Through to Qld Raw Finals!

"I'm so excited....da, da, da, da...and I just can't hide it....da, da, da, da...
Next Wednesday is the Raw Final and I think I like it....ooh, yeah!"

In fact, I'm almost as excited as when I first succeeded at putting Ella's hair in a mohawk.

See? Wasn't she cute and punky and chubby?

But I digress...oh yes, Raw! Boy oh boy is the line-up for next week amazing. A lot of the same faces from last year but with the difference of another year's worth of stage-time: it's going to be one hell of a night!

I'm so excited about doing my routine next week (in case you missed that point) It's a whole new set, Tim and I used our driving time to the semi-final to go through and refine it. I'm so lucky to have a hubby who's keen to help me in that way (as well as dozens of others) and really 'gets' how to edit stuff. Oh yeah, and he's hot. So I'm happy with my set, it runs 30 seconds under-time, which is awesome because while there's no minimum you need to be up there, if you go even 10 seconds over the 5 minute limit you get music-ed off.

Don't laugh, it happened to me last year. :-(

But most of all...I'm excited about my musical number! It's a new addition to my collection which may alone be the reason it's my favourite. I thought it could be a risk even to perform it at the semi-final, as the sensible thing to do would just be to perform the safe 'gold' as they say, that you've proven time and time again to work. But the thing is, I feel like I've lost a bit of the joy for some of my old stuff. I mean, it still works, but I just feel a bit bored with it, and I'd much rather take a risk and do something I can perform with passion and actually get excited about, than go through the motions. Anyway, the beautiful part of all this is that the risk paid off in the semis. One of the judges came up to me afterwards and said "I can't wait to come back next week just to see you do that song again!" (disclaimer: he won't be judging next week!) But it totally affirmed to me just to keep it as it is and take advantage of my infatuation with it.

Because, as a very wise man on the comedy scene said to me recently, "at any given competition you could have five different judges and five different winners, so there's really no point pinning all your hopes on it!" So I've decided to take that on board, throw caution to the wind and just focus on what I can control, which is having fun. In my eyes, the best, best, BEST part of a final is that the crowd is just awesome. It's almost always sold out, people want to support you and they want you to succeed. Bring it on!!!

Oh yeah, so if you're a friend of mine (and if you're reading this blog then, whether we've met or not, you ARE!) please do consider coming to the final and supporting my cause. You get judged on audience reaction so the more the merrier, though maybe we'll strategically place you around the room just so the raucous applause isn't coming from one suspicious corner.

Book here.

Introducing my new band...Jargon!

Do we rock or WOT?!!!!

BTW I promise I will let up on this whole rock-star posting thing soon.

By soon I mean 'as soon as I get it out of my system'.

I ain't making any promises.

Except for this one. Apparently.

Alarm clock for auction

Alarm clock.

In top condition.

Very regular - in fact, goes off each and every morning around 3am - without fail.

Excellent long-life batteries, ensuring at least forty minutes of good quality wakeup call before the volume shows any signs of fading.

Extremely irritating sound, designed to make sure that come hell or high-water, you will not sleep through it.

And what's more...there's NO SNOOZE BUTTON!

Hurry...only available to highest bidder- er, sorry, I meant good home.

If you were a rock band...

I'm completely besotted with the basic yet addictive photo-manipulation features on my basic yet addictive photo-manipulation program.

This is a pic of me and two of me favourite ladies from a recent wine-riddled night, and I can't help but think we should be mega-famous rockstars.

I've always loved coming up with band-names. Not that there's any chance of me ever using them, but if I did, here'd be the shortlist:

1. The Unadulerated Seatbelts (or: The US)
2. Zaploy (which is Russian for 'I drank so much vodka last night that I can't remember a thing)
3. Jen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (my first ever blog title)
4. Johnny Depp's secret lover (my first ever fantasy...actually that one's never stopped)
5. Free Drinks (just cos it'd be a great marketing ploy)

So I'm opening it up to the floor, to my thousands upon millions of loyal blog readers (please, don't all post at once)...if you could name your band, what would be on your shortlist?

I never thought it would come to this

My greatest love affair is about to end.

And all because of a damn fundraising drive for my kids' day-care centre.

DAMN YOU CHOCOLATE!



I don't know why I agreed to taking the damn things in the first place. It's a heavy carton of 14 chocolate boxes, and bugger me if I'm going to cart them around with me in the car and try to offload them to every friend I visit. Why, oh why, am I not more assertive? Alas, alack, I think I'm just one of those people who cannot say n.... ehem, who cannot say n.... damn it!

