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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Incontinentia Buttocks' LiveJournal:

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Thursday, January 1st, 2015
12:00 am
Happy Fucking New Year 2015!
Happy New Year! hAPPY nEW yEAR! HaPpY NeW yEar!
Saturday, September 7th, 2013
11:58 pm
Stupid fucking people.
The whole point is that it didn't need a change because it was doing really well!

The government itself was implementing things that needed to be done such as infrastructure in the form of the NBN (costs can't be calculated accurately in advance, let's be real, it's an enormous project that will be expected to last for decades. Of course it's going to cost a lot!), disability funding (these people exist, their needs exist, we have to look after our people), education funding in the form of the Gonski reforms, an upcoming major overhaul of hospitals and health resources in general which will now probably be throttled, an acknowledgement of climate change and the dire need for a change in Industry's plundering of natural resources and their responsibility to the environment, a radical and long overdue acknowledgement of past wrongs done to our indigenous people. And we remain in the top 10 of growing economies worldwide.

These past two elections have been a joke because Labor have shat the bed so terribly with their leadership battles and petty power plays. They have squandered so much good will and yet still their actual deeds have meant so much more to the people than all the bullshit that is played up so much in the press. Shame on everyone who thought in terms of Abbott and Rudd in this election. This is not America! We don't vote for President here! Lefties need to speak up more, this shit should be countered at every opportunity.

*pant pant* Sorry, just had to get that off my chest.
Tuesday, September 3rd, 2013
10:38 pm
Four days before the election, 2013
I feel so disconnected from our countrymen/women who are being swept into the apparently enormous gates saying 'Follow Abbot' because Labor have really bad PR people. Our economy is sound. Infrastructure in the form of the NBN is being laid. The fact that corporations have carte blanche over prices without being regulated or indeed being asked to pay an equitable rate of tax or even to keep their labour force in their own country is completely ignored by Joe Dickhead who blames the carbon tax on their ever increasing utility bills! Rargh grarr etc.

Current Mood: anxious
Thursday, May 9th, 2013
11:27 pm
To Infinity....... and beyond!
So here's what's happening at the moment, my lovely journal that I'll post to now in a fit of verbosity and then cringe over later; I turn 46 in less than a month's time and it's high time I got started on my adult life, seeing as I have spawned and my boys are now 11 and 8 and are getting progressively more expensive and aware of what's happening in their immediate surroundings.

My income has been reduced by about $200 per fortnight due to changes in circumstance and it will continue to decline if I continue upon my current very non-committal path doing a job that I love 3 and a half days a week and suckling upon the teat of the taxpayer to make up for the shortfall. That teat has been wonderful and so necessary but it's time to give it up and start being an independent woman again. Gotta give my boys a role model, not just my nephew and niece an example of what happens if you're slack (I'm sure the boys would pick that up, too, which is something to be avoided).

So, to that end, I have enrolled in a Bachelor of Accounting through Open Universities. One unit per semester, no matter how dry, until I've got the thing done. I'm about a fifth of the way there due to my experience with half arsing my way through people's tax returns and BAS forms whilst working first for my dad as a tax consultant for ten years and then with two firms of accountants for 5 years, both of which I hated utterly mostly because I knew how unqualified I was. A fifth of the way in terms of knowing what I'm letting myself in for, not recognised credit, mind you. I really need to start things from scratch.

I can still act and draw and sing and write and be a fucking accountant. I don't have to be an arsehole accountant. I'll be cool creative accountant who's not all about the bottom line, man. Creative Accountant Woman! The teachers get away with it.

I'll have a decent enough income to allow me to pursue all kinds of things which come at a cost, such as text books and materials and freedom from the constant stress of financial burden.

Along with this must come a complete change of lifestyle. No more slothing on the verandah every single day for hours. Take Bert for a walk to the park with the boys. Mow the yard. Prune. Grow herbs and vegetables and fruit. I'm getting the fuck up, finally.

Let's hope I haven't left it for too long. Oh, and I'll let you know if it actually happens. Expect an update in a year or so. Here's fucking hoping it's a step up from the last 30 years. Fucking do it, woman!

Current Mood: awake
Sunday, July 22nd, 2012
4:27 am
Importance of Being Earnest - Bogan version
I'm currently performing as Lady Bracknell. Tonight, Algernon and I discussed the idea of a bogan version and here is my interpretation, based on my first scene:

(It's really kind of silly)Collapse )

Current Mood: recumbent
Saturday, June 2nd, 2012
12:41 am
Unhappy fucking birthday.
This is weepy and pathetic but it's my 45th birthday and I really feel like I'll never do anything spontaneous or fun ever again. Even my sister can't bear the thought of talking to me because I'm such a boring loser. I project a ring of pitifulness around me about a kilometre wide. I fucking suck. I should have died at 30.

Current Mood: crushed
Friday, May 20th, 2011
12:13 am
25 random things about me
1. Is going to earn money in some kind of creative field before she's 50
2. Is capable of great excess
3. Has more than once in her life peeled off all her toenails whilst watching tv
4. Would never have believed how much she could love being a mother 12 years ago
5. Finds being a mother very confusing sometimes
6. Is so shy that she resists making friends for fear of not being able to think of things to talk about
7. Is scared to death of getting up in front of a crowd without having lines to help her along
8. Has made many, many bad decisions
9. Is much funnier than this dry, terrible list would have you believe
10. Misses both her grandmothers more than words can say, particularly Grandma Stirling
11. Is going to attempt to lose at least 10kg before the end of the year
12. Loves her nephew and niece as much as her own kids, and worries about them as much
13. Is going to wash the dishes every day, or at least until the A team are old enough to take over
14. Loves her brothers and sister much more than she did when we were all kids
15. Likes tea much more than coffee but Coca Cola much more than either
16. Is no longer deathly afraid of maggots but is still very happy to never see one again
17. Had a panic attack at the dental clinic and shook like she was having a fit
18. Is afraid of heights but still regards her one and only hot air balloon ride as a highlight of her life
19. Said '2009 started with a bang and not a whimper' far too many times after rumpy pumpy on NYD (and incidently hasn't had sex since)
20. Is afraid to take IQ tests for fear of being found to be retarded
21. Hates racism, sexism, homophobia and most other types of bigotry but is a spelling snob
22. Once ate a prawn's eye (it was dead at the time)
23. Will never eat duck
24. Has either been with or spoken on the phone to Kath for the last 18 academy awards
25. Replaces the rude words in punk songs with nonsense and sings them to her children at bedtime

