Lady Jane Unleashed

Itchee Feet

2011-03-05T16:09:00.004+11:00

I've been busy building a company called Itchee Feet, which is a one-stop shop for kids who travel. We've released our first book, AROUND THE WORLD IN 80 WAYS, with loads more to come soon. Check us out, buy the book, press like on Facebook, sign up for the newsletter, and do your bit to support small business. Thanks a million!

I'm busy building a company

2010-09-25T13:39:00.002+10:00

"A Cat goes Kayaking"

2010-08-23T11:22:00.004+10:00

My friend Ulrike recently completed 30 linoprints in 30 days, posting each print on her blog. That project became an exhibition at Sheffer Gallery a few weeks ago.

"A Cat goes Kayaking" is the book based on the exhibition and the blog. It contains all 30 linoprints and all 30 stories.

I was her muse (or perhaps amusement) for day 14.

This is a gorgeous book. It makes a beautiful gift.

You can buy it here: www.duck-books.com

Quote of the day

2010-07-04T15:58:00.000+10:00

Happiness cannot be traveled to, owned, earned, worn or consumed. Happiness is the spiritual experience of living every minute with love, grace and gratitude.

- Denis Waitley

Guest Blogging ARRA/SchizoPENia

2010-06-27T10:07:00.002+10:00

Check out my guest blog at the ARRA website.

http://australianromancereaders.wordpress.com/2010/06/27/guest-blogger-jane-tara

I feel like an intruder here. I’ve only just finished my second novel, the sequel to FORECAST, which was published nearly three years ago. Never heard of it? Well you’re in the majority, but the book did produce a core group of loyal readers who continue to write and ask when book number two will be finished. At first, their emails were friendly, but now they ping into my inbox with slingshot force, bereft of any niceties and straight to the point … ‘WHERE’S THE FOLLOW UP BOOK???’

Good question. One I’ve avoided answering up until now. But it’s time I came clean and admitted the truth … as difficult as that is. You see … I have been writing … lots … but the truth is … (deep breath …) I have SchizoPENia.

There, I’ve said it.

SchizoPENia is a condition that afflicts 1 in 32 writers (non-ABS statistics), and for which there is no cure. The sufferer finds it impossible to stick to one genre when writing. I’m not talking about cross-genre mixing it up such as historical romance with a touch of paranormal. Or time travel slash urban fantasy slash erotica. SchizoPENia is when halfway through writing a romance novel a crime novel comes knocking on imagination’s door, and simply won’t leave. It’s when a kid’s book bursts forth in the middle of writing a romantic comedy. While most writers have a ‘voice’ … I have a few … My pen name should be Sybil.

After FORECAST was published, a mild dose of SchizoPENia kicked in. A voice in my head (that sounded suspiciously like Meg Ryan) needed to write a screenplay. I wrote two romantic comedies back to back.

The real issue lies with two other voices. One has a clipped English accent and barks out children’s stories. Another regularly interrupts and relates rambling travel tales. I have no choice but to listen to them both. I write children’s books and travel articles, which pays my rent. (Important … so my landlord says) Recently I decided to combine the two voices (the merged voice sounds like a Victorian traveler) and have been working on another project with my partner … but more on that soon. The point is, I am writing!

Being a true SchizoPENic, in the midst of all this writing, my romance writer’s voice interrupted and demanded that I return to my novel. TROUBLE BREWING continues the tale of the Shakespeare women, but this time focuses on the London clan. I loved being back in the world of romance. It’s a wonderful, joyous place to visit. But until there is a breakthrough cure for SchizoPENia, I won’t be able to live there. In the meantime, I ask my three loyal romance fans to be patient.

Choosing an accountant

2010-06-22T12:07:00.001+10:00

My guy and I have been interviewing accountants. We’re launching a company and want the best accountants possible to help us structure and secure the business.

We met with one candidate—a shit hot firm, with a great reputation and client list. They’re good… They are experts at IP, and their advice was rock solid. Right in the middle of the partner winning us over with his brilliance and expertise… he drew two stick figures. He was explaining how to structure the company so as no one can touch us. For clarity, he sketched us in the centre of his notes. He drew my guy… tall and stick-figure-like. Then on the second stick figure… the female stick figure… MY STICK FIGURE… he drew tits.

Yes, the accountant drew boobs on my stick figure.

I blinked a couple of times, but the boobs were still there. I looked up at my partner… who was also blinking. We locked eyes… and tried not to laugh.

Many women at this point would take their business elsewhere. But I’m not like most women. He admired my breasts… and that’s okay, because I admired his balls. And truth be told, I’m after someone who will keep an eye on my assets… which makes this bastard the best accountant for the job.

Kitchen Goddess

2010-05-15T21:03:00.003+10:00

My very talented friend, Ulrike, is an amazing artist. She's halfway through a challenge--30 lino prints in 30 days. Check out day 14... meeeeeee. I'm her muse. (Or amusement!) Kitchen Goddess.
http://edition-9.blogspot.com/2010/05/day-14-kitchen-goddess.html

Before kids books became totally PC...

2010-05-11T10:04:00.002+10:00

I grew up around sailors. This is reminiscent of my childhood.

Flashed some parents and finished a book!

2010-05-03T12:02:00.001+10:00

“A lady is one who never shows her underwear unintentionally.” –Lillian Day

I dropped my kids at school today with my fly undone. That would generally indicate that I was in for a crap day… BUT… each day is what you make it. Showing my knickers to the other parents will not define my day (as much as it probably should) No… this day will be remembered for more than displaying a pair of old cotton bonds with “Playground of the rich and famous” on the front. (Actually, that’s a lie… the knickers are plain black… but I think that is a quote that should be on a pair of undies. BTW… quote copyright to me!)

Anyhoooo… back to my day (because it’s all about me, being my blog). Rather than spend the day mortified by my morning flash, I’m going to spend it feeling fabulous. You see, I just finished my novel and sent it to my agent. Yay me!

It’s called Trouble Brewing and really did have trouble brewing, for all sorts of reasons. But it’s done and I’ve just hit the send button, and heard the whoosh as it flew off to LA. Ahhhhh… time for a relaxing coffee… and then back to work. I have another book to finish now.

Botox or real beauty

2010-03-29T13:39:00.000+11:00

I had lunch with a girlfriend today and was horrified to see a number of bruises on her face. She’s been going through an extremely difficult split with her husband, who’s an asshole on a good day. My first thought was that he’d hit her. I decided to approach the topic with care…
“What the fuck happened to your face?”
“Oh that… Botox darling. It’ll heal in a few days.”

I’ve never had Botox, although the thought certainly crosses my mind occasionally (only every time I look in the mirror). I’m needle phobic, so it’s highly unlikely that I ever will have it. Quite a few of my girlfriends get regular jabs, and I don’t judge them for it. But do they judge me?

I recently caught up with another friend who has had so much work she looks like Pricilla Presley. Thankfully she picked me up, because if I’d met her out, I’d have walked straight past her. She is virtually unrecognisable. I don’t get it. She was gorgeous. Now she’s an advertisement for one of Sydney’s top surgeons. But what occurred to me over dinner was… if she was so critical of herself that she was wiling to change her appearance so dramatically… was she actually focussing on what I had to say throughout the evening… or was she focussing on my flaws? Surely it’s impossible to see beauty in others if you’re blind to the beauty in yourself. And if your own flaws are so unacceptable, then it’s unlikely that you’ll be oblivious to mine.

I love flaws. I see great beauty in a strangely placed freckle or an oddly shaped nose. I think scars add character. And there is nothing more beautiful than a woman who has accepted that she’s aging with style and grace and an unashamed sexuality.

It’s not easy aging in today’s society, with its unhealthy emphasis on physical perfection. But every time I catch myself looking in the mirror and wishing for ten years back, or thinking perhaps I could conquer my fear of needles and get some work done, I remember this: I have always prided myself on being rather rebellious. And the most rebellious thing a woman can actually do nowadays is like herself.

