Britney Spears: Believe

Oops, I did it again.

I really do apologise for all the Britney posts of late, but try as I might, the girl's comedic grist for the mill is just impossible to resist. Point in case: reading here that the shape of her newly released perfume Britney Spears' believe is apparently multifaceted - get this - to reflect Britney's own many beliefs.

Did you hear that? That was my gut exploding.

What might some of these beliefs be, you ask? Well, I'm willing to take a stab at a couple of them in all their multifaceted glory:

1. Thou shalt not wear underwear. Like, ev-errrrr.

2. Thou shalt not waste one single day without being photographed, especially mid custody battle, the exposure of which is only second to a crotchless night out in Vegas...

3. Thou shalt only use photographs from the old pre-baby days when launching a new product because like, people are stupid and won't even know the difference. Just perve and pay, people.

Did I miss any?

Comedy 101

So I'm working my way through the magnificent collection-a-la-comedy at our local video store, taking notes and getting mega-inspired. I figure if I can't get out to the great comedy here in Canada yet (but when we finally get a car: LOOK OUT!), then the great comedy shall come to me.

This week I've been in a Saturday Night Live kinda mood, so have been stuck into the best of Gilda Radner and John Belushi respectively. While the comedy does seem to have dated a little, their commitment has certainly not. Holy freaking mustard tarts, (on which note, I certainly hope there is no such thing), they didn't call Belushi the master of kamikaze comedy for nothing.

I wanted to find you this amazing clip of him set in a graveyard, it's really poignant - especially given how things turned out in his actual life - but youtube couldn't seem to find it for me. I would spend more time hunting it down, but my son is already clawing at my leg trying to pry me away from the computer, so I fear to waste more time here might result in him starting to eat it. Then again, that would be an easy way to lose weight...

You know you're in Canada when...

...you walk down the main street, only to have your path crossed by a coyote. Yes, that's right. A coyote.

Feel free to add your own 'you know you're in Canada when' below.

ThirdCat, this is for you...

Ooh, baby baby it's a wild world...

After reading this post on Rockstar Mommy, I have made the rash (yet I prefer to consider it rash-ional) decision to remove all photos of my kids from my photo collection available here.

I'm not going to comment any further on the sick state of the world that even makes this an issue - there's nothing I can say that hasn't really already been said anyway - but suffice to say that this now means a few things for CM readers, namely either:

a) Nothing. You don't give two rats nipples' about the photos anyway.

b) A minor disappointment, given how super-super cute my kids happen to be and how much you enjoy seeing them evolve. Ah. Sometimes I wish I could simply enjoy them only in the silence of image form too....

c) A major catastrophe, leaving you with a Comic-Mummy's-kids-shaped-hole in your heart. If that really is the case then you are either:

i) a fruit-loop, in which case my reasons for doing this are justified; OR
ii) a friend (and that includes blogging buddies!), in which case please just drop me a line and I can add you to my flickr friends and/or just make sure you're hooked up with me on Facebook. I'm happy to keep posting but only to fam and friends now. That's right - I may pimp out my babies, but from now I'm keeping it in da hood. Or something.

Who did I say was the fruitloop?

*PS This also means that most of the flickr photos are now going to be of me, thus exposing my madly inflated ego for what it is. Yikes...I'd better start taking more landscapes...

The final season of Six Feet Under...

...is officially the best way to release all your 'damn I'm missing my family back in Oz' tension.

Seriously. I've spent the best part of the last three days crying my eyes out, much to the bemusement of my hubby, who's all "Uh...Jen? You don't even know these people. Why? Because they're not REAL!!!!!!!!!!!!"

And I'm all "THEY ARE REAL!!!! And don't you DARE go interrupting my last precious moments with these people I've come to know, love and over-empathise with over the past few years. Don't you understand that everybody I know in real life has already found out what happens to these people! Don't you know that I'm behind? Don't you know that I need to find out for myself, say goodbye and grieve my heart out for them?!?!?!?!?!! Now get out of the way of the television and let me make my peace, monkey boy!"

And he's all: "Monkey boy?"

And I'm all: "WAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

See what it's done to me? Best. Series. Ever.

RIP.