Current Mood: indescribable
Monday, March 7th, 2011
12:52 am
I came in this world alone
In the basest section of my soul, the fact that I don't give a shit that David's had to clean up after me in the house at Bundamba is because it's about fucking time that he's had to feel a bit of pain akin to some of the shit that he left me with, oh those many years ago. Petty, nasty, unnecessary, ancient history - I know. And yet, I feel so free now.

Current Mood: indescribable
Friday, January 7th, 2011
2:32 am
A stranger died.
So, so sad to hear about null terminated. I read his note and mourn so much the fact that he never told anybody about what happened right up until he decided to go.

We all have secrets, I'm sure. What I know is that every time I've tried to hide something it's sucked. And every time something that I've tried to hide has been revealed it's got better. Not everything, but the big things have improved. Except the things that are still secrets. Those are the ones that make me wish for oblivion. Do you see my point?

I really wish he'd had a pushy shithead in his life who made him talk. I wish that for everybody. That's why I tolerate the loud, weird people in my life, I guess. Most of the time you can hide behind them but eventually they'll make you talk. And if they've stuck with you because they've seen who you are, even if you are small and understated, they'll love you even more when you tell them what's happened to you.

And that's why I love you, Kath and Majella.

So very fucking sad. I understand it, I empathise with it but I'll be fucked if I'll hurry it along any faster other than living a bad lifestyle. In the manner of all failed pessimists out there I'd just like to say that today may have sucked but tomorrow hasn't happened yet.

Current Mood: drained
Friday, November 6th, 2009
6:12 pm
Goodbye, Tony
My cousin was 36. His first major accident was when he was 8 and he broke his jaw. He ate his Easter eggs in small pieces fed in between the wire keeping his jaw together.

He had a shitload of friends. Grown men cried and were unable to speak at his funeral. They pulled up their big girl pants and spoke anyway, ignoring everything else in order to avoid wussing out on telling everyone how excellent their friend was.

I got a hint of how people who really, sincerely, value family feel.

I didn't really know him as a grown up. He's fixed in my mind at about the age of 10. But he is my Dad's brother's youngest son, born on my Uncle's birthday.

I can't stop thinking about how my Uncle is feeling now. His baby boy, gone. So many people just get started at 36! My aunty and uncle are very cool though, they are just cherishing every moment they had with him, they are soaking in every last memory that anyone can give them. Tony's friends were the repository of so much of him.

The brothers' are getting old. My Dad was in a wheelchair, Jack had a walking frame. Jim's hair continues to amaze me by getting darker as he gets older and Tom wasn't there. Tom is Jack's twin, born under a different star sign and therefore giving some credence to that nonsense because he is in no way similar to his twin. (My poor Grandma, she laboured for over 24 hours).

Anyway, RIP, Anthony Paul Shapcott. You live on, through all who knew you and all who they then touch.
Friday, July 31st, 2009
10:46 pm
ILT's move to the Incinerator - 40th Anniversary
I first joined the theatre in 1985 as a nervous 18 year old. I'd gone back
to school that year in the hopes of actually being able to finish something
off. I was determined to start doing stuff instead of sitting around
writing about how sick everything was (the 1985 definition of sick as
epitomised by Kylie on Comedy Company as opposed to the current meaning of
sick - I'd forgotten how much I'd said sick meaning bad until I found an old
diary from that time). I was always a show-off at home and around friends,
but shy otherwise. I finally had an English teacher praise my reading out
loud. When I went back to school there was a Theatre elective! I can
remember thinking from a very young age that acting couldn't be that hard
cos you just had to pretend, right? And talk like they would and imagine
who you were and where it was happening.

So anyway, I saw an ad for auditions in the Qld Times and said 'Ah hah!' I'm
going to do this! I was 18 but back at school doing Theatre, I had a poo
brown Torana and I had a licence to drive, I knew nobody at the theatre and
barely knew of the Incinerator's existence (despite the fact that I went to
school at Central and the oval backs on to the Incinerator's carpark) but
like other times in my more recent past (this may have been the seminal one)
I overcame my shyness and turned up to auditions for "No Time for
Fig-Leaves", directed by Janice Paterson. Audtions were held in the Jean
Pratt Building, but of course I was (and remain) a fool who doesn't read
directions closely enough so I wandered down the driveway to the
Incinerator. I lurked around for a little bit until I discovered a door to
inside and knocked on it, and somebody who was (now obviously, in hindsight)
in rehearsals said in much kinder words than mine, 'no, idiot newbie lamer,
auditions are up in the top building.' I think I managed to avoid the
horror of walking in late to an audition that has already started (the
horror of a shy person is very strange and often not that horrible) so I got
to sit in a yellow seat and try to make small talk before doing something
I'd never done before (ie. stand up in front of people and pretend to be
someone else and also pretend you've got even the smallest idea of what
you're doing.) Auditions started, we were asked to stand up and read from a
part of the script. My hands were shaking like they belonged to someone
very nervous, which is true and not a metaphor because I couldn't think of a
good one that didn't involve jelly, but I managed to still be able to read
from my wobbly script and because I've been blessed with a pleasant reading
voice and I don't stumble over words when I read them the first time, I
managed to convince the powers that be that I would be absolutely right for
the part of Monica.

