Confessions of a Chubba-chup

It came back.

Well can't say I didn't help it just a little.  Okay - A LOT.

REVENGE OF THE M O N O A B

*shudder*

Several dozen Corona a week can do that to ya.

Those dedicated blogees around in oooh 08/09 ish will remember this... the tears, the turmoil, the triumph... how oh HOW could it have gone so horribly wrong? 

Holy shitballs... I've figured it out (again)... same shit - different explanation... it is the attack of the muliple C'Z

Codys.  Yes, yes you may be right...

Chocolate.  Uh-huh that too I agree, yup, yup...

Couch.  Oh shit yes, absolutely paramount part played. 

Corona's.  Oh.  So, sooo many Coronas... blerrk!  (Ever noticed how they smell like wacky backy after a few doz?  Hmmm, curiouser and curiouser)

Crying.

Crap.

Ciggies. 

The final three kinda speak for themselves really except the last was replaced with the first 5.  Ace plan.  Not.

There is no clinical terminology for it, booze-hagatosis? Piggywiggy-itis? Lazy-arse-adocious?  Hmm these do spring to mind but thats a bit playground harsh really - you and I both know they are not actually medical terms.  Sounds more like a song from that little known musical "Merrily Poppin'" called "You can't fly, ho, you're in rehab, hallucinating".

Truth of the matter is that I let myself go. Mass disappointment :-(

SO the process begins again... FFS!! (google it).  This time there is a support network though and I'm probably doing things the right way rather than surviving on a powdered promise that kinda tastes like a strawberry quik when there is only about 4 granules left in the tin - yeah quick but not 'berry' nice :-) ha ha ha.  Right.

The monoab's been a totally different obstacle this time around I must say - a rather clever monster - not unlike 'The Blob' actually.  I'm serious... it was...darker, sneakier. Its capacity - massive, its hunger - insatiable and a sinister thirst that was unquenchable.

It started off easily tuckable into various freaky, stretchy, stomach-holding-in aparatai...and it worked quite nicely at hiding the slowly spreading muffin manifesting within. Of course then, in what seemed like 'overnight' the inevitable and humiliating "TRIPLE S" occurred.

SPLIT SAUSAGE SCENARIO.

All I can say is 'be careful what you tuck in, for fear of what may pop out'.

At times I resembled an overfilled icing bag.  I had bulbous protrusions from my armpits, shoulders, hips and a brand new bum situated on the front of my thighs.  What the...? Not to mention my famous additional nipple-less breasts growing on my lower back.  Thank god I never got that tramp-stamp I planned... bloody thing would look like a 2-year-old's squiggly line on terrain that rugged.

Oh I felt bad about myself... I had to get a bit of a rock-on to heave myself off the couch...it hurt to sleep on my side - legs committing GBH by just lying on each other.  My hips felt like they were in a pressure vice and if I lay on my arm... it took at least an hour each morning to wake the damn thing up... makes the usual female pre-work prep, polish and preen ritual a bit challenging when you've only got ONE FRICKIN ARM! 

I also had to purchase... *gulp* leggings AND jeggings.  Real jeans were a distant memory - if I wanted to breathe and perform bodily functions like normal people. 

Every piece of underwear I owned felt like bloody bondage gear. 

I huffed and puffed and blew my way round.  Even my brief career at football wasn't the silver lining I hoped for... I was better at the bar than the ball.  (I know - no surprises there)

I kind of resigned myself to the sadistic self-loathing attitude of "oh well, I'm over 40, maybe this is ME from now on". 

But fark that jelly.  I decided that if monoab was gonna play dirty - so was I.  

I ditched the piss.  It really isn't great for any part of me anyway... who wants to be a sad nutcase, drunken, fat cow?  "Not I" - said the pig :-)

Although this mighty huge step made a significant difference in my brain activity, unfortunately the damage had already been done further south...and this was only one part of my wayward lifestyle.

Okay... so I listed what I love:

Chippies
Choccy
Bread
Pasta
Bickies
A fucking awesome burger.

Hmmm... does ANYONE want to address the obvious 'elephant' in the room.  No?  Okay I will then...

"Stylz... you're freakin diet sucks."

Yeah no shit.

"And get off the frickin couch..."

Grunt.

For months now I'd been really good at one thing when it came to food - I was actually having breakfast, every day - well every WORK day at least.  After that I was pounding vitamins like balls of crack.  All the goodies... EPO (for chick shit), Fish Oil (odourless of course, we girls have enough issues thanks very much), B Stress (so you WON'T B Stressed), Probiotics for the pooper, Slippery Elm to assist, Magnesium at night for nervous system, Adrenal support in the morning for that extra mental kick but balance out the mental bashings.

I'm the only woman I know that can swallow 8 tablets at once.  Told you I could eat.

So I figured I had two steps already nailed - brekkie and vitamins.  Next step - water intake.

Whether we like it or not... if its Atkins, Jenny, Tony, Dukan, Can Can, Lemon, Slimmers or whatever diet fad you've got your freak on, every single one of them tells you to up the H2O.  And EVERY TIME I DO I LOSE WEIGHT.  So simple.  So freakin annoying.

Since it was winter I started drinking hot water - more cost effective than my previous aqua of choice 'bubbly water' and pleasant.  Of course though you've barely wiped your hooha before you're busting again.  A friend of mine's husband told her she was "pressure cleaning" the toilet with the amount of fluid she's flushing through their ensuite on a daily basis. 

Yeah I pee.  A lot.  But I can now multitask - I bend over to shave my legs - while breathing.  Winner. 

So I've got the water happening, the vitamins, the most important meal of the day covered, a bit of a detox programme in the evenings so now its the dreaded INBETWEENERS.

Lunch and Dinner.

A favorite pasttime of mine was to starve all day... maybe have a kit kat at about 3pm (nom, nom, nom), then go home, sugar crash, then eat continuously until about 10pm or until I ran out of food.  No wonder my bedroom was a noxious gas chamber. 

I removed all quick fixes from the pantry, throw some hippy food into a container each day and take it to work where I survive on the crunchy freshness of whatever salad/vege concoction I create.  Then at home I make something resembling a healthy tea at night.  And I'm getting pretty good at both.

Pretty soon, it was obvious the 15 missing bickies each night was actually making a difference.  A slow decline... but a decline indeed.  Slow and steady wins the race - a proven fact by the tortoise thank you very much all you "except for that black dude in the olympics" smarty-pantsies.

6 weeks has passed I have formed a wee pattern of better living in my life - not strictly depriving myself of the odd treat - bit of cheese in the old omlete or a bite of  Mr Chemicals's yummy something (I'm referring to FOOD).  And I've changed shape significantly.  Not a huge plunge in weight - I didn't want something unsustainable like last time - but a little drop, day by day, week by week.  Mind you, when all your eating is lettuce which is mostly water and you're pissing like a racehorse then the law of averages suggests you may shrink a tad.

Next little hurdle... find that big scary machine buried somewhere under the drop sheets and paint cans scattered in the spare room. Ah... there it is!!... Not frightening at all when you drag it out into the living room so you can run AND watch the telly!  Woohoo! I do not know why I didn't think of that the first time I bought the damn thing.  Who cares if it doesn't 'go' with anything - I got no matching shit anyway and with it sitting out there all big and threatening in the corner, staring me down when I'm playing my daily 'can I really be arsed' game of self doubt... at least I can't hide it away and pretend it doesn't exist... kind of what I used to do to myself really :-)

So it seems this new twist on a very old Vik may be working.  Again.  Well... it always DID work... I just couldn't be arsed paying the wages...

