly in her blog post:

“Sometimes you meet someone who fits together with you perfectly, who makes you want to tell secrets and eat popcorn and be a better person. And sometimes you meet someone who makes you feel like you’re slamming your head in a car door, on purpose. You can just feel how self-destructive the relationship is. It feels like the difference between ordering a glass of wine and grabbing a bottle of jager - you just want to get fucked up.”

For the rest go here:   http://www.elizaskinner.net/2008/09/26/the-deal

Relate much? I heart this woman! 

Silent Screaming

Ada Halpern didn’t sleep last night.  Instead she haluscinated solidly for 10 straight hours and for most of the next day. Sometimes in English. Sometimes in Polish. There was nothing we could do. Sleeping pills had no effect.

“Polsk polki polski Bastards” she yelled.

I was vaguely aware that I drifted in and out of sleep, but at 4am I couldn’t take it any more. I thought about strapping my ipod to her head and playing soothing music, to calm her down, and then it dawned on me: Why don’t I put my headphones in my ears to calm me down?

My glands were swollen and I already had a mild fever. As soon as I pumped up Pacabell’s Cannon, to over-ride Ada and the nurses screams, I was gripped by a very clear memory… Of lying in bed at the age of 12 one night, when my parents were still together. Spiritual music was coming from the living room, and being turned up so incredibly loud, that I couldn’t hear myself think let alone sleep. And it just kept going, it didn’t stop, for hours.

I was furious! How inconsiderate of my parents! How dare they! They would have never let me listen to my music this loud this late at night. But instead of confronting them, I just lay there angrily getting night-sweats.

It never occurred to me why they had played their music so loud, nor why it happened more frequently in the months to come. But later I realized it would have been to cover their screams. In their entire 14 years of marriage, my brother and I never saw them fight once.  Not once. 5 months later, they announced their divorce.

Name Choice - Ally Kay

There is a pornstar out there, who has chosen the same name "Ally Kay" for herself, and now all sorts of peops are googling "Ally Kay Feet" and accidentally clicking on my Feet Fetish post.

Sorry to disappoint you people!

We have a ten year age gap, and I'm brunette, AND I'm also not a pornstar, even if I dance like one.

What's your real name Ally Kay? Isn't it funny that we both decided to give our selves a new identity and embark on creative careers in 2009? All the best to you. May we find our own purpose in this life.

Bollywood Dreaming

One day, I want to throw a huge Bollywood themed Party!

Any ya’llz are invited!

On arrival, women / divas will be given a bright Sari to get changed into, and a red dot will be placed on your forehead. Boys will be given a lay of edible, orange flowers and a turban.

Trays of exotic Cocktails will be served, with a real orchids placed delicately on the rim of each glass.

The room will look enchanted and magical - lit by hundreds of tiny fairly lights and candles. 

(Lotuses will also feature in the décor.)

People who like to dance, will arrive 1hr earlier, to learn the amazing choreographed dance sequence, that will spontaneously happen later in the night.

There will be a henna tattooist in the corner, painting people’s hands all night.

There will be loads of delish finger food.

Some of the most pumping bollywood beats will be playing by a dj, so your body will have to choice but to move, you face no choice but to smile!

Shoes are not permitted, but the ground will be clean and soft. Possibly outside, under the stars.

People will most likely want to leave the party and engage in the Karma Sutra straight after.

It will be a night to remember

Mmmmm. Maybe for my 30^th???? 

ps. how do you get blogger to stop doing such weird line spacing?

The Meaning of Life

“I want you to write down three goals you have for this year,” said my year three primary school teacher, handing out black sheets of paper.

As an unusually serious and highly inquisitive eight year old, with very spiritual parents, I already had a very clear goal in mind: To find out the meaning of life.

I just knew that all I had to do was find the answer to this one simple question, and then everything would makes total sense. Then, I could happily go about living the rest of my life.