Vote here!!!

2010-03-01T17:49:00.004+11:00

Go vote for "The Sellers."
http://one80project.com.au
My friend Olivia is in it. The winner gets to turn this trailer into a film.

Watch my kid in Russell Crawford's latest clip!

2010-02-19T09:19:00.001+11:00

Brown hair, blue shirt... my Buster.

The Perfect Reader

2010-02-08T18:12:00.000+11:00

My "perfect" reader is not a scholar but neither is he an ignoramus; he does not read because he has to, nor as a pastime, nor to make a splash in society, but because he is curious about many things, wishes to choose among them and does not wish to delegate this choice to anyone; he knows the limits of his competence and education, and directs his choices accordingly.
-- Primo Levi, "This Above All: Be Clear", New York Times, November 20, 1988

Oh wow...

2010-01-28T11:10:00.002+11:00

Fox is the most trusted television news network in the USA, according to a new poll out Tuesday.

http://www.politico.com/news/stories/0110/32039.html#ixzz0drS2Fe0r

This makes me physically ill!

2009-11-19T13:42:00.005+11:00

I have lived and loved all around Asia and truly feel at home in most places there, but some Asian countries, especially China, have the most disgusting animal rights records. This is one of the most fucked up things I've ever seen. It is heart wrenching to watch. Listen to these soulless assholes laughing as this poor creatures dies the most hideous death. I'm too upset to write anything else, so instead I quote some of mankind's greatest minds:

Non-violence leads to the highest ethics, which is the goal of all evolution. Until we stop harming all other living beings, we are still savages.
--Thomas A. Edison (1847-1931)

Compassion for animals is intimately connected with goodness of character; and it may be confidently asserted that he who is cruel to animals cannot be a good man.
--Arthur Schopenhauer (philosopher)

A man can live and be healthy without killing animals for food; therefore, if he eats meat, he participates in taking animal life merely for the sake of his appetite. And to act so is immoral.
—Leo Tolstoy (1828–1910)

As long as men massacre animals, they will kill each other. Indeed, he who sows the seeds of murder and pain cannot reap the joy of love.
—Pythagoras

When a man wants to murder a tiger, he calls it sport; when a tiger wants to murder him, he calls it ferocity.
—George Bernard Shaw, writer and Nobel laureate (1856–1950)

It is my view that the vegetarian manner of living, by its purely physical effect on the human temperament, would most beneficially influence the lot of mankind.
—Albert Einstein (1879–1955)

Tip of the day

2009-11-09T17:16:00.005+11:00

Check out some of Jeff Rivera's great writing tips at:

www.gumbowriters.com

"GumboWriters.com is the voice of the book publishing revolution, of emerging new faces in book publishing. It explores new models of bookselling, features new ideas or old ideas revisted, options for the independent publisher and inspiration for aspiring and seasoned writers."

There are loads of great clips on the site... Unfortunately I'm having problems posting them here. But check out Gumbowriters for yourself.

This made this little vegetarian's day!

2009-10-26T13:59:00.000+11:00

Lately...

2009-10-17T13:24:00.000+11:00

I’m snowed under with work at the moment, so haven’t had time to update recently. I’m desperately trying to finish Trouble Brewing, the follow up novel to Forecast, but other projects keep taking precedence. The film version of Forecast now has a director attached (Jasmine Yuen Carrucan who directed Cactus) so I’ve been polishing the screenplay for her. Plus I’m producing a couple of documentaries… passion projects really. On top of all that I’ve been working on a MAJOR project with my partner… Something new and exciting… more news on that later. Unfortunately one must eat, so all these wonderful projects are often pushed to one side while I do “real work” which is writing educational books for children in Asian markets. At the moment I’m contracted to write twenty-four stories for a Korean publisher over the next three months. I’d rather hammer nails into my hands than write stories that teach kids about verbs and nouns… But ya gotta pay the bills.

How true!

2009-09-28T10:31:00.001+10:00

"There is much pleasure to be gained by useless knowledge."
-Bertrand Russell

Russell Crawford's debut single

2009-09-18T12:18:00.001+10:00

My son Buster's acting debut. He plays the teacher.

Slovenia here I come

2009-08-30T08:37:00.002+10:00

I spent twelve years traveling the world, living overseas. Four of those years were with my oldest son. I miss traveling. I love Sydney, love living here... love be settled in one spot for now (never thought I'd say that). But I do miss wandering around this glorious globe of ours.

Now, out of the blue, I have the opportunity to go to Slovenia. Never been there before. I can't wait.

“The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.” - St. Augustine

Chain letters

2009-08-14T16:49:00.008+10:00

I hate chain letters. It pisses me off when someone sends me one. I usually delete them. My friend's nine-year-old son recently received one. He forgot to send it on in the given time-frame and was upset. He'd broken the chain, let down the team, shifted the earth off it's axis. My friend dealt with the situation in her own unique way--she provided him with proof that the chain letter was a crock of crap. Here's the original chain letter.

This was my friend's response.

Check more of her brilliance out at Edition 9. The link is on my sidebar.

You don't know Jack Schitt!

2009-08-06T20:10:00.001+10:00

The Schitt Family @ Yahoo! Video

So inspiring!!!

2009-08-02T21:38:00.000+10:00

This is from my new obsession, the website TED.

This is funny

2009-07-25T12:59:00.000+10:00

Breakfast, lunch and dinner

2009-07-18T21:18:00.003+10:00

I know I'm being a dreadful ole cougar here, but I just watched Stop-Loss... Thought Channing Tatum was great. And yes, I guess his abs aren't bad either...

United breaks guitars

2009-07-10T18:36:00.001+10:00

Rather than getting mad, these guys got even using music!!! Love it!

Isn't she clever?

2009-07-01T22:53:00.002+10:00

Liv has been going to cobbling school. She made this shoe. I'm so impressed. That's her foot... not mine. Liv won't let me model her shoes... at least not until she creates the "Hobbit Line."

I believe in magic

2009-06-30T22:05:00.002+10:00

Migaloo

2009-06-30T13:05:00.003+10:00

Migaloo has been spotted off the mid north coast. Great to see this magnificent whale safe from Japanese harpoons for another year.

Grand love

2009-06-21T19:35:00.003+10:00

I caught the ferry to Cockatoo Island today and saw Ken Unsworth’s moving tribute to his late wife, Elizabeth: A Ringing Glass (Rilke).

Four galleries in the Turbine Hall contain installations that play on the themes of death, memory and Elisabeth's love of music (she was a child prodigy). In one, dozens of baby grand pianos hang from string. In the next room, a piano has exploded, it’s pieces scattered across the sky. A vintage child's cot with oars, a gigantic skeleton, a ghostly image of Elisabeth, TVs screening her performances, and the ball he held in her honor, in the grand ballroom he created within the space.

Apparently it’s one of the most expensive and elaborate art projects ever staged in Sydney (all at Unsworth’s own expense), but this aside, the exhibition is quite simply a love letter to Elizabeth, his wife of 54-years. And it’s truly beautiful.

Ensemble Studios

2009-06-10T16:45:00.002+10:00

The Ensemble Studios, Australia’s oldest private acting school, went out with a bang last Monday night. I studied there in the late 80s… when it was housed at the Independent Theatre. The Studios has contributed enormously to the arts in Australia, so it’s a sad farewell. My latest project is a documentary on Hayes Gordon and his iconic school. I’ll keep you posted.

Breakfast, lunch and dinner...

2009-06-06T10:13:00.002+10:00

Business Time

2009-05-24T09:44:00.000+10:00

Craig E. Chaffin

2009-05-20T20:44:00.003+10:00

I recently stumbled across Craig E. Chaffin, a wonderful poet. Here's a brief interview with him about his new book.

How did you come to write “Unexpected Light?"