Oh christ I've gotta go... I've blabbed on for far too long and I need to gaddam pee again.

Peace and love for monoabs...

Yeah right.

Lots of squdges (bony ones)

Stylz

xoxox

My Bucket Runnith Over...

I am in an AWESOME mood!


Hmmm… you know midway into summer when you down tools around the house one weekend and maybe decide to go for a wee drive along the stunning Noo Zuland coastline? You zoom around the winding roads with the windows down, your hair blowing around like a Beyonce video wind-machine-special and singing your favorite tunes loud enough to piss even the seagulls off….

During your wee soulful sabbatical through the rural farmlands and coastal communities you come across ‘honesty boxes’. Little fruit and grocery sheds next to mailboxes along the highways, with some of the brightest, biggest and juiciest fruit and veg lovingly bagged for your convenience and just a wooden money box there to donate something in exchange for getting 4 x times the size of your regular 5 plus a day at a fraction of the cost…

This is where you find the best fruit ever. Always juicy, never sour and definitely without that ‘freshly thawed’ glassy tasteless flesh. Ohh yes… roadside fruit is the bomb-diggity baby. My fav is finding the TRUE New Zealand black grape… the ones that you used to pinch from the neighbors’ backyard vine when you were a kid… thick black skin… pale green centre and the sweetest taste in the world… a real rarity in Aucks now and some overpriced Californian bland substitute cheats you into a disappointing purchase if you’re not prepared to venture further afield.

Bear with me… this is goin’ somewhere I promise…

Best peaches and nectarines in the world along the roadsides of Aotearoa… perfect texture, not too soft not too hard and a pure taste sensation when you bit into them and the juice runs down your chin… it’s just magical and soooo satisfying.

That’s where I’m at right now… my life is the first bite of a freshly harvested summer peach…

When it came to “Life Begins at 40” I was pretty skeptical – probably because 40 started with a guts-ache and a crap rather than the funfair ‘hiss and a roar’. I’d like to forget my 40th birthday for a lot of reasons not associated with age. I have survived the first 9 months of 40 – 5 of which were pretty fricken weird like I was functioning by remote control externally. I held my emotions inside like I was wound tightly with a rope and all the while feeling like I was trying to hold in a massive fart or sneeze of emotion or something.

There would be times when I barely made it home and inside the house before I’d collapse in a heap. Wishing I could just close my eyes and feel at peace. Shut down the voices in my brain and release the rope from my chest.

And cry. Oh man did I cry. Which is good but when it started it was nearly impossible to stop… I had a buggered washer in my waterworks that’s for sure!

But now… as I take a swing around to look at the path I’ve just trampled through I am pretty darn excited with where I am right now…

My life is the first bite of a freshly harvested summer peach… and it feels bloody good inside and out.

I can accredit this peachy time to so many positive influences and people in my life… my love, my family, my friends, my work colleagues, The Big reTHiNK and all the great people I worked with on it and all the wonderful stories that were busted out to the universe for the very first time ever… yeah I have a lot to be thankful for… mostly me really.

For being brave, for listening to my heart and following it, for finding my inner peace and acknowledging how good it is to be me.

To carry on the trend of goodness, it’s “Pink for a Day” today supporting the NZ Breast Cancer Foundation and I think I’m the first person in my 8-5 history that has ever had the balls to wear a bright pink wig and a tiara into a male-dominated environment. Gotta admit though, the blokes have impressed me today… most wearing something resembling the closest and most manly form of pink they can stomach :-)

To add to the frivolity I made a batch of pink chocolate chip cookies last night that came out pretty darn good if I do say so myself… gave a handful to my coffee lady who freaked out at my pink wig hehehe. So what a change aye? I hardly recognize myself… I’m at home cooking and baking my arse off not out drinking and rooting my brains out hehehe – do I miss it? Not on your nelly. Do I regret it? Not one second. Well perhaps that one time... :-)

Not only THAT, but today my successes have also reached a financial win-fall seeing me bursting out of a sleepless toss of budgetary stress that threatened my beauty rest AND my wallet. So… I really can’t see any downside to this situation?

Holy Shitballs. Am I finally believing in myself?

Off to buy a lotto peeps!! Yep… IN MY PINK WIG!!

Woohoo…!!!

Lots of luff and squdges…

(Pretty in Pink)

Stylz

xoxox

One Moment in Time... When I'm More Than I Thought I Could Be...

The Big reTHiNK 2012 - Best Director, Vikki Cottingham "Mad O Phobic"

A bit of a 'toilet tribute' from my fantastic cast...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n1Y5YdZTAL0

Full blog of blubbering to follow... but I'm a wee bit lost for words right now... it's a bit hard to talk through this shit-eating grin that is a permanent fixture... pig in poo people, Pig. In. Poo. :-)

Okay I've calmed down now... well no not really hehehe... aww mann!  What an awesome way to ice an already sa-weeet tasting cake!!  I humbly and honestly thought that this would go to another person on the night... and I'm almost positive I wouldn't attempt a 'poke, snatch and run' ... almost... :-) 

But they called MY name. 

A little westie nuthin' much from suburban Glum Eden won a people's choice award for a job that most don't really understand and that had nothing to do with "AM-DRAM" but a professional production with a phenomenal message performed in DOWNTOWN AUCKLAND at the stunning Q Theatre.  Far out that is quite trippy when I type it out loud :-)

I tried to accept the award on the night with poise, elegance and grace but in true Westie style I squealed like a banshee and then promptly started leaking out my eyeballs and nose and exclaimed loudly into the mic "holy shitballs!"... dammit. 

I couldn't help it... this meant so MUCH to me... and I don't mean just the beautiful hand made sculpture trophy (which is amazing), or the shiny gold badge that has my name (even spelled correctly) on it... but this WHOLE EXPERIENCE.  From the moment I typed "Okay I'll do it" to 3.30am last Sunday morning when I said goodbye to the final few left standing of my new friends this has been the best experience of my life. I get still get this teary, well of massive achievement inside when I think about the last 6 weeks and what was accomplished by so many people from so many backgrounds and walks of life.

It had everything...passion, commitment, empathy, hilarity, comradory, professionalism, support, talent, uniqueness, dedication, belief, pride and an immense amount of love and positivity and every single person involved in it or watching it felt exactly the same and part of it.  It was a truly amazing show. 

So now its time to fall back into normality (hahaha - inside joke) and back into the daily routine and beejesus its pissing me off!!

After feeling so good about everything and it also being Mental Health Awareness Week AND Awareness Day today... I felt a bit lost.  Almost like I needed a big cuddle from all my reTHiNK friends again.  The 8-5 is SUCH a drag.

Let me try and explain a bit of my post-production emotional turmoil...

Lets see... well, its like wearning a comfy outfit that you feel totally sexy and secure in and then being forced to put on an ugly school uniform that make you feel fat and insignificant... you know you HAVE to wear it...it just doesn't fit.  I work to live - that's my uniform. Don't get me too wrong, at the 8-5 its cool and there's heaps of neat people, great mentors, challenges and mostly fun stuff to do and I enjoy it... but I long to wear my comfy clothes most of the time, heck all of the time! Or, even just a little bit of the time... I just wish it was possible :-)

Its also a bit of a self esteem thing... I've been high as a kite on excitment adrenalin for over a month and almost kaliedoscopic all of last week so theres' got to be some kind of a come down... a withdrawal.  Its just such a shame because I felt such joy and absolutely confidence.  In who I am, what I can do, my heart and my mind... I wish I could have bottled the feeling, honestly it was wonderful.