So instead I am forced, FORCED, I tell you, to eat all the damn things myself. The Maltesers were first to go, then the M&Ms, and now I'm almost done with the celebration-size Mars Bars. Which makes me feel so much better, knowing that I can successfully ingest a kilo of chocolate 25g at a time, thereby cancelling out the calories.

And now of course, the unthinkable has happened...I'm over chocolate. It's finished. I'm done.

Just last night, I sat it down.

'Listen. We need to talk. It's not you, it's me. I've just...I've changed. I just don't think this is working anymore. I need space.'

'And to be honest you make me kinda sick.'

I think it took it rather well. Sure, we had a last-minute break-up rendezvous, just for old-time's sake, but never again. How could I go back?

The choice is clear - give it up now or else be found years from now spread-eagled, obese and with chocolate marks around my cherry lips. And no, that's not a look that's huge in Milan.

"Here lies Jenny. She lived, she laughed, she ate.
Piggy wiggedy wig wig."

It's so over.

Mummy's feeling angry

This is me.

This is why:

1. My freakin' computer keyboard is rooted so it will not only not type out 'g' (that's right, I have to copy and paste it every time I want to use it) but it is now typing multiple ................ with no end in sight. This has at points become so frustrating that I have been known to seize the keyboard with two hands, shake it above my head and roar like King Kong.

2. Our DVD player is cheap and crappy, meaning that not only will it absolutely not play any of my film footage (i.e. burned onto equally cheap and crappy DVDs) but it pretty regularly chokes on normal DVDs, usually at the pivotal dramatic moment.

3. Caleb is going through a whingeing stage from hell at the moment, although apparently not at day-care, where he is an absolute angel. How thoughtful of him, to save the best for mummy.

4. We have to move house and so far nobody seems to want to rent to a household of four where two housemates are under 4. And when one housemate is a student. And when there's already twelve other applications from people with as few children as they have money issues.

Pass the tranquiliser gun, would you?

Overnight success, big breaks and the tooth fairy

Today I'm enjoying a very laid-back day with two very mildly sick kids (i.e. sick enough to just want to lay about in bed, watch DVDs and have mummy cart food to them) while stealing spare moments to read from Live From New York: an uncensored history of Saturday Night Live. And...to top it all off, I've even gotten two loads of washing done.

Inconceivable!

The SNL book is incredibly inspiring - and scary, if all the tales are to be believed. It's frightening what 'success' can do to people. I'm so very intrigued by the whole 'before' and 'after' nature of it. Success, I mean. That you can be sitting on your butt one day, and the next be the toast of the town. Not that it works that way exactly, but you know what I mean.

Take for instance that guy who created 'google idol', the website where people upload their best hair-brush pop-star antics. I have it on very good authority that said guy was just your average joe who always told his friends that if he could just think up one good internet idea, he'd be set for life. Not even three weeks ago, he'd been struck by his bolt of inspiration: six days later he's receiving calls from head honchos at google and being asked for interviews on American television. Phew!

I read an interview with Naomi Watts once, saying how when she got incredibly doubtful about whether she should continue in Hollywood searching for that elusive break, her friend Nicole Kidman kept urging her on, saying "All you need is one thing. Just one project that will make the difference." Enter Mullholland Drive.

Not really sure what my point is here...in fact, I may not even have one. SHOCK! HORROR! But just seeing as this has been one of those 'what the heck am I doing with my life and when oh when are things going to happen?!' weeks, I do take comfort in knowing that things can change quicker than you think. I don't believe in overnight success, but I think (as shown by countless others) if you put in the hard yards, that 'one thing' can make all the difference.

If you hang around long enough to find it.

Comedy is cathartic

Had my third show of "gorilla theatre" with Edge Improv tonight - a much smaller crowd than the jam-packed last two weeks (where we've actually had to turn people away at the door....I can honestly say I've NEVER been in a show where that's happened) and have returned to the house abuzz while the rest of ye ole family lies unconscious.

I really believe that having kids has allowed my performance skills to improve dramatically (no pun intended) for several reasons:

1. Every chance to perform is a chance to get out of the house. Ergo, I have fun.

2. I no longer stress so much about whether the audience will like me or not, because at the end of the day, what do I really care? I've got an awesome family who think I'm the funniest person on the planet.