I've been publishing poetry for 40 years, and this is my second book. My first was published in 1997. This is my second book, 12 years in the making. It deals with many themes, including the usual four in poetry: God, Death, Nature and Love. The last section of the book, in fact, is devoted to love poems. And that was a main impetus for the book. I had compiled a manuscript entirely of love poems but no publisher showed interest, so I limited the love poems to my very best 20 or so and added poems on other themes, and voila! I had a publisher go all the way for me, including royalties—for poetry, imagine!  

Why did you call your book “Unexpected Light?"

First, it is mentioned in the last line of the poem, “Prayer to la Virgen,” detailing how Christ was lucky enough to receive a donated grave.. But more so, when I fell in love at 45 for the first time (and it has continued ever since), I was shocked out of my mind. It was truly unexpected light.   Trained as a medical doctor, I had always been rational about love, thinking (in C. S. Lewis's words) that love should be the result of, not the reason for marriage. All that changed when I met Kathleen. And right after I met her my second wife e-mailed me that she was leaving—such synchronicity!--leaving me a perfect opportunity to experience romantic love for the first time, a gift I wish for everyone. And true love is not just infatuation but an abiding love, a love that puts on overalls and boots in the service of the beloved.  

Where can we get a copy of “Unexpected Light?"

It's available through Amazon.com and all the usual suspects and any bookstore will order it for you. Best to order it directly from the publisher. There's a page on my website where you can do that: http://cechaffin.com/light.html  

It comes in hardback for just $20 and paperback for $12. I wish I could give it away but I can't afford it. Seven reviews have already been published, and I can say without embarrassment that they have all been glowing.

  Here's a short excerpt from one of the love poems, “Valentine 2008,” where the speaker imagines his love as a waterfall:  

Inside the moss-lipped haven of your granite
 I hide behind your thundering skirt of water.  

Your clarity dissolves all self-deception. 
I would not recognize myself without you.  

The shelter of trees is never so generous 
As your pouring and thinning of yourself  

Into the forest air. I kneel and drink 
And like the alder rise up satisfied.   

How true

2009-05-19T20:25:00.000+10:00

The art of mothering is to teach the art of living to children.

Elain Heffner

I want one please!

2009-05-17T21:05:00.000+10:00

Vesuvius as Reef

2009-05-14T07:54:00.003+10:00

Vesuvius is going to his first fancy dress disco this week... When I asked who he wanted to go as (Spiderman? Batman?) he said "Reef!"
Me: "Who?"
Vesuvius" "You know, Reef. "Put your hands up... put your hands up!!!!""

I didn't know... so I checked with the great, wise, all-knowing one... youtube. This is who my son wants to dress up as for his first ever disco:

Let's hope she never breeds

2009-05-12T14:40:00.000+10:00

A prediction from the Oracle... Doc Woollybear

2009-05-11T22:45:00.002+10:00

Mother's Day...

2009-05-10T13:56:00.002+10:00

... And I'm tucked away in my private library... reading... eating chocolate... staring at my books... and into space... wondering... why Mother's Day is like every other day for me...

Ahhhhh... Mother's Day! Where's my nanny?

2009-05-10T13:27:00.001+10:00

I love this... It's like looking into a crystal ball at Buster and Vesuvius in fifteen years.

Brown Bear Visits Vesuvius

2009-05-10T10:13:00.002+10:00

Vesuvius arrived home from school last week with his class bear. Our mission was to take photos of “Brown Bear” having a great weekend with us and then record it all in the Brown Bear Class Book (and from Brown Bear’s perspective). The pressure was on to show Brown Bear a good time. Other families had already taken him to the zoo, cooked him gourmet dinners, climbed trees with him…

Now call me immature… but… all I could think was… where can I get a crack pipe for Brown Bear?

Okay, so I’ll never win Mother of the Year… but surely I wasn’t the only parent who thought a good weekend for Brown Bear would look something like this:

True style

2009-05-05T09:14:00.002+10:00

Vesusius turned five last week. He has mellowed with age, although will still spew lava if his outfit isn't "stylish" enough. I let him style himself... On this day, he decided to cut the fingers off some gloves and wear them.

I miss milk bars

2009-05-03T20:38:00.004+10:00

Once you're royal, there's no going back!

2009-05-01T10:43:00.000+10:00

Samson & Delilah has been selected for Cannes

2009-04-27T07:50:00.002+10:00

I recently went to a screening of Samson & Delilah, followed by a Q&A with writer/director Warwick Thornton.

I could write a long review here… but I won’t. All I can say is, you must see this film. It is the most gut-wrenching, yet graceful film I have seen in years… if ever. I can’t think of another film I’ve been so emotionally invested in. I left the cinema feeling profoundly grateful for the experience. Support this film.

Missing Margot!

2009-04-25T16:05:00.002+10:00

I have some incredible friends. One of my dearest galpals is Margot... She's a soul-sister. For years, Margot owned my couch, no matter what country I lived in. More recently, she's settled in the USA, while I'm back in Oz... and I miss her madly.

Here's her son Kid, with Buster and Vesuvius. Our three little urchins.

Australia Post

2009-04-21T20:17:00.001+10:00

I had a deadline to meet today and, unlike most normal jobs, this one needed to be hardcopy, in a specific mailbox by the end of the day. Of course… I left it til the last minute… and upon taking the envelope to my local post office was told it wouldn’t meet the deadline. So, I decided to drive it to the post office on the address and get them to put it in the actual post office box. Simple!

So I drove to Sydney’s largest mail centre and handed a woman the envelope. A look of confusion… and then:
Her: “There’s no stamp on this.”
Me: “Oh… I figured that seeing as you were just placing it in a box… But no problem. I’ll buy a stamp.”
Her: “We don’t have any stamps here.”
Me: “But this is Sydney’s largest postal centre.”
Her: “Yes… but we don’t have any stamps.”

So I had to go and find a small post office, buy a stamp and return to the large post office so the woman could place my letter in an onsite post box.

Herbert Von Spluckendeiker IV takes his final bow.

2009-04-05T19:17:00.002+10:00

I’ve been housesitting for my friend Warwick for the past week. He’s on tour with a show, so I’m shacked up with his menagerie of animals: Barney the Dog, Simba the cat and Herbert Von Spluckendeiker IV… the budgie.

I think I’m an excellent housesitter. I respect other people’s personal belongings and space. I’m (psychologists would say…) obsessively clean. I double and triple check the security. And I treat the animals as their owner does, often speaking to them in the same silly voice, and always allowing then to share my bed.

So imagine my distress when Herbert Von Spluckendeiker dropped dead this morning. On my watch. Well… not literally mine… but my son, Buster did witness the actual event.

Herbert Von Spluckendeiker was going through the motions of being a budgie all morning. He shuffled along the perch. Bobbed up and down. There were a couple of tweets here and there. Nothing ominous that would foretell his fate. Then all of a sudden there was the most intense caterwauling just outside the door. I almost had a heart attack; Herbie obviously did. I raced outside and found Simba in a bar-brawl (or a potential shag… who can tell?) with a cat twice his size. I broke them up by throwing my shoe at his assailant. Emergency diverted. But within two minutes Herbie dropped off the perch. Bang. Gone. Dead. I know that birds should steer clear of cats, but this takes the cake.

I made sure he was dead. I checked his heartbeat. I even tried to massage his little heart back to life… Aviary CPR. No go. As dead as a dormouse… or a beloved pet budgie in this case.

Now what? I had to contact Warwick. The thought made me physically ill. This is a man who adores his pets. He’s a sensitive guy… Sad news about the demise of Herbert Von Spluckendeiker would devastate him. I briefly considered ducking to the pet shop for another budgie. Perhaps he wouldn’t notice the switch. But I realized this was cowardice, and instead considered the best way to break the news.

A text was tempting. Something simple and to the point: “Budgie Dead.”

Or evasive: “Was the budgie old?”

Or perhaps I could help him see the positive side: “Budgie dead, but the dog and cat are fine.”

No, a text was out of the question. I called Warwick, all the while still hoping that Herbert Von Spluckendeiker would open his little eyes. Warwick took it well, although he was obviously heartbroken. He asked that I place Herbie’s little body on a towel on the floor of the cage. He’ll be home tomorrow, and wants to view the body.