Poor Jan.

She had no idea that I could do nothing but speak well. I couldn't walk to
the end of the stage. I had no idea what to do with my hands. I spoke very
fast indeed (but well!).

I was gobsmacked when we moved from the Jean Pratt building for rehearsals
to the Incinerator because my only previous experience of a stage
performance had been at the (then) SGIO theatre where there was very raked
seating and a stage that seemed far removed from the audience and now yikes
holy gumballs I can trip over their feet and determine the eye colour of
everyone in the front row.

Anyway, we had a great season (Raymond Chandler was one of the stars, I
remembered him as a friend of my brothers from Bremer, and I thought he was
cool as. I still think he's cool!) I remember with a strength that still
brings a blush to my cheeks being introduced by Jan to Clive Lowe and Craig
Taylor and others and then standing in front of them, speechless, for a good
half hour because I was dreadfully shy and had nothing to say but still
couldn't gather up the courage to say 'nice meeting you!' and then wander
away to the food table (my favourite place at all parties, social gatherings
and theatre nights).

Because this play was the final season for the year, it was decided that the
AGM would be the final gathering for the cast and crew. I'd been told that
awards were handed out at the AGM and I was absolutely convinced that I'd
been amazing. Phenomenal. I was taking a trophy home with me. The panel's
review was given out to our cast on the night of the AGM and I was
devastated to read that my stage presence was zero and that I should think
about undertaking some form of speech therapy to help me with my obvious
inability to talk slowly. I was devastated! I had to hide my tears from
people! And then I had a moment of clarity. I could either believe these
people and never come back to the theatre again, or I could demonstrate in
my own passive-aggressive way that I was so much better than they could ever
possibly know by becoming involved in every play (either on-stage or
backstage) for the next five or six or ten or twelve years.

Guess which was my decision?

Since that first experience, I've done a lot of plays with ILT. I wish I
was a more organised person because then I'd be able to list out, in
excruciating detail, just how many plays I've been involved in. I couldn't
get enough of the theatre. It was all that I did. Well, apart from hang
out with friends who didn't do theatre and who I eventually got tired of
organising tickets for. So I had to split my time. 80% theatre, 20% other
stuff. It was excellent. I've never felt such a part of things. I was
even secretary for a while, and a member of the administration committee who
turned up for every! single! meeting! for many years. I'm much slacker now,
you all know that.

The next play I did, after "No Time for Fig-Leaves" was "Everything in the
Garden", directed by Allan Brown. I remember him saying to me one night
after a performance that he was looking forward to seeing what I could do
after I had some life experience under my belt. I don't think I've reached
my prime years yet, Allan, but I think that I might have gleaned a few
little bits from my silly life which may come in handy for some future
performance. I met Sandra Harle and Kim Travers during that play, two of the
many lovely women that I've met during my time with the theatre. Almost
complete opposites, they remain firmly fixed in my mind as excellent to talk
to and tremendous fun. Also, Raymond was in that play as well! I had a bit
of a fling with another cast member and I discovered that theatre curfew
hours were somewhat lax, and dressing rooms could be used for more than

It starts to become hazy after that. I worked backstage for "Key For Two"
and had a terrible nightmare before one performance because Jan (the
director) told me that the sound and lighting person wasn't going to be
there for that night and although someone else was going to do the sound and
lighting I, as backstage and props person, had to ring the doorbell at the
correct time. Oh my god, such pressure! I told Jan about my nightmare and
she found someone else who was capable of pressing the bell at the time
prescribed by the script. Thank you, Jan!

I think my next play was "Children's Day", directed by Robyn Flashman. I
met Gilda Davies during this production, she was my co-star and just a huge
personality. We eventually became housemates and shared a place at North
Ipswich which featured many mango trees and my lovely library on the
verandah and a room that could barely contain all my clothes. Another
lovely woman who I learned so much from. My other prime memory from this
play was not having time to wash my costumes for whatever reason (sheer
laziness, perhaps?) and deciding that spraying Impulse Merely Musk all over
them would mask my horrid body odour. Unfortunately it just made my body
odour smell even more cloyingly sickening. Yes, fellow cast members, I'm
aware of what I did. Obviously Impulse, back in the day, needed to have had
something closer to a Febreeze formula happening. Now, of course, when I
spray my clothes with body spray to avoid all sickening odours, I'm sure it
works wonderfully! Oh, also the other thing I remember about this play is
the night that the feral theatre cat (one of many, I'm sure) who had kittens
under the rostra got locked out before the opening act. The mother cat was
outside howling, the kittens were inside, howling. The audience was going
WTF, the cast were OMG. Doc, who was stage manager, managed to lure the
kittens out during interval and then did something unspeakable which
traumatised me horribly but which also made the second act ever so much
nicer for everyone (apart from the cats).

Possibly skipping a few now because I still haven't got off my lazy bum to
do a proper list of all plays I've either performed or been involved with,
I'll talk about 'Veronica's Day', directed by Sharon Wright. I was
backstage and my job was prompt (back when we still did that). Jan and
Clive were playing the lead roles in a rather sick but lovely little play
involving incest and kidnapping and necrophilia and so on. Tara Adams was
also in it along with Steve Beck who was blonde and very cool (he was
heavily involved in improving sound and lighting for a short while and I
think he made a big impact). One night, one forever remembered night right
at the beginning of the season, Jan and Clive were on stage and I was
backstage, clutching the script in my hands and absolutely determined that
no line would be lost. Jan said something. There was a terrible pause. I
supplied the line. The pause continued. I supplied the line (louder).
Even more pause. I emphatically told him what he was supposed to say.
Hooray, the line was eventually said. It was only later that I discovered
that they were indulging in a passionate kiss and that my prompting was
unnecessary but really, stupidly funny.

