Tag Archives: celebrity

I Should Be BFFs With Virginia Gay Right Now



The title says it all really, I should be off being BFFs with Virginia Gay right now instead of contemplating what spread to use on my toast. The answer is peanut butter. I’m not happy about it. I got cashew butter once and my transition back to peanut butter after the dizzying heights of cashew butter is proving harder than I imagined. I’m pretty sure this is a metaphor for the whole Virginia situation. 

Anyway, getting back to my original point, I should be being best friends with Virginia Gay right now. As those of you who follow my blog know I’m a Book Club ABC fanatic. I even recap the episodes. A decision I made after one Virginia Gay made a throw away tweet saying that I should recap every week after reading my review of the first episode of the year. I figured, why not? I love the show and watch it, I love writing, so it is only natural to get those two things together. It has been fun.

Virginia Gay was not only on the first episode of this season but also the last. An episode I couldn’t get to the live recording of because I was parenting these three magnificent creatures-


Imagine my surprise when I read this tweet-


Oh yes, you see it too, her divine personhood wanted to find me and fandivinity over me. That’s pretty freaking huge. And guess what! She wasn’t making it up. There was confirmation.


Yeah, that’s right. My twitter buddy the coconut with a can do attitude heard it too. And she was lovely enough to let me know. I even got an email from another audience member who was kind enough to track me down through having to wade through the wasteland that is twitter and then my blog-


Is this person the best person in the world or what? Went out of her way to find my email address, a person she only met once, to give me good news. We sat next to each other at the taping of the previous episode and she did all that just to pass on this news to make a stranger to her smile. There are good people in this world.

So there you have it. If my husband had agreed to leave work by 5:40pm I could have met Virginia Gay. And obviously after that we’d become BFFs because that’s just the way things work. But alas, it was not meant to be… sigh.

But I can still dream. Dream that I am the Gabrielle to her Xena.


The Eddie to her Patsy.


The Jessica Jones to her… Patsy.


The Liz to her Jenna.


The Dancing Baby to her Ally McBeal.


Okay, these pairings are starting to get out of hand. But I think you get the picture. Now excuse me whilst I go listen to some Tiffany songs.

My Date With Jennifer Byrne #bookclubABC


Okay, I confess, I used a click bait heading. I did not have a date with Jennifer Byrne BUT I did get to meet her. And long story short, she was every bit the divine, glowing, Goddess of radiance that we see on our screen. But what kind of blog entry would this be if I went with the short version, so let’s do the long story long.

It was a chilly July morning, I woke to the gentle thump of my daughter’s warm rump landing on my chest, and the caress of her hands against my face as her tiny fingers tried to softly pry my eyes open. “Wake up, Mummy,” the words floated from her lips like dandelion threads on the breeze. #blessed. I murmured back to the angelic creature perched upon me, “Wha?” And shortly thereafter got out of bed and let the two year old twin terrors out of their cots, before they started getting their own ideas of getting out of bed and learned that they are more than capable of escaping.

It was an ordinary day, just like any other Thursday. My daughter refused to wear any clothes that were weather appropriate. The twins used a couple of dinosaurs as light sabers and attempted to kill each other. My husband spent a long time on the toilet. I drank tea. I had to try out some mixed martial arts moves in order to subdue my boys for nappy changes and my daughter eventually settled for dressing like a fairy on crack. My husband got out of the bathroom and went to work, and better yet, he actually took the kids to preschool with him. Not every day is a preschool day, but that fateful day was.

As the glitter of childhood laughter and dreams settled I sat and drank coffee in my pyjamas. I tweeted about how excited I was to go watch a live recording of The Book Club ABC. I tweeted about how much I desired to see one Benjamin Law’s ankle region. Last time he had been on the show he had done it utterly sockless. I dared but dream that he would do the same again. As you can see, I was awfully excited. The Book Club is my not so secret addiction. I write recaps, I watch it religiously, and I probably tweet about it every day.

After I finished my coffee I realized that I should probably do some vacuuming. So I did. I then cleaned the toilet. These events were no doubt symbolic of great things to come. I even had a shower. I didn’t want to take my pyjamas off because it was so cold, but The Book Club was worth it. I was going to shower. Warm water trickled down my face and onto my shoulders. Water gently beaded against my alabaster skin. I reached hesitantly towards the razor to shave my hairy pits, but at the last minute rethought it. It’s fucking freezing, I’ll need the extra warmth of my furry covering. It was all happening. After the gratuitous shower scene where I was completely naked and wet I layered myself up with a pair of thick black gym tights and green cargo pants over the top. I then put on a grey long sleeved top, a pink ¾ length top, a black t-shirt AND a yellow jacket. It was very cold. Don’t get too excited, I was not sans underpants. I was wearing bra, undies, and rainbow toe socks as well. This is a celebrity meeting, not erotica.