I prepared the open casket… or cage. Then after a brief Pagan prayer, covered the cage with the night cloth.

And then…

I needed to vent. I shared my story with a number of pals, all heartless bastards because every single one of them found it funny. Not the fact poor old Wazza had lost his beloved bird, but that the bird had checked out while I was minding him. Anyway, all these heartless former-friends seemed to know a thing or two about body decomposition and agreed that the bird needed to be in the freezer. Really? So I called the vet… and yes, within hours, poor Herbie would definitely decompose enough to stink… and therefore needed to be frozen immediately.

Shit! By this stage my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder was running rampant. What if Herbie had died of Bird Flu? And let’s not forget that I’m vegetarian. I don’t eat dead animals. I don’t wear them. I like my animals to be happy and alive… so I was already teetering on the edge of a rather large precipice over the demise of Herbert Von Spluckendeiker. I don’t care if he was “only” a budgie. He’d been a living, breathing, tweeting creature only minutes earlier. He’d been a member of a friend’s family for a decade. He was cute! Not to mention that I’m a stickler for manners, and personally I think it is bad manners to be responsible for a friend’s live animal, only to hand it back dead… and frozen.

But freeze him I did.

I grabbed a freezer bag and a plastic container, steeled myself… and began the awful task of turning Warwick’s beloved pet into an ice cube with feathers. Until that moment, I’d held it together, but as I lifted the bird from the cage, I began to sob… I placed it into the bag, sealed it into the container… and then opened the freezer. I was almost hyperventilating as I closed the door on Herbie… Needless to say, I could never work in a morgue. I doubt I’ll ever be able to sit with anyone in a restaurant again if they order quail. I just froze a fucking budgie, and even though rigormortis had very obviously set in, I’m still petrified that he had a pulse somewhere and was intending to return.

So now Herbert Von Spluckendeiker is in the freezer, along with some fish fingers and rump steak. It’s a veritable pet cemetery, although I doubt the rump steak or fish fingers were ever pets. Herbie was. He was ten-years-old. That’s an awful long time to feed a bird; to chat to him; to clean his cage; to care. Warwick not only has to defrost his old friend, but he also has to break the news to his young daughter, which won’t be easy.

At nearly eleven-years of age, Herbert Von Spluckendeiker IV has flown free. Apparently the average life span of a budgie is between five and ten years. As far as birds go, Herbie was due a telegram from the queen. He lived long and well… and he died with all the high drama and theatrics that befits the pet of an actor.

So anyway, it’s been quite a day. Now… I must go and find the cat…

Like good wine...

2009-03-30T14:39:00.003+11:00

My darling Livvles turned 40... two weeks behind me, so so far in front in so many ways. We've been joined at the hip (or some would say... the vodka bottle) for 22 years. I simply couldn't live without Liv.

True style

2009-03-27T11:16:00.002+11:00

My gorgeous Vesuvius has taken to wearing one white and one black shoelace in his school shoes. If anyone asks why, he simply answers, “I’m a zebra.”

A brilliant birthday card

2009-03-22T20:14:00.002+11:00

A muse... or amusement?

2009-03-19T16:52:00.003+11:00

My gorgeous and gifted friend Ulrike drew this picture of me at my birthday dinner. I love my tiara and the fairies flying around my head. She’s the one next to me with the funny look on her face and tins of fairy bomb in front of her. We actually look like that regularly, not just on my birthday.

Check out Ulrike’s other artwork on her blog:
http://edition-9.blogspot.com/

Russell Brand... Scandalous! And so, so sexy...

2009-03-19T11:08:00.003+11:00

Russell Brand, my dream man, played the Hordern in Sydney last night and I was lucky enough to be there. The guy has it all... he's hot, he's hilarious, he's highly intelligent... and from what I could see... he's hung like a horse. Here's a clip of him on Rove... I'm hoping "Scandalous" goes to DVD... You have to see this guy in action to truly appreciate his genius.

One big change at the White House

2009-03-17T12:39:00.000+11:00

My friends threw a weekend of birthday celebrations for me...

2009-03-16T21:13:00.004+11:00

I have dreadful friends... Out of control really...

My kids saw Mummy GO OFF to this!!!

2009-03-16T20:55:00.002+11:00

Will Champion is very sexy when he drums to this!

Gwyneth is a lucky lady

2009-03-12T21:15:00.001+11:00

Took the monsters to see Coldplay last night. I’m not usually into pale, fair-haired, short men (they remind me of me), but by goddess Chris Martin is hot. Passion, talent and intelligence make my knickers melt and that man has all three qualities by the bucket load.

My kids loved it… Vesuvius was so comfortable that he fell asleep. Most expensive nap ever. I'll just crank up Coldplay next time he won't fall asleep at home.

Me, my boys, one of the greatest bands in the world—a great way to spend a birthday.

Now for the parties…

Thanks thirties... and goodbye!

2009-03-10T17:36:00.001+11:00

My thirties began:

Holding my newborn son, Buster… He was two weeks old, yet his stare was ancient. He seemed to say, “Not how you expected to celebrate thirty, aye!”

Buster turned ten two weeks ago.

This pixie-like boy defined my thirties. He is my mirror, my teacher, my greatest worry, an infinite love, my sidekick. I often look at him and wonder how something so magnificent came from me.

Together we navigated my early thirties:

Five years of wandering through airports together, hands held tight. New countries, new adventures. Trudging through snow in New York to get him to school, running through forests in Europe, blessings in Japan. Our flat in Sydney, our beach house near Byron Bay, him in a kiddie seat on the back of my bike. The curve of his neck, the shape of his bottom, the freckle on his lip, the secret signals we have that silently declare our love to each other, our songs… He introduced me to Demeter within. Sometimes I struggle with her, usually I embrace her… occasionally I resent her deeply.

There were tours and plays, Buster sitting at the sidelines, his little legs swinging. I miss the theatre, the smell, the camaraderie, the late nights, the highs. Theatre was my first love. We broke up a few years ago. We’ll get back together soon.

I was halfway through my thirties when…

Vesuvius entered my life with a roar. Oh how I worship this child with his free spirit and curly mop, his fearsome temper and eccentric outlook. While Buster has lived a million times before and carries the weight of those lives around with him, Vesuvius is new here… He has no shackles, no cares… no real empathy for the human condition because for him it’s just a game. He is the most outrageous creature. I watch him and I’m in awe at his complete lust for life.

Twelve years of wandering the world came to a standstill when he was born. I returned home to live, although it took some time to call it home. I was more relaxed, less obsessed, willing to embrace free-range parenting, often through sheer selfishness, but mostly because it’s what he needs.

I spent all of my thirties writing. Obsessively.

Four years of my thirties were spent breastfeeding. 2 x 2.

Two years were spent as a stranger in my own country… wondering where I’d go next… and then:

I fell in love… with Sydney.
I separated from my husband, and discovered that he is the greatest man I’ve ever met. He treats me like gold, which teaches our sons to do the same. The bar is high for future lovers. So far, no one has come close.

My friendships have become more significant, more profound, more necessary. I love my motley crew of friends deeply… My family means more to me than ever. My family has expanded in the most unique ways. Finn was born… what a journey for us all, this child not of my blood, but of my soul.

My plays, awards, children’s books, published pieces, it all started to happen. Every spare second I had… I wrote. My first novel was published… finally!!!! I give gratitude for my amazing managers in LA, who encourage and guide me, and have opened doors that other people would kill for. I am fully aware of how blessed I am. Opportunities arise… I’m working on projects… a tipping point… ready to… go.

I am healthy. I am happy. It’s rare that I’m not. I’m positive, hopeful and grateful. I’m relentless in my quest for me. Focussed on my inner journey. I make no apologies for who I am. What other people think of me is not my business. I refuse to be chained, caged or suppressed by society or individuals… or myself. I embrace my wildness. I give free reign to my personal power. I am in an excellent place.