Skipping ahead again, and possibly missing the opportunity to talk about the
ridiculously large wooden cross that was made for me to swing around my head
but still try to avoid decapitating people with for "Chamber Music", the
first festival one-act play I was ever in and which involved my actually
throwing up into a toilet before leaving for the venue (better before than
during, I say), my next major memory is of "But I'm Still Here". I was 21.
Dianne Adams played my mother (she was brilliant). Yvonne Van De Wiel
played the grandmother (and she was excellent). Kerry oh my god I can't
remember her last name played my sister. Kevin Steele played the next door
neighbour. One of the backstage workers was Tina Turner (yes, really) and
one of my favourite memories was trying to spook her out with a completely
fictional story about the ghost of the theatre who was a derro who had died
after falling asleep in a rubbish thingy and who was tipped into the
Incinerator while it was still an incinerator and being burned to death.
I'd just finished this story, in the backstage area during full dress
rehearsal (may even have been a preview), when Sharon Wright came through
the backstage door with nary a whisper and placed her hand on Tina's
shoulder. Tina screamed a blood-curdling scream and Sharon became very
irritated. Kerry and I laughed and laughed. Tina was shaken though, and
when it came time to replace the sugar in the sugar bowl after the million
cups of tea that were required by the script after the first act, she
managed to spill it all over the floor and we crunched around in it for the
entire second act. Fun!

We toured one act of that play to various Festivals, and I won my first ever
trophy as Best Supporting Actress at Redcliffe. I giggled like a fool from
the time my name was called until I got back to my seat, Mousetrap trophy in

That was 1988 and that was also the first year that I performed in a Theatre
Restaurant. Australian's Sunset Ostriches. I was bad, but it meant that I
didn't have to volunteer for washing up duty anymore (first time was in 1987
in what is now our backstage area on stage right and what used to be the
area where all catering was done and where all washing up had to be
performed. If you weren't there, you couldn't possibly imagine it was
possible, I know.) I was in 10 consecutive Theatre Restaurants after that.
I both love and hate the Theatre for giving me a taste for beer. I used to
think it was poison until I found out that you were entitled to as many
horses doovers and as much beer as you could handle if you were in a Theatre
Restaurant. My job, for many years, was Procurer of Ice. This was before
the days of our now lovely and shiny bar, when all alcohol was kept chilled
and ready in six large coolers under a table on stage right stacked to the
brim with ice. I supplied the ice. I had a key to the theatre so I could
do this. Every Friday and Saturday for six weeks, for about eight years. I
was pretty good with the drinking thing, I managed to keep it restricted
until after performances when I could go completely nutso and then drive
home drunk (I'm amazed that I'm still alive today and never took anyone with
me). There was one night though, one performance which had to do with a
magic show, Clive was the magician and Lorna was in it, when I forgot to
stop drinking and was up in the dressing room, getting ready to do the play,
when I discovered that I was really, stupidly, pissed. That was scary.
Maybe fun, mostly scary, I don't think I stuffed up too much and it ended up
in a ride home with someone and my tumbling out of the car I think, but the
ice was ready for the next night.

I'm all out of order with plays now, but I remember helping out as assistant
director or something for Leo Wokner, who was a professional director that
the theatre hired to direct "Martello Towers". My horrible job was to tell
all the actors everytime they confused an 'and' for an 'an' and if they'd
missed a single word from a sentence. It was horrible. My brother David
was in that play and he supplied his own port for the scenes he was in.

Oh, speaking of my brother, he was the lead actor in "Whose Life Is It
Anyway?" and he was brilliant. Chris Webb was the director and apparently
he was going through a particularly tumultuous time with the theatre, but I
thought he was great and he cast me as a lawyer who was originally a man but
whom I christened Petra (instead of Peter) and I wore a skirt that
accentuated my very wonderful stomach and he mentioned how loud I clicked my
suitcase open and shut but he loved what I did anyway. This was back in
those days when I was unaware of schisms in the theatre and who was on this
side and who was on that (thankfully I've managed to be able to maintain my
neutrality when it comes to Theatre Politics, at least I hope so.)

David and I were also in a play together called "A Murder is Announced",
directed by Les Chappell. We were supposed to be lovers who were pretending
to be brother and sister. In real life, of course, we were the opposite so
it was kind of odd and uncomfortable when we had to embrace as lovers. I
think there was a good twelve inches between our naughty bits when we
hugged. The other excellent thing that happened during that play was when
everyone kept on trying to open one of the doors in the wrong direction.
This came to a head during the interrogation scene one night, when Keven
Steele, playing the Inspector, was going through all the characters and they
were all required to storm off stage. Someone pulled on the door the wrong
way one too many times and the entire back flat decided to cave inwards.
Thank goodness there was a very large and heavy set of drawers keeping it
all up but nevertheless, the door fell off its hinges. The first actor to
depart kindly placed the door back in its original position, sans hinges,
and then someone else had to leave the stage by picking up the door and
putting it back where it had been previously and I then had to storm off
after being interrogated. I looked at the door. I looked at my
brother/lover. I said 'Would you mind getting the door for me?' and he
kindly obliged by picking the door up and following me out with it.

