The Saintly Bitch

Funeral hilarity- When sad times go bad.

2012-02-16T21:23:00.000+11:00

I have to go to a funeral tomorrow.

The last one I went to was my Grandfather's. I don't remember much of it as I've done the healthy thing of totally blocking it out emotionally.

Funerals are like stepping into a grief matrix, an emotional vortex that swings from the tragic to the hilarious, hanging on the edge of a cliff with nothing but fairy floss to hold on to.

What I mean by that is everything and everyone is bloody fragile. You don't want things fucking up at a funeral and by rights they should. Usually they don't. But, they should. Think about it: very sad people planning things while probably numbing the pain with medication and or alcohol handing over large sums of money just wanting it to be over and classy at the same time. RECIPE. FOR. DISASTER.

On the odd occasion that I hear about "funeral mishaps - when sad times go bad", I laugh. Hard.

It's probably the wrong response but sometimes, when I have the choice of laughing or crying I go down the laughing route to survive the situation.

Bodies falling out of coffins, people sitting through the wrong service and only realising half way through, hungover grandchildren spewing during the service, wife throwing herself in the grave after her husband was lowered into the ground (I witnessed this, at the time it was atrociously sad. Now-HILARIOUS.)

Because funerals are such sombre occasions and everyone wants to do the right things by the dead guy/girl's family a collective breathe holding takes place. Everyone just prays that it all goes off without anymore pain coming to those suffering.

Well, my husband and I had our own little funeral mistep that I thought I would share with you all.

It's a quick one.

A week ago, I got myself up, found my designated "funeral dress" and ironed my husband's shirt like the good and dutiful wife I am. We got the children off to school and drove down to Sandrigham for we were to say goodbye to Scott's baseball mentor Jack. Jack had inspired and supported my husband through out his entire baseball career and Scott was very sad at his passing. The funeral was going to be huge as he helped out many athletes and families in Victorian baseball.

We steeled ourselves emotionally for what was to come, we both knew it would be sad and so we sat in silence on the ride down preparing for the mood that the funeral would bring with it.

As we arrived at the Church I noticed there were only a few cars there. "Strange" I remarked.. Jack had many friends and had touched the lives of countless people so I had been expecting a bigger turn out.
Instantly and pointlessly I felt bad for Jack (shut up I know he is dead and his feelings aren't there to be hurt by the small amount of people at his funeral- but I still felt bad.)

Scott and I got out of the car, I helped him put on his suit jacket and picked some lint off his shoulder. We looked into each others eyes, I gave him my best supportive wife smile.. Just a hint of warmth, loads of sincerity and a smattering of "here if you need mate."

We held hands as we walked towards the church..

Scott opened the door for me and as I turned around and took in the scene before me I noticed something rather odd about Jack's funeral.

It wasn't there.

A confused looking priest approach us and asked is he could help.

I said: "We are here for Jack's funeral."

To which he replied: "You're early, a week early. Jack's funeral is next Friday."

YES. YEP. YES. EVERYTHING YOU ARE THINKING NOW, JUST YES.

Scott had got the dates wrong.

I thanked the priest, took my exhausted, embarrassed, confused husband's hand said "not to worry we'll just do it all again next week" and headed back to the car.

So, tomorrow we do it all again.

I know, hilarious.

Go ahead.

You can laugh now.

Hard.

The kindness of humans.. In particular Tim Minchin.

2012-02-06T18:14:00.002+11:00

It's no secret that I am often bitterly disappointed by the way humans behave, not today my friends.

Not. Today.

I am an ambassador for a magnificent charity called Strike a Chord For Children. Basically they provide musical instruments, lessons and experiences for children who are disadvantaged, seriously ill or recovering from serious illness. Often times music is the only thing these small humans can manage as it gives so much back to them and expects nothing in return.

If you'd like more info please visit the website here: Strike a chord for children.

Today I had the absolute privilege of escorting a little friend of mine Hamish, to meet his musical idol: Tim Minchin.

Hamish has had a particularly tough year fighting cancer and at the age of 5 has been through more pain and distress than most of us will see in a life time but my GOD this kid had spunk. He is also loving, giving, trusting, smart and generous with his sprit. Five minutes after meeting him I was in love.

While Hamish was receiving treatment at The Royal Children's he discovered the musical genius that is Mr Tim Minchin.

Everyday on his iPad he would play Tim's concerts over and over again singing loudly and laughing at Tim's unusual and hilarious lyrics. Tim has a song called "Dark Side" which particularly resonated with 5 year old Hamish! He explained he too has a dark side sometimes.. ( I think it's safe to say he broke cute with that statement.) Here it is if you aren't familiar with it: Dark Side by Tim Minchin

I met Hamish out the front of the Palace theatre in St Kilda where Tim is playing his sold out shows tonight and tomorrow night. Hamish had on his best white dress shirt, snappy jeans and rad white Nike kicks.. I was in the process of being hugged and high fived when up behind Hamish appeared the strapping red head himself ; Tim Minchin.