3. After the indignity of childbirth, I have no fear of looking stupid on-stage. Actually, I pretty much have no fear at all. (That's actually not entirely true, but you get the sentiment). As my mate Sarah said to me 'after giving birth I think I could fall head over heel in the middle of the mall with all my bits showing and not even bat an eyelid.'

Ehem. Where was I?

Last year I performed in another improv show with Edge, one which included a half-hour fully improvised live sci-fi movie where I got to play the 'evil kid'. I had so much fun with that role, and some time later after watching it back on DVD my fellow improviser Colin e-mailed me saying 'I had no idea how much you embraced the character of Angus.....your kids must be terrifying.' If only he knew......moiahahahahahahhaha.

Anyway, if you're in Brissie and haven't already been part of the ape-like merriment, then make sure you get along to see 'gorilla theatre'. It's hilariously funny people doing hilariously funny things. Next week's my last show, too, so get cracking! www.edgeimprov.com

See? Check out the photo again. Doesn't it look fun? Mildly painful perhaps, but compared to an episiotomy, it's a walk in the park.

My comedy video is online

Check it out. Spread it around. Hell, if you're game, eat it.

But above all, enjoy.

www.jennywynter.com/reel


*Warning: said video contains references which may be lost in translation if you happen to be from another country. May or may not contain traces of humour or nuts. Possibly both. And just as possibly neither.

You have been warned.

Somebody kill me please

I'm drowning. I'm not kidding. I'm like that chick out of The Abyss, hyper-ventilating, eyes wide open and even prepared to kiss the frozen glass helmet housing my previously estranged spouse, in a frantic attempt to distract myself from my pending drown-dom.

Except it's not water. It's washing baby. A fortnight of rain, and check out my laundry...



I must know, does anybody out there actually even USE the 'low' setting on their washing machine? I'll tell you how often I've used it: NEVER. Not even once. The one and only setting I EVER use is 'maxi'. And even then I can't keep up.

I can't even imagine when, why or how anyone on this planet would ever have reason to use the 'low' setting. In fact, I don't think 'low' even works. I think it's a marketing ploy to make us feel all empowered, like we've got all these options, when the truth is the manufacturer knows damn well that nobody will ever use it to check.

Hmmph. I've got it all sussed. Knowledge may be power, but it doesn't fix my nightmare.

Yes, I'm drowning. And there's not even a smidge of oxygen-deprived ecstasy in sight.

*gulp*

First review ever!

Drumroll please...

So it's out, albeit over a week after said gig occurred. But nonetheless, I'm excited, as I've never ever had a reviewer along to a show before. And it's not too shabby. Check it out here (and click on 'Theatre')

Mind you, it's not the mind-blowing 'holy hell this was the most insightful, hilarious and gut-wrenchingly brilliant piece of anything I've ever encountered in my entire life and I've thus decided to do the honourable thing and end my life with a Samurai sword purely because after this spectacle it's all downhill from here and hell, what's the point in going on?' kind of review which could only have satiated my delusions of grandeur.

But hell, it's better than a slap in the face with a wet fish. Whatever that means.

I'd like to take this opportunity to acknowledge my mate (and radio show co-host) Alex who has mentioned the genius notion of reviewing reviews. Brilliant. So if there are any takers, please. Critique away!

Just one big wacky family!

The Brady Bunch ain't got nothin' on us.

In conversation with a toddler

Him: "Dink."

Me: "You wanna drink?"

Him: "Dah."

Me: "Here you go."

Him (drinking)

Me: "Say 'ta mummy.'"

Him: "Ta mummy."

Him (checking that gravity works on fluids)

Me: "No, no, honey, we don't tip it out."

Him (continuing to test his hypothesis)

Me (taking it off him)

Him: "WAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!" (x 2 minutes straight)

Me: "Okay, are you ready to have it back?"

Him: "No!"

Me: "You don't want it?"

Him: "No!"

Me: "Okay."

Him: "NO!!! DINK!!!!!!!" (reaching out for cup)

Me: "Okay, here you go." (handing him cup)

Him: "NO!!!!!!" (slapping it away)

Me: "You don't want it?"

Him: "DINK!" (reaching for cup)

Me: "You want it?"

Him: "NOOOO!!! AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!"

And so it goes; me continuing to try and negotiate with an essentially non-negotiable target. Him trying to assert his position of stubborn 'I'll show you mummy for telling me off' while battling with the primal desire to drink. Essentially cutting off his nose to spite his chubby face.

No wonder my sense of humour's wacked. I no longer have any, let alone a firm, grasp on reality.

