And the winner is...

It's official. The winner of the best ever words-typed-into-a-search-engine-to-find-my-blog award goes to the person who found me using this:

Oh blood puke Good song title Someone write that--oh that s right we already wrote that. Good song.

Whoever you are, I salute you.

Oscars: the official debrief

Okay, okay, so here's my thoughts in brief on the Oscars. So you can stop the hassling e-mails, the incessant phone calls and the midnight egging of my household. Please.

- Ellen rocked. I thought she got it so right in what must be one of the toughest gigs ever. What a woman. I'm completely inspired and rehearsing my opening Oscars monologue as I type - which is no mean feat, but then I am one hell of a multi-tasker.

- Those shadow/body/acrobatic/movie tribute/puppet things were just amazing. Best. Thing. Ever.

- Everybody looked amazing this year - no huge disasters that I can recall, though I thought Cate Blanchett (while utterly stunning) looked like she'd lost 5kg. Which, big deal right? This is Hollywood, after all. But the thing is, she was already completely waifish to start with. Where did the kilos go? Or is it simply a question of if a superstar loses 5kg and there's no-one around to see her lose them, then did she really lose them at all? Gees. No wonder Lost does my head in.

- Poor old Peter O'Toole. Not that he was 'robbed' as such, as from what I've seen of the trailers Forest Whitaker looks completely deserving, but please. The guy's gonna be gone soon and somehow the 'Lifetime Achievement Now You're Dead and We Actually Appreciate You' award isn't quite as satisfying, if only cos you don't even get to give an acceptance speech. On the other hand, he, of all the nominees, seemed to do the worst job of hiding his dismay at losing, so maybe he's not that great an actor after all.

- On the note of speeches, I find it so humiliating when the 'get off' music starts playing. I mean, come on - it's like "We LOVE you! You're IT!" (10 seconds later) "Okay now bugger off you long-winded tosser." I'm all for winding people up...but I think it should be based not on the speech length, but the speech entertainment factor. If someone's just rattling off names, then sure, wind 'em up. But if they're kicking ass (and let's face it, probably only 1 or 2 of the winners will) then why not let them have their moment of glory? Cos there can't be anything better than doing a killer set at the Oscars.

- I SOOOO badly want to see Little Miss Sunshine now. Like right now. Why am I blogging?

Birthday Shenanigans and the Oscars

...all in the same sweet few days. Can it get any better?

Firstly, my b'day surprisingly rocked the kazbah. Despite battling a nasty cold, I managed to:
- treat the kids to a jumping castle playground where I proceeded to let them jump their little hearts out all morning so as to sleep all afternoon;
- spend much of the weekend playing cannonballs in the pool;
- socialising with mates at our gorgeous pad yesterday avo.

Oh yeah, and my hubby completely and utterly redeemed himself from last year's forgetting my birthday incident and treated me to 3 x singing lessons (mi-mi-mi-mi-mmmeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) and the complete series DVD of Arrested Development which I'd never seen but is proving to be absolutely brilliant.

B'days. I dig again.

And secondly, the Oscars are on tonight! WOOHOO!!! I'm so excited - the gowns, the glamour, the gossip...and other exciting things beginning with 'g'. In our honoured tradition, Frankie and I will be hooking up at her place with some other girlfriends to munch out on all things chocolate while eyeing off the uber-skinny celebs.

Cos damn it - if I ever actually get to the Oscars, I'm gonna have to starve myself for at least a fortnight, so I may as well pig out to John Williams tunes while I can.

ROCK.

On my last day of being 27

On the eve of turning 28, I contemplate my life thus far and consider the things I have and haven't done. Such as...

I haven't:

- won even one of the zillion Oscars I planned to win by 19;

- married Johnny Depp (then again, neither has the mother of his children, so nyah ni nyah ni nyah nyah); nor

- conquered the world, bought my beachfront mansion and retired to a leisurely life of surfing, drinking low carb martinis and doing obligatory charity work.

BUT...I have:

- married a fabulous, generous and wonderful man who puts up with living with a completely self-obsessed woman who thinks she's funny;

- started to make a living out of performing;

- been to New York!!!; and

- had two kids.

The latter is particularly noteworth given that it was completely unexpected: I remember announcing with massive bravado that I was never having kids til I was at least 33 - not realising at the time that I was actually already pregnant with Ella. Oops.

And while, sure, maybe I don't have the Oscars, Johnny or the life of luxury...well, just look at the little muppets.

See? Oscars might be nice, but they sure as hell can't smile at you, give you kisses or tell you they love you.

Then again, they never puke on you, wipe snot on your shoulder or expect you to wipe their asses, but for now let's just go with the schmaltzy perspective.

It is my b'day contemplation time, after all.

So the dreamhouse ain't ALL good

Did I mention we have construction workers doing their thing every single day on the house next door?