Hamish was beside himself, Tim lifted him in the air and embraced him in a good 3 minute hug (cue Em and Hamish's Mother crying.)

Tim took Hamish inside the theatre where the Melbourne Symphony orchestra where setting up for his sound check. He carried Hamish around the entire venue introducing him to the crew and other musicians. I felt so much gratitude and admiration for Minchin I thought my heart may burst. He was so wonderful and generous with Hamish we were all moved to tears.

The thing is, today I was reminded how people can be good and kind. I forget that sometimes when I'm wrapped up in the negative vortex that is my brain.

Tim Minchin you're a bloody good egg.

To the people at Strike a Chord for Children, what you provide these kids is such a magical gift, bless all of your cotton socks for making it happen. I feel so lucky to be allowed to play a small part in it.

I didn't write this piece to promote the work I do, I'm not a particularly good and charitable person! I freely admit I am an ambassador for pretty selfish reasons.

I feel good seeing the happiness on the kids faces, I am reminded to get out of my own head and small problems and focus on someone else who is doing far tougher than I.

Helping them helps me.

Here is Hamish and Tim.. I know right, BEST EVER..

Here is Hamish, Tim and I.

That's all I really wanted to say today, I hope you're all well.

Speak soon,

Em x

Calling all urban, sexy, mysterious soldiers. I need you, my kid is starting school.

2012-01-17T20:18:00.000+11:00

I'm already crying writing this post and we are only one sentence in.

Not a good sign but we'll press on like the urban, sexy, mysterious soldiers we are. (Look, I'm trying to be brave so I thought the image of me being an urban, sexy, mysterious solider might do the trick.)

We're deep in the bowels of school holidays at the moment. Normally I pray for the end of school holidays as a sugar dependant child may pray for cake, but not these ones folks.

I never want them to end.

I want them to stretch out in front of me for months if not years! These school holidays are very special as they are my last with my wonderful daughter Odette.

You see Odette is leaving me.

Nay, abandoning me to selfishly start primary school AND MUMMY ISN'T COPING WELL AT ALL.

(God the tears are overwhelming me now, mascara has just gone up my nostrils - it's getting dramatic up in here.)

I've already been through this once with my eldest daughter Marchella who is heading into grade 5 this year. When Chella started school I was hosting Breakfast radio in Perth so I was just glad she had somewhere to go while I was a work thus alleviating some of the crushing guilt I had being a working Mother. Her first day at School was a happy one for me, this is not the case with Odie's first day.

I have been at home with Odie full time since she was 2 - I decided I wanted to do that as I missed so much of Chella's early childhood working. So after I quit the radio Odie and I became each others' side-kicks. I think this is why I'm not coping well with the prospect of her heading to school; I just can't imagine my days without her.

The highlight of my day is seeing what Odette will dress herself in, she has developed quite a unique style and is fearless when it comes to fashion.

Everyday at about 8am Odette will announce to the house:

"I'm getting dressed, NO-ONE can come in until I say."

This morning we were treated to pink, wet-look Lycra leggins, a tule leopard print skirt, sequinned cardigan, pink vans and a blue t-shirt with ruffles around the neck. There will always be several necklaces and COPIOUS amounts of perfume she has stolen from me and hid in a secret location in her room. Her eye shadow is sometimes on her eyes and her lipstick is usually in the vicinity of her lips. She is nothing short of SPECTACULAR.

Now all I'll see each day is a checked school dress and sensible shoes. Humph.

I am worried sick. I am worried they won't get her. I am worried her lovely, creative, loopy spirit will be crushed. I'm just worried about EVERYTHING now that I won't be there to protect her ALL THE TIME and indulge her unique view of the world.

My eldest is savvy, smart, independent and sensible. I could send her out to live on her own now if need be. Odette is, well she's a little too much like me I guess and that is a HUGE concern.

Don't worry I know I am being irrational and dramatic. I know it's all probably going to be fine. I know this will upset me more than it will her. I DON'T CARE! It gives me a stomach ache every time I think about it.

There is a poem by Victor Buno called "I trust you treat her well." I remember vividly hearing Tracy Bartram do her own version for when her son started school and so I thought I'd do my own as well.

Dear World,

Today I bequeath to you a little girl with green eyes in a checkered school dress she'll have altered to make it more "Barbie."

I can also guarantee she's done something fabulous with the standard issue school cardie.

Her laughter is loud and a little maniacal she will ONLY ride HER glittery bicycle.

I hope you treat her well.

I'm afraid someone will tell her it's "Frog" not "Froggett" and correct "Huggle" to "cuddle" can you stop that from happening?

