Sweet, Sweet Beer, You are a Bastard - Love Blog Number 2

Beer.

You are like a dangerous ex boyfriend. I want you so much, I have loved you for so long but I know how bad you are for me.

Why do you tease me so?

You with your gentle amber effervescence, your cooling temperature, your sweet yet bitter dance on my tongue, your low cost, your friendly availability in such sizes as a jug...why?

What did I ever do to you? Why do you treat other people better than me?

I remember the first time we met, in my grand father's glass. He wouldn't let me spend too much time with you because he knew how much I liked you. We then later started a secret romance that my parents didn't know about, sneaking meetings in the park, at parties, on the beach. How you kept me warm at night, cool during the day, spurred me on to do things I would never otherwise do. Oh, the memories.

But you are cruel. You push my stomach out to bursting capacity and make my face go all puffy and red. It is even worse the next day with the memory of you and the smell of you on my breath, in my pores, my face as turgid as a newly blown balloon. I can't breathe when you are around. Literally.

So I had to stop. But I can't and you know it.

Just leave me alone! I'm hanging with vodka, can't you see? Even if she does cost twice as much. I even flirted with cider for a while there...let's just say I was settling for less than I deserved. Wine? I love wine but it makes me tired.

You know you are unparalleled. You know it! There are others who are better, out of your league even but you can't take them everywhere and my wallet can't cope. I just want you to stop staring at me, that's all. It's so hard when you're with my friends all the time, you don't understand. You don't make their faces expand? Why? Why just me?

Arsehole.

Sorry, I didn't mean that.

And as for your bitch cousin, bread, well, she's not much better. Tart. Worse than a tart. Part of a tart...sort of. In fact she's worse than you! At every restaurant I turn up to, there for breakfast, lunch and tea....sitting there all plump and fluffy by the olive oil, popping herself in the toaster when it's cold and drowning herself in salty butter. Nasty little temptress. I can't wake up when I have her, can't breathe, can't digest anything and she does the same thing to my face as you do. You're both trying to disfigure me. You grab me by the sinuses and throw me to the ground.

I am not that weak! You watch me. I don't care how hot it gets! I am never, ever, EVER going...to...oh...maybe... just...one more...time...

I love you.

Favourite thing today: Bee- No! So Much Art...So Few Bullets' new production at The Store Room. Look it up on www.sofewbullets.com or check out cotton's blog (no can link...traviscotton.blogspot.com?) and go see it! It's hilarious.

Love Blog Number 1

Smells like Summer out there!

Yummmmmmmmmmmyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!

Was a bit angry with daylight saving yesterday morning when I had to not only set my alarm (very much against my religion on a Sunday!) but also get up an hour early to do "stuff", especially after a night at the pub. By the time evening had rolled around, I was nice and tipsy on rose ( as in rosAY - I have no fonts and therefore cannot accent it) and surrounded by spunky, intelligent, divine and very-much-missed-by-me-lately friends in my back yard and it was still light, I felt a lot better about it, indeed excited.

How good is this time of year?

The sweet smells of jasmine, lavender, garlic and beer; the pink clouds; the somnambulant, dog walking neighbours; the lack of clothes; the mozzies; the promise of festivals; the freckles; the basil, corn and tomatoes; the sex; the love; the asparagus; the smiles; the beer garden at The Retreat; the broken air con in the car; thongs; the pool; the beach; the smell of food on the breeze; ice cream; sun screen; my animals lying lazily in the sun, blissing out, panting; the possibilities; the long days; the bomb.

Love it!

Go forth and sweat my friends.

xx d

Hey, Not Even my Computer Wants to be PC

I was very PC for many years. Such a good, open minded, understanding individual.

Over it.

You might have noticed. I bored myself. I'd like to think that I still see all sides of the coin and seek to understand everyone for who they are, why they are etc. but to be honest I have found room for a healthy bit of disliking here and there these days; a bit o' judgment. Love the odd put down.

I'd be a tough Prime Minister. I have already decided the hard line I'd take on policy making for the better good of all. The pink polo would obviously be made illegal, umbrella use would be heavily policed, if not banned, bad, loud phone rings and their subsequent loud public conversations outlawed, girls would have to wear more than a singlet in the cold, there'd be no more horse racing carnivals; the public thus spared from drunken, sun burnt, smoking bitches in feathers with strappy heels in their hands and men in suits and mirrored service station sunnies polluting our streets, all fast food chains closed and reality TV wiped from our screens for ever.