It was now time for me to make my entrance into my new life. A life of fun and whimsy. The world of Book Club. I entered the ABC studio. It wasn’t as easy as you might imagine. It has a giant automatic revolving door that you must negotiate to enter. Timing is everything and half of the entrance was partitioned off so the window of opportunity was even narrower. But I took a deep breath and launched. Yes, success. I made it through the door without falling over and being pushed around repeatedly by the revolving door like a crumpled piece of garbage. I enter the lobby. A TARDIS to my left immediately caught my eye. I moved towards it, like a Rose to a Timelord. I thought about trying to open the door but in the end didn’t. I didn’t want to be responsible for breaking it.

I saw a crowd of people waiting behind a thinly roped off area. I went to them and asked, are they the clubbers. They were. So I joined them and sat and waited. I waited and tweeted about the fact that I was waiting. If a tree falls in the forest but doesn’t tweet about it, has it really fallen? Yes, but who cares about it? If that tree wants someone to care about its death then it should ruddy well take a selfie of itself whilst doing so and then slap on some sort of trending hashtag, #FreeTheNipple. Finally the tweeting about waiting was ended by us being called into the studio. We were checked for contraband before entering. I had none. I was allowed in.

On entering the studio the floor manager tells us exactly where to sit. A few brave souls decide to defy her and tell her they don’t like the view from where they are. She tells them that they’ll ruin her shot if they don’t sit where they’re told and to just sit we’re they’re darn well told. This continues on for quite some time. People wanting to rebel against the control of creating an audience shot and the floor manager wondering why they’re Book Club fans if they’re so sassy. Shouldn’t book nerds be easier to manage? I simply sit where I am told. The spirit of rebellion does not burn inside me. We’re told to turn our phones off, I do so. Again, no complaints. No last minute selfies. I just turn it off.

And then BAM JByrne appears before us like some kind of bioluminescent angel. I start clapping. I manage to catch myself before leaping from my seat and throwing myself around her ankles and screaming, “I love you.” If we can’t sit wherever we like, then I’m pretty sure that actually touching the Byrne is right out. So I sit and simply watch. The guests are introduced and Benjamin Law and his naked ankles are there again. They’re so different and out there in comparison to the covered ankles of his colleagues. Warmth starts to rise from my own thoroughly layered ankles, up my legs, past my hips, into my heart and penetrates my brain. A fire is lit. That fire of rebellion. I will speak to JByrne this very day. I shall make it happen!


The show begins, I can’t give any spoilers away for it is yet to screen, just keep an eye on my blog on Tuesday night and all shall be revealed in one of my breathtaking recaps… or you could watch the show at 10pm on ABC Tuesday nights… and then read my recap.

The show ends. The audience files out. I start to edge towards the stage. The floor manager sees me. She is frowning. But those bare ankles have given me courage so I press on.

“Jennifer,” I call out. My voice breaks with nerves. The nude ankles have evidently given me some courage but no grace.

“Who are you trying to speak to?” The floor manager is approaching me from the side. I can see her hand twitching at the ready to call down the gods of security to subdue me and drag me out whilst I scream and thrash.

“Jennifer,” I say timidly. Then I remember those ankles and some steel sets into my bones and I call out loudly and firmly, “Hi Jennifer, I write recaps of your show and I just wanted to say I love you.”

JByrne swings around and I am hit with the full force of her twinkling eyes. They are glorious. They’re actually more dazzling in real life than they are on the screen.

“You,” she says enthusiastically, “you’re the one who writes those recaps? They’re so funny.”