Thanks to my thirties.

I am now ready for my forties, and all the wonder the decade will hold.

Pirates!

2009-03-08T21:48:00.007+11:00

Buster (3rd pic, blue Tshirt) turned ten recently. To celebrate, I took five pirates out on a tall ship. It was a grand day, an experience I totally recommend.

Eddie Izzard -- Death Star Canteen

2009-03-08T19:55:00.002+11:00

This Lego version of Eddie Izzard's Death Star Canteen tops even the real stand-up version. And I love EI's stand-up work... he's genius. And oddly sexy in his heels...

Thank you darling Gab!

2009-03-07T12:22:00.003+11:00

BELOW IS A COPY OF A BIRTHDAY GIFT FROM MY BEAUTIFUL FRIEND, GAB COLLINS. SHE'S COMPLEX, TALENTED, AND INSIGHTFUL. SHE KNOWS ME YET STILL LOVES ME... AND I THANK THE GODDESS FOR HER. THIS GIFTED WRITER IS WORKING ON HER FIRST NOVEL. CAN'T WAIT TO READ IT!!!

The Playing Field

take me out of myself
to a place where my emotions
blend in with the other faces
in the crowd
that sits anxiously
on the edge of its
collective seat
disbelieving still
what it has seen
and can not understand
hearing the roar of the silence
smelling the fear of
not knowing what is to happen
on the playing field
of this heart of mine
where there is no victory
no defeat
only the contest

I think the poem sums you up pretty well :-)

Happy Birthday Sweet Jane.

I want an endless summer

2009-03-06T12:47:00.001+11:00

I don’t want summer to end. Usually by March I’m ready for autumn, but this year I’m panicking as the cool nights creep in. Dread clutches and claws at me.

I don’t want the leaves to change colour, or the searing heat to end. I don’t want to pack away my flimsy dresses and replace them with boots and jackets. I want the heat, the smooth sweaty skin, the beach, the barbeques, the beer… the beautiful bronzed boys. In want to dance in next to nothing, twirl in summer rain. I want the fan on while I sleep. I want to duck spider webs when I leave the house. I want the grass to be dry and the wind to be hot and the sun to bite my skin…

I’m simply not ready for the cold. I hate that I have no control over the change of seasons… Autumn has arrived and winter will inevitably follow.

Autumn used to be my favourite season, but now that it's here…

I want an endless summer.

And I realize, my mood has nothing to do with the Wheel of Seasons… but the Wheel of Life… and my fear of turning forty.

He’s Just Not That Into You

2009-03-06T11:50:00.003+11:00

Finally saw “He’s Just Not That Into You,” which has copped a grilling from some reviewers as being offensive to women. Others rate it as one of the better romcoms of the decade. Wow… why the disparity? Perhaps because there’s a grain of truth to it. To laugh at this movie you need the ability to laugh at yourself.

Yes, it’s a simplistic look at male/female relationships—black and white when love can be rather grey. But it’s not claiming to be anything than what it is. It’s a romcom. You want something more complex? Look for subtitled on SBS. This film makes one simple statement—if a guy likes you, he will make the effort to contact you. And that swings both ways. People often misread signals simply because they don’t want to believe that the person they dig is JUST NOT INTO THEM.

Admittedly, the film has some shockers:
“No guy really wants to get married, they're thinking of all the women they're missing out on.”
Oh please, that is offensive. Is it only men who have that market cornered? The thought of sleeping with one man for the rest of my life makes me hyperventilate.

There is a part of me—the part that has worked hard over the years to rise above the assholes that hurt me—that would like to reject the whole premise of this film. My female friends are strong and wise and have lives filled with way more than just mere men. But still, even they have a tendency to project:

He hasn’t called because…
He said this because…
He dumped me because…

And it’s not only in sexual relationships. My mother does it with my brother. Just last week I was worried about Buster… I could tell… he was worried, thinking about something torturous and painful. Turned out he’d lost a Lego piece.

So yes, I occasionally fall prey to it as well, although I try not to because if there’s one thing experience has taught me… it’s that a man is never thinking what you think they’re thinking. Or what they should be thinking. (Usually, they’re barely thinking at all.)

The film is fun, full of laughs, but most of all does make one excellent point. If a man digs you… he will let you know. If he doesn’t call, he doesn’t care… so move on. There are the exceptions, but, like the film, relationships should be enjoyable. You can analyse and theorize and drive yourself crazy in the process, but it’s just wasting time—time that could be spent with someone who does care, who does call… who does actually like you. Attraction 101.

Just like the inner workings of a man’s mind, this film shouldn’t be overanalysed. It’s not the greatest romcom I’ve ever seen, nor is it the worst. It’s two hours of fun and pretty people… especially the very sexy Justin Long, whose character gives me hope that even assholes can redeem themselves.

Michael Wesch

2009-03-04T17:02:00.003+11:00

I’m researching the final scene of my screenplay and came across Michael Wesch, a cultural anthropologist from Kansas. There’s a fascinating 50-minute clip called, “An anthropological introduction to YouTube.”… but I've posted a shorter clip here.

Hold onto ya knickers... or not...

2009-03-04T10:23:00.002+11:00

The countdown begins… celebrations are in full swing. One week to go… and I… sob… turn… double sob… forty!!!

Breathe deeply.

Fortunately I am blessed with the most amazing friends. They obviously love me (it’s not like they’re around for the money) because this sweet, motley crew of mine have organized a series of events to take my mind off the passing of time. And if the events don’t do it, the meds will…

Actually, despite the sagging of skin, the blurring of vision, the lines around the eyes, the boobs that will never look skywards again, despite the hideous clawing of age… if the last month is anything to go on, my forties are going to ROCK!!!

I say bring it on. I embrace my wisdom and my utter ignorance, I embrace my courage and fears… and I embrace my body and currently Botox-free face (this could change… check back for regular updates).

And I embrace my lovely, and truly loyal and royal friends, who are busy stocking up on bubbly, and readying themselves to funnel it down my throat.

Here we go…

Loving Lily Allen!

2009-03-01T17:14:00.002+11:00

ARRC 09

2009-02-24T17:05:00.005+11:00

ARRC 09 is over, but the hangover… I mean memories remain. What a weekend!

Some people are quick to judge romance authors and readers. So for those of you who already have an image in your head of a room full of plump cat ladies, sipping tea and swooning over the latest Mills & Boon cover… yes, you’re right. That’s exactly what it was like. The convention was a bore and the conversation was as limited as the intellect of the women who read and write romance. You can go now…

Sigh! Ignorance must be bliss.

For those of you who never judge a book by its cover… unless it contains a perfect set of abs… please read on.

The inaugural Australian Romance Readers Convention was one hellova weekend. I met dozens of writers, spoke to countless readers, partied like it was 1999… and woke each morning wishing for 1999… I was hangover proof ten years ago.

I loved meeting Susan Grant, who is a New York Times bestselling author AND a pilot for United. She’s also gorgeous, funny… Mmmm, actually, scratch that one. Come to think of it, I didn’t like her at all.

I was on a panel with MaryJanice Davidson, which was fantastic, not only because she’s obscenely talented, but also because she’s so outrageously funny and talkative that I didn’t have to confront my fear of public speaking. I just sat beside her and laughed a lot.

Regular readers of my blog (hi Mum… and my stalker) know I’m not fond of public speaking. I can’t say I’ve completely conquered the fear… but I certainly gave it a reasonable ass whipping at ARRC. From now on, I won’t think twice about accepting speaking engagements… especially if MaryJanice Davidson is sitting beside me.

As for the other panels: “This One Time, At Band Camp…” was my personal favourite, although I can’t repeat any of the tales told. Seriously… not even the one about the pineapple and the guy who slipped in the shower.