So while other kids wrote that they wanted to learn their times-tables, I wrote (in complete sincerity) “To find out the meaning of life” and left the other two goals blank. Any other goal failed in comparison to this one.

Our goals were collected and nothing was ever mentioned of it. I’d expected as much. My teacher was way too unhappy to possibly be enlightened on the true meaning of her existence. My parents didn’t seem to know either. Although mum did try to explain it:

“You see,” she said, one hand holding a crystal and the other giving reiki to her left breast. “In your past lives, you may have needed to learn something…” - And then she lost me. Listening to her talk in new age speak, sounded vaguely like tearing up cotton-wool balls  and stirring them into a jar of honey. It just didn’t make sense to me.

I needed a real answer, damn it! I wanted hard evidence and proven facts.

Why were we here? What happens when we die? Why are some people born into terrible circumstances, and others spared?

Such questions have plagued me for as long as I can remember, and as a result, I never cared too much for small talk. If someone asked me about the weather, I’d draw a blank. “Tell me about love!” I’d have shouted back, if I wasn’t so shy.

Yearning only to learn about the deeper things in life, meant I found school rather boring.  Instead of listening to my teachers, I’d drift off into 'Ally world'… where I’d imagine the teacher jumping up on the desk and doing a disco dance! Then the whole room would join in! And I would be on a trapeze, swinging from the ceiling, and colored lights would be flashing!!!

It’s unfortunate I never learned to listen. It’s a skill that could have come in handy when conversing with people. It also would have made doing well in school a lot easier. (You can also see why I very much love the show Glee!)

As I aged, my search for meaning lost it’s vigor, and my goals started to resemble a sense of normality. Get a boyfriend, learn how to spell, exercise. Watching Oprah also helped, and on her recommendation - yes, I bought the book Eat Love Pray.

“Oh, I’m so tired of France!” a French girlfriend whined recently, in her beautiful French accent. “All they do is sit around and talk about the meaning of life, and love, and get depressed.” 

Heaven! 

I never did find out the meaning of life. And I never did make it through the India chapters in Eat Love Pray. But I did find some peace about two year’s ago, when it finally dawned on me that: Perhaps – no one* really knows the answers. Not even Oprah. What a relief! 

And from reading part of Eat, Love, Pray – it dawned on me that: Perhaps more than wanting to find answers / the truth, I much prefer to be wildly entertained!

(Glee!)

*Although my mum honestly believes she knows the meaning of life. Just this trip home, she happened to tell me that she knows “The truth about the universe – about everything - for sure.” My question to you mum is - then why are you so unhappy? Is the truth rather shitty? Because if the meaning of life is shitty, then maybe I don’t want to know.

What I’ve Learned On Fear:

As someone who has avoided fear most of my life, learning to embrace it has given me an “Ah ha” moment of late. Through doing stuff that stretches me out of my comfort zone I notice I go through the following stages:

1. Nervous fear “Why am I doing this? How can I get out of it?”
2. I hate this! Why am I doing this to myself!

And then, as long as I don’t quit, one of three things will happen:

A)   I will make a huge mistake, fuck up, feel humiliated, but learn something that I wouldn’t have ever learned if I hadn’t of failed, or;

B)   I will keep putting one foot in front of the other and get through it. Stronger for it, or;

C)   I will achieve something awesome. Something I never imagined I was capable of doing. A feeling likened to walking on water.

And the more I do it, the more I yearn for option C. It’s addictive! Like surfing!  [I imagine] Once you catch that perfect wave, it’s worth the wait, fear, sunburn, sharks etc. 

Also, there’s a point reached where a strange phenomenon can occur. Where I literally break through my fear. Is it surrendering? It feels like ‘letting go’. Whatever it is, it gives me fearlessness, freedom and an immediate sense of calm.  Like I’ve just entered the Matirx – and everything is easy. 

My "fear of choice", is doing improvised theatre. And while most scenes make my stomach churn, a good one will be when I crack the Matrix – and am living in my subconscious. If I try and recall what happened – it’s a total blur.  Every time I do this, I get a high that nothing else can touch on. Does anyone know what I’m talking about?