MCing at WordFest: Banff-Calgary International Writers Festival

So this morning I got a lovely phonecall from Anne Green, the Director of WordFest: Banff-Calgary International Writers Festival - and I'm rather stoked to report that I'll be MCing one of the Festival's events in Banff! WOOT!

Full details are on the WordFest website, but the Readers Digest version is as follows:

"The Beat Goes On" @ The Bison Mountain Bistro, Banff
Friday October 12, 9.30pm
Featuring Joel Thomas Hynes, Morganics (hip-hop artist from Oz) and Ray Robertson.

Should be suitably rockin.

Backhanded compliment of the day...

Friend of hubby's: "Hey, I saw your column in the paper!"

Me: "Oh yeah?"

Friend of hubby's: "Yeah! That's kinda fun."

Me: "Yeah, thanks!"

Pause.

Friend of hubby's: "I didn't read it, but I saw it."

Boom-boom-ching.

Oh boy...it's started.

So Ella has been kissing boys at school. Not one, not two, but THREE different suitors, mind you.

Now, my reactions to this are varied:

1. I can laugh at the fact she is just like I was at the same age. I clearly remember pashing my childhood sweetheart at preschool, then later getting into trouble...not for kissing, but for making him cry when I dumped him after a rather lewd 'pulling up my skirt mid-snog' incident. That's justice for ya.

2. I can be happy that she feels she can be so honest with me about such things and celebrate for a moment, the wonderful trust that obviously exists and thus, the marvellous mother I must be for enabling such wonderful trust to exist.

3. I can freak out that she is five years old and is already becoming WAAAAAAY too popular - and enamoured with - the opposite sex for my liking. I mean, she's kissed three boys in two days. If she continues at such a rate, she'll wind up eight years old, living in a country town with thirty-three babes hanging off her. The sling alone would break her back. I can thus lament for a moment, the crapola sandwich I've led her into and thus, the horrible mother I must be for enabling such crapola filling to exist.

Ayayay! Any advice?

We wrapped up our heart-to-heart today with this:

Ella: "I want to marry Hubert*! I want to marry him!" (Note: name has been changed to protect the smoochee. Couldn't I have picked something better than 'Hubert'???)

Me: "Really? But what about Gabey?" (Her sweetheart-in-waiting back home in Oz).

Ella: "But Mum....he's just my boyfriend!"

Welcome to the 21st Century, kiddo.

What would Carrie do?

I've wanted to be a columnist since, like, forever *twirling hair*, a desire which over time has intensified in direct proportion to my addiction to Sex and the City.

Why couldn't I be like Carrie: i.e. be paid to have a fabulous life in a fabulous place and write fabulous things about it? Well, after years, YEARS(!) I tell you of living vicariously through a fictional character, that dream has finally come true. Woohoo!

I mean, okay, so my life doesn't comprise wining and dining every piece of hot bun around New York City and instead constitutes whining and dining with my very little hot-headed pieces of bun-dom around the streets of small-town Canada, but...I'm a glass half-full kinda gal.

If you're super-keen, you can check out the first one here.

Otherwise, please move along: heaven knows I can't STAND loitering.

Avril Lavigne = David Brent?

I just stumbled across this piece on Avril Lavigne - who I am eagerly looking forward to parodying one day, by the way - on Perez Hilton's blog.

It made me laugh more than I have at a lot of comedy - to see her answers close-up just click here.

Is it just me, or does she sound remarkably like the boss from The Office? Seriously, go back and re-read her answers in a Ricky Gervais voice (or Steve Carrell if you're into the US version)...

Creepy, no?

And the latest contestant on 'Extreme Makeover' is...

My website!!!

Massive thanks to the wonderful Insiteful.org - massive gold stars for you. :-)

Gilda Radner and me

I don't know if I've told you before that Gilda Radner - the original funny woman of Saturday Night Live - is my hero. Not only did John Belushi, who was quite vocal about women not being funny, concede that Gilda was a glowing exception, but she did a one-woman show on Broadway, married Gene Wilder and gave birth to one of my favourite all-time quotes: "You can always be beautiful at the after party."

Imagine my delight then at stumbling across her autobiography in the tiny second-hand bookstore right here in Canmore today, for $3.50 nonetheless. That's right. I have my heroes and I have them cheap.