But that's all part of MY personal challenges... and I take too much general human ignorance to heart :-)

So I must accentuate the positive!... What did I do for Mental Health Awareness day to make someone happy and smile?  Well I cooked a yummy dinner last night... first attempt at Chicken Chow Mein from scratch, then baked a Carrot Cake - again a virgin experience - and shared them both... no one died (hehehe) :-)

Everyday I stop at the same coffee cart parked at the Church on Donovan St in Blockhouse Bay and Mikayla, the barista who makes the BEST trim mocha's in West Auckland, is there, rain or shine, greeting every customer with a smile, a free coffee now and then and even free brownies for her regulars just because she appreciates their business.

Mikayla is from Romania, her husband is a chef currenlty dabbling in DIY and they have two small children and they are the nicest people in the world.  Lately Mikayla has felt a little down, not sure of why and has shared how upsetting it is for her.  Maybe it is the pressure of saving for their trip back to Romania later this year, having to leave their home, the children's school and friends or just that thanks to hubby her kitchen pantry exists in her wardrobe - that would bum any girl out :-)

I remember a few of my darker days where just her smile and "how are you beautiful lady" would bring tears to my eyes and she'd come over to the car window and rub my arm reassuringly.  I don't know why I felt it was okay to show my feelings to her but her warmth and sincerity just comes across so effortlessly.

So today, in giving back to the energies of karma I took Mikayla a piece of my carrot cake.  It had rolled around in the container a bit... smooshing the icing all over the place which blew my MKR-style presentation... but she accepted it with great joy (like I'd handed her... oooh an 'award' or something!) and exclaimed:

"Oh 'fank you!!!  Caallot Cake is my favorilit and I did not eat-a bleakfast today so I gonna eat it now!!!!  Oh vat is so luffly of you!!!" - yep... just the same as when I gave her my shopping stickers for free glasses - immense, genuine joy.

Cool aye?  Two strangers... both see each other for a maximum of 5 minutes on weekdays... both shared pain and joy.... coffee and cake :-)

Hope you get heaps of hugs today and you have a happy heart tomorrow :-)

Lots of squdges

[The AWARD WINNING...]

Stylz

xoxoxoxox

Reflections before reTHiNK…

I am in THE BEST MOOD EVERRRRRR!!!!

It is a week out from dress rehearsal for The Big reTHiNK…Hey! I hope you’ve booked… you better or you are gonna miss out! www.qtheatre.co.nz – GO! Do it now and THEN come back and read the rest of the blog – OK? Good. Don’t make me come over there…

So…we open next WEDNESDAY October 3 would you believe and aw man I am having an absolute BLAST!! We had great fun taking some cast photos on Sunday, we were goofing around and having a few laughs with each other while striking ridiculous poses. Then it was down to the business end of the day – rehearsal with the actual set furniture designed and built specifically for this show… interestingly LARGER than our rehearsal furniture but you think it phased the brilliant cast of ‘Mad o Phobic’? Nope. Not a sausage. Took to it like a wee duck to water. Like they had used it all along. Good kids - Mama’s stoked 

It’s a beautiful thing working on a very short but very original play... you have more time to experience the fact that audiences, actors and even the writer themselves don’t have some other version done at another theatre six months ago to compare it too. Haha – score! And who knows where it will go to from here.. The Dophin? Howick Little? Titirangi. The Basement perhaps or even Silo? It may travel… Court Theatre, Downstage, Circa? Who knows. West End maybe or oooh BROADWAY! And a Tony win for the musical adaptation to top it off. The possibilities are endless with a brand new play.

I PROUDLY come from a background in community drama… “AM-DRAM” as the ‘air-kissers’ refer to it and I am living proof that it is one of the best places to develop your craft. Not only in performance; but in professionalism. It is where the unwritten theatre etiquette is passed down through member to member, ghost stories are swapped, tales are told, memories gathered and suburban theatre legends are respected and revered.

These lessons I picked up as a 13-year-old novice performer with a desire to win an Oscar are so prominently featured during my journey to The Big reTHiNK show than ever before. So much is filtering in through my memory. Like performance advice from many different directors, feeling the energies, the encouragement, the depth and thought they put into every character and every aspect of the story. It blew my mind watching everything come together and it still does – every time.

I would see my extremely talented Mum create a pre-revolution French ensemble from scratch, worthy of an Academy Award, in our little kitchen out of yards of fabric cutoffs. I’d watch in fascination teams of volunteers’ - hammers in hand - building, molding, lifting, shaping, transforming a tiny stage into a completely different world.

The artistic flare of those gifted with a brush that spent hours into the night painting a deeper illusion into our make believe world, their backdrops and set enhancements taking audiences on a journey- back in time, forward in time, into different rooms, countries, forests, views, intimate moments and breath-taking storytelling. During this process of evolution you are surrounded by art and creativity whether you are ‘on the boards’ or not. Volunteers, friends, partners, neighbors, siblings, all driven by respect and an immense love for what they do.

Back in the days of manual lighting changes, portable tape decks for music and sound effects, stage managers that ran around cueing silently by theatre sign language and twenty actors all puffing on ciggies in the tea room at half time dissecting the audience technology and tact may have evolved but the actor’s half-time performance and crowd breakdown remains unchanged like generations before.

I remember clearly at final dress rehearsals the looks of pride in the bloodshot tired eyes of the crew … the Director with a hint of a tear and wobble of emotion as they formally hand the reins over to the Stage Manager. The buzz of opening night, the surprises that come with every performance, the friendships, the dramas and the many MANY fantastic cast parties on closing night.

This was my childhood, my escape, my pastime, my passion, my playground. It still is. Over 25 years of magical experiences, people and amazing storytellers. And here I am watching the magic unfold once again with The Big reTHiNK. Different theatre, different faces, same glow, same love – brilliant stories.

For the cast of ‘Mad o Phobic’ or “My Phobies” (including our awesome writer Lynz Wilmshurst and our wonderful PA Rachael Brough) I am so incredibly proud of them. They have had a challenging road that they hit with massive determination, commitment and passion. It is my hope that during this journey, all 8 of these amazing artists have gained a world of experience and come away with a huge sense of accomplishment. They have also taught ME a great deal in just a few short weeks – my teary eyes and wobbly voice will no doubt give that away.

Amazing. Just look at what a small team of people can do together when they play make believe and believe in making a play. In eight minutes.

See you all at Q Theatre :-)

Vikki xx

Like Minds... Like Mine. And have a BIG reTHiNK :-)

Sooo... what have I been up to lately?  Well despite the rumours I do actually have a life and don't just sit at a computer having a bleat to the vast blankness of the fibre optic universe.  Honest?!

This blog is all about what is keeping this little gal out of trouble and off the streets... yeah, honest!

In fact there are two facets to my life right now - one creative and one productive... one does my head in and one's in my head.  Guess which one is which from the two options below:

1. I am renovating my home
2. I am directing a short play for a huge arts festival

Yes I guess you could say I'm 'directovating' right now and even thought it has its challenges, man it is refreshing but one helluva mash up!