There's a whole stack of time in the Ninety's that I don't remember, but
surely would if I had a list of the plays that I was in, but I don't so I
can't. I remember when Sharon Wright was directing a play, "Murder by the
Book", the stars of which were Charles Costello and Patti Pratt, and one of
the other cast members was not able to do the play for whatever reason. The
admin meeting was a mere day before opening night. I said that I'd be happy
to do the part and then got a few days off work, went to Sharon's place and
watched a video of a rehearsal, wrote the moves in my book which I'd glued
the script pages into and which I could use as a prop for the part that I
was going to be playing, that of a secretary, so carrying around a book and
reading from it would be fine, right? and then managed to somehow have the
lines learnt by that Saturday night. That was pretty cool. The panel said
that I was just playing myself but I was pretty sure that I'd put some
effort into that.

I wish I had a list of plays that I've done! I'm just going from my
terrible memory. I remember doing a one-act play directed by Sandra Harle
which involved child abuse called "Final Placement". Sharon Ashe was my
co-star. We did the play at the Ipswich one act play festival held at the
IGGS auditorium. I didn't speak loud enough for the five people who were in
the audience (including the adjudicator) in the auditorium which could have
held hundreds which is embarrassing enough (I thought if I just spoke in my
normal voice but with an American accent that everything would be sweet) but
what was worse was that during a section of the play, when it was in
blackout and a voice-over was going on, I had to pour a glass of water for
my visitor but because it was so dark I completely missed the glass and
poured water all over the stage and my feet, and then presented my co-star,
when the lights came back on and she declared that she was parched, with a
centimetre of water at the bottom of a very sad looking glass.

Apologies to everyone who directed me in plays that I'm not mentioning,
because believe me I had fun during every one of them, I just can't recall
them at the time of writing this.

I did a one-act play with Jan which had me appearing as a doll. I went to
the hairdressers to have my hair formed into Shirley Temple curls before
every perfomance. David Austin was one of my co-stars. Darren Madsen was
the other. Jan's son Andrew played a monkey, I think. That was tremendous
fun, but my ego was crushed when I was told that I was not doll like enough.
Dude, the curls were enough!

I played Gwendoline in "The Importance of Being Earnest",directed by Les
Chappell. That was an amazing play to have been involved in. Not only was
I acting for someone who I thought hated me (Les, I don't know what I was
thinking at the time!) but I was in the midst of a terrible crush with a
co-star who happened to be interested in someone else who was in the play.
Plus Kim Travers was in the play, which made everything else kinda silly cos
Kim is the funniest woman that I know. Anyway, blah blah blah, I have a
video copy of this play and I'm not embarrassed to watch it. I think I was
good and that was the play that encouraged me to grow my own hair in order
to avoid ever again wearing the stupidest hairpiece ever seen on a stage
(red octopus tentacles slinking out from under hats that I made myself!). I
had sex on stage during that play (after hours, of course!)

Another play that I remember with almost ridiculuous fondness is "The Glass
Menagerie", directed by professional director Mel Bell. Tara Adams played
my daughter (she's three years younger than me I think) and the guy who
played my son (whose name I can't remember) may have been a year or two
older than me. It was brilliant. Tracey (Edmondson) did sound and lighting
for the first time and had to grapple with hundreds of cues and pulled it
all off superbly and we stunned our audience with our commitment to the
script. I remember, during the second week, Mel hadn't seen a few
performances and sat in for one and he said to me afterwards that it seemed
like I was pre-empting everything (which of course I was) so the next night
I played it as if it were all brand new and for the first time, from the
beginning of rehearsals until he saw me after that performance, he hugged me
and said that I was Amanda. Which made me very happy.

I was in a two-hander with Brad Lambourne a few years later, "Double
Trouble". It came as a terrible shock to me that my character's name was
Phillipa when I found a programme a few years later, because I'd forgotten
my character's name and a Phillipa was responsible for the most revolting
thing I've gone through in my real life, away from the theatre. The play
was excellent, however. Unfortunately, that was the play that also made me
realise that I was becoming more than just pleasantly plump, when I tried on
an evening dress for photos and everyone politely looked away and refused to
take the aforementioned photos.

The next play that comes to mind, and which I remember with the utmost
fondness, is "The Lion in Winter". I played Eleanor of Aquitaine. Oh, god
I love/d that script. I'm still looking forward to doing it again, the next
time without wrinkles painted on. Ros Gerchow directed it, I was in it with
Lee Gerchow, David Austin, Catherine Heffernan, and many other wonderful
people. That was in 1999 and that was when David and Chris got together. I
remember it clearly. 10 years, guys!

I appeared in "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" as the horrible sister in law. I
blame Lee for all the terrible costumes that I've appeared in since, because
that was quite obviously the beginning of the end. A pink, textured smock
with a cotton ball as a distended navel. My favourite thing to say, right
up until this day, is "nest o' lice!'.

I will always be eternally grateful to the theatre for allowing me to be
'Shirley Valentine' for our local audience. I was lucky enough to have been
cast in the play for Nash Theatre and I performed it in front of
approximately 35 people during my run with them. I was told that I was good
but you know... How can you know? It was sad that Lee wasn't able to direct
it, for one reason or another, but I'm happy that Relle and Gav stepped up
and allowed me to be Shirley for the two weeks that I got to be on the
Incinerator stage. And they didn't even ask that I flop out my tits! (I'd
stopped breastfeeding by that time so they weren't that impressive). I got
to see myself with a tan and emulate my favourite actress(es) and although
rock was never as cool as I thought he should have been, I'm happy with what
I did.

Since I started having babies, my time with the theatre has been limited. I
was lucky enough to have been cast in a play directed by Robyn Flashman
which we took to a few one act play festivals. Clive played my husband,
Lorna was in the cast, many others who were excellent but whom my terrible
memory is precluding from mentioning here (along with the name of the play)
were also in it. The best times are when I've got a play to remember them
by, even if I can't remember the name of the play.