It's the only bad thing about moving into this palace, namely cos:

1. I have to resist the urge to perve on said workers, being a lady and all. So I tend to spend a vast majority of my day squinting.

2. It's incredibly difficult to get kids to sleep when there's a radio up full ball and walls being pulled to the ground, right outside their window. Somehow "Shhhhh! It's just like a lullaby. See? Hush little baby don't say a..." CRASH!!!!!!!!!! just doesn't cut it.



3. I loathe, I repeat, LOATHE the idea of swimming in the pool with all these young to middle aged dudes in sight. Or more to the point, me being in their sight. So I'm forced to ditch the leopard print swimsuit and instead wear this:

I am, after all, a lady.

Though the cod-piece might beg to differ.

Mummy-Man to the Rescue

The biggest ongoing argument in our household at the moment revolves around being called the right superhero name.



Example:



Caleb: "Hey Ella."

Ella: "I'm not Ella, I'm Flash!"

Caleb: "Okay Flash."

***
Ella: "Hey Caleb."

Caleb: "I NOT CALEB!!! I SUPERMAN BATMAN TWO!" (Don't ask)



Ella: "Okay Superman Batman Two."



***
Ella: "Hey Daddy."

Caleb: "He not Daddy! He SUPERMAN!"

***
And so apparently all that effort we put into choosing nice names for our kids was for naught. Not only can I NOT call my son by his actual name, but to do so means suffering severe punishment by way of deafening screams.

So I'm surrendering. From hereon in, Daddy is Superman, Ella is Flash, Caleb is Superman Batman II and me? Well, you can thank Caleb for this one.



Ella: "Mummy."

Caleb: "Her not mummy!"

Me: "Then who am I?"

Caleb: "You Mummy-man!"

Pic from Bangalow Comedy Fest!

More to come...

From left to right:

Hubster extraordinaire, fellow comedic partner-in-crime Damien Power, moi and the incomparable S Sorenson.

Please ignore how sweaty I am - I literally walked onto the stage and proceeded to melt into a puddle of make-up. It's a tough life.

Little Britain Live

One of the sweetest text messages I've received thus far in my mobile life arrived yesterday morning from my dear mate Mango Lick:

"Hey jen you want an early birthday present? Ticket to little britain tonight? I cant make it x"

WOOOOHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!

To be completely honest, I wasn't a massive fan of the series at that point, but I sure as hell am now! I finally 'get' why people love it - the character catch-phrases (many of which drew applause by themselves), taking the little nuances of the lower to working class and exaggerating them to the point of absurdity, and of course just the complete un-PC-ness of it all (which got so completely borderline in one audience participation bit where the inappropriate kids' show host character pretty much began molesting a guy from the audience: very uncomfortable, probably moreso cos everybody was laughing at it.)

It also drove home the point that we are all comedians in our own way - before the show had started and during the interval, the cameras were roving the crowd and focusing in on individuals, giving the audience a chance to garner their own laughs from the crowd.

As I endured the 24 minute drive out of the car-park, I had time to digest what was a kick-ass show and was struck by a revelation: I have NEVER felt so pumped to do my full-scale show.

Mango Lick - you ROCK MY WORLD.

Kung Fu Hustle

After years of film-buff-dom, of completely geeking out over beautiful cinematic moments, of allowing a number of movies to jostle and compete for the coveted position of 'my favourite film ever', FINALLY one has come along which has completely blown away all the competition.

Kung Fu Hustle.

I'm not kidding. And I'm not even into Kung Fu. In fact, I'm not into violence of any sort. In fact, I could probably never have even been convinced to watch it had it not simply been playing in a lounge-room at a recent party. I walked in the room, caught a glimpse of the screen and could not look away. I started laughing, then shrieking (in a good way) then sat my butt down and didn't leave the room for the next few hours.

In short: MIND-BLOWING FILMMAKING.

You must see it. Now. I mean right now.

Come on, what are you doing reading this blog? Get thee to a video store, pronto or I'll bust out my moves. Hai-YAH!

A better subject title than "Happy Valentines Day" wanted: apply within

We don't usually make that huge a deal out of Valentine's Day. Well, except for the year that my hubby proposed by taking me away for a surprise weekend at the beach, then spoiled me completely and utterly rotten (I'm talking a limo ride complete with champagne and flowers, people!!!) but that was definitely an exceptional circumstance. Maybe we just subconsciously figured that once we'd attained the pinnacle of romance, there was no real point in trying anymore.

Or probably more likely, is the fact that sooner after kidlets arrived into our life at the same time that Tim went back to being a full-time uni student = no time and no money.

Oh, and the fact that Valentine's Day is just before my birthday, followed closely by Tim's birthday, followed shortly thereafter by our wedding anniversary. It's a busy time, people and usually just don't have room in our lives for that much celebrating.