I recall my delight last year in LA when, while strolling along the stars on Sunset Boulevard, I suddenly had the urge to stop and look down: only to find myself standing directly on Gilda's star. I almost squealed. Thankfully I resisted - heaven's knows Sunset Strip is NOT a place that anybody acts strange - but that feeling of excitement at having inadvertently connected to my hero, was screaming out inside me.

You can imagine then, the deafening shrieks of my innards when after buying my new treasure, I opened its cover, only to see scrawled on its first page:





If I don't blog much in the next couple of days, you'll know why.

George Lucas in Love and...the Comic Mummy blog turns 400!

400 entries old. Woot! If anyone feels like baking me a cake, please don't send it by mail. The animals here eat EVERYTHING.

Last night I watched the most fabbo (but LOOOOOONG) doco on Canadian comedy and why it kicks so many buttocks. It totally psyched me up and made me remember how freakin cool it is to be here - which obviously, I do know, but I guess a bit of homesickness has started to kick in so it's always good to be reinspired.

Anyhooo...I stumbled across this awesome video on youtube which I saw years ago and thought was just about one of the funniest things ever. So, to celebrate the 400 blog posts mark, (and cos I'm procrastinating the stuff I really oughta be onto) I thought I'd share the love around. If you're a fan of Star Wars and/or Shakespeare in Love, you will likey!

And now it's time for our first broken bone!!!

Okay, okay, I'm being a little melodramatic. Who, YOU? I hear you say.

Touche.

Anyway, as you well know, Canada has brought a lot of firsts into our lives - including now, our first fractured piece of bonery. (Awwww, but 'broken' just sounds that much more impactful, kinda like 'fractured' but in bold. Okay, here, let me start again...)

...including now, our first fractured piece of bonery.

Ah, much better.

For those of you who haven't tried it, here's how it works.

Take one five-year-old girl, mix with one three-year-old boy. Be sure to get them all hyped up to ensure ultimate impact. Then encourage them to play hide and seek, putting major emphasis on being careful not to slam doors - this will guarantee that they will slam doors, thus maximising your chances of a hospital visit.

Finally, if you do happen to be a foreigner in the country in which your child's finger gets a royal slam in the door-hinge, medical insurance would be highly advised. Think I'm kidding? Check out the pic: think you're looking at a splinted finger? WRONG. What you're looking at is the most expensive appendage ever sprouted by a human.


So there you have it! Easy, right?

Ah me. Proof again that the Comic Mummy blog is changing the world, one entry at a time. You sure as hell won't find this stuff on the Lifestyle channel.

NOT the kinda publicity to go for...unless of course you're Britney Spears

So I'm putting together my promo pack, namely to send out to a ton of agents, producers and the like, right? As such, my desk is currently covered with all sorts of snippets, from old bios to business cards to show posters to publicity photos.

I'd pretty much settled on this pic for the front cover - it's taken by my brilliant mate Tim Pasmore of Bloc Media, it's fun, different and it's got my name on it. What more could you want, right?

Enter my uber-PA (aged five years going on fifteen), Ella:

"I LOVE this photo! It's funny!"

So far so good. Then:

"It looks like you've got one boob, and it's got writing on it, and that's your boob and it's your only boob!"

Uh...how bout NOOOOOOOO?

Derek Zoolander eat your heart out

Why, oh, why am I not allowed my God-given right to take a nice and 'normal' photo of the fruit of my loins?

After the sleepless nights, the mastitis, the walking-out-the-door-feeling-like-I'm-looking-hot-only-to-discover-snot-on-my-shoulder-ness, the LEAST he owes me is a lovely, cherubic-type photograph that I can keep in my wallet to show to perfect strangers.

But apparently...that's too much to ask.

I'd better call Jim Carrey and order that DNA test...

Sarah Silverman versus Britney Spears

Okay, so the hot rumour round the mill is that Britney's very half-hearted performance last night was, in fact, a result of her being angry as hell from hearing that comedian host Sarah Silverman was going to use her monologue to take the piss out of her kids.

As a mother and a comedian myself, I have two thoughts on this.

As a mother: my kids are the one thing that I am super-sensitive about. I love them more than anything and would force-feed Celine Dion and Mariah Carey duets to anyone who dared to hurt them in any way. If Sarah Silverman was gonna crack funnies (or cruel unfunnies) about my little tykes, would I be mad as hell? For sure.