I melt onto the ground and start crying in pure ecstasy. The floor manager moves away. I’m clearly crazy but as long as it isn’t bothering the talent then she’ll accept it. JByrne actually stays and speaks with me for over five minutes. I am blown away. She asks me what my intentions are towards her Michael Williams? Is it true love or is it just lust. I tell her it’s true writerly love. He’s my age and the director of the Wheeler Centre, how can I not admire him. The guy is a complete genius. It’s the purest of all love and there is not pants action in it. I promise that he won’t find me in his cupboard rifling through his underpants. She accepts this and doesn’t take an AVO out on me for now. I tell her that my Uncle Paul is OBSESSED with her. We talk about Ben’s bare ankles and how wild they have driven me. She calls my recaps funny and clever a few times and I respond with words but all the while I’m thinking, “Someone who I think is funny and clever thinks that my stuff is funny and clever, this is so overwhelming I need to go have a lie down.” The floor manager finally says enough is enough and JByrne needs to be able to go have a life. We part ways and I feel so excited that I can’t even remember the next half hour of my life. I know that I called my Aunty Donna and shrieked about how much I loved JByrne and how I got to speak to her. She’s excited for me. She knows how much I admire Jennifer Byrne.

So there it is. My “date” with Jennifer Byrne. I got to speak to her, she is so lovely, I got really excited and she managed not to call security on me to drag me away, which I found quite touching, and she said nice things to me about my recaps. Funny and clever! Who doesn’t want to be complimented like that? And who gets to be complimented like that by one of their heroes? I have been walking around on cloud nine ever since. It’s three days later and I am still excited. I dare say I’ll still be excited next week. Happy!


Me losing my shit because I am meeting the one and only JByrne.

How to Cause a Storm in a Suck Cup




Today on Facebook, Mia Freedman posted a picture of herself wearing some seriously enormous panties with the caption, “You know you’re not on holidays anymore when you’re wearing your fat-sucking undies.”


We've all been there.

We’ve all been there.

Some decaying, vain, creature asked which brands worked best, okay it was me – please feel free to post suggestions in the comments, many complimented her on keeping it real, and then there were the sayers of nay. How dare this woman promote being happy with yourself yet wear gut suckers from time to time? How dare she be skinnier than some people and wear control tops? The nerve! Even comments about how she was supposed to be smart so should know better. Because a big beautiful brain, being slimmer than some other people, and possessing a belief that you should be kind to yourself apparently means that you are free from any kind of insecurity.


It really made me think. Mainly because prior to three kids I was a size 6, but now I’m a size 8. People probably look at me and think, skinny bitch, where as I look at myself and go, ‘Fuck I’m fat.’ Now I’m not an actress, or a model, I’m not paid squillions of dollars for my appearance, so I don’t have that burning, monetary/career motivation to get myself back into shape. I still want to, and yes, after three kids, I still can get back into shape. Admittedly the last two were twins born through emergency c-section so that does complicate matters, but they are a year old now so really, enough is enough when it comes to excuses. Three weeks after my daughter I was into all of my old clothes, including the skinny jeans, and three months later I had the ab definition back. Sure add some time for twins and some time for the big C rather than the big V, but let’s be honest, I’m ‘fat’ because of me at this point not the babies. (And yes it is a pet peeve of mine when people BLAME their children for weight gain, career loss, etc. Kids don’t need that kind of guilt thrust on them.) And yes, there are other people out there larger than me, but that doesn’t make me feel less fat, just as me being slimmer than them probably doesn’t make them feel any fatter or slimmer. Because our body image is to do with the messages we tell ourselves in our heads, not what other people drive down our throats.


So when I saw people tearing down Ms Freedman I was slightly appalled. She’s a journalist, sure a high profile one that does TV spots, but by and large she gets to hide behind her computer in yoga pants using her brain not her appearance to get her point across. Today she had to shoot a commercial, so today she wore some gut suckers. If I had to shoot a commercial I bet I’d be wearing gut suckers, thigh suckers, push up bra, a whole heap of makeup and enough hairspray to kill a small planet. None of these things do I wear on a daily basis but I would feel the need for a public appearance. Well I assume I would, I have never shot a commercial, or TV spot. And guess what, I’d admit to it too. Why? Because I’m real and it’d be honest to let people know that I’d put my best gut forward. So to Ms Freedman, I applaud you. Thanks for showing us that everyone has issues and everyone gussies themselves up. That those perfect images and as perfect as we think and that it’s okay to want to look your best. And that wanting to look your best doesn’t mean that you suddenly don’t want people to be happy with themselves, and that it doesn’t mean that you think everyone has to do it, that are emotions about ourselves run far deeper than our thoughts about others.


So I’m off to do some Yoga, and when I go out to lunch with my girlies on Saturday I shall wear my gut suckers with pride. And if my girlies wear them too, then fine, if they don’t, that’s fine too. Lipstick, sparkly shoes, push up bras, perfume, or absolutely nothing. I don’t care, wear what you want to wear to make you feel good!