The Jasper Hotel was a fantastic choice for the event, and the wonderful gals from the organizing committee deserve medals for pulling off such a perfect convention. Each and every person there had a great time and an interesting story to tell. Some stories deserve to make it to print. (Some stories should be locked in a vault! Especially those sparkling tales about the gala event and after parties!) I made friends, laughed constantly, and faced my fears (with the help of the one-shot vodka theory…) ARRC was better than expected, filled with the unexpected, and I can’t wait for the next one.

Honourable Mentions!

Obviously my delicious PA, Sam Beeston, who cornered countless people and made them promise to buy my book. (“Yes, yes, I promise, you fiery redhead… Now can you please take your hand off my throat?)

Joanne Boog, historian extraordinaire and all round fabulous person. No wonder Andy Pandy sends you flowers!

Mr. Booktopia, Tony Nash, our man-bag for the weekend. His only fault is he doesn’t drink, so can remember Saturday night in vivid detail. Hey Tony, as a bribe I’ve added Booktopia to the sidebar.

Paula Roe, for being my first ever panel moderator, as well as a hoot; Amy Andrews, for having the most outrageous sense of humour I’ve encountered in ages; Lucy and Rosalie who not only manned the Ever After table, but were just as wonderful in person as they have been online; Neetu… Annie Leibovitz watch out!

Facing 40!!!

2009-02-19T12:42:00.003+11:00

I am smack bang in the middle of massive change. Some of it’s of my own making… I’ve made some decisions recently to face my fears, which means a busy month doing things I’d rather not do. Like my stand-up comedy debut. Other changes are happening whether I like it or not. For example: my birthday on March 11. It’s roaring towards me… and of course I want it to, because I either reach my next birthday or I don’t… and “don’t” isn’t appealing. But it comes packaged with a four and an oh! OH! Oh fuck… I’m forty.

I figure there are three ways to greet forty. I can fight it tooth and nail, which is tempting, but let’s face it… it’ll win. I can lie back and accept it without a whimper… but that’s not my style at all. Or I can embrace the bitch and redefine my life.

I choose option number three.

I’m working on a project at the moment with the very amazing Nik Halik. (More details on that soon.) Nik gives good quote. One that recently had an impact on me was:

“You can’t do the same thing over and over again and expect a different outcome.”

Obvious… and yet how many of us are stuck in a routine… not only a day-to-day routine, but also a regular way of reacting to events and occurrences as they come up? If the way you dealt with something in the past didn’t bring positive change into your life, then why react the same way over and over again. I want different outcomes, so I’m doing things differently.

This week, I finally face my public speaking fears, first at ARRC in Melbourne… and then onstage doing stand-up. I’m not even scared. I’m actually relieved that I’m finally taking massive action. Different action…

But the quote that has had the most impact on me is one by Jung:

“Nothing has a stronger influence psychologically on a child than the unlived life of the parent.”

It inspires me. I read it and have no choice but to step into courage and action. I can either be stuck in life, weighed down by my baggage, trapped by my inability to change… or I can choose to live, really live, not just for myself, but also for my children. I feel I’ve always been reasonably brave with my choices, and I’ve certainly lived an interesting and varied life… but recently I’ve settled for less than I deserve. I have embraced mediocre, when I should have magnificent.

I want my sons to live and love with courage and freedom… therefore I must too. I must be the example. For every fear I have, I’ll eventually have ten times the regrets if I don’t face it.

So… as I face… and embrace the big 4.0… I challenge myself to live and love with wild abandon. I dare myself to take risks, face my fears, regularly visit territories outside my comfort zone… and live… really live.

An airline that serves... penis?

2009-02-18T09:24:00.000+11:00

When I was your age...

2009-02-17T14:45:00.003+11:00

Buster turns ten next week. I asked him what he wants… his usual obsessions are anything to do with drawing (manga) and building (Lego). He’s a black belt in jujitsu, so often there’s a request for nunchakus or swords. But this year… he wants anything to do with Masaru Emoto. He’s obsessed with the power of words and their effect on water, especially water in his body. He wants to contact Dr. Emoto and set up a meeting the next time we’re in Tokyo. Kids today…

Check out Emoto’s Peace Project… for the children of the world.

http://www.emotoproject.org/english/home.html

I love The Fray... gotta get tickets

2009-02-17T12:45:00.001+11:00

An adult, female, Chinese version of my son, Vesuvius!

2009-02-16T09:58:00.000+11:00

Hilarious!!!!

Very funny

2009-02-12T12:09:00.001+11:00

Watch for the woman trying to put petrol in her car!!!

Standing up to my fears!

2009-02-11T18:26:00.000+11:00

In a moment of complete and utter insanity… I signed up for my stand-up comedy debut. No, I don’t have any secret desire to be a stand-up comedian. This is a personal dare. I’m roaring towards a certain birthday that I’d rather not talk about, think about, or even celebrate… but I will use the event to challenge myself… face some fears. And seeing as I don’t want to find a funnel web spider in my bed, or have a Tsunami hit Sydney, stand-up it is. I don’t like public speaking… so I’m going to throw myself feet first into the most extreme form of it. I’ll keep you updated.

In the meantime… I’m looking for material. Or should I say “wading through” material? God knows my life is filled with enough punchlines.

ARRC 09

2009-02-10T20:33:00.002+11:00

Not long to go until ARRC. I'm excited... despite my pathetic fear of public speaking. I’m dragging my PA with me… party assistant. She’ll be in charge of telling me how fabulous I was after each panel… and assuring me that I didn’t appear nervous at all. Also looking forward to meeting some of the other authors I’ve been in touch with. The whole event will be at the Jasper in Melbourne, one of my favourite hotels. If you’re around, come and check me out:

- Saturday at 11.00 am: The Aussie Voice
- Sunday at 2.00 pm: Romance with Attitude—Fun, humour and sass!

The rest of the time… I’ll be in the bar…

http://www.arrc09.com/2008/08/9.html

Contest submission from a 20-year-old... brilliant!

2009-01-28T18:09:00.003+11:00

Maria celebrates century of virginity!

2009-01-18T18:06:00.003+11:00

"Maria celebrates century of virginity!" shouts the headline in the Telegraph. Yes, Sydney’s oldest virgin celebrated her 100th birthday. To mark the event she enjoyed tea with a local MP. Apparently Maria is extremely proud that she’s never made love to a man. Really? I’d say it’s time for a motorbike at Mardi Gras, Maria!

Call me sex-obsessed, but I don’t see the point of hanging out for 100-years if there’s no serious shagging to help pass the time. I also can’t think of anything more patronizing than being known as ‘that ole virgin.’ Why is a lifelong aversion to penis inches worthy of newspaper inches? You often read about old female virgins in the paper, but never male ones. You never open the Herald and see:

Reginald Smyth, the virgin of St. Agatha’s Nursing Home turned one hundred today. Reggie won the Victoria Cross in the war, but even that never helped him get laid. Reggie celebrated the milestone with a few rounds of bingo and his blow-up doll.

A century of celibacy is not something to celebrate. It’s something to be suspicious of. There must be some serious baggage to hit one hundred without at least a couple of quickies. I wouldn’t trust the ole dear with any knitting needles. All that pent up frustration, one Perry Como tribute band too many… Maria discovers her custard isn’t quite right, and BAM… “Nightmare at the Nursing Home” when she goes berserk, knocking over walkers, and pulling out life-support plugs.

My advice to Maria: it’s never too late to embrace your sexuality. Have a little think about which way you want to swing. Are you a high heels kinda gal or do you like sturdy walking boots? Perhaps you are straight, but you’ve never been comfortable around men. That’s okay. A little bit of controlled exposure and you’ll be ready for unbridled exposure. And let’s face it… you’re in the perfect place to pick up men. There must be loads of bored old codgers around the nursing home. If you’re scared of rejection, hit on someone with Alzheimer’s. They won’t remember your offer afterwards. Embrace your inner cougar, Maria. Find yourself a nice young octogenarian and give sex a shot. You might like it. Even if you hate it, it’s not like you’ll be living with the memory for too long. So hurry… time’s-a-ticking. With any luck, you’ll go out with a bang.

This is my friend Miranda.