But this afternoon Tim's taking me on a surprise date!!! Or an 'activity', as he called it, seeing as apparently our date is going to be at home. I immediately jumped to a kinky conclusion, but Tim assured me I was completely off-track. Which I was relieved about: you know those days when you're just not in the mood for the fluffy hand-cuffs and a bucket of golden-syrup covered pancakes?

Anybody else care to share V-Day plans or lack thereof?

Come on kids, let's catch up

Well, I'm just damn glad you blog readers aren't my kids. Cos if you were, you'd be taken away from me by the Department of Family Services, so pitiful are the little measly scraps of food, water and attention I've been throwing your way.

Forgive me people. I know not what I do.

But as such, here's a "5 Quick Catch-Up Points on Life This Week"

1. No news on the van. BUT…I guess no news is also good news, in the sense that it obviously hasn’t been written off in an accident (which, on the upside, the whole concept of an Econovan in a high-speed chase is ripe with comedic potential) or used to smuggle Romanian dwarves into the country.

2. To answer your question Mezza, yes we are still in Brissie! Sorry, I keep forgetting that people don’t read every single entry of this blog (why God, why?) and thus aren’t necessarily completely up to date with my life. But to cut a long story short, we decided we could save (and earn) more money by staying in Brisvegas, we’re ‘planning’ (the inverted commas stand for the rate at which we change our plans) then head overseas – most likely the UK – for a year, then come back and settle the hell down. Phew.

3. Tim has had his first few days of relief teaching work1 And he’s enjoyed it! And earned money! They don’t call it ‘relief’ teaching for nothing.

4. I may well die this week – Tim’s working or away every single day until Sunday, meaning that I’m looking after kids all day and gigging all night. I really need to look into approaching Red Bull for sponsorship.

5. On the business front, I may have a manager!! Gees, I hope so! I’ve been putting my mind to it lately, and thanks to Bangalow Big Joke Comedy Festival (where I supported the sublime Fiona O’Loughlin) I’ve met someone I feel really good about. We’ll see what pans out….oh I so want a manager if only just so I can say I’ve got one. Oh okay, and they can guide my career and help get me gigs and stuff. Minor details, people.

Anna Nicole Smith and the typo from hell

So Anna Nicole Smith is dead.

I'm shocked - shocked because I actually feel sad.

But that aside, check out this article about it in The Age:

"In a statement released by Playboy's offices in Los Angeles, Hefner described Smith as a dead friend."

Ouch. That's got my 'all time worst ever typo' vote.

In the Sydney Morning Herald

The delectable an article about networking, in which I, amongst others, am featured. In the Sydney Morning Herald, no less.

Check it out if you want. Or don't if you don't want. Whatever, please...this is all about you.

x

Just when you thought it would be hard to leave Brisbane...

...it got harder.

For our ever-nomadic clan has now settled for the next few months into the most amazing house we've ever lived in.

We're living with my brother Billy, girlfriend Sam and dog Kelly (we're being very careful not to confuse the two) in a house complete with air-con, swimming pool and roof-top deck complete with 360 degree views of Brisvegas. And it's still cheap enough - God bless house-sharing - for us to save dosh to get to the UK.

Problem is...it's gonna be mighty hard to pry ourselves away from this pad. Here's hoping my brother really really REALLY bugs the hell out of me from here on.

Cross your fingers everybody.

When Life Hands You a Lemon...

...make lemonade.

(Quote courtesy of my mum. Courtesy of some 50's motivational dude. Courtesy of some unacknowledged yet positive sod.)

Personally, I prefer Sarah Silverman's: "If life hands you AIDS, make lemon-AIDS."

But I digress.

As you know, our van's been stolen. Hmmph. I'm less impressed by the day. HOWEVER... after a very inspiring and thought-provoking conversation with the wicked Mandy Nolan (who, by the way, is the driving force behind the upcoming Bangalow Big Joke Comedy Festival), I'm beginning to see an upside.

Mandy: "So how's your new year going?"

Me: "Good. Great. Actually...do you want the real answer?"

Mandy: "Yeah."

Me: "Well, our van got stolen."

Mandy: "Oh no, that's like your home!"

Me: "Yeah, it sucks."

Mandy: "You know what you should do? You should organise a benefit gig for your stolen van! Get everybody you know together and put on a comedy night to raise money to replace it. I used to do that all the time when I was a single mum and totally broke. I reckon you should go for it."

Me: "Hmmmmmm! You know, you might be right! Bless you Mandy. Here, have some fudge."

***
(Hehe, gotchya! Just checking if you were paying attention, I couldn't have passed her fudge, we were on the phone. Elementary, dear Watson...or however that pop culture references goes...)


But the rest of the conversation is entirely accurate, in all its inspiring push-starting glory. Bottom line?

STAY TUNED.