Revenge can be so sweet

Yesterday was hubby's birthday. Now seeing as less than two weeks ago he completely forgot mine (left: photo of moi upon realising his oversight) this presented somewhat of a philosophical/moral/bitchy dilemma. Should I:

a) 'forget' his birthday in return
b) act like normal (i.e. pretend his forgetfulness never happened)
c) go all out in making him feel spoilt, loved and utterly birthday-ised to make a guilt-inducing point.

I phoned a friend.

Frankie: 'You should hire a marching band.'

Lock it in, Eddie.

And so, ladies and gentlemen of the jury...Tim's 'you should feel bad because you forgot your wife's birthday and look at all you get' birthday bonanza...

• a sleep-in,
• freshly made pancakes (ehem, as opposed to his morning dash to Hungry Jacks to bring me back my birthday treat of a $5.95 big brekkie....ugh please don't even get me started)
• new jeans and a funky t-shirt that make him look even oh-so-hotter
• a chocogatto (icecream covered in hot chocolate with peppermint sauce) at a lovely Southbank cafe which looked far too swanky for us increasingly white trash hicks
• a popcorn riddled trip to the movies
• a surprise birthday dinner with gourmet entres provided by Mango Lick, drinks by Frankie & Joachim, salad by Ang and Micko, roast for seven by moi and home-made (ehem, okay packet mix) chocolate birthday cake.

In his words, "the best birthday I can remember." Which, given the low memory his brain computer seems to run on, is not necessarily as much of a compliment as may be intended.

So yes, I rock, but not really. I mean, I certainly went all out and while I actually did enjoy making his day so nice, I must come clean and admit that I initially only did so to prove a point. See, I'm not really that nice after all.

And while we're in the mood for honesty, I guess...hmmph...I actually enjoyed yesterday. Just a bit. I do love hanging out with Tim. And friends. And roast...

The girlies do the Oscars

Four girls, one awards night and umpteen packets of chocolate. What more could you want?

Yes, myself, sister Ang, and mummies-in-crime Frankie & Mango Lick gathered ourselves round ye ole television set to embark in an onslought of vocal bitchiness.

It wasn't all nasty. On the positive side, we were touched and saddened to see that Mr Miyagi died, as well as that freaky guy from Ghost. And though Phillip Seymour Hoffman's speech started off a little rocky, he more than redeemed himself by giving heartfelt thanks to his mother who "raised four kids alone, and that deserves congratulations." I was already a PSH fan before that, now I'm an official convert.

However most of the evening comprised us using our mouths - either to stuff food into or hurl insults out of. Insert-shameless-Sex and the City-reference: I couldn't help but wonder, is that all we watch The Oscars for?

Among our catty pearls of wisdom:

J-Lo: "Oh the hair...send the woman some Panadol!"

Charlize Theron: "At least she can use it as a pillow when she gets bored."

Dolly Parton: "Holy CWA. She sounds like an old woman singing on helium."

Keanu Reeves: "He looks like he's been stung by something."

Lauren Bacall: "She looks completely drugged...okay, we'd better not be too mean in case she has some disease. I'll google her, and then be mean."

Salma Hayek: "Is she putting on that accent? She looks hot, but her gown looks like she's a breastfeeding woman who's only emptied one side."

Jake Gyllenhaal: "So cute but that hair: he's like a Ventriloquists' puppet."

The musical presentation from Crash: "Slow motion interpretive dance? It's a high school production with a big budget."

Gees we're nasty. We agreed that we were. But then we also agreed that seeing as they all get millions of dollars they can probably use a bit of humbling from a few women in Brisbane, Australia. We sure showed them, huh? HUH?!

Moving house sucks buttocks, unlike my weekend

So we’ve gotta move house. This, literally days after deciding that no, we actually are happy here and want to stay til at least next year.

But no. Our landlord’s letter started with “we apologise if this causes you any inconvenience.” Uh, honey, I wouldn’t exactly call forcing us to uproot our entire lives an inconvenience. That’s like throwing acid on someone’s face and apologizing for getting their shirt wet.

Thankfully when I read the letter Tim had the camera on stand-by, so you can see for yourself the look on my face:



In a nutshell, they’re selling their Stafford house so they can come live in our Fairfield house. This sucks. I love Fairfield. I love our house. I hate moving. You do the maths.

