Whatever

Last night I dreamed that I had been eying off this beautiful long blue cardigan with a faux fur collar in the window of an op shop for ages. One day I decided to go in and try it on. The shop was unattended. When I put the cardigan on I found that it wasn't what I thought it was at all. It was actually a blue midriff length 80's military-style jacket with big shoulder pads and brass buttons. I felt too old to wear it. Through the window I saw the shop attendant returning and I quickly took the jacket off.

When the shop attendant got inside I was relieved to find that it was Lady Gaga. She said "Hey you! Happy Birthday!"

"Hi!" I answered. "Happy Birthday to you, too!"

And that was it.

It is still not my birthday, by the way. Not by a long shot. What's the go? Maybe something WONDERFUL is about to happen.

Anyhoo, last night I typed the following question into Google: "Why am I getting fatter when I'm exercising more?" Can I make a suggestion? Don't do that! Because there are reasons - and lots of them - about hormones, being female, being over thirty, cardio versus weight training, slow versus fast exercise, and blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, yadda.

I have this to say: I resent it. I do. And furthermore: I'm not buying into it! Nope. I don't accept it. Ah ha - a big WHATEVER to all that. So there. I am NOT succumbing to premenopausal fat-bellied anything.

Nah.

5.20am

I've been lying awake for the past hour and a half and it may be time to admit that I ain't gettin' back to sleep. My head keeps saying "Whatever happened to a good night's sleep? Whatever happened to Fay Wray?" which suggests to me that my mind has gone all student in the back row in period six of a Friday in the last fortnight of term and I'd better provide it with a more focused activity than lying in bed.

Ooh! I forgot to put the garbage out last night! How convenient that I'm up!

How about that - Just rolled the wheelie bin out as the garbage truck groaned it's way into the street, flashing lights reflecting off the rain-soaked bitumen. Yep. That's the way I roll.

Now... a coffee is in order I believe...

And the top story of the 5.30am news for the day is: George Michael jailed for drunk driving! Crashed into a London shop. Yep. That's pretty drunk. Least I hope so.

Alright. This early start warrants an excellent plan for the day. And here it is:
1. Drink the coffee that's on it's way.
2. 6am - take Blazie on a big, big walk. An hour should do.
3. 7am - nice breakfast - maybe fried tomato, capsicum and onion on toast. And another coffee.
4. Suss out the weather. Visit Sacred. Maybe unrug. Maybe not. That's the way I roll.
5. Go swimming.
6. Dye hair.
7. Watch 'Entertainment Tonight' and 'TMZ'. Cause I can. More coffee.
8. Stuff.
9. Watch 'Ellen'. Cause I can.
10. Check the weather again. Maybe go riding. Maybe not. That's the way I roll.
11. I'm guessing a nap will get the better of me.
12. 6pm - go to the theatre to do front of house for 'Cloudstreet'.

All this is providing the nap I mentioned doesn't actually occur from - say - NOW until - say - 10am. Blazie is still asleep. Actually he got up for a minute, lay on the floor, and then went "Nah. Bed's more comfortable." Pretty smart, the old bear.

I just remembered that I had a dream that Katy Perry got done for drink driving whilst delivering a gift bag to me, that Sean Penn passed out drunk in the middle of crowd surfing whilst performing a big rock ballad at a birthday dance party I was having for a few thousand of my closest friends, and that meanwhile Barbra Streisand was getting very pissed off with my friends and I sitting in the chillout area 'cause she didn't want to be called 'Barbra' and we kept saying 'Barbra this' and 'Barbra that' and 'Barbra', 'Barbra', 'Barbra...'

It's not even my birthday.

Guilty Pleasures

I'm gonna make it! I'm gonna make it! I'm not guaranteeing that my sanity will be intact - but I'm gonna make it! Holidays are just around the corner and I'm focusing all my energies on making it through just EIGHT MORE WORK DAYS (plus four more non-work days) - or eleven more sleeps.

I'm going to Sydney this weekend to do a workshop at NIDA and I'll be staying with Mavis and Tony and I can't wait. I always completely relax and unwind there. We spend hours on end talking about the truly significant and relevant issues affecting us all: hair, make up, and celebrity gossip. Mavis has his own salon so every time I visit him I cram in several months worth of looking at pictures in all the horrible trashy mags that I would never buy. Is that a liposuction scar? Is she wearing any underwear? Who is her surgeon? Are they really getting a divorce? Oh my Lady Gaga! Who knows? Who CARES? I don't believe a word if it. Guilty pleasures.

Meanwhile, my X Factor addiction continues. Mum rang at ten minutes to nine last night needing to be picked up from the train station and I (momentarily) contemplated watching the last ten minutes before leaving so I wouldn't miss out on the judges' top three selections. (I said MOMENTARILY! I'm not that bad!) I don't think I missed any major decisions. Hope not anyway...