Vote for me!

Anyway, after all of that, I have decided to take off my bitchy pants for a few days and blog with love. Gotta keep myself in check.

Kisses to all!

My Sincerest Thanks...

I would like to thank the following three women for saving me from 0 comments obscurity: Elaine, sublime-action and another outspoken female. (If I knew the first thing about creating links I would but as I can't even get the fonts happening on my blog, you might have to pay homage to them through my comments...and I suggest you do).

Thank you ladies as I was getting a wee lonely there for a while.

When I first blogged back in June this year (I'm so new at this!!!!) I thought it was funny that people would comment, then slowly the neediness crept in until I started to depend upon it as a radar that what I said was worthwhile or of any interest to anyone. Then I pulled out for a bit as I felt myself slipping into a nerdy world of attention seeking. I have since been on and off the blog machine as I feel creatively fit. After a wee absence, I crept back on, without slutting myself across other people's comments page as a cheap means of advertising but found myself continuously checking in to a flurry of nothing - no comments. No readers?

Ha ha ha ha ha!

I love that.

So, I would also like to thank everyone for not reading or not commenting if you did because it made me laugh daily, kept my ego in check and served to keep my blogtentions pure.

Thank you!

Have a lovely weekend!

x

Home Sweet Home

If one more yuppy cafe opens up on Sydney Rd I am going to fire bomb it.

Take your Phillippa's Bread and fuck off back to Armadale you boring tossers. Don't screw up the diversity in one of Melbourne's last culturally interesting inner city suburbs. Keep your overpriced bullshit to yourself.

Signed,

Angry Young Resident

There's a First Time for Everything

Well, my time in Adelaide has come. It has been an extraordinary journey, this one. This has been the hardest job I have ever done but has turned out to be one of the most rewarding. I’m still not convinced my acting was any good but I have accomplished a lot and have been enormously broadened by the faith of my director and the rest of the team. Apparently I have great breasts though – that was the most consistent feed back. Excellent. Who needs talent when you’ve got tits? I have ended up making many beautiful friends, all of whom I would jump at the chance of working with again and whom I will miss dearly. And I have also grown very fond of Shmads and will miss this fair town muchly.

It’s always hard ending an acting gig – losing a family, losing the routine, returning to unemployment. Heart breaking in fact and requires a wee period of grieving and adjustment. Thankfully I have even more loved ones and a beautiful house in a beautiful suburb in a beautiful city to return to and am very much looking forward to it.

Enough shmultz!

SOME THINGS I HAVE EXPERIENCED FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE BEING IN ADELAIDE:

Had whole kitchen sink full of water fall in and spill torrentiously* all over the floor.

Been accused of flirting with my friend’s mother.

Acquired a stalker…on a bmx bike. Well, maybe not, but the second late night in a row that he rode past me and winked/nodded as though he knew me when I was walking home was enough to freak me a little.

Nuded up on stage.

Wore a strap on on stage.

Wore a strap on at all.

Pole danced in front of an audience.

Had the music cut out on me during a number and come back in later, too late, leaving me a huge gap in which to improvise stripping, teasing, pole dancing…badly.

Had to murder someone on stage with an enormous black mumba (say ten inches and about four thick, complete with balls and a suction cup so you can fasten it to a mirror/table/whatever and fuck yourself silly with it, without the aid of a partner…not that I tried, I just worked it out).

Had my costume pop open on stage – the top third of my corset split clean open. (Was luckily clad underneath).

*I will be starting a dictionary of darcy’s own words some time soon. It will be huge.

Favourite thing today: LOVE. I am bathed in it and have an eternal source of it to give away. All of it times ten goes out to La Nadine and her family today. May her mother rest in peace.

x

Blog-a-Thon

Warning: The following three or four blogs are from the past week. I was unable to post them at my internet cafe. I've posted them in reverse order so if you read down from here (if you really care), you will be reading them in order. Comprende? So, let's get a little retrospective...

Things are clearly looking up here. I am definitely on the bright side of an ugly hill. Four days off with my boyfriend did wonders for the soul.

Back in theatre land, I am fighting a losing battle with our designer who wants to put me in a G string in a scene that is performed on the third story of the set (read: performed high enough for everyone on the bottom two levels of the audience to stare straight up my crotch and really see what’s going on inside me). He doesn’t understand.