•  The house is a pigsty but the play is like clockwork.

• I'm an absolute klutz but a perfectionist
• I spill paint everywhere but my 'cutting-in' skills rock
• When I get excited with my cast the ideas flow thick and fast and look great in my head... it'd be freaken awesome if at that point my tongue was actually connected to the picture in my brain not asleep on the job. 

I also have to confess that yes... I have been... 'blogging around'. I'm sorry!  I couldn't help it... it was too good an opportunity to miss - my little piece was published on a website like, for real, using my actual name and everything... it was almost as exciting as seeing my Robbie Williams article (written solely around my obsession with his tight arse) published in Rip It Up magazine a decade ago! But hey... don't you dare feel like you aren't good enough to be here anymore - oh no my bloggees YOU have the privilege of seeing my SOUL... feeling my heart beat... laughing at my hilarious antics and losing yourselves in my sick mind.  Now THAT'S special.  Friends again?  Sweet.

Now that we've got that cleared up... you can either have a look here at the blog or you can just continue reading and you'll find it slotted in somewhere below...

First of all, a little bit of background info about the project I have signed up for courtesy of the official press release..

"As part of the Like Minds, Like Mine Campaign to reduce the stigma of mental illness, two kiwi mental-health promoters are attempting to bring attitude change to the public on a global scale.

Artistic Director and Producer, Taimi Allan explains “the purpose of reTHiNK is to take an audience safely through a journey of madness and into recovery. The family-friendly show attempts to mimic the rollercoaster of emotions associated with mental health challenges in a way everyone can relate to, without being lecturing or confronting” Mental-health promoter and co-producer Miriam Larsen-Barr adds, “The best thing is people go because it is entertaining but they leave with a message that makes a real difference to their lives and the health of our community.”

The call for creative works with mind-altering themes went out around the world in March and people from across the globe have answered in their droves. Final scripts have now been selected for The Like Minds Big reTHiNK and the production phase is now underway.

The top twelve 2012 scripts selected blind for The Big reTHiNK launch event at Q Theatre (October 2nd – 6th) come from America, Australia and across New Zealand. (Mine's called 'Mad o Phobic' by Lynz Wilmshurst). These plays are being professionally produced and directed at Q Theatre for 5 performances only to launch the first ever international mental-health arts festival.

And underway it certainly is... here's my first blog...

Rocking On with The Big reTHiNK

Tramping the boards since she was a young one and portraying everything from Smurfs to desperate housewives, Vikki Cottingham’s first love is theatre....

I stumbled upon directing during my days teaching for Donna Clark's Drama Studio where I wrote and directed term-end pieces for each of my classes.

In 2008 Titirangi Theatre launched their 24-hour Theatre Challenge... and I have put my hand up to direct every year since.

Every theatre challenge experience is exciting and rewarding but when Like Minds Like Mine and RETHiNK came on board in 2010 something special happened .

I was directing 'Beautiful Minds' written by Luke Derrick and the level of passion and creativity throughout the whole production was amazing.

It opened the door to a whole new world of talent and audience. It felt wonderful and fresh - I had a real purpose. My own personal experience with mental illness like many others was not taboo or hidden - it was embraced and celebrated artistically with awesome class and professionalism. I was so proud.

In selecting a script for The Big reTHiNK 2012 the stand-out for me was "Mad o Phobic" by Lynz Wilmshurst. You know you've found the one when you see it performed in your head from the first line in - sorted, job done, rock on with the fun stuff.

Many thanks to Lynz for "a cracker of a script", Taimi and Miriam for the opportunity again to be a part of something so cool, my awesome cast, the grouse production crew, RETHiNK, Q Theatre, Titirangi Theatre, and of course... my family.

And of course you can get tickets to see The Big reTHiNK from Q theatre.

Enjoy the show!

And now your personal, behind the scenes, condensed and edited for 'reality' television, special preview, exposey of the soon-to-be-smash-hit play 'Mad o Phobic'.

Ladies and Gentleman... A world first

7 Directors... 100 auditionees

One shot to shine…

Like Minds, Like Mine

Live from the Q Theatre

This… Is The BIG ReTHiNK

AUDITIONS

Sunday 26 August – 0700 - Somewhere in West Auckland tucked up in a cosy queen-sized bed...

BEEP, beep, beep,beep, beep, beep…far out - shock treatment for the ear drums. An alarm on Sunday is a completely foreign experience for me so I start the day more disorientated than usual. I also realize with great surprise that I’m a little bit on the ‘nervy’ side to tell you the truth… however off I go to a rather professional audition session to cast actors for my play ‘Mad o Phobic’ being performed at the 2012 Big ReTHiNK showcase at Q Theatre early next month.

I get more excited the closer I get to town…I was thinking about the writer of ‘Mad o Phobic’ - Lynz – we had the coolest catch-up a few nights back. Going over script together sharing some inside info and background dirt, well enough about me… she got to talk about herself and the play sometimes too - honest! It was a great night, and of course I am stoked to report that we were both… pardon the pun… ON THE SAME PAGE. Nice.

I arrive at the rehearsal room in the fantastically flash-as Q Theatre and I am handed the audition sheet. First thought is “far out there’s a few of them, what a grouse turnout”. I figure I’m going to have to have a pretty good system to make sure I can remember who they are and highlight those actors I’m going to do battle for. Easy peasy, off we go, warm up and then stuck into the monologues, good start. Asterix there, red pen here, underline there, question mark there. Sweet - I am on a role.

Suffice-it to say my system was crap.

Everyone was SO GOOD. It totally blew my mind and by the end of the day I had literally cast just about every person that walked through the door. Six times over. I was a mess. So here I was going from cool calm and a bit of a crack-up to flailing around bits of paper, red-faced, trying to figure out my weird asterix and red pen code. What a disaster.

I was lucky enough to have this funny little gut feeling that stayed with me for almost all of the day regarding most of the parts I needed to cast for my piece. During selection process this made things a little easier. I did have to flap around with a stack of photos so I could re-instate said gut feeling but in the end it was a highly successful and rewarding experience!

Lesson learned – ditch the red pen and go with me belly instincts (Please note that this is the one and only time I’ll give my ‘muffin top’ any kind of positive kudos at all… perhaps now it will be satisfied and willingly shrink?)

So I have a delightful cast… very eager, very committed, very cool. Naturally I establish that I’m a hoot to work with and we’re going to have a blast. I do this cleverly with witty emails full of well-organised information. Hopefully this makes me at least LOOK like I know what I’m doing so they won’t notice my knees knocking in sheer panic.

Sunday comes around very quickly and it’s our first official rehearsal. Everyone sort of dribbles in one-by-one, on time and obviously full of nervous excitement just as I am and we commence with our very first read-through of this crispy new script, the words bouncing off the page and poking you in the eye. Yeah! It is pretty cool.

The cast also got to hang out with Lynz for a while which is such a bonus. I mean how often can an actor get a chance to sit down with the writer of a play and pick their creative brain? Lynz also got to see her literature come to life – albeit in its infant stages. I got over my nerves a little and by the end of the day I think I found my director groove thanks to a great afternoon of creative collaboration.

So now I sit… waiting for the arrival of cast so we can embark the next vital step of this journey –

BLOCKING.

Give me strength!!