However...

As a performer: my job is to be professional and that means giving 100% all of the time, REGARDLESS of what is going on behind the scenes. Whether Sarah Silverman's comments were called for or not, is kinda beside the point. If Britney had simply put her anger aside for the duration of her performance and pulled out a ripper show, then Sarah would have been the one looking like a loser. But my guess is that more people are directing their wrath at Brit-Brit than Sarah, for letting it ruin (if indeed, that was the reason!) her much hyped comeback gig.

Ask any professional performer and they'll be able to tell you of a time they've had to strut their stuff when it's been the last thing in the world they've felt like doing. I can tell you myself, the hands-down hardest gig I've ever had to do was earlier this year, two nights after finding out that my dear friend had suddenly died. But I, like the many other comedians who knew this dear man, just got on with it. Because we had to. That's the deal. It sucks, but they don't say "the show must go on" for nothing!

For Britney to sulk all the way through her performance is quite simply, childish, selfish and symptomatic of an amateur.

Gimme more!

*Update: if you haven't already seen the traffic-wreck, here is it...

Britney's MTV Video Awards Performance

Can I just say for the record: I've officially decided that the only public attention Britney Spears should be allowed is the odd mention in "Where are they now?" articles.

Seriously. She's had her chance to get her act together. It ain't happening.

Faretheewell Brit Brit. And get thee to a nunnery.

A weekend of firsts!

1. Our first ice hockey game! I didn't understand a bar of it, it was so fast I couldn't even see what was happening half the time and missed our team's goals...and I loved every second of it.

I'm writing my column in the Canmore Leader about it next week though (and yes, I promise I'll link to it once it's online!) so I'd better not say too much lest I get hit upon by the Canadian mafia. I believe they say: "Fugget aboot it."

2. My first experience of wake-boarding on dry land. Well, experience kinda implies I was actually involved - and while I did get a little wet, that was only from the rain.

Check this out: yesterday the town of Canmore demonstrated just how committed they are to active, way-out Canadian fun, by shutting down the main street and setting up a wakeboard competition on its path. "Traffic? We don't need traffic! What we really need is an extreme sport!" Damn I love this place!

Notice those snow-capped mountains in the back? It was COLD. I think every single competitor earned the right to shelter for life, purely based on this fact. Or at least a year's supply of hot chocolate.

And finally...

3. My first Canadian winter jacket.

It's snuggly as hell, but has the unfortunate side-effect of making me burst into loud renditions of "From Russia with Love".

Would you like a wodka?

The honeymoon is well and truly in flight

I met this really cool chick at the park yesterday (I somehow avoided the temptation to wrap my arms around her legs, drag her back to my place and demand she be my friend), who told me that since moving here a year ago, she's met umpteen people who came here 'for the snow season' and ended up staying for life.

The thing is, already I completely get that.

I've been spending many beautiful minutes dreaming about spending our entire life here. Just go with me here: picture hubby and I, wrinkled-bordering-on-pickled, snowy hair as white as the mountain-tops, racing our wheelchairs down the snow-covered slopes at a fiery pace. Tell me it's not a beautiful vision!

Oh alright...gees, you're just like Tim!

He, as usual, is the down-to-earth one, pointing out that we've only been here two weeks and to give it time, that we're simply in the honeymoon period. We sure are, baby: I am head over heels IN LURVE.

(And there you were thinking he was going to point out the impracticalities of wheel-chair boarding...)

But just check out the snow that fell this very afternoon! Can't you just SEE us there, wheelchairs and all? There we are, just a little to the right, no, left a little, just near the...

Oh alright, so there's lots of rocky bits and we'd end up mulshified on a ledge being eaten by famished eagles, but come on...it's called optimism, people!

The Comic Mummy goes to Print!

Well, not exactly, but sorta-kinda.

In some of the best news since we got here, I'm very stoked to report that as of today, I've scored a fortnightly humour column writing for the local rag here in Canmore! It's pretty much gonna be a little bit of my take on Canada through Aussie eyes, a little bit of parenting and a little bit of whatever else I feel like throwing in the mix. Hooray for freedom!*

*I hope that didn't sound as shallow as it is.