"Money and Friends", directed by Lee Gerchow, stands out in my memory as
being the most fun time I've ever had during rehearsals. Callum, Cat,
Majella, Peter and everyone else were so brilliant. Cat Taylor is the queen
of saving people from their brain farts. Callum is hilarious at all times.
Majella has become a very, very dear friend. I got to play an Australian
character, my own age, and didn't stuff up too terribly. Ryan, the tat on
your tit is forever inscribed in my memories.

Suzanne Matulich asked me if I'd be willing to be in her play which
incorporated Crossfyre/YTs and Senior Theatre, "Property of the Clan", and I
really enjoyed being a part of it. Kyle, Lisa, Ryan, Jim and other cast
members whose names I have shamefully forgotten were excellent to work with,
and even though my 40th coincided with final night which I thought would
mean party central but ended up being a complete and utter bummer (poverty +
slackness + any attempt to make things work = blah terrible 40th at home
cleaning my house sober and alone) I still remember that production with
great fondness.

And so finally, we come to the play that I was last involved in, "Enter a
Free Man". I'm glad I'm no longer vain. It gives me more freedom to play
people who are not beautiful (even though I've always been more quirky than
beautiful anyway). It was excellent to work with Suzanne and Lisa and Craig
again. I know there were other people involved in the play but they were on
the other side of the stage when I was farting around backstage, playing
games with my belly and going to the toilet at inopportune moments (yes,
that's you Tony, David, Majella, Max and Kyle). I think I played her well.
She vaccuumed! She was a clean freak! I love playing against type.

So now I'm waiting for a part that is very cool, or simply a time when I can
do theatre again when it doesn't call on my babysitter too much and doesn't
interfere with work. I think of ILT and the Incinerator Theatre every day
and wish I more involved with everything that's going on there. When I read
stories to the boys, I imagine I'm on a stage and I've got an auditorium of
children listening to my amazing audio stylings of 'Where The Wild Things
Are' and various Thomas the Tank Engine stories. I miss you, ILT. You have
been the one thing that I've committed to for over 24 years. If I hadn't
found you, I don't know where (or what) I'd be now.

Happy 40th, I'm glad ILT found you, Incinerator. It's extraordinary to
think that such a place, designed by such a person, could have been
consigned to the scrap heap so easily. Hooray for ILT and its members back
then to have had the foresight to have found you and imagined you could be
the place you are today.

My father was president of the Chamber of Commerce when this whole thing
came up. He supported you. He helped you become the place you are today
and he has supported me during all my time with the theatre. Even though
now he finds it hard to go to places, due to illness, he always comes to the
Incinerator and he feels a part of it. As do I. You are my one enduring
love. Thank you, Incinerator.
Wednesday, December 12th, 2007
11:37 pm
Oh, I feel very sad now. :(
I just read that Terry Pratchett has been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimers Disease http://www.paulkidby.com/news/index.html

I'm gutted. This man is so very clever and to think that he's going to be completely aware of his deterioration and how very difficult that must be just makes me want to cry.

Is it better to know that you're going to experience horrible confusion and awareness of the fact that you once knew something that now you cannot fathom, as opposed to a quick and sudden death, where you didn't get to try and sort out what it was that you were thinking before it swam away a la Douglas Adams?

My brother has been trying to get me to read Terry Pratchett since "Colour of Magic" was printed and I tried and kinda liked what I read but wasn't enthralled really. A decade or so went by until the Nightwatch series really became the focal point of the Discworld series and my brother gave me "Thud" to read and I was overwhelmed with how clever and funny it was. And then I decided that I would track down all of the Nightwatch series and I've now read them all and more than a few which feature the Nightwatch only very peripherally and some that don't feature them at all but still I'm absolutely overwhelmed by Terry Pratchett's turn of phrase and ability to transfer what's happening in our sad and sorry world over to his fantastic world which is powered by magic and not technology, and yet still it is so relevant.

I'm very sad, tonight. But not sad enough to stop myself from reading all of his books in order, which is what I plan to do from tomorrow onwards. You may forget, Terry, but I won't forget you. Not ever.

Current Mood: melancholy
Sunday, December 2nd, 2007
1:11 am
Sometimes you just need a lot of good music to sort through.
So I saw this link recently and I feel the need to share.


My favourite: This Mortal Coil - Song to the Siren.

I hope you find something you love.

Current Mood: awake
Saturday, November 24th, 2007
8:04 pm
I may have been premature. In which case, yay! Now fucking do something meaningful, you fuckers! You can be jocular *and* truthful, Peter Garret, we know that.

Do something meaningful. Anyone with any kind of commonsense knows that you have to toe the party line but you can still be true to yourself and those who support you. The majority have been known to support some pretty shit awful things. Look away from the polls and think about what your party represents. Social justice. The people. People pay the tax. We are always going to pay taxes. Let's empower our representatives to use it for things that will benefit us all! Support the non-profits. Bolster their resources. People want to help and do good things if they can see that the benefit is going to actually do some good. Remember that so that tax money receieved by the government(s) is allotted fairly. Big business has its own momentum. They will continue to flourish and enrich our economy. Distribute it down, that's not so difficult? And look forward. The future is now.

I'm such an idealist. But it's not that much to ask, is it?

ta ra


Current Mood: hopeful
6:36 pm
Fucking Federal Fucking Election 2007
It is only 6.35pm here so it is very very early into the count but I'll tell ya, if fucking the fucking Liberals get back in again I'm going to be very, very, very unhappy. Conservative fuckers, only thinking of yerselves, what about social responsibility and long-term viability? What about using some of our tax to fund worthwhile, individual, neighbourhood problems? What about effective infrastructure? What about backing the FUCK OFF from that pathetic piece of shit war going on in Iraq?