Okay now tix are on sale for The Big reTHiNK ... (I've spread the link all over this blog like peanut butter and jammy)and looking at the lineup of short plays, music, stand up comedy, art, film - the fact it is family friendly (yep no 'EFF' words or dodgy themes) and it launches Mental Health Awareness Week WORLDWIDE... you just HAVE to be a part of it... so don't miss out!!!

See you there

Stylz
Thesbian (that's with a TH!), Director, DIY expert and PUBLISHED writer
(yeah bitches!)

 xxxooo

Clown. With small feet, huge heart, dumb as arse... twisty panty tanty thrower...

Aw hiiiii....

I'm a bit low-vibe today - need someone to give me a good kick in the pants and say "cheer the hell up ya big fat sookie bubba".

No don't... I might cry.

I can see why kiddies throw tanties.  I'm becoming more in touch with my childhood through my adulthood you know.  (Well isn't that what we're SUPPOSED to do?  Geez...) and I was a twisty panty tanty-thrower as a kid.  Partially because I got teased... A LOT and also because I was alone... A LOT.

Here's my philosophical pitch for the month - BOREDOM is a BITCH. 

I'm so quiet its driving me to age. I can feel new wrinkles forming, veins swelling, bladder collapsing, a mysterious puffing sound which can only be evidence that my reproductive system is turning to dust - powdered eggs anyone? 

My sense of humour is stretched to the point I'm feeling laughter could come but it would be insane scary lady laughter AND the situation would only be hilarious if I could actually punch someTHING not just someLINE.

People are annoying me unnecessarily - I'm not sitting here rubbing them up the wrong way.... ohh no  I am quietly minding my own gaddam bidness but the respect is hardly retaliated and I can't escape the feeling of...wait (searching literary banks for something deeply profound... ah fuck it) - Shittyness. 

Its like the smelly man that walks in front of you and past you 10 times at the supermarket and you almost vom each time but you can't do anything about it because for some reason he and his BO-tainted-bod be going where you going just coz they can.

I think of these little downfalls and potholes in my daily grind as 'mini-karma-fish-slaps'.  Yes when that little somethin-somethin you messed up ages ago probably when you were pissed or hungover OR... pre-menstrual hungover AND half pissed is coming and paybacks a bitch. 

Yeah I hate mini-karma-fish-slap-Fridays.

I'm constantly reminding the Karma Hall-monitors wherever the hell they are in the universe about various little and big deeds I've done through my life and that I'm not that bad a person and don't really deserve the Karmic Corporal Punishment of "thou shalt be surrounded by fuckwits today so there na na na na na naaa" but all-in-all shit happens. 

Maybe I've cancelled all my 'she's a good sort' moments out? 

What if that day I... paid-for-that-guys-coffee-because-he-didn't-have-any-money-and-just-changed-a flattie-and-it-was-Monday-and-he-deserved-something-nice-to-happen-day... has already been cashed out on some dumbass thing I did eons ago that I probably don't remember and quite frankly could potentially not give a flying monkey poop about these days?

What a waste of some fecking good Karma.  I'm disa-freakin-pointed quite frankly and I'd like to see the manager of the mini-karma-fish-slap department...

"I'd like to see a copy of my file please to figure out that joke you call your freakin scheduling software  if I may... I think its puckaroo bro..."

"Ya dropped me in it mate... for the sake of a wee swear word in 1977?!... where's your sense of humanity?  Ya messing with people's LIVES and ya just don't care..."

Oh crumbs.  I must be in a bit of a mood... I sound just like an overheard conversation at WINZ.

I better go... finally the shifting of the guard time has come and the bone-crunching grind of today slides with a clunk a creak and a squirt of dirty oil into the next phase of the evening... and that's just me getting off my chair and walking to the car.

I do hope though that I haven't pissed the mini-karma-fish-slap Friday department off too much and there's free-flow traffic on the Sou'Western.  Love you guys... keep up the good karma :-)
(Sheesh... might be a little too late to suck up now)

Wish me luck and the best of British to you :-)

Stylz - stomping - out.

Xoxoxox

Free Range... Egg.

Well well well... what an interesting turn of events this week.

Firstly the new 'regime' is going well. For those of you that I haven't had the pleasure of my life being shoved in your face (along with some spit and a slight hint of garlic) I am house-sitting in the deep deep south at the moment.  South AUCKLAND that is... in the hills above the quiet, quaint and multicultural suburb of Papakura - nooo I'm not scared at all.  I'm a hard-arse Westie for goodness sake and lets face it - I'm glad its not fricken Horrenderson then I'd be really screwed. 

What a regime it has been.

Sidenote for dummies: Regime ("RAY-GEEM")... A regime to me is like the list of necessities.
For men - simple: Shit. Shave. Shower. Done-burger.
For women... Cleanse, tone, moisturise, wax, pluck, shave, colour, exfoliate, squeeze, suck, burn, bronze, file, paint, irrigate, bleach, bleed, iron, nip, tuck, f.... aaaar out and that's all before brekkie. No wonder we're a stroppy wee bunch.   Meh.

Well grab that list and add: A horny goat, shrek-the-sheep's twin sisters, a depressed dog, two freaky cats, a psycho parrot, a bunch of funky chickens and a couple of huge cocks into the mix and we got a party goin' onnnn.

Throw in the delightfully damp July/August Auckland spring weather, mud up to me delicates, a dead tree, a dumb gate and lots and lots of animal poos and you have my life right now as a lifestyle block fake farmer.

Moved in Friday and settled in for 10-day stint... much like the weather pattern.  Saturday wasn't too bad with the exception of a very depressed K-9 - highly unimpressed at my appearance instead of her beloved humans who are currenlty laxing-out, animal-free in swim-up bars on an island in the warm pacific the pathetic losers.

Sunday brought rain, wind, cold and a surprise challenge.  I was sitting in front of the telly when something to the left of me caught my eye out the window... it was a big old tree... falling... in slow motion... right across the driveway toward the house.  Landing (luckily and without damage) on the concrete, its impact softened by the hedge.  Far out that was freaky, big tree, impressive crash.  Hang on a minute... where's the driveway gone?  Aww, shit.

"F*ck." (I say to noone imparticular except the psycho parrot, two cats, depressed dog, Ganny the Goat, the Cocks and Henny Pennys)... "Umm. Right.  Okay.  WOT...TF?!!"  Yes it was certainly a capitals moment thats for sure. Thar it still be me hearties, that felled twig, layin dead and blocking th' feckin driveway.  I found a couple of chainsaws but couldn't for the life of me find some extra balls to use them.  So I sucked it up and texted my brother, told him not to panic because he'd drop his pino colada in the pool (which would be sacriledge) but could he please call as I have a wee tree situ.  He called and oh how we laughed.  The bastard.  I offered to get in the abourist but he said not to worry - he'd handle it when he got back... okie dokie.

So if you are wondering why every morning I have moss under my fingernails... blame the tree for ruining my nice, smooth exit.  I'm now heaving a dirty old wooden gate open and shut twice a day so I can actually escape the property - mind the heavy chain hanging off it for no apparent reason or duty...it has an uncanny ability to slam you in the shin when you're not looking.