The thing I have to remember (which is so easy to forget!) - is I can’t ever reach that break through moment…. without feeling the fear before hand. So when ever I’m really scared – I have to realise, that unless I’m being chased by a cerial killer, then this fear is actually a very good thing. So without further ado, please always remind me, that in this life: Aim for the fear, instead of avoiding it.

On Fear

(Val Kilmer, My future husband, Shane Black)

"For most people, fear is daring to wish for something so bad that it matters to you, and then having that taken away.  Fear is, I'm not going to get the things I want, and I'm gonna lose the things I have already. That's what fear is, to me.  The idea of getting your hopes up? [When I was starting out] I would get my hopes up, and someone would say, What if they just smash you? And then you'll feel worse than ever! And I'd go: Oh, well, I know. I'd rather get my hopes up.”

"Here's what the fear does: it's something called 'The Jack Story.' Jack Story's about a guy who's driving and boom, his tire blows out in a rain storm.  By the side of the road, flat.  He sees a farmhouse in the distance with a light on, and he thinks, I don't have a jack, I can't change this tire - but maybe the farmer has one.  So he starts walking through the rain and the mud and after a couple of feet he thinks, Well, wait a minute, what if I get to the farmhouse and the guy doesn't have a jack?  Then I gotta walk all the way back and I'm getting rained on and it's murder.  And he goes, Calm down, it hasn't happened, see what happens, play it by ear, okay?.......”

To read the rest of the story, click here. It's from Billy Mernit's wonderful interview with Shane Black, screen writer of Lethal Weapon, The Long Kiss Goodnight and Kiss Kiss Bang Bang.

 

If anyone else has ever had imaginary conversations in their head with people about future events that haven’t happened, then that post may give them goose-bumps too. 

As a wise person (who I pay money to, to make me feel good,) once said:

"What Ifs - are just anxiety. They are not helpful." Banish them!

Easier said than done.

To Stay or To Go?

With less than 3 months left before my visa expires, I’m having mixed feelings about what’s next.

My Aunt-Ada would like me to stay: “YOU MUST FIND A MAN AND MARRY!! (*pause*) I’m serious!” she’ll yell. "But - HE MUST BE GOOD LOOKING!!!" Ahhh, a woman after my own heart. 


Most of me is very happy to be going back to Melbourne in Feb

I can’t wait to have:

- a proper bed

- a full length mirror

- an apartment I enjoy going back to
- old friends

- family
- trams

But part of me also thinks – how on earth will I survive without this:

(Where I practically live)

 And this:

(Sephora Make Up - where you can try, try, try and no one bugs you!)

And Central Park:

The view on the other side of the fence:

(How can I possibly jog anywhere else?) 

Thinking long term; it will be nice to know one can afford a better lifestyle in Melbs than one can here – without working your guts out, or moving so far out of Manhattan that it’s not worth it. But what about atmosphere?!?

Am I taking the easy, safe option by going back? (My old job is waiting.)


I don’t want to stay and become one of those semi-successful, yet unfulfilled single, ladies with a cat. But I also don’t want to be one of those board, stretched work-mums, who has no time to do her hair!

What do I do? Can I even stay in NY? Will I regret not trying?

Walking down the streets of NY fills me with inspiration, intense emotions and even loneliness (which is bliss for writing) but it’s also daunting. There seems to be a million people - a million times better at everything I want to do. Shouldn’t I base myself somewhere to build contacts and friends for the long term?  Careerwise - this makes sense! After all – it IS who you know. And it does excite me thinking of trying my luck in a smaller,  pond in Oz.

What’s more important family? Career opportunities? Close friends or inspiration? I do love the people here. But where is home for me?

All these conflicting thoughts are swirling through my brain, with no clear answers. I hope it shows its self to me. Perhaps I’ll do as Oprah does, and get real quiet… then have a listen to my gut instincts.