2009-01-08T16:03:00.002+11:00

She's just had some work done. What do you think?

My friend

2009-01-05T10:27:00.002+11:00

I lost one of my best friends when I was twenty-two. He was wild, and sexy and wickedly funny. We were joined at the hip for years. He was bisexual, although he lived out his final years in a gay relationship. A couple of years prior to meeting me, he had a passionate relationship with a woman. She left him for someone else, quickly fell pregnant and married this other guy. My friend got on with his life, and then his death. It all happened a long, long time ago.

And then last week I found out that the ex girlfriend had lied to my friend about the baby’s paternity. The baby, a girl, was his. At the time of his death my friend had a daughter he didn’t know about. She’s a grown woman now.

He would’ve loved a little girl. He adored women.

I wonder if things would’ve been different if he’d had the opportunity to know his daughter…

Don't re-gift... shopdump.

2009-01-03T12:11:00.001+11:00

The holidays are over, thank goddess. I spent mine flat on my back… and not in a pleasurable way. For the second time in four months, I was steamrolled by some vile bug. I still feel like shit. I don’t do sick. It annoys me, but obviously my body is trying to tell me something. I just wish it would whisper nicely, rather than yell obnoxiously. I need to detox. I need a holiday. I need a week on Bora Bora, flat on my back for different reasons, but like that’s about to happen. My ex has taken Buster north for a beach break. Lucky them. I’m here with Vesuvius. Dealing with a 4-year-old with anger issues 24/7 isn’t the ideal way to recover. I haven’t written anything since before Xmas, which makes me antsy. And thanks to doctor’s orders, the silly season was alcohol free. Ouch.

At least I got some nice presents. Unlike my friend, Ada who received the ugliest polyester pyjamas in history from her ex-mother-in-law.

ADA: They were from Big W.
ME: Classy.
ADA: They’re so vile I can’t even re-gift them. So I decided to return them.
ME: And get something else?
ADA: No… just return them. I took them back into Big W and just left them there.
ME: Good call. It’s where they belong.

It’s the opposite of shoplifting. Shopdumping? Shopdepositing? I was once given an ugly clock that deserved the same treatment.

Just saw Twilight and all I can say is...

2008-12-22T00:18:00.000+11:00

... Cougar bait!!!!!!!!!!!!

How to get through Christmas

2008-12-21T10:48:00.003+11:00

The drink of choice at my Schloss this Christmas is Babicka Vodka, the world’s first wormwood voddy, revived from a 500 year-old Czech witches brew. Anyone who doesn’t think alcohol can be medicinal hasn’t spent Christmas with my family.

Christmas... a time for lies...

2008-12-21T10:29:00.000+11:00

Christmas is traditionally a time to come together, love one another… and stuff yourself senseless. But since having children, I’ve also discovered it’s a time to lie.

I was having a cup of tea with my friend Kitty yesterday—okay… we had six vodkas—and I asked Kitty what she was getting her kids for Christmas.

KITTY: I’m thinking of telling them that Christmas has been postponed. I’ll buy them stuff at the sales a few days later. What about you?
ME: Surfmats. I told the kids that Santa had sent out an email to parents in Australia saying he’d intended to load up the sleigh with surfmats.
KITTY: Good call.

I’ve heard all sorts of “exaggerations” from parents over the years. Like many of us, my friend Meg helps the kids put out a snack for Santa and Co. on Christmas Eve: carrots for the reindeers, biscuits and beer for Santa. One year, she opened the fridge and realized she only had one bottle of beer left. Hanging for a drink herself, she turned to her kids and said: “Let’s give Santa water. He got done for DUI last year.”

As you can see, I have some dreadful friends. But even they felt I went too far a couple of years ago. Santa’s Kingdom was in Sydney. Adults paid a fortune to have their precious cherubs ferried by a miniature train to the North Pole. Once there, they were each taken to a private sitting with Santa, before going into playland, which was filled with fake snow and expensive souvenirs. Unbeknownst to the kids, there were actually fifty Santas, all in separate booths. And one of these Santa’s was my ex-boyfriend.

My son, Buster, had just reached the age where there were murmurings at school. “Santa doesn’t exist. We’ve been duped. It’s a conspiracy.” That sort of thing. But my older son has always been quite sweet, quite innocent… rather gullible, which certainly worked to my advantage on this particular day. You see, I’d been having some problems with Buster… and figured a Santa with inside information was the solution.

We were guided to a specific booth, rather than simply the next available one. We entered, and there was my ex in a red suit… oops, I mean Santa.

SANTA: HO, HO, HO!

I blanched. Not a nice way to greet me in front of my son. Obviously he was still angry about the way I dumped him. Hopefully he’d rise above the name-calling...

SANTA: Hey Buster… you got a haircut… I almost didn’t recognize you. Oh by the way, congratulations on getting your junior blackbelt. I’m impressed.

Judging by the look on Buster’s face… so was he.

SANTA: Come here and sit on my lap.

How many times had I heard that before…? But my son made it there before I could.

SANTA: So Buster… my elves tell me you won’t go to bed. They tell me that your mum has been having a real tough time…

Buster’s mouth fell open…

SANTA: The elves also tell me that you’ve been mucking up at school, disrupting the class, especially your mate Harry.

Buster went thirteen shades of pale.

SANTA: But you’ve been a very good brother, very patient with Vesuvius, so I’m willing to make a deal. If you try harder at school next year… and start going to bed when asked from tonight… I’ll get you that bike you want.

Buster nodded an immediate agreement. He posed for a photo with Santa… gratefully accepted a lollipop (both things I’ve asked him not to do with strange men… go figure)… and then:

SANTA: Does Mummy want to sit on Santa’s lap for a moment?
ME: Ah… no thanks, Santa.
SANTA: Fair enough. Probably a good thing… you’ve put on a few kilos since I last saw you.
ME: Good to see you Santa. Acting school obviously paid off.

Cue our exit.

That night, Buster went straight to bed. And the next night. And the next. The following year, he was settled at school. Life was much easier. The only problem is that he’s now the only nearly-ten-year-old kid in history who still believes in Santa Claus… but I’ll wait until he leaves home to tell him the truth.

Go Sea Shepherd!

2008-12-20T23:36:00.004+11:00

The Japanese whaling ship, Yushin Maru 2 is in Australian waters, but Sea Shepherd has them on the run. While the government once again farts around over this issue, Captain Paul Watson and his amazing crew are out there saving whales.

The Japanese are in contempt of an Australian Federal Court order. I say sink them. I’m so over this brutal, outdated industry. Killing a quota of whales for scientific research is absolute bullshit. The Japanese must be the dumbest bastards on earth if they haven’t gathered together the research they need by now. And I know they’re not. I lived in Japan for many years. The father of my children is Japanese. I have a great love for the country, the culture and the people. Whaling has nothing to do with Japanese culture. The only reason the Japanese won’t stop whaling is because they feel pressured by the international community and the Japanese hate “losing face.”

Well I hate losing the whales. I’ve been watching those magnificent creatures migrate north each year since I was a child. Some whales such as Migaloo, are known on sight. Apparently the Japanese have a bounty on Migaloo’s head. The annual whale migration is more a part of my culture than whaling is a part of my ex-husband’s culture—and he’s the first to admit that.

Captain Paul Watson… you are my hero. Thank you for having the courage to take action. And let's hope they don't get one single whale this year.

Tell me about it...

2008-12-20T12:06:00.000+11:00

So Santa knows where I live...

2008-12-16T18:55:00.000+11:00

It pays to advertise. I just hope the idiots from Weststaff don’t come knockin’!

The silent M.U.M. in Mum!

2008-12-16T13:46:00.000+11:00

I’m changing my name… or the name I’m most commonly known as. I will no longer be known as “Mum.” From now on… my name is “ ________.”

That’s right, it’s pronounced with silent letters. No sound whatsoever.