Being the only woman on the team I seem to play all female roles at once: protective, nurturing mumma, skanky whore and broken, vulnerable daughter. My director keeps promising he’ll wear a dress in for me so I don’t feel like the only woman but I’ve yet to see it.

I have been stretched like a clown’s suspenders. I don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore, all I know is that blinds go up and down, carpet feels funny on your bare bum, I look like a Chinese swimmer after her family disowned her for coming second and she turned to crack, if I miss a bar of music I’m fucked and if I don’t concentrate whilst on the edge of the third storey in my six inch stilettos, there will be an ugly accident.

I am proud of myself for what I have learnt and for all the barriers of fear and inhibition that I have pushed through. No one I know will see it, which is kind of good but also kind of disappointing after all the hard work I’ve put in. I just want one person to say “gee, I didn’t know you could do that”. Because I didn’t either.

Favourite thing today: bravery.

I Love my Box

Why do they call the vagina a box? It’s not so boxy if you ask me. Isn’t it more like a velvety rabbit warren? That’s it. From now on I am calling my pussy Warren. There’s a whole other blog in here, can’t you feel it? My vagina is an endless source of entertainment.

Anyway, this blog is about the television. I love television almost more than anything right now. It’s my best friend.

Now, if you’ve been reading my blog for some time you might think I am completely contradicting myself here. So what? Times change. People evolve. And get lonely.

Granted, I only watch an hour or two a night, if that, but I am loving those precious minutes. I usually get sucked into whatever I switch on on the ABC or SBS, which is usually about some war but I love it!!! Have even been watching a bit of morning TV. Sesame Street (which is called something else now, which I dare not write as I find it sacreligious. How dare they?), Bambaloo and the Spanish news. Sex and Pop on Friday nights, The Sand Man’s Siberia whatever show on Sat night (I went out later OK?) just about anything on a Sunday night, especially if it’s English. I’ve even snuck a few cheeky glances at Gray’s Anatomy. It’s good to surprise yourself sometimes.

I miss Denton. I miss Six Feet Under even more. And my dignity and life...but only a little bit.

There’s supposed to be an awesome doco on whaling on Sunday night on ABC. Watch it. I will. With Warren.

Favourite thing today: Warren! On TV! Yey!

PS Sorry about way out of date-ness of this, Hope you caught the doco. It was awesome! x

Angry Young Woman

Most of the time I am a gentle, reasonable person. I like to avoid conflict. I like to discuss rather than argue and if I argue, I like to learn and teach during the argument; change and be changed. I don’t argue to win. I argue to resolve.

But there is a rage in me that runs so deep.

This is perhaps why I am fairly good with conflict now, because I learnt to deal with it. I realised one teenage day that I had to marry my ideals with my actions and there upon set out on a journey to become a better person. A good person.

If I cannot deal with a situation immediately I will walk away from it for a few days usually, until my anger subsides and my emotions no longer have the better of me. Otherwise if I strike out when the iron is hot I will set everything around me ablaze and burn things that I love.

I have yet to see the full extent of my anger but I have seen it at maybe sixty percent perhaps twice in my life. It was terrifying. But only in retrospect. At the time it felt completely normal and justified but even in the midst of it there was a hint of reason and I knew that I was holding back. Despite my ferocity I was restraining myself and warning the person with me not to push me further because I knew how much more would come out of me and how hurt (or dead) they would be. I won't tell you what happened because a) you don't need to know everything about me and b) it was wrong and bad and humiliating and you might think less of me. Let's just say I was a bit like a caged wild animal, missing a tooth, starving, on heat, after her babies had been murdered. Experiencing that and glimpsing just how much further it would reach was a massive eye opener for me and quite a shock. It was formidable.

Scary? Yes.

Freaky? Maybe not.

I’m a fuckin’ Irish, Scottish Italian. And a red headed Dragon. What would you expect?

The unfreaky part is that I am fully aware of my tendencies and limits and have always sought to control or change them.

Now don’t get me wrong, anger has it’s place and is valid. I love my anger. I don’t believe in denying any emotions but anger needs to be respected. It needs to be used judiciously, sparingly and cautiously. Anger should not be whipped out willy nilly on a daily basis as it degrades anger and the barer and makes for most unpleasant company. Anger needs to be saved for when it is really needed. Really needed. It otherwise needs to be harnessed, metamorphosed or just dealt with as it can so easily become an unhealthy, dominating beast.