Even just saying the word ‘gut instinct’ makes me think of Melbourne. (And Itally / Paris for some reason.) Interesting.

Has anyone’s gut feeling ever led them astray?

Football

Zzzzzzz

Having hardly slept… thanks to Oprah, which comes on at 1am here, today at my writer’s office – where it is so quiet - even coughing is not permitted (seriously they strap cough lollies to the door just incase) - I put my head down on my desk, and awoke over an hour later - making vibrating fart noises with my lips. Like a horse does!

The exact noise you need to make to take these pictures:

(taken last year, in a Melbourne restaurant with friends)

I don’t know how long I’d been doing it for, but all the people around me had mysteriously put their headphones in at some stage.

Why had they not woken me? Because they just assumed I was farting?

Red faced, and bleary eyed, I exited to use the bathroom. 

Nice Post on Office Culture

I just love this girl's writings:

http://www.elizaskinner.net/2008/11/07/if-this-is-love-ill-take-spaghetti/

Let the first line of this post entice you: 

"There is no better social barometer in an office than a lunch room."

Casualties of Fall

Central Park, New York, 2009.

New York’s Welcome Back

New York has a way of welcoming you back.

There may not have been any phone messages or parties to attend. (Not like the warm Brisvegas welcome.)

But there was this, on my first subway trip:

(Break dancing on the sub-way! Note: The man yelling “Excuse me! Can you stop bumping into me!” is yelling at me. Only I didn’t realize until he totally lost it!)

Also, the homeless man outside my office noticed I’d been away, and enquired how I’d been.

It’s good to be missed!

Twi-Like. I'd tap that.

Ali beat me to this post. We both must have had Edward Cullen on the brain! (Media is saturated with him in NY.)

And even thought I haven't seen the movie or red the books, I totally get it...

Yup. I get it. 

nom nom nom.

You're The Voice ...

… of hypocracy?

Ever said one thing, then turned around and done another?

At a recent family wedding in Oz (after a couple of Mojitos) I found myself linking arms in a large circle of extended family and strangers, while singing You’re the Voice by John Farnham.

My brother J-Rad watched on in amusement.

Afterwards he said to me: “Wow. You must experience a lot of cognitive dissonance* in your life.”

He’s not wrong.

I experience as much cognitive dissonance as Julian McMahon and Dannii Minogue would have after making this delightful video:

(They divorced shortly after its release.)

It is true. A few years ago I would have glassed myself before pretending to enjoy Johnny Farnham’s music for the kabillionth time in my life. (Sorry to all you loyal fans out there.)

Why? Because he represents everything I loaaaath about the Australian Culture:

(John Farnham. 'Farnzy')

• His 80’s mullet that he refuses to part with,
  
• His constant reoccurring airplay in every Aussie bar,
  
• His rather moronic nick-name “Farnzy” which rhymes with “Barnzy,” who I actually like.

But there’s more to it than that! To me - he epitomizes the Aussie Cultural Cringe!!! I get the same expression listening to him, that one gets when listening to our politicians speak. Or that one used to get watching the crocodile hunter, before he died and we all realized how much we actually loved him.

(Steve Irwin. RIP Steve)

And that’s the thing about cultural cringing.  It’s rather hypocritical. Like faults that bug you about a friend or family member; at the end of the day - you can’t help having some kind of good sentiment for them, because they make up a part of a whole.

The fact that Farnzy is rather cringe worthy, makes our Australian culture very unique, and there’s something to be said about having a little pride in that.

Alcohol also helps.

If reaching a point in my life where I can openly sing Farnzy without wanting to hurt myself, makes me a hypocrite, then so be it. Just like my father and Kirsty Alley; opinionated people can and do change their minds.

After all, we’re only human.