This might seem extreme, but it’s necessary for my sanity. For years I’ve been able to switch off from the constant chatter, if needed. I’ve managed to provide occasional automated responses, while still escaping to a space in my head that is filled with waterfalls and gentle breezes. But last weekend, after years of Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum, Muuuuuuuuuuuum!!!!!!!... I snapped. Enough! I almost ended up crouched in a corner, banging a wooden spoon across my skull.
“Mum… what’s an echo?”
“Hold on a sec, darling.”
“Mum, are we going to see Miles and Lily?”
“Mmmmm.”
“Mum, what’s car insurance?”
“Insurance for a car.”
“Mum, what would happen if I opened a portal into another world?”
“Ah… let’s google that.”
“Jack said that Lucy wasn’t allowed near Henry. Can you believe that?”
“Dreadful.”
“Look Mum… that old man is urinating on the wall.”
“Mmmmmm.”
“Mum, Vesuvius hit me.”
“Don’t hit please.”
“Mum, Buster kicked me.”
“Don’t kick please.”
“Mum, look at this.”
“I can’t… I’m driving…”

And on it went…. Until my brain stretched like elastic and I felt razor sharp claws running down my chest. A high-pitched screech rang through my head… my own silent scream. I parked the car and led my sons into the park. I sought solace on a bench under a large tree while we waited for our friends to arrive. A whole wooded park to play in, but still they stood in front of me.

“Mum, look at this. Oh… hold on… no look at this. Mum, watch me, Mum…Mum, are you watching… look, look, look.”

And I snapped. I did what any reasonable parent would do. I jumped up, grabbed them and sat them both on the park bench.

“Imagine twelve straight hours of this,” I screamed.

And then, for approximately two whole minutes… I stood in front of them and forced them to watch me while I jumped up and down and ranted…
“Buster, what type of clouds are they?”
“Vesuvius, did you see that plane?”
“Buster, did you see that bird?”
“Vesuvius… why are you wearing those shorts?”
“Buster, did you do your homework?”
“Vesuvius… why don’t you eat your vegetables?”

I jumped around like a complete twat.

“Look kids, look at me, look boys, look at me… look… oh no, that’s not right, now look. Look, look, look!

They sat there, mouths hanging open in a mixture of horror and amusement, until I finally stopped. There was a moment of complete silence… and then my older son turned to my younger son and said: “C’mon… Mummy needs a break.”

And off they ran.

I sat back down on the bench, filled with the realization that while I had acted like that to teach them a lesson, it actually taught me one instead. (That happens with kids if you’re open to it.) Because while my behaviour might not be as relentless as theirs… I still act like that all the time. I ask them endless questions. I make them watch me do things… supposedly to learn. I call their names over, and over, and over…

And I wonder… do they often feel like changing their names to something that contains only silent letters as well?

Lady Jane Unleashed!

2008-12-15T19:06:00.000+11:00

Welcome to Lady Jane Unleashed!!! Obviously this is the perfect time of year to start a new blog. Instead of buying presents, and working, and attending all the concerts my kids are in, the endless parties, fetes and dinners with family and friends… starting a new blog has been my top priority. Dicking around with photo booth has taken precedence over decorating a tree and gingerbread houses. I’ll never win mother of the year award. I wouldn’t want to. (Imagine the other women at the awards dinner. Yawn!) I can’t cook; I drink too much vodka, and I forget regular mother things like awards days and cake days. I regularly disappear inside my head while I write, and forget to feed the kids while I’m there. You’ll never see me in the school canteen, or on the P&C committee, but I will wake the kids to look at the stars, and I will pull them out of school because Paris sounds good at this time of year. And while I don’t give a shit if every single page of homework is done… I will always look for fairies with them. Because while some things don’t seem that important to others, they are to me—like starting this blog before Christmas for instance.

Happy, happy holiday season to all!!! And give yourself a gift this Christmas: If this is a time for giving, try not
giving a shit what others think of you?

Create Fake Magazine Covers with your own picture at MagMyPic.com

Me no ho, ho, ho!

2008-12-15T16:44:00.000+11:00

Santa won’t be calling me a ho anymore, because according to Weststaff, Australia’s main recruitment agency for Santas, that’s what Mr. Claus has been inferring all these years. I’m sure Weststaff is right. Santa has been insulting women and scaring little children for years. I personally haven’t noticed, so thank heavens for the wise people at Weststaff. Without them, I would once again be at the mercy of a porker in a red suit who gets off on calling me an American prostitute…and has since I was a child!!!

I’ve written a list of other things that Santa should change. Please Weststaff, I beg of you…make these changes as well, before the next generation of children are completely traumatized.

1. Santa should not wear red. Red is the color of sexuality. It’s also the color of blood, and therefore quite violent. In future, Santa should wear a nice calming color, such a turquoise.
2. Santa should ditch the beard. What is he trying to hide? Santa should shave daily, unless it’s Movember, when a moustache is acceptable.
3. Santa should refrain from saying Merry Christmas, because it’s offensive to Jews, Muslims, Pagans and anyone not called Mary.
4. It should be against the law for children to sit on Santa’s lap. Sitting on a stranger’s lap is quite pervy. (Unless it’s at a Christmas party after twelve vodkas, then it’s perfectly acceptable.)
5. Santa shouldn’t be allowed to give candy to children. Children could be frightened and think Santa is going to drag them into a car (or sleigh).
6. Another reason Santa should refrain from handing out sweets is because it’s wrong to encourage childhood obesity.
7. Santa should liberate his reindeers to a PETA approved location and change his form of transportation to a hybrid.
8. Santa should use workers of all sizes at his workshop. Not only is the sole use of elves a form of exploitation, but it also discriminates against normal sized people and giants.
9. Santa should never use a hoe when gardening. He should stick to a rake.
10. Santa should refrain from entering a house via a chimney. The chimney is symbolic of the female uterus and therefore forced entry into a chimney is offensive to women.

Or, alternatively, the uptight idiots at Weststaff can get a life and let Santa carry on calling me a ho. And all will be right in the world again.

It's just a penis...

2008-12-14T20:49:00.002+11:00

I was with a group of mothers, friends of friends, in a park recently when one of them, after frantically speaking with her four-year-old son, turned to us and said, “You don’t mind if he gets his pee-pee out and does a wiz on the tree, do you?”

Excuse me???

I was horrified. Not because she wanted her son to wee on a tree. That’s the great thing about having sons: they can urinate anywhere. I was horrified because she called his penis a pee-pee, not only to him, but also to us.

I’ve never been a fan of naming genitals for everyday usage. I can’t stand people who give them personal monikers. I once knew a couple that actually called theirs Harry and Sally. The thought of Harry and Sally ever meeting made me sick, and I’ve never again been able to enjoy the film version of it. And then there are the cutesy names people give their genitals simply because the correct terms embarrass them.

“Yes, ah doctor… I have a problem with my… pecker.”
“I can’t believe I’m expected to expel this baby out my… hoo-ha.”

Actually, hoo-ha is a pretty funny word, and hey, if it’s to get a laugh, then go ahead. One of my best friends calls her vagina her foof, but only since her boyfriend set fire to it and it actually went “foof!” (Long, but hilarious story...) The word schlonger is often bandied around when discussing a man’s member with the gal pals. But when I walk into the bathroom to make sure my sons have washed themselves properly, I remind them to wash their penis, not their pee-pee, willy, little fella, weener or anything else. PENIS!

No wonder people have body issues, while there’s still such universal reluctance to utter the correct name for your genitals. The way I see it, you have an elbow, a nose, a foot… a penis, or a vagina. (Hopefully one or the other, but occasionally one of each.) It’s basic anatomy. My sons aren’t ashamed or overly amused by their knees… why should their penises be any different? I don’t want my sons to have hang-ups. While I’ll admit I’m a fan of The Penis, more so than, say, The Knee, it’s still just a body part, and to accept that body as a whole, it needs to be called what it is.

“Do you mind if my son pees on the tree?” would’ve sufficed. But if she really needed to point out the organ with which he’d do it… PENIS is the correct term.