Anyway, all this bla bla is just a precursor to mentioning how surprised I always am at how thin the ice is between peaceful, charming, diplomatic darcy and firey hell bitch.

The thing that usually tends to break the ice with a mere tap of a baby finger? Rustling loud plastic wrappers or talking in the cinema or the theatre.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF! You fucking cunts!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We are not in your lounge room! Go home you mongrel bastard idiot pleb! You are ruining this entire experience for me!!!!!!!!

Breath darcy, breath.

Oh mama. I nearly killed someone in the cinema tonight.

Had I just turned around when mild darcy still resided within with a sweet whispered “would you mind” accompanied by a smile or a friendly, if a little flirty shhh finger to the lip gesture, which is what I wanted to do but for some reason resisted (I think I thought the sweets would run out before I needed stretch my neck around to the row behind), all might well have been resolved and we could have watched the film in peace.

Instead, some time later (like three quarters of the way into the film – I mean come on! Just finish the fuckers you greedy cunts) they copped a wildly irritated head swing, a loud sigh, a death stare and the mouthed words “you’re really fuckin’ annoying”.

Just one moment where there is no fore thought and it’s all over.

I’d be useless if it weren’t for fore thought. Absolutely useless. Some people who know me think I’m overly sensible. Well, my friends, this is why.

But you have to laugh.

Things I have learnt this week:

Self loathing and lack of confidence does not a good actor make.

I think I should try directing, flower arranging, farming or running away.

Much like the thin ice between psycho and sweet heart, there is also a fine line between solitude and loneliness. Between introspection and self indulgence. Between learning about one’s self and just going stir fucking crazy. It’s amazing what comes up when you stop distracting yourself. So much bitter reality. The city is such a concrete manifestation of denial. Even a positive, life loving, love loving, appreciator of all things kind of gal like me (you may not believe it but it’s true) can get completely bamboozled by the seemingly mindless drive on a road I don’t want to be on, through other people’s systems and expectations which I despise.

Oh yes, I feel the bush calling me. Time for a bit of time out. Two weeks of work left. I need some trees, some sunsets, some flies, some dirt, some stars.

The Grass has Riz

Summer is coming!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The only bad thing about that is that the pink polo neck t shirt has returned to the streets.

Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy????????????????????????

Can’t you just leave us to enjoy summer in visual peace?

Favourite thing today: the death penalty. Harsh? OK...good taste.

Auntie Darcy's Wine Tour Tips

Things to remember if you ever take a tour of the Barossa Valley in a stretch Chevrolet limousine:

1. Eat substantially before you leave if you want to remember any of it.

2. If you plan a 10am pick up on Sunday morning make sure you invite people who are hard and will actually get up and be there, no matter what they did the night before.

3. In fact, make sure you invite spunky people only because you have to look at them all day and let’s face it, it’s a very sexy limo and it’s gonna get a bit weird in there after eight hours.

4. If you really want to learn anything about wine, perhaps don’t start on the champagne provided by the limo at 10am.

5. Bring CDs!!!!! Oh Lord, bring CDs. (Unless you LIKE Adelaide top 40). Barry White is a must.

6. Bring sunglasses and lots of money.

7. Bring a hot date.

8. Make sure you wear knickers (or jocks) lest you jizz all over the blue valour seats.

9. Eat lunch somewhere hot as soon as you get there.

10. Don’t take a pill at lunch unless you are determined to cheat on your girlfriend.

11. Choose small wineries for good service, attention and wine and ones that aren’t down a dirt road ‘cause Gino won’t drive down a dirt road, lest he get stone chips on the Chev.

12. If a woman with bright pink nail polish gives you bright pink lip, smack the bitch over the head with a bottle of Grant Burge.

13. Don’t go to Grant Burge. (Unless you want some of their super sexy 2003 Merlot for only $13 a bottle!!!! Or you want to roll around on their rather stunning lawns in a drunken, group stupor)

14. Go to Grant Burge

15. Nah, just don’t.

16. If you want to make Gino stop for drugs on the way home, make sure he doesn’t end his shift an hour over time.

17. See if you can do better than a bottle of Scotch to apologise.