Rar and argh etc


(but it's early days (hours) yet, I've just got that horrible, sinking feeling...)

Current Mood: pensive
Thursday, November 15th, 2007
2:28 am
So I'm feeling all self absorbed (plus I think I'm funny)
Here are questions to answer (with my answers included). Please feel free to fill in the answers with yer own shit. You know you want to.



The daughter of my mum's best friend (but my mum got the spelling right ;))


I think it may have been a few weeks now. Hooray for pharmaceuticals!


Either a frypan full of bacon or fresh ham on a sandwich with shitloads of butter.


Two, and I'm not losing my temper tomorrow.


Yes but I'd probably be woefully disappointed.


Well, what a wonderfully innovative question. I'll bet no-one's ever asked that one before.


I do not, they were removed when I was twelve after years of horrible throat infections and lingering illnesses. My father had to be very forceful with the doctor but his unwavering stare, combined with his deep and extremely fluent voice describing exactly how revolting a sickly child I was, convinced the doctor to wield his mighty scalpel and excise the redundant and extremely annoying anachronisms from my body. The walls in St Andrews old wing where I stayed were exactly the same colour as the walls in my office when I worked for Harding Martin. Institutional green. Scary.




Cocoa pops.


No, and I don't unbutton shirts when I wash them either.


Not even a little bit.


Anything involving toffee and macadamias.


Whether they have a sense of humour.


I speet on both!


My procrastination.


My grandma.


What, like you'll just send it back and I get to read it in my inbox as opposed to reading it a million times in my sent box? Well, I guess you can if you like. You could include your answers too, that'd be cool! I'd prefer that to more messages from Felch Carbon telling me about his penis enlargement programme, that's for sure.


Denim shorts, electric pink cotton grundies, dirt on the soles of my feet.


A chicken enchilada.


St. Matthew Passion - Come ye daughters, hear my crying - JS Bach - Munich Bach Choir And Orchestra.


That weird skin tone colour.


Aeroguard, rain on hot bitumen, savlon, sea water.


My brother, David.


Yeah, she's lovely and we have a pact.


Olympic men's swimming and diving and gymnastics.




Greyish, bluish, greenish kinda.


Not at moment but I did for decades and I love them so.


An incredibly lush beef casserole with meat that melts upon contact with the fork and not a single vegetable that I don't like.


Depends on how happy I'm feeling (if I'm really happy it's scary movies).


Cars. The one before that? Cars, and the one before that? Cars, and the one before that? Little Shop of Horrors (The Musical) and the one before that? Cars.






Hugs (and kisses from my sons).


Sticky date pudding and ice-cream.


Probably no-one.


This is not spam, people! Spill, so that I might have something worthy to say about you at your funeral!


"Alfie" by Bill Naughton.


By mousepad, do you mean sticky desk?




Waves rolling and crashing on the shore at night, JS Bach's cello concertos.




Atlanta and Savannah, Georgia, Jacksonville and Orlando, Florida and Chicago, Illinois, USA.


I can make my bosom dance in time to music.


Ipswich, QLD


Spill, people, spill!

Current Mood: awake
Thursday, November 8th, 2007
11:10 pm
Gouge away, you can stay all day. If you want to.
I just realised, I haven't written anything about going to see the Pixies on the Gold Coast earlier this year. It was the most amazing thing. People said they were going but backed out at the last minute. I was in despair as I was ridiculously broke and then my very, very, very dear friend whom I've known since I was 14 pretending to be 16 on the CB a million years ago said that he would shout me in and not only that, provide me with money for drinking. He drove to my place to pick me up and then back to the Gold Coast where we blathered for a while and organised tickets, etc.

I found myself well capable of amusing myself at a rock concert all by myself, probably because of discreet visits to the portaloos for subversive pot smoking whilst thinking about Kenny. I saw Gnarls Barkley, Jarvis Cocker, New Young Pony Club, Pet Shop Boys (horrendous, and I think I missed a minute of the Pixies because I was biding my time) and Beck, but I missed the New York Dolls because I was waiting in line to buy drinks tickets. Thankfully, I wasn't completely pissed off because I got to witness a lovely encounter with a Danish dude and his mate attempting to pull a scam in order to get to the front of the queue by copiously coming on to a young sweet thing with her posse in front of me. She humoured them for a while, and the guy who was the target wandered off whilst Mr Confident lingered, continuing to attempt to chat to the girls. He was directly in front of me and as we closed in on the ticket van, I said to him, "Do you think you're in line?" and he said yeah, and then all the girls in front said no way, bugger off we've been waiting for 45 minutes and he was roundly mocked by all and sent to the back of the queue where he belonged. Most amusing.

So I did that for a while, drank beer and danced away and ate horrible junk food (untoasted kebabs what the fucking fuck?) I witnessed more fun in line for beer when two girls sauntered their way to the front and attempted to chat up the dude about to order his beers, throwing in their orders with him. He told them to fuck off and everyone behind him cheered, and they blushed and ran away. I had a good chat with a girl in the smokers enclosement behind the tower containing the s & l board during the Beck set. I offered her a cone but she declined; we talked about music and moving house and other things and laughed a lot. I bid farewell in order to get another beer before the Pixies started.

As I said earlier, I was watching and being appalled by the cheesiness of the Pet Shop Boys when I heard the Pixies start on the other stage. I quickly bolted over and found myself in the middle of people who were moved to invite me into their group when they saw my crazy dancing. I did that for a while and then wandered away because I really didn't want to actually speak to anyone while I was listening to the most excellent music being played flawlessly by a seminal band from when I was yearning for good music but was being bombarded with commercial shite. So anyway, I found another vantage point, started dancing crazily again, was asked for a cigarette by a dude who made fun of me for a while because he was obviously gobsmacked by my devotion to the music and my willingness to rock my fucking socks off so after a bit of that found yet another space and became oblivious to anything but the awesomeness of the band. Kim Deal was wearing a sloppy joe over a comfortable house dress. Black Francis was my lovely friend Blot personified and still so very fucking cool. Everyone else was solid as fuck. They played for at least 80 minutes. I can't tell you how very good they were because it would be an understatement.