Now before I go on I have to say that being here is in fact a delight... it is a lovely spot, quiet and private and I feel really safe and relaxed but... (and knowing me as you do my lovely blogees - I've got big buts and I cannot lie, I always share my buts... its the 'but' that makes the story you see - I'm always the 'butt' of my jokes, its how I roll here in CETV and its usually MY but that is freakin hilarious...hahahaha... oh bollix.. where was I?)  Oh yeah... peaceful, tranquil, semi-rural beautiful rolling hills and plush green bush surroundings but...

COCK-A DOODLE-DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Time check: 4am

COCK-A DOODLE-DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Time check: 4.01am

COCK-A DOODLE-DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Time check: 4.02am

COCK-A DOODLE-DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

And so on and so forth...

COCK-A DOODLE-DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Time Check 5.44am

BRR..BRR..BRR..BRR..BRR..BRR..BRR..!!! Alarm...

Time Check 5.45am following imediately by... you guessed it...

COCK-A DOODLE-DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
Time Check 5.46am. Ace.

We skip forward about 12 hours to:
Arrive home from work...

COCK-A DOODLE-DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Time Check: 5.30pm

And of course there's TWO of them Hugh Chookner and his sleezy sidekick Ron the Rooster... so they have some sort of weird cocky-doodley battle going on - its like a couple of crazy 80's rock-opera singers screeching themselves to oblivion on 'The Voice - Old MacDonald's Farm Special'.  And they do it ALL DAY - hmmm... I thought cocks just woke you up in the mornings?

(I didn't mean it to sound that way.  Well actually yes I did... lets face it, I'm the only one that actually THOUGHT of it that way... welcome to my world - how's the gutter life treating you?  Sit yo' ass down on a copy of "50 Shades" and stay awhile why don't you?)

Anyway its not just a couple of cocks that are ruling my world right now.

So here's the drill right?  My new regime.  My farming schedule:

- I wake up around 5.45am (I know I know, real farmers get up at 3... suck it I'm just a ring in...)

- Pee

- Sneeze (HAS to be IN. THAT. ORDER or I'll end up the subject of one of those really inappropriate feminine product ads they play right on teatime...)

- Shower etc... (see above sidenote for unedited version of events)

- Dress - fully.  Office attire on weekdays... (dressing gown on weekends - double knotted... don't want those flirty cocks thinkin' there's anything interesting to peck on...)

- Put on thick socks, dressing gown, beanie, gumboots (adopted Robe-over-office-attire on weekdays - its the closest thing to a raincoat okay and it repels splashy mud poos.  Geez this isn't NZ's next top model... yet)

- Walk precariously down knee deep mud paddocks in the pitch black of a stormy morning balancing goat nuts (no... stop it), chicken feed, bunch of bok choy, torch and recently - umbrella while somehow staying vertical on uneven and unstable terrain.  ( I know I know real farmers have oil skins... well I have girl skin and hair that is really REALLY easily fucked up by the slightest amount of moisture so brollie it is - if you can FIND a freakin oil skin then be my guest and hook a girl up...)

- feed goat - keeping an eye on massive horns at all times - hopefully arse padding will suffice if hungry goats attack...(actually Ganny the Goat is quite a sweetie and answers when you call...plus she has a MASSIVE belly... in actual fact I FEEL like NZ's Next Top Model next to her even in 14 layers of clothing...)

- slosh my way over to the chicken coop... pitch black... lots of flapping and squawking goin' on... a big cock at the front door fluffing up his feathers and bleating at me (Cut to flashback scene: hilarious reminder of the long adolescent nights at 'Timbucktoo' Nightclub in the 80's - 17, naive, big-haired and madeup-to-the-nines (and tens!), charming my way past the poser bouncers with their big chests and flexed cannons.  Sad but true and I'll have you know for free it is my belief that we don't have enough nightclubs in malls anymore... great parking, close to the bus stop). 

So in I go... squelching through the pooey smelly chicky coop...in the dark, knowing that there are spiderwebs as thick as French armpit hair above me and I might have to stick my hand under a chooks arse to pinch the eggs she so lovingly squeezed out her crappy pooper just for me to nick off with.

Have I mentioned that I'm not a huge fan of birds?  I think they are lovely and pretty and can make cool tweety noises but when they flap around my head like that scene with the crow in 'The Omen' I totally soil myself.  So being all cheery and calling "Hey Chookies!" as I entered the dark damp spidery cave of feathered shit... was an epic fail.  It was a 'chicknami'... waves of feathers and clucks and cocks comin at me from all directions I literally pulled a slippery U'ee in my gummies and gapped it the fark outta there. Yep totally shat myself just saying hello to the chooks.  Doin' ma job... rockin the redbands and what do I get for it?  Skidmarks.

The chook house is kind of like the playboy mansion... for chickens. There's Hugh Chookner - the alpha-cock that bosses everyone around, the other cock who's got a bit of a wonky crow so is the underdog wingman with a slighty deviate side...Ron the Rooster.  And then there's the Desperate Cluckwives who seem to just eat and cluck and scrap - one of whom seems to be spittin eggs out like bum wees.  She must be Hugh's number one - shes a great layer. (hehehe - oh come on that was gold)

They have quite the life those chooks and their regime is simple but impressive.  Like a little family really with slightly questionable hygiene practices.  Hugh stands at the entrance to the chookhouse and crows like a regiment bugle at sundown and all the chookies fall in to roost for the night - I think Ron tucks them all in (hence his name Ron "the Rooster") while Hugh keeps guard at the door.  They have free range... to wander and roam the day away, they eat off the ground and poo wherever they damn well please. 

Hmm... I think - metophorically - that I too am embracing a little chicken dance of my own out here... and despite the challenges it is quite cathartic... except I don't poo on the deck and I do mostly prefer a plate.  Don't hate me 'coz I'm human...

Like me, the array of animals out here have dynamic personalities... I've touched on the chooks and the goat - its amazing how much you learn about them even though you only hang out for about 15 seconds in the dark each morning.  You have to know that my big brother (the owner of said property) and chief farmer is somewhat of an 'animal whisperer' known famously for his deep love for all things furry, feathery and farmy - the difference is he would bend over backwards and give his life savings to try and save an animal as opposed to the more rugged method of those that have a few thousand more of each species not just a wee handful. He's a good man with a big heart full of fur after years of ingesting it through his lungs :-).  Let me introduce you to the rest of gang:

Ganny the Goat and the two baa-lambs chill out down the bottom paddock, hangin out, eating grass and pooing.  That's about it.  But they do come running up to you which tells me they quite like their wee daily visit from the 'hooman beans' and they don't shy away from a bit of a pat on the head which is nice.  Warm and smelly.

Quite often Hugh Chookner, Ron and a few of the Desperate Cluckwives go hang with Ganny... probably pinchin her food, teasing her about her big hairy belly and then running off into the bush before they become a rotisserie on her horns when she gets pissed off with their bullshit.  I know when they are down there because there's a whole lotta ruckus going on - clucks and crows and baa's and crashing through bushes... poor Ganny... its like livin' in the animal projects, buried in the South Auckland Bronx.

We got John the cat... who licks his willy a fair bit.  His favourite grooming spot is on top of the printer in full view, just under the heat pump in the living room.  If you hear a strange noise in the middle of the night, it's just John-John, burning the midnite oil... sending some faxes, keeping in touch.  He's quite regal, typical tommy with an attitude... I bet he's had a lot of pussy.