(Kirsty Alley Makes a vow to shed extra pounds on Oprah)

Mark my words, J-Rad. One day you’ll be far away from the place you are today. Perhaps you’ve had a mojito too many, and Johnny Farnham will start playing. Then Somewhere, deep within the recesses of your pickled little brain, a sense of joy will find a crack and seep into your sole.

After all, we are only Australian.

*Cognitive dissonance is an uncomfortable feeling caused by holding two contradictory ideas simultaneously.

 

Signs of a Food Addict

It’s gotten way out of hand when:

1. The flirtatious Italian man, who owns the pizza place a block away, keeps offering you the keys to his boat.

“Take it out for the afternoon! I won’t come, you can have it all to yourself. Seriously!” he says.

Sure - you may dine there 4 times a week… but couldn’t he just make your pizza free?

2. You are at a bar in Brooklyn with two people who attended Clown College – FOR REAL! These people lead highly unusual lives and interesting conversation is a given!! However there was a taco truck at the back of the bar. Everywhere you look, people are eating burritos.

Despite having eaten just over an hour ago:

Level of concentration and effort in conversation = 0.

Level of thoughts about burritos and and tacos = 23.

So... I’ve decided to go “cold turkey” off both pizza and cheese. And just like not walking down the potato chip isle of a supermarket, it’s actually easier than I thought.

10 days dry and not counting.

Sally Clarke

Sally Clarke is hot and minxy, fantastic at her job, and prone to bogan outbursts - particularly when she’s driving: “get the fuck out of my way!” she’ll yell then burst out laughing. Try as she might she just cannot be mean.

Even if you’ve just swallowed your first born she won’t judge you. And for that reason people tell her all their secrets.

I had the pleasure of sitting opposite her for over 10 hours a day at my old work. We saw each other more than we saw anyone else in our lives.

Every couple of hours, (or every hour on a bad day) we’d catch each other’s eye and ask “Coffee?” which was code for chai lattes and a gossip in one of the kitchenettes. Sometimes we’d discuss which staff members we’d sleep with if we had to choose. Or which staff we’d sleep with if we were gay. Other times we’d cry on each other’s shoulders. (We both went through icky break ups with long term partners around the same time).

But before we really knew each other we were invited to the wrap party for an American Television series that came through our company, called “The Starter Wife,” at Strike Bowling Bar, Gold Coast.

And guess who was at the party? The lead actress - Deborah Messing!

We watched in awe, as our other companion – who knew the Director of Photography, was asked to join Deborah in the VIPs section of the bowling lanes. Suddenly we noticed Miss Messing make a move towards the ladies with her friend.

“Oh my god! I need to pee!” said Sal.

“Yes - me too!” I agreed and we linked arms casually stalking her to the toilets. There were only three stalls. Deborah was drunk and giggling in one and so Sal and I took the other two. There’s nothing like tipsy-peeing next to a Hollywood Celebrity! 

Our pee’s trickled in unison, forming a champagne choir!

Deborah was wasted! She could barely wash her hands. Sal and I did a good job of staying cool, as we washed up in the next basin.

 From that moment on we knew we’d be good friends. And we knew we’d be even better friends, when we realized our shared love for potato chips (crisps).

On my birthday this year, I received a large box in the mail from her. And when I opened it, it was stuffed full of potato chips! Possibly the best present ever.

She gave me her room and her car, on my recent stay in Brisbane, while she attended a wedding in Fiji! Lucky thing. So before she returned I filled her space in the pantry choca’s full of chips!

Even though it’s been almost two years since we’ve worked together, we still often sit on skype. Not always chatting, but just going about our own work, knowing each other are there.

Then every so often we’ll type “So what’s goss?”

And of course…

“What’s your favourite chip?”

Valley Nights

Walking down the crowded drunk streets of Brisbane’s Fortitude Valley, a short tanned girl in a bright red sari approached - in slow motion.

Her sari barely covered a tiny red bikini beneath. She was gorgeous. I knew instantly who she was. Ralph, my ex boyfriend’s new girlfriend. (Actually they’ve been together for a while now.) She looked up to see me, and registered vague recognition.