But oh well…I’ve already started hunting stuff on the net and found a couple of promising options – one of which is actually a house above a swim-school??!?! I’m curious just to check it out to see what that actually involves! It’s incredibly cheap rent and our priority is getting overseas in 2007 so we’re prepared to make some short-term sacrifices to that end. So if anybody knows of anything, feel free to share the love around. We’ll happily invite you over for a nice curry-style token of appreciation.

In other news, the gig on Friday night went off, just as the subsequent night of partying (for once, with Tim actually there as well, which rocked my world). Ended up laying into the staff of the Lychee Lounge for not giving us any notice for last drinks and just shutting the place down. Tim dragged me away, finding me sincerely advising the manager that announcing last drinks by playing Thunderstruck at full-ball would work a dream if he was really that adverse to bells.

Ended up home by 3.30, then awoke at 9.30 only to feel more refreshed than I have in over a year. Tim and I grinned at each other. CHILD-FREE, BABY! We then embarked on a rainy weekend up in a rainforest cabin at Springbrook, where we managed to indulge in only the pure essentials of life. It felt so absolutely bizarre to just do nothing and alarmed me to realize how long it had been since we’d done so. This has gotta change.

We picked up the kids from grandma and grandpa’s this afternoon, were overjoyed to see them after some decent time away, and then half an hour later were battling to wrestle them into the car for the trip home. They both screamed, full-ball.

Back to reality.

After being inspired by my friend Alison, my bestest Frankie and of course, the weekend, I have realized that I need more breathing space in my life: more margin, as it were. Time that’s not planned, not scheduled and not crammed to the max with stuff. I’ve realized my motto of ‘sucking the marrow out of life’ can sometimes…well, suck. So I’m going to bite the bullet and just focus on kids, house stuff and performing for a bit. That should be more than enough to chew on.

As Ella was riding her bike tonight, I tried to stop her.

Me: Honey? Come here and give me a cuddle!

Ella: No, mummy. I’m too busy.

Me: What?

Ella: I’m too busy.

Me in humbled silence.

Me: Ella?

Ella: Yes.

Me: I’m sorry if I’ve been too busy just to hang with you. I’m going to slow down a bit now so I can spend more time playing with you and talking to you and TICKLINg YOU!!!!

Ella: (crazed laughter)

Me: Does that sound cool?

Ella: Can I have your hair-band?

Ah yeah. Back to reality.

First newspaper article!

Check it out. For real.


Rather than be over-the-moon and mushy and proud, Tim's just plain annoyed that he's not in it - thankfully his sister Cat was here to back me up that it's nothing to be getting all het up about. I mean, does every single person have their other half either photographed or mentioned in every single piece of promotional material? Okay, aside from Angelina Jolie, Katie Holmes and Camilla Parker Bowles. But then the latter is usually being simultaneously compared to a horse, so fair's fair.

I think the little Rock-Star inside of Tim is just a little closer to busting out. I've resolved just to encourage more bathroom karaoke so that the superstar within is able to express itself and thus stop taking stuff out on me. Though in his defence, he did climb far enough down his high horse to say "well, I guess it is kinda nice seeing my family in the paper!"

Express what he's got, oh baby ready or not... (Madonna)

Don't be fooled by the blog that I got...

So here I am at Blogger Street, after almost a year blogging at Vibewire.net. So why the move? I hate moving - the packing, the stress, the de-cluttering - and yet, here I am, voluntarily doing so (alright, alright, so a cyberspace is a little less involved), despite Vibewire having been rather good to me and developing quite a nice head-swelling stat of being regularly on their top 5 most read blogs list.

But I am moving. Here's why:

- I can easily post photos here. See? Aren't I clever?

- More people can make comments without having to register and stuff round with user names, etc. like they have to do on Vibewire. I've been getting complaints from my slack-ass friends about this for ages. So here you go people, are you HAPPY NOW?! If you don't start commenting with liberal abandon, I shall be quite put out.

- I can even edit my posts here. See? I hadn't even written this sentence first time around and yet you'd never even know the difference. I feel at home already. Moiahahahaha!

- I want to open it up for more of the world to see, and it's so much easier to link to other blogs etc. this way.

If you do feel like checking out the old stuff by the way, you can do so via here.

So there you go. Not that I'll be abandoning Vibewire - au contrere! (I won't even pretend to be able to spell in French.) No, I'll be regularly cross-posting so that we can all have the best of both worlds. And because I'm nothing if not realistic. And because I don't forget my humble roots.

"Don't be fooled by the blog that I got, I'm still, I'm still Jenny from the block."