Now Possum... the other feline, is an orphan... deserted by a family of kids that kind of just left her behind when they were staying there... so she's got some abandonment and trust issues. Funny little cat.  Skittish, runs away from you like you're a Rottweiler then comes up meowing for a cuddle and then its an all claws attack. Bitch. Likes to sleep in drawers and only drinks the water out of your glass on the nightstand... word of warning - watch out for hairballs.

AJ or is it BJ?  I dunno.  Its a parrot that spends a majority of its time hiding inside an icecream container.  It comes out every so often to screech... and I've become pretty fluent in undersanding parrot.... it goes like this a bit

"Shhh! Don't look at me! ARGH!  CAT!  Fark off!  DON'T TALK TO ME!  I'm lonely!  ARGH! Who's there? What's that? ARGH shadow! Shh!  I'm not home!  Mmm, seed, nom nom nom". 

Yep that's pretty much word-for-screech.  When I lean closer to the cage and peer in through the little bird-sized door in the icecream container all I can see is this crazy black and white eye staring at me... quite wild looking...like Jigsaw's eyes from "Saw".  Freaky-deaky little bird.

And finally we have the original member of the clan - Meg, the 7-year old brindle who speaks when spoken to and farts like a bloke.  The lovely Meg who indeed is the man's best friend and has literally taken 5 days to get over herself and stop moping at her owners' deserting her.  We had a little chat the other day... before I went off to work.  I told her to harden up, stop being a sookie bubba and that she wasn't to worry, that I'd be back later that day AND she's lucky she's not stuck out in suburbia with her nut case sister dog in a back yard in the miserable pouring rain all day.  She's got her bed, and the chooks and cats to keep her company AND she gets to sleep inside in the warmies from the minute I get home... suffice it to say she was wagging her tail and barking for joy when I arrived home that night :-) 

So... I think it is safe to say that Old MacDonald can retire a happy man - along with Farmer Brown - in some worn old sheep-shearers shack, full of character, eating porridge off a coal range while talkin' tractor trash, barn dances, Sheilas, and hay days.  Yeah no worries - I've got this :-)

Good on ya mate...

Farmer Stylz... in da (chook) HOWWWWWSSSSE!

Baa.

xoxoxox

Bum bum...boo-boo...

Help... I'm a fallen woman.

My bum hurts.

Its my own damn fault really - Mr Chemicals told me its because I'm always in a rush... and its true.  I clunk, clang, bang, bump and trip my way through life because I'm goin' "full tit".  Which confuses me really because I'm a self-confessed lazy-arse.  Go figure.

I cut corners which is dumb because doorways aren't corners and it freakin hurts when you smash into them.  I'm constantly whacking my toes on large objects that have always been there but for some reason have a subconscious bulls eye on them that my trotters are drawn to at speed. 

Whomever invented elbows was a wanker.  I figure with the amount of times my funny bone gets hammered I must do the chicken dance when I walk and lately it seems I have been having issues trying to extract the fingers of one hand out of a drawer before the other hand commits digit GBH.

Honestly what is my brain on?

I know there are people out there that would say that I'm lucky to actually have the abilities to experience clumsiness and for that I have the deepest empathy but far out man the truth is I'm shit scared of all of it...falling, pain, being broken, hurts, boo-boos, owies.  Faaark that Freddy.

So to my story... Today... after a night of torrential downpour soaking the ground to ugg-boot unfriendly slickness, I decided that since I was running around 15 minutes early in my mish-mash pre-work routine (if you can call it that) I should get the rubbish out because I forgot last week and its startin' to funk up the neighbourhood...

So I, in my fluffy purple dressing gown, over sized boots, fresh out of the shower so all glory and no modesty underneath, grab me two bags of steaming household waste and aim to head out to the front gate... as I have done thousands of times.  Let me paint you a picture of the events that followed.  Here is a step-by-step and I MEAN descending each-actual-step, account of my greatest fear - falling down stairs:

Step One...
Speed: minimal
Balance: 40-60
Concentration: fuzzy - "What am I gonna wear to work?  No idea. OK will start with undies and work up from there"
Feet: left - landed, right - in transit...

Step Two
Speed - air born
Balance - horizontal
Concentration - "fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck"
Feet - waving to bus going past.  Nice.

Step Three...
Speed - negative
Balance - irrelevant.  Flat on arse
Concentration - do NOT cry out for your Mum
Feet - useless betraying tiny piglet good for nothing ugly sausage bits... well that's a bit harsh because its my fault for trusting that size 8 ugg boots have traction control.  Fool.

Once the bus had gone by and my inner Godiva was shoved back into my dressing gown I peeled myself off the steps and hobbled inside all the while holding in the silent scream of pain threatening to alert the neighbours that I was a fallen woman (yeah right... like they didn't know THAT already ha ha ha - oh sorry, I digress).

Within the sanctity of my living room, in true Hollywood style I sank to my knees, put my face into an armchair where many butts have been before and howled like a banshee one lone cry....

"Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww..."

Then a quick sob.

A hot flush.


A wave of nausea.

And then back out to the evil steps for attempt two.  Wednesday - rubbish day.  It had to be done.

I figured some smart arse statistics geek somewhere had spent literally TENS of DOLLARS and most of his first month in Uni researching the likelihood of a klutz falling down the same stairs on a post-injury-immediate second-run.  And that a 47,000 thousand word thesis paper on the subject, paid for by my over-inflated SuperShitty rates would result in minimal risk of repetition - or just crappy luck and doofessness if it did.

Suffice it to say I remained statistically boring and the stinky garbage successfully made it to the roadside.  But I know by the end of the day I'm gonna hurt.  I told a male colleague that it felt like one of my kidneys was trying to explode out of my arse.  Graphic but honest.  Sharing is caring. 

Of course what followed was the obligatory "you think THAT's bad well listen to this..." ('my story's better than your story' moment).  Much more intense involving (of course) an ENTIRE stairwell, its evil nemesis footwear 'socks' AND (here's the kicker) heroism involving a small child.  Yes. He happened to be carrying a 2-month old baby who remained completely unharmed during the ordeal. Now due to his entire body taking the full force of the fall, he was laid out flat for a week whereas I... with my budget injury of busted-arse-bruised-back-fat...just look like I've shit my pants when I walk.  Score is even stevens though I reckon... 1pt to He-man (only because of the bubba), and 1pt for me for flashing the Hendo bus... at my age.  Rockstar.  A for effort.

I have an intense dislike for stairs.

In fact I come rather close to having a real-life phobia about them... I DO.  I even googled it and found a name for my condition - hold on to your hand rails coz its a big bastard...

CLIMACOPHOBIA

Yup.  A fear of stairs. A fear of climbing them, a fear of falling down them... and that's definitely me coz I'm packin' jobbies everytime I venture down stairs and woe betide if I lose concentration - case and point this morning's flight of the big purply bird. 

However I'm pleased to announce that although I suffer Clima... Climax... Climbatree... oh crap... umm 'SSCS' (stairs scardy cat syndrome) I am so not 'BATHMOPHOBIC' which is like a total relief because THAT would be some serious shit.  (FYI... nothing to do with baths... google it).

When I was little I remember I had no fear.  I used to stand proudly at the top of our internal staircase at home, my little piglets shoved into Ma's size 8 platforms, usually dressed up pretending I was Marie Osmond, massive earphones wobbling on my head mostly cranking my brothers old school rock 'n' roll records and Dads 45s, shakin' my pudgy little butt and lipsyncing into my Andy Gibb microphone. 