Uggh. It was a tad painful to see, but not completely unbearable.

In Transit

Travelling back to NY... with Kangaroo ball-sack bottle openers!!
(The perfect souvenir)



Had an awesome time. Stay tuned for post wedding round up... (the same day my dad asked me if I was a bisexual!!)

Garfunkel & Oates

I’ve only just discovered these amazing ladies!!!

They are two L.A. actresses (and have been featured in minor roles in loads of big shows, if they look familiar). Together they are Garfunkel & Oates. They write and perform funny songs – mainly about things that have happened to them in real life.

With such titles as:

“Pregnant Women Are Smug”
“My Self Esteem’s Not Low Enough To Date You.”
"One Night Stands"

Theses women are the female answer to Flight of the Concords. (Although they are very unique, so you can't really compare them.)

Here's a peek at some naughty lyrics from their song about a guy who would always bring his friend Steve along on dates:

It’s not that I don’t like your friend,
but how many hours with him can you spend.
And it’s not that I don’t think he’s great,
But it’s only you. Only you...
I want to fellate.

Saw them live in NY and haven’t stop listening to their stuff!!!

Check em:

Taxi Karma

I once refused to get out of a taxi until the taxi driver told me a joke.
(Obnoxious drunk much?)

So it was karma when I hopped into an LA cab late one night, and the driver kept speeding up to cars with women in them, sticking his head out the window, and yelling “Call me baby, call me!”

He was CRAZZY! The first words he uttered to me were "If you want to smoke pot in this car it's fine with me."
Then he kept turning around to talk with me, taking his eyes off the road for looooong periods of time. I was both freaked and kind of amused all at once.

I had no cash so he stopped at a bank. As I walked towards the ATM, he followed me in his cab, arm out the window yelling “Hey baby! What’s your number!” He thought he was hilarious!

I though he was a douche. Thank god the hotel was walking distance from the bank.

And now, before you stop reading… a joke, from comic genius, Anthony Jeselnick:
You don’t know anything about pain – you don’t know ANYTHING about pain, until you’ve seen your own baby, drowned in a tub. And you definitely, don’t know anything, about how to wash a baby. ;)

How to break free of Wardrobe Monotony!!

Ever notice when you’re shopping that you are drawn to similar clothes? “This top is sooo me,” you’ll think… and quite possibly you already have one that’s practically the same at home.

This is even more noticeable when shopping with friends. Everything they look at is familiar to them. It’s frustrating right? You want to say – “Don’t you already have that exact beige jacket - only slightly longer sleeves?”

But that’s their style, so you let them buy it.

Well, do yourselves a favour. Next time you go shopping bring a non-toxic friend who has fabulous style! You will need a friend who is bold enough to be honest about what looks good on you, but not bitchy enough to be the jealous type.

Then let them pick out a bunch of stuff – that THEY think would look great on you.

Items are not going to be anything you would have picked for yourself. You are going to look at them and think "mmmm... not really me."

But try them on anyway. And anything that says ‘well, hang on a sec, I kind of don’t mind this’ BUY IMMEDIATELY!

I did this twice with Chelsea while she was in NY, and now every time I wear these pieces I feel like a new woman. I’ve grown to absolutely love them.

Don’t worry, I still love my grey + denim uniform, but this has helped me break my pattern and look at other clothes that I may not have previously.

After all, a change in style is as good as a holiday if you ask me. Chelsea, are you for hire?*

*Turns out she is! And admits to doing it for all her friends. Contact Rachael at Snapdragons and Teapots for a holiday from your style!

Am I hot? Or did I just release an egg?

Did you know that when you ovulate (ladies!) your face changes to a more relaxed and open state? That means you subconsciously become more attractive… sexually speaking.

So the next time someone tells you “You look great! Did you change your hair?” Consider saying “Thanks! No I haven’t changed my hair… but perhaps I’m ovulating!”