Happy Birthday Dianna

Today is my friend Dianna's fiftieth birthday, and this year was my fortieth. I can't help but cast my mind back ten years to the year 2000, the year I turned thirty and Dianna was forty, and we were all young and free and full of... well...

Let me set the scene. The Sydney Olympics were fast approaching. I don't know why, but it seems the sun was always shining back then. Dianna lived in Arcadia, near Dural, and the grass was always green. I'm sure it was. Or could it be rose-coloured memories? I don't know. I lived in Surry Hills in a gorgeous terrace which I loved with my best friend Mavis, which I also loved. He was great company and our life was a ball. The most serious decision we ever had to make was whether to go ice-skating, or to the movies, or both. Kylie Minogue's 'Spinning Around' and 'On A Night Like This' were always on the stereo and on Channel V, and serious time and effort went into emanating her style.

Dianna decided, with the assistance of an individual who shall remain nameless (although, funnily enough, I do remember her name), to throw a 40th birthday performance/dance party extravaganza called 'Olympia'. Obviously, the theme would be Ancient Greece. Months of preparation and significant funds (which shall also remain unidentified, although this, too, I recall quite clearly) went into the event.

For our part, Mavis and I got stuck into the costumes. Mainly Mavis of course. He is the genius. I provided late night company and moral support and some glue gun assistance. My costume was a beautiful 'Aphrodite' number - funny, exactly ten years later, here's Kylie's 'Aphrodite' album to remind me. It was a gold corset with beautiful flowing pink chiffon trains over each shoulder and more pink chiffon bunched at the hips, gold sandal stilettos with gold leather straps winding up to the knees, a gold g-string (those were the days...), and a long strawberry blonde wig complete with gold vine leaves. Sadly, I don't have any photos of this, it was one of my favourites of the many beautiful things that Mavis made. I do, however, still have the costume.

He made a number of outfits for Dianna (as did Alex Perry), but the most beautiful thing of all was a full length Indian headdress with long pure white feathers with small pink and yellow feathers attatched at the base and the tip. It was stunning, and it took a long, long time, a lot of work a great deal of lightheadedness from inhaling hot glue fumes to create. I am not exaggerating when I say that Mavis is a genius. This thing was absolutely beautiful.

So let's skip to the night. Let's see. My recollections. I'm gonna skip over some details. I'm gonna skip over a lot of details. Here's some snapshots:

Sitting with Dianna up in her bedroom before the show. She had placed a ladder up to her first floor bedroom window so she could get backstage without anyone seeing her. Dianna throwing her arms in the air wailing "I'm bankrupt!" and Adam and I - her front of house staff for the evening - assuring her all would be fine and that hundreds of people would be there. Surely.

Standing backstage during a costume change with Portia and Mavis as Dianna got halfway through a change before slumping to the floor, naked, wailing "I'm ruined!" while the Olympic Games opening ceremony flamenco dancers looks on, bemused. (Yes, the flamenco dancers from the Olympic Games were there for Dianna's 'Dove L'Amore'number. No shit.) Portia giving me the "Go and help her" eyebrow and nod. Me heading over with a glass of champagne, which Dianna promptly spilled all over herself with a dramatic flailing about of the arms. Me telling the stage manager to stop the next number and Dianna interjecting "No! Let's get this over with!"

Let's see. Back at the boys' house at Dural. Finally warm after a chilly evening in not many clothes. Standing cuddled up to Dianna while the boys and Portia told her all the stupid and terrible and careless things that person who shall remain nameless had said the night before after a few post-rehearsal beverages. Promising Dianna, all of us, that we would help her through, that we'd never let her starve.

Ha. Funny. Well - not really. Little did we know that promise would soon be put to the ultimate test.

So. Ten years on. We're older. We're wiser. Though I hope not TOO much wiser. You never did things by half, Dianna. Happy Birthday, and here's to many more.

Shelby xxx

Present and Accounted For

This is becoming my new thing. Into work early. Make sure I'm prepared - or as prepared as I can be because who knows what the day and the people in it will throw my way - drink a coke zero - because it's bad for me and it's not fattening and how many things can you say that about? - and then blog. Blog about all the irrelevant little me stuff that really doesn't matter to anyone but that reminds me - of me. Because, quite seriously, I'm in danger of forgetting who and what that is!

I've spent the last two years very industriously and painstakingly becoming something that I never in any concept of myself imagined myself to be and it shows. I've become something I don't recognise, inside and out. The very fact that I recently seriously contemplated quitting acting tells me just how far I've travelled from my true self. See, I was so far out on a limb that I felt an urgent need to do something that was sensible, reliable, and stable - but I forgot that each of these words is like a little death to my chameleon gemini soul. I forgot my ambition and lost my passion, my waistline, and the plot. I got sort of - squashed.