It gave me great joy... and immense pain.  On a regular basis my over-enthusiastic performance would over power my balancing ability and my basketball belly would be the tipping point and off I would go... bouncing down the stairs like a human zorb in high heels.

Bump-de-bump-bump-bump-de-de-de de-bump... bump... crash.  Silence.  Then a tsunami siren.

"WwwwwwwwwwwwwwAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"

And my older brother's bored voice barely audible over the wail...

"Maaaa-ummm... Flicks fallen down the stairs again."

Alas... my fear was borned.  But not a bone done broketh in all my tripsy, whoopsy, roly, poly, crashy, bangy fuckups.  Just my pride and always a sore arse.

I get knocked down, but I get up again - not bad for a chubba-wubba... but if given an option... I'll be in the elevator bitches.

Have a great day.

Stylz - out........................on her arse.  Again.

xxx

Fifty First Drinks... Fifty Shades of Arse...

Hello old friend... it's been a while.

I'm sitting here at my desk halfway through the first week back at work after the big Christmas and New Year hoo-haa and there are so many things I should be doing, I could be doing and I'm not. I don't want to, I can't focus or think properly and I feel like I've aged 50 years and regressed 20. By the way...

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

I think I missed wishing you this leading into 2010 AND 2011 so consider it back payment for old Auld Lang Syne moments that could have been.

Hmmm... rather weak opening statement and quite frankly an epic fail on my part considering it is now June 2012.

Yes it's sad but true - it has taken me almost 7 months to write those two sentences.  Let's start that again shall we?  Ready?   Come on... I know you're feeling a little vulnerable and slightly used but trust me... it will be worth it... here we go................................

Gidday Mate - HTF hv u bn?

Yes that's much better...

I'm sitting here at my desk midway through a Friday and looking forward to a long weekend thanks to an awesome company directive... the rostered day off policy. Don't be jelly... its just how we roll.

It's true I lost the gift of the blog for a while [I'm here, I'm lazy, get used to it] my bad - if it is any consolation it hurt me more than it hurt you.  I should have kept in touch... its amazing how 'un-mental' you feel when you spew out your guts on a regular basis - metaphorically of course but by golly I put in a marvellous effort pushing the limits on the literal meaning of the phrase just quietly.

One of my favorite punch lines at the moment that always gets a delightful guffaw from an eager audience is "if you squeezed me like a sea-sponge I swear I'd drip beer" potentially flat beer of course and a bit warm but pure Corona none the less - minus the lemon, mixed with a bit of Heineken for good measure, Bourbon [well that's a given] and maybe a couple of ciders - the berry ones.  True story.  I might have dried up a little in the last month or so but tell you what... I think I consumed more alcohol during the first half of 2012 than during my entire mid-to-late 20's early 30's - consequently I have conveniently forgotten the last two decades - thank you damaged frontal lobe.

Drinking to forget - oh my god does that statement scream volumes.  You don't actually forget the pain you were hoping to dull with a dozen Cody's - honest - but its times like the 'remember when' stories that you find you're brain has suffered major anal leakage thanks to someone's brilliant idea of the neurotoxin marinade that is ALCOHOL. 

But oh I do remember laughing...

I may have lost days, names, details, stomach contents, undies, friends and dignity but I do remember mostly having a lot of fun on the piss... there is a moment for me during the process of 'getting ya booze buzz on' that I am alive... oozing wit, charm, humour, sex appeal, confidence, talent and control... but all this attention does is get one a little too excited and I drink faster... therefore drowning my previous peak of awesomeness within a matter of about ooh... half an hour, depending on whether they are 5 or 8 percenters of course... 

Funny how at that precise moment... your physcial appearance is altered by what seems a ghostlike presence - within a matter of microseconds your mascara has melted down your nose, freckles, zits and wrinkles are blasting their way out of a thinning wall of foundation faster than a bull run in Spain and your hideously expensive frangrance now has a strong funky moonshine undertone to it.  The bags under your bloodshot eyes resemble a coupla black puddings (in size, colour and texture) and your beautiful hair that you spent an hour sweating and fighting achy arm syndrome to get it looking just like a freakin Kardashian... now hangs lank over your greasy forehead, droopy, knotty, daggy and makes you look like you live at a trailerpark.  The inside of your mouth feels like a used pull-up... and your breath ain't far behind. Not to mention you have to dangerously negotiate (and remember) your way to the loo every 3 minutes due to fear of LBL or BBS..WWIP (burst bladder syndrome.. woops wees in public) and there's never ANY freakin toilet paper left and well that's just gross. If you're on beer you're bloated, top shelf you're chundery and wine... well for me I know I'll be suffering bum wees and its not a matter of maybe but WHEN.  It's not attractive and its not fucking fair I tell you.

All of this pales in comparision to the winner of the top gajillion list of "things I can't stand about gettin smashed"...

#1 Dumb shit.

- paranoia
- crying
- aggro
- shagging in a toilet


Oh ALL SORTS.

And would you bloody believe it but THAT's the shit my frontal lobe refuses to evacuate.  And when you've got a backlog of about a quarter of a decade's worth... she's a hard road finding the perfect colonic for the psychi.

Flashbacks are a bitch in technocolour baby I shit-you-not. 

NB: You know its bloody hard to forgive yourself when some of your finest moments are replaying in HD on series link mode every day from around 11pm to 3am.  'Fear Factor'?  More like 'Cringe' factor and epic 'Wipeout' re-runs mixed with a little dose of 'Desperate Housewives' minus the calefornication (but also including it).  When all you want to do is bring back 'Happy Days'.

AGE... its not a word I throw around lightly because it makes me nauseous.  I still feel in my early 30's and that's about all the norty I can handle about being 40.  But I have to admit... begrudgingly... that I have done quite a bit of growing up this year.  Not to the point where I'm retiring my girlie bits, embracing upper lip hair and growing fond of second-hand tracksuits... no way man... but I AM trying to avoid the dumb shit... while working on forgiving myself for the fun I had getting to DO the dumb shit.

Because some of it WAS fun... in fact a lot of it was awesome :-) much of it was dodgy and bits of it many of you would have a really hard time believing - shit even I do and I was there!  Parts of it were top secret... where even names changed wouldn't protect the innocent...(Noo Zullind is SUCH a small place) not that there was anything remotely 'innocent' about it or it wouldn't be a fricken SECRET - duh!  So those ones are best keep in the classified section of my X-files. Sorry to dissappoint.

I don't expect the last time I got inebriated and did something dumb will be my last...I'm hoping for a slightly bigger gap between idiotic episodes.  But the last time a huge amount of good came out of a moment of sheer stupidity.  Now kids I'm not saying that just because "Monique thinks your dumb" nek minit something choice will happen [first and last time I promise that's why I used them both at once!] - I just happen to have hit the lowest of the low while being the highest of the high and achieving the bestest of the best. 

Fuck knows how.  That doesn't even make sense really... but it does to me and that's what counts.

Alright you lot - now that I've broken the ice maybe ya'll come back now and for any newbies... have a read and a giggle at me lil stories from yesteryear... you never know you just might enjoy it.  I recommend "Don't mention the C-Word", "0 Comments", "Inspiration is the new thin" and "Lightening Crashes an Old Mother Cries" coz they tickle my funny bone.

Luv yaz...

Stylz - back!

Lock up your Woodys :-)

xoxo