The Icing On The Cake ...... and more

I posted this on my blog the other night in anticipation waiting to hear about this scholarship.....


Sometimes parents can get it totally wrong and whatever they say to us, we know, that all they want is the best for us.

My parents want the best for me. I was not the most conventional child to raise, nor was I ever going to be that daughter that did well at school, went to university, got the serious stable job, meet a nice man get married have kids etc etc... It was never going to be that for me. Although sometimes I think it might have been easier? But who said life was easy?

So usually with my crazy ideas my parents might have thought maybe I should back everything up with something more stable. They might have suggested I become a real teacher (because what I am doing now doesn't earn enough or whatever), or that I join the army because my brother and sister have.

But despite all that, I think now they are starting to get it and it only took a few persistent years.

After my decision to move to New York next year to re-establish a career in music, my parentals aren't trying to talk me our of it, they are totally behind it, and are really giving me that reassurance that grounds this by far quite crazy idea.

I have also applied for a scholarship which is keeping me awake at night waiting to hear something... Anything. But I spoke to mum yesterday about it and she said I shouldn't be anxious, and that this scholarship is just icing on the cake. The cake being me actually moving to NY in the first place.

I thought it was such a wonderful analogy. So it has definitely lifted my mood about this scholarship and the waiting game.

Just have to focus more on the cake right??

___________________________________________

So I did just that! I started focusing on the cake. Focusing on the reason as a whole of why I was going and what my intentions were.
And I got the phone call. In the middle of a lesson with one of my students. I got the scholarship!!! I start next year in July!! So very excited! I've worked really hard on myself and my voice and it's all starting to finally pay off, I am so grateful! I am now in the process of organising my finances as the scholarship doesn't cover all my tuition fees, but it is a really generous start and I am so excited to even have my foot in the door!


Look out Broadway, you're next.

You're all a pack of communists

I started my career in comedy last week.
It was like a fish starting a career in the ocean. You know what I mean?
It was exactly like a fish starting out in the ocean.

No-one laughed.

That’s okay. That doesn’t mean the fish isn’t going to have a perfectly hilarious time out there in the Pacific. It just means that perhaps the fish didn’t have the right audience at the start.
I guess starting my career in comedy by telling a room full of lawyers they looked like a pack of communists wasn’t the best move.

No-one laughed.

Communists, hey? Can’t trust ‘em. It was a stand-up competition and, like most things in my life I left the crucial preparation to the last possible five minutes before performance. I thought I had some gold. There was the one about stockings being the worst human invention of all time. I mean did we put a man on the moon or no? Did he have to file his nails before getting in that space suit for fear of pulling a thread? I don’t think so. Neither did any of the audience.

No-one laughed.

I then tried to appeal to our common sense of oppression by slinging a bit at the old crusty law firm partner who likes to think he is hip and cool by wearing a pink shirt – except you feel like saying, honey, you can’t wear pink. Not with that alcoholic’s rosea. The gaggle of lawyers at the bar with their double scotches straight up on the rocks turned and stared at me.

No-one laughed.

I fumbled my words, I made a bit up on the spot and rambled a little to the left. But I was wearing a nineteen twenties red cocktail gown with a diamante bow and audaciously large diamante earrings and my seven inch high heels. I thought at least someone would love they way I looked and see the irony in me talking about office fashion dressed like a depression era call girl. But, as you would expect…

No-one laughed.

If I said I was prone to self doubt, all those close to me would spontaneously erupt with passionate disagreement. I am not prone to self doubt. I am DEBILATED by self doubt. And in moments of silence (like when I was up on that stage in front of that packed audience) the self doubt can really take hold. I had to use every measure of self control to curb the rising panic and speed through the rest of my hopeless set. I can home and threw myself all over the house re-enacting blow by blow my complete failure in front of the communists.

Tam laughed.

And I laughed. And that’s all I need.

On Broadway

So, these last few weeks have flown and to be honest, they have been quite serendipitous.

I decided to write down on my career wish list along with singing vocals on a Snoop Dog track and writing with Kanye West, that I wanted to be on the TV show "GLEE" and have them write a part for me as the Australian exchange student... or something like that.

The week after I had verbalised this amazing idea and put it to paper, I had heard from two of my students from two different schools that I teach at, who had both sent me a link to a school in New York. One student said she was thinking of doing a course there, and the other student had noticed they were auditioning around Australia for talent based scholarships to study in New York... CHA-CHING!

So I got myself organised, applied to audition, picked a monologue and a piece to sing and got myself psyched. I had been emailing the director of admissions and had made sure I was organised with the pieces i'd chosen and that they were suitable. I'd been practicing every day leading up to it, i'd worked through my monologue with the most experienced actor friend I know, and just got into the right frame of mind. I just wanted to get this right.

Audition day came on Monday and I had been able to keep myself fairly busy up until the audition which was great, otherwise i'd get anxious and not be able to keet a clear head.

So I got into the audition and met the two ladies that were running things. They loved my voice and we talked about broadway and New York, they offered some fantastic feedback and were able to tell me a bit about their course and what they do in terms of getting their students ready to start on Broadway.

So, basically they've offered me a place in their program, AND they will be seriously considering me for a scholarship! The scholarship is what I need, I don't have the cash to put myself through a course of theirs, I mean the original plan was to get to New York, set up camp in Sam's loungeroom and start auditioning for stuff and get my original gig off the ground. The scholarship would just make it so much easier!