Her Mother is mental and a little bit musical so she when she sings her answers make can you make sure there's clapping?

She likes raw pasta and will only drink water from this one manky plastic purple cup.

I'll level with you now.

Alls I'm saying is,

World, don't f$*k it up!

I hope you treat her well....

Your friend Em.

Yes I know, I've already called Leonard Cohen to suggest a collaboration on his next book of poems...

Badly written poems aside I decided to do a little research on how to prepare myself for Odette's first day of School... I looked and I looked.. There was plenty of "how to prepare the child" crap but nothing on how I CAN COPE WITH THIS IMPENDING SEPARATION. Can someone alert Kaz Cooke to this?! I need her to write a book in 2 weeks as there is jack shit all out there for the "anxious, hysterical Mother."

I thought maybe I could have a crack at writing a guide to the first day of school for Mums.

Em's guide to your child's first day at school.

1. Get up early, find a nice private place and have your first cry before everyone else is up. This is the big one. You can snot it up, heave and lay in the foetal position without anyone knowing.

2. Make sure you look amazing. Pick a fabulous outfit, do your make-up and ensure everything is WATERPROOF. I mean get that synchronised swimmer shit, the stuff that wouldn't move during a hurricane.

3. Once at School immediately try to win over the teacher. If he/she likes you best then he/she may play favourites with your child.

4. Don't get caught with the hip flask in your bag.

5. Find a nice bush where you can spend the day watching if need be.

6. After the school have you removed, hide around the corner crying some more. Don't worry your face has the synchronised simmer war paint on no one will know.

7. Home time! Rush over to your child, hold on for dear life and break it to them you are considering home schooling.

8. You're welcome.

I know you know that is EXACTLY how my first day is going to play out, I'm just trying to get some of you to behave as badly as I am going to so I'm not the only one..

I still have two weeks left so hopefully by then I will have gained some perspective....

If your baby is starting school this year, I'm with you sisters and brothers - let's do this thing together.

Em x

Women aren't funny?

2012-01-14T15:38:00.000+11:00

I feel extremely overwhelmed starting this piece of writing. I fear red hot lasers may shoot from my fingertips and melt my precious Macbook. I fear I may not cover all points intelligently and succinctly enough. I want to write it so well, I want you to all read this and have it ignite a fire within and perhaps change a few minds but I fear it may all turn into a steaming pile of ranty poo.

I will open proceedings with the following statement: I love comedy. I am a comedy nerd. I hang out with comedians. I work with comedians Im a "gag hag" if you will.

I especially love female comedians.

Let me reel off some of my favourite gals:

Sarah Silverman

Tina Fey

Dawn French

Jennifer Saunders

Amy Poehler

Joan Rivers

Kathy Griffin

Kristen Wiig

Margaret Cho

Ellen Degeneres

Rosanne Barr

Amy Sedaris

Judith Lucy

Kitty Flannigan

Felicity Ward

Cal Wilson

Fiona O'Loughlin

Denise Scott

I know I will have missed some brilliant ladies, there are so many. These were just the ones off the top of my school holiday addled head.

So we've established I feel overwhelmed at what I am about to tackle and that I love comedians of the female persuasion.

Deep breath Em..

When I hear a man say "I don't find women funny" or "Women can't be funny" I am filled a red hot rage that burns like the heat of 1000 suns in the depths of hell. Shamefully enough, on the odd occasion, I have also heard a woman say "I just don't think women can be funny."

Last night on twitter I found myself ranting Kanye style after a male colleague stated there were no funny females IN THE WORLD. Big call. Some might say the call of a man who has deep seeded psychological issues related to a mummy complex he developed as a child - but I digress.

What followed were mostly tweets of disgust from my followers at his statement but what also cropped up was some of my male followers saying that all female comics talk about is menstruation, men and mothering.

I'm not kidding.

@radioinnovation

Ben Henry

@EmRusciano there is more to comedy than periods, children and issues with men.

When I read things like this I wonder how Ben and others like him manage to put their pants on in the morning. Is this a common held belief? If you are a man reading this, look deep into your heart. Do you think women can be funny? DO YOU?!

I wonder how extensive Ben's research is on the topic of female stand-ups? I wonder how many he has seen live? I also wonder when Ben was ordained King of Comedy. Because surely only the preordained king comedy could be allowed to write off AN ENTIRE GENDER and their comedic ability. It must be something about vaginas huh? Perhaps all the funny just fell out of us? I'm getting ranty now, let us get back on track..

In 2007 Christopher Hitchens wrote an article for Vanity Fare with the delightful title:

"Why women aren't funny."

I have reason to believe this article may have been a piss-take, however for the purposes of attacking someone to prove my point... Let us press on!