Eeeeeew!

L.A. Highlights

Shared a hotel room with my new friend Bee and she found this note under her bed on our last day. It was weird – because we had both been drinking a lot of red bull.

***

There was nudity (male), throat singing and bbq wieners. Plus a bunch of skinny Norwegian actresses in bikinis, who kept showing me picture of them with Quentin Tarantino from the Screem Awards ceremony.

That’s what happens when you say 'yes' to a house pool-party with an old acquaintance. Despite how weird it was, the party was very quiet.

***

A cute boy I swapped details with on the first night, texted me flirty messages all weekend like: “you’re pretty cute” etc [which I found flattering, but rather primary school seeing as we hadn’t spoken. Weirdo!]

Then, back in Oz, with Sally!! We looked at his facebook – and WTF! Not only is he reading a bible in his profile pick, but HE HAS A GIRLFRIEND! Who has written loving posts – all over his wall. Fucking douchebag men! His real name is Brian Beer. A prime candidate for dontdatehimgirl.com

***

John Cleese, guest speaker at the Screenwriting Expo, imparted these words of wisdom, to the packed audience:

“Over all the years I’ve been alive and working, I’ve started to realize the truth and that is - Nobody really knows anything, about anything! And that’s all you really have to know.” ♥

You Know You're a Newyorker in Oz when...

I'D COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN THE FOLLOWING:

- How gorgeous and well put together the women are here.
- How quiet it is. Why aren’t people thinking out loud?
- J-walking is illegal?
- How good the shopping is (I’m sorry – it’s true!)
- How good proper coffee is (drip filter is standard in the US).
- How perfect the weather is (and how bored it makes me feel).
- How easily my mum can piss me off.
- How much I love girly sleepovers.
- How ocker everyone sounds.

L.A. - I'm a kid in a candy store!

I listen to a screenwriter podcasts interviews, with Jeff Goldsmith – almost every day.

Humble, passionate and without ego, he has the nerdy enthusiasm of the Steve Irwin, and the heart to back it up.


I hear his voice on trams, trains, when jogging, or just needing inspiration. He’s put his arm around all my screenwriting heroes, and now he has put his arm around me.

If I thought high-fiving him after stalking him on the first day of this screenwriting expo was a high-light, imagine how I felt after a 20 minute conversation, when he tweeted the photo above, to his followers.

I told him, “I hope you can interview ME one day!” And he said “I already am.”

Rad.

L.A. Nerd

About two years ago I was lying on my mother’s couch, a bowl of nacho’s and a box of tissues in front of me.

I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. I was post-break-up sad. I missed having a partner, yet was rejoicing at being single at the same time.

I hated living with my mum, yet enjoyed the comfort of knowing someone who cared was around.

I had no idea of my next move. I wanted to get away. I wanted to start my life again doing something that was leading somewhere I actually wanted to be.

**

In an attempt to make myself feel better I was renting a romantic comedy movie every night. Listening to the DVD commentary of “Catch and Release,” I heard an interview by Kevin Smith with the lady below – writer / director, Susannah Grant.


She said she started screenwriting classes at 28. She said she had tried and failed in the past. She said she was feeling lost, before hand too. I related to her.

A little voice inside me said… "She started at my age! I can do this! I CAN DO THIS!" (or at least I want to do this, and as long as I try I won’t have any regrets.)

Susannah now has an oscar for writing Erin Brockovich and her other credits include: 28 Days, In Her Shoes, Charlotte’s Web and the Soloist. Wow.

This week at my latest nerd convention (LA Screen Writing Expo), I saw her speak. I shamefully waited around afterwards to thank her. I wanted to yell - “YOU’RE the reason why I’m here!!! – doing this!” But she didn’t get why people were treating her like a rock star, so I just mumbled something about 'DVD commentary - inspiring… what ever.’ And she graciously posed in a pic with me and my NY mate, Bee.


I will never wash my right shoulder again. I'm so happy.