So now I'm going through the motions of the things I remember the real me does. I'm swimming every day - which believe me has been a challenge with the way I feel in a swimsuit! I've put my horse back in work. I'm eating well. Hopefully I'll become nice and obsessed with it all, get all driven and sleepless and edgy. Run on adrenalin. Uncomfortable. Dissatisfied. Then I'll know it's the real me. Believe it or not, that's the me I like. That's the person who dares to dream and expects exceptional things from herself. I'm going through the motions till that person wakes up 'cause she's been bored to half to death and she's left the building.

And I don't blame her.

The Wednesday Update

Despite my best efforts, very little residual Saturday morning dancing to Madonna has made it as far as Wednesday: 5.30 alarm went off (whatever made me think that was a good idea?), then 6.00 (just a short walk will be fine), then 7.00 (I PROMISE to do something fun with you this afternoon instead Blaze!).

There was still a healthy breakfast, however - tahini, banana and linseeds on soy and linseed toast with just a SMIDGE of maple syrup on top (to keep the linseeds from falling off...)- and coffee. I'm still at work early. Still tucking into a Coke Zero, in case maybe at some stage today I might actually wake up. It is definitely the end of term. Definitely time for a holiday!!!.

I drove to Canberra and caught up with a very dear friend yesterday. It was so lovely to see her after what I guess has been several years and a million lifetimes. Seeing her again it seemed like no time at all had passed. We both have new lives now. I drove away exhausted. Emotional overdrive perhaps.

So. Wednesday. Here goes.

Monday Morning

The beginning of the week. It's funny how that Saturday morning "Woo-hoo, I'm gonna play Madonna real loud and dance to it in my pyjamas and drink WAY too many coffees while I'm at it" feeling vanishes as soon as the alarm goes off at 5.30 ('cause I plan to walk for an hour) and then again at 6.00 ('cause who was I kidding? Half an hour is plenty)on a Monday morning.

So here's the plan. I'm going to try to get through this week with some Saturday morning enthusiasm. So far, so good. I've walked the dog. I've had a great beakfast - tomato, mushroom, capsicum and onion on soy and linseed toast with coffee. I'm at work early. I'm tucking into a Coke Zero for that extra caffeine kick and I'm ready for action.

Of course this is real easy to say at this stage of the game. Talk to me in six hours...

Under Siege

Over the last week or so I have felt myself under siege - from sources that, in retrospect, I shouldn't have given a second thought. But it got to me, I let it. It slipped in under my skin and lodged itself there in a most uncomfortable fashion.

In this unnecessary state of anxiety I went downtown to run some errands. In the first store I went into my query was answered in a short, snappy fashion by the shop assistant and I completely took it on board. I tried to stop myself - I walked out of the store telling myself over and over "It's not about you. Not everything is about you. She's obviously having a bad day. Anything could have happened. You just walked in at the wrong moment." It didn't help. I was already under siege, and the shop assistant's curt response added more weight to the world that was on my shoulders.

Crushed, I sulked up the street and into the next store. I was so caught up in my woeful thoughts that I almost missed the brilliant smile and the cheery "Have a nice day!" from the checkout girl in the supermarket. I almost completely ignored her, which would have left her feeling like crap too. Almost. Just in time I caught myself. I stopped, looked at her, smiled, and gave her a genuinely grateful "Thank you."

Genuinely grateful because she reminded me of something I knew - but forgot. There's a balance at work in the world. For every up there's a down. For every high there's a low. Most importantly, for every demon, there's an angel. When we feel ourselves under attack from somebody or somebodies being thoughtless, unkind - even cruel - we need to look around. Somewhere there's an angel. And while it's human nature to hear and pay attention to the mean and nasty stuff, with a slight shift of focus we can see how much love and kindness and support comes our way to balance it out.

Sweet Dreams

Does this happen to anyone else?

This is kind of hard to admit - but I recently I've been contemplating quitting acting. For good. Long story, a whole other blog...

Every time I start thinking like this, I have the same dream. I had it last night. I'm sitting in the back row of an empty theatre auditorium, looking towards the stage. Cate Blanchett is sitting beside me. She's holding my hand, and she's talking to me about acting. Last night she was talking about my voice. I could barely speak, but finally I forced out the words "May - I - audition - for - you?" I guess I meant Sydney Theatre Company. It was so hard to ask, but as soon as I did, she began making suggestions to help me out.

Today I find the midday movie is Veronica Guerin, and there's Cate, and the soundtrack featuring the same haunting Sinead O'Connor sounds we had in 'Blood Brothers', reminding me how GOOD it feels to be onstage.

Always happens.