We're kicking things off with tix to our first ever ice hockey game this Saturday: given that I was considering trying out for a local team here (stop laughing now - a little decency if you please) spectating seems a far superior - and warmer - alternative.

Yee-haw!

Your opinion, please.

Is it just me, or is the latest fashion being advertised on the back of Canadian newspapers (see left) a little...erm...unflattering?

I just don't see how leotards and tights - especially WHITE tights - are gonna be bringin' sexy back. Maybe fourteen years ago I felt a little differently, but:

a) that was fourteen years ago; and
b) I also thought Michael Bolton was all that; because...
c) that was fourteen years ago.

In fact, the only way I think leotards and tights could even come close to sexy is if they were used to strangle Mariah Carey. Then, maybe (just maybe) I could be convinced to give them a second look.

But even then, I wouldn't be attaching them to my buttocks. I'd probably just frame them, light a couple of candles and chant.

Or...is that just me?

Oh, oh, and also...

Massively belated yet righteous applause, kudos and shots of tequila to my gorgeous mate Leon, who is responsible for the muchly-schmicktafied banner you see above.

If this was Facebook, I'd buy you a drink.

You'll just have to come to Canada, eh?

xxx

Ella's First Day of School

Wow.

It feels like just yesterday I was popping her out and unleashing her on the world, and yet today, here I am, five and a bit years later...popping her out and unleashing her on the world all over again. Well, the world in its microcosmic form - in other words, grade one.

She woke up at the crack of dawn, crawled into bed with me and started asking "When can I go to school?" "The sun is already starting to come out!" and my favourite, "You know mummy, I don't really need breakfast today, I can get ready quickier if I don't eat."

She insisted she go on the school bus alone, even though I desperately wanted to do it with her, hold her hand, lead her into her classroom and cuddle her if she felt insecure. But no. Apparently the only insecure on in this whole fiasco is me.

So for now, with the home-days of Ella officially over, I'm trying to make the most of my first day of my new life with just me and the Cay-man.

Now excuse me while I go locate the nearest bottle of Canadian vodka.

Hanging at the Highland Games

What does a Scotsman wear under his kilt?

A nappy, apparently.

Well, okay, admittedly that was only one (very, very young and thus massively appropriate) punter, but I was surprised to see it nonetheless. Kilts, bagpipes and haggis have been the order of the day, as the fam and I have had the great pleasure of strolling around the annual Highland Games - a day of Scottish festivities - right here in the middle of the mountains at Canmore.

It's like walking through the soundtrack of Braveheart, or soundtrackS, to be accurate; there's about a billion players doing their thing for rather stoney-faced adjudicators, in what seems to be a non-televised version of So You Think You Can Bagpipe?

Then there's the teachers, coaching their piping/drumming/highland dancing proteges with final tips of encouragement (or in some cases, yelling "NOT LEFT, I SAID RIGHT! RIGHT!") before their moment of truth, there's the endless stalls selling kilts, hats and "Bagpipers Parking Space Only: All Others Will Be Prosecuted" signs, and of course, the fenced off section for the Highland Games themselves. The round of hammer-throwing we watched - different from hammer throwing in the Olympics - demonstrated the need for the fence, as the entire hammer broke apart on impact, with a long metal stick being hurled into the crowd. It was all I could do to stop from yelling "That's NOOO how yer throw a hammer!"

Then there's my favourite part - just kicking back on the lush green grass in the main tent, watching the band play their wicked Scottish jigs and letting the kids dance their Highlanding butts off.

Aye.

Love lifts us up where we belong...

The one thing that sucks about living la vida loca is that you usually have to leave behind your loved ones to do it.

Ah me.

Anyway, tis near midnight and I should not be writing of such things, lest I lose control of my emotions completely and start scouring the radio stations for Joe Cocker tracks. Then, dear friends, you will know it is all over.

No, indeed, I shall pry my eyes away from the spectacularly beautiful card my darling best friend Frankie gave me on the last day we saw each other (incidentally, she's about to set off on her own mad adventure, relocating her three bubbas over to the UK) and go exactly where I belong...

"Where the eagles fly, on a mountain high!"

Oh no, ehem, sorry, I mean...bed.