So keep fingers crossed for me, I guess I will hear from them all in good time. I felt like I did my best at the audition with what I had so I can't ask for more.



byeee tx

Tam's Blog: Big Day Tomorrow

Tam's Blog: Big Day Tomorrow: "I am nervous. I am scared. I am excited. I am eager. I am energised. I am focused. This is it. I am ready."

All that glitters

Tam and I share something powerful in common – each of us is the big sister in our family. Further, both of us are the black sheep big sister. Tough gig, let me tell you.
Tam and I are the kind of big sisters that when the question ‘do you have brothers and sisters?’ is raised, it seems even perfect strangers are more likely to assume straight away ‘you are the eldest, aren’t you’.
Well, hot damn yes! We are the eldest. And let us tell you something, because we know it all.
I have quick, ample, and sensationally applicable advice to give people. So does Tam. Being the eldest also means you have a tendency to be, well, I like to say direct. Others would hover between ‘confrontational’ and ‘a Bitch’, but let us not mince words.
Being the eldest, and always right, and also being direct has instilled in me a great belief that everyone else should be direct too.
One of my favourite pieces of advice dished out with merry fanfare is ‘you can’t keep it all in, it will give you cancer’. That is, if you have a problem, it will only be resolved by you facing it head on. If someone is giving you the shits, you need to let them know. You need to let it all out, you need to free yourself. This is the only path to true, pure happiness.
I am a huge believer in getting things off my chest, and anyone who has met me would testify to my loud-mouthedness and glittering extroversion. I confront when I have a problem and let it all out, because as I repeatedly say ‘you can’t keep it all in, it will give you cancer’.
Though, I never talk about my depression with anyone, or the problems with the medication. I never talk about being bullied at primary school, and high school, and college and the acidic anxiety that now courses my veins in every single human interaction. I never talk about the laying awake at night or the cutting and I never talk about the paralysing fear that I am just damn not good enough.
Let me say this for advice – there is a down side to always being right.
Two weeks ago I found out I have cervical cancer.
I can’t bring myself to say the C-word out aloud. And I can’t bring myself to cry in front of anyone.
I am fortunate for the fact that the cervical c-word achieves its task much at the pace of a snail. A Spanish snail – siestas and everything – and it looks like it hasn’t reached my glands and of course I am young, and the surgery should remove all the nasties.
The hippie in me says this is the universe giving me a warning. Do it now or never do it. Not an ultimatum, more an illustration. My body rejects my lifestyle. I used to write. I wasn’t a prodigy, but I could write. I haven’t written anything in two years. Not one single piece of work since I started being a commercial lawyer. I used to be fit, healthy. I’ve gained fifteen kilos since finishing college and now have a c-word issue. I am paralysed by fear and it is poisoning me.
I am crowded by so many expectations that I can’t sort out which are mine, and mine alone. I feel like I should have the mortgage, the steady relationship, the status job, the income, work the long hours, bill, bill, bill. But that never used to be me. If my eighteen year old self met my twenty five year old self in street, she would bitch-slap me. No doubt.
But do I still want what she wants? Everyone wants to be writer. Everyone wants to move to New York. Everyone thinks they can do stand-up comedy and rock the stage and what on earth gives me any more right to success than everybody else? I’m not better than everybody else. I’m not extraordinarily talented or experienced. And that angry little man voice in the back of my head snarls: “So give it up. You won’t make it. You know you won’t make it. Just stick your head down at the job you have and let go of those fanciful dreams”.
Most days I believe that gnarly old man. He states his piece with unnerving conviction and I cannot fathom how to overcome his reason.
Because what he says is true. I’m not good enough.
There were certain flowers in my garden that used to be fabulous and beautiful but now they have all wizened and died. There used to be rich, fertile soil that could grow any seed into a nurtured, bright and shockingly beautiful wonder harbouring all number of exotic and enchanting wildlife, but now the soil is cracked, barren and deserted.
I still feel like I have to be achieving something, working towards one goal in a linear progression.
But what is that one goal? My thinking is blurred and coloured by bad experiences.
I had my first massage just the other day and my charming Chinese masseuse balked at the “very bad, very deep, very long time, very very bad” tense twists in my body. Way to make a girl feel relaxed.
The famous Tam has also recently moved into my apartment and I had to clear out the spare room for her. As part of my clean’n’cull process I came across all my old diaries. In every single entry in every single book I rationalise killing myself and reading back over my own handwriting, the swirling handwriting that has hardly changed since I was eleven, and I realised it all is very bad, very deep, very long time, very very bad and it’s time to stop punishing myself over this.
It’s time to draw the line in the sand and look at all the boxes and suitcases and piles and piles of the past I have been lugging around with me these last twenty five years and it is time to clean and cull.
I’m packing a new suitcase.
And I’m packing light.
Because, let’s face it, you can barely get anywhere with more than hand luggage these days anyway. But more than that, the future has so many new, positive experiences for me to embrace and I now refuse to break my back carrying the old ones around with me.
They can stay there on the platform. I’m leaving them behind.
And yes, someone really should alert the authorities because those really are dangerous bags without people and I hope no-one ever, anywhere, picks them up.
I will take my hand luggage (it has my plays, books, scripts, my amazing family and friends – and some fabulous shoes and dresses for good measure – it has my pen, it has my paper and it has my hope) and I am getting the next train out of Forlorn Station.
With no regrets.
And no more tarnish, from now on all that glitters will be gold.
Love Queen B.