Then it all finished. I called the wonderful Colin and he came and picked me up. I was rather pissed and climbed over a wire fence in order to get to his car. There was an enormous lineup of other cars waiting to get out, so I fear they may have caught sight of my gusset. Although, I was wearing jeans (the seam is wearing out rapidly so underpants may have been visible). We drove back to his place, which was a room in a resort on the Gold Coast, and we laughed ourselves stupid for hours whilst watching Next Gen episodes and truly, I love the man. He rocks my socks. We laugh and laugh and laugh together.

Then he drove me home and we had a coffee and made each other laugh more.

Thanks, Colin.

Current Mood: ebullient
Friday, November 2nd, 2007
9:35 pm
I saw a kitten that I loved today.
But I have three old retainers who would be absolutely, totally and utterly devastated if I brought a new kitty into the home (even though it's a siamese and he's lovely). He's $300 (but he's lovely) but I'd have to housetrain him just as Ash is discovering the delights of the toilet which is not very delightful at all, actually (and adding a kitty litter box to the equation is not enticing, although it might be to Ash).

But he's lovely. But the other cats would kill him.


Current Mood: trivial
Thursday, October 11th, 2007
9:17 pm
Answers to a meme thing because I can't write anything myself without whining!
1. Do you have a tattoo?

Nope, I scratched KISS into my arm (complete with lightning bolts) when I was about 14 but luckily decided not to fill it in with ink because I thought how ridiculous to have another band's name on my arm when I'm going to be famous in my own band (I remember that thought clearly, I may even have written it in my diary). I would get a classic Carl Bark's style Donald Duck tattooed on my arse cheek, if it was essential that I *had* to get a tattoo.

2. How old are you?


3. Are you single or taken?


4. Fish?

Axolotyl are excellent. They have a fringe around their necks! And they are fish yet they have feet! One day, when I'm old and without cats, I will get one.

5. Do you dream in colour?

Yes, and on acid apparently.

6. Ever seen a corpse?

Not a human one, not yet.

7. How about them hipsters?

I'm insanely jealous and horribly defensive, of course.

8. How did we meet?

And you are?

9. What's your philosophy on life and death?

Well jesus fuck, that's a big one. Well, actually it's not because I'm both an existentialist and a nihilist, so apart from what I'm doing now, I really don't give a fuck.

10. If you could do anything with me, and have no one know, what would it be?

And you are? (Actually I don't really care who you are, and if no-one would ever find out well then I'd probably have you stimulate me in an unspeakable way and then never speak to you again).

11. Do you trust the police?


12. Do you like musicals?

I love 'Hedwig and the Angry Inch', 'Seven Brides for Seven Brothers', 'Grease', 'Singin' In The Rain' and well yes okay I like musicals.

13. What is your fondest memory of me?

Who are you and why do you keep wanting me to validate you?

14. If you could change anything about yourself what would it be?

Just about everything (except my sense of humour, because I like that. Oh, and my tits are pretty good too).

15. Would you cheat?

I have, and it's a shameful thing which I do give a fuck about, actually. I don't think I'd ever do it again.

16. What are you wearing?

Three quarter length jeans folded up circa 2000, long black t-shirt with white embroidery around the neck, lilac grundies

17. Have you ever peed in a pool?

Yes, because I believe in the power of chlorine.

18. Would you hide evidence for me if I asked you to?

Who the fuck are you and what are you doing over there?

19. If I only had one day to live, what would we do together?

Weep inconsolably.

20. Which do you prefer - short or long hair?

Long hair, mostly.

21. What's your favorite day of the week?


22. What's your favorite color?

Black and emerald green

23. If you could bring back anyone that has passed, who would it be?

My grandma.

24. Tell me one interesting/odd fact about you?

That's even harder than the life/death one. Um, I have an uncanny capacity for remembering phone numbers?

25. What was your first impression of me?

Oh for fucks sake.

26. Have you ever done drugs?

Yes I have and will do so again.

27. Will you post this?

Yes I will, and I won't retract it again later!

Current Mood: indescribable
Saturday, May 19th, 2007
1:19 am
Andrew Hansen's hair - I like to call it art.
I like to write bad poems about Andrew Hansen from "The Chaser" and picture new and interesting ways to do his hair. (I find it extraordinarily weird that he has the same name as my younger brother though).

He may never love me, but by god I've loved his hair (the dude from the Chaser I mean, although I've always admired my brother's ability to re-grow his ponytail at an astonishing rate).

In fact, here is a poem about Andrew Hansen from the Chaser's hair:

Another follicle displacement,
Never mind the current trend.
Do not fear the hair police!
Rebel my friend, it will not end.
Every style reveals a mood and
We await with baited breath!

How will it sit? Will it be pink?
And do you smoke pot? How 'bout meth?
Some may mock, but most will know that

Every hair style goes to show that
Xenophobic biases regarding head decorum
Can only spur you on to
Even more disturb this forum!
La, it's pointed!
Look, it's flat!
Egads, I have cracked a fat!*
Now you know, your hair is hot
This poem ends, your hair does not.

Hah! It does not end quite there
And some would think it lacking
If I did not restate my case -
Ringlets! They have my backing!


(I try so hard to scan but sometimes you have to use your imagination.)

* I don't have a penis so I can't actually crack a fat, although my nipples are somewhat hard.

Current Mood: silly
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