I think my favourite part was when Chris said that ladies don't need to bother being funny as they have boobs and stuff to attract men so why bother with words.. Ok, so he didn't EXACTLY say that he said:

"Women have no need to appeal to men in this way-if you catch my drift."

Oh yes Chris, we caught your drift. I'd like to see your drift inserted in a place no drift should be inserted. Sadly Christopher passed away last year but I stand by my drift insertion request.

Among other things Christopher insinuated that women only use comedy to attract men. Of course! It all makes perfect sense. I know I only perform in the hope of impressing and trapping a man, that's definitely why Ellen Degeneres does it right?

Just when you think he can't get any better, Christopher rips out this gem:

"MOST female comedians are hefty, dykey or Jewish."

I know, what an enlightened man he was.

I'm not even going to bother with that one.

Surely I don't need to.

It's no secret that comedy is a male dominated scene. It's a burley, scary, tough world and in my experience you have to play by the boys rules because there are just so many of them. Men outnumber women on the comedy circuit a bazillion to 5 or something like that.

Comedy is for the brave which is ironic as a lot of comedians are a tower of insecurity needing laughter to bolster their fragile egos. (Same applies to performers, I include myself here.)

I think a lot of women are capable of delivering excellent stand-up but they lack the encouragement and confidence to actually do so. I have also observed that audiences are more tolerant of a man bombing on stage than a woman. I think women are expected to kill it and deliver every time otherwise they are deemed "un-funny" forever.

Last year comedian/writer/actor/producer/queen of awesomeness Tina Fey penned an excellent memoir called "Bossypants."

Of working with the Saturday night live writers she wrote:

"Only in comedy does an obedient white girl from the suburbs count as diversity."

Interestingly enough Tina has a much more zen approach than I do to people who say women aren't funny:

“When faced with sexism or ageism or lookism … ask yourself the following question: ‘Is this person in between me and what I want to do?’ If the answer is no, ignore it and move on. Your energy is better used doing your work and outpacing people that way. Then, when you’re in charge, don’t hire the people who were jerky to you.”

Good advice T (I like to pretend we are friends and that I call her T.)

Are women funny? Some are, not all.

Are men funny? Some are, not all.

I guess what I am ultimately trying to say is: let us judge what is and isn't funny by what happens on stage not by what happens in our pants..

Wait. I can do better.

Let us not get hung up on the gender of a comedian. Funny is funny whether it has a bulge in it's pants or in it's top.

Just don't say anything wanky like: "women can't be funny" It's beneath you. It's not true and you should probably get something done about your small penis.

BOOM!

Single? Want that to change? THE DOCTOR IS IN! I mean me, I'm the doctor..

2012-01-09T15:35:00.001+11:00

My two closest girl friends are single.

It's a God damn jungle out there my friends and if you're a single person reading this then you know what I mean. Ammiright or AMMIRIGHT! (We've all just high-fived via cyber space that's why your palm is suddenly throbbing.)

I am married. Being married is challenging. Too be honest, I'm not sure which of the two states is tougher.

I am going to talk about a few things from the perspective of a single woman because that's what I hear about day in/ day out from my two best girl friends. I am often the person they turn to for advice when things inevitably go wrong with a fella. I'm not sure sure why; it may have something to do with the fact I have tricked one into staying with me for eleven years but even then, I get that wrong so often I worry about the validity of my advice.

Also, I encourage you to take the following words from my brain with a massive grain of salt. I am a well know lunatic and get a lot of shit wrong, I don't think I have THE answer but I do have something for you to have a crack at.

I believe men aren't really ready to settle down until they are 30, of course there are going to be exceptions to this rule and I avoid making sweeping statement where possible but; on the whole, I stand by this opinion.

While I have my big arse broom out. I think women, given the right bloke are ready to nest and procreate by 22.

Why is this important, it's not really I just feel ladies in their 20's trying to hook up and settle with men in their 20's are up against it from the start.

Firstly, I wish to point out my love for the male species. This is not a male bashing piece. I. LOVE. MEN.

My closest friends are male, a couple straight and ten gay so let us establish from the outset : if you've got balls- I'm a a fan.

Of course, not all women want or need a man. Rah, rah women's lib and all that. My two do, so we'll be attacking things from their perspective if that's ok with you.

Both girls are hot.

Both are successful.

Both are good eggs. No bullshit. No bitching. If I were a bloke, I would lock both of them down ASAP.

Both want a longterm meaningful relationship.

BOTH HAVE A HABBIT OF PICKING ABSOLUTE DOUCHE BAGS FOR BOYFRIENDS.

I can walk into a bar or cub and spot the guys my two girls will target. They travel in packs of 4, wear expensive watches have huge biceps and are uber tanned. There is usually a lot of high-fiving going and it would be remiss of me not to mention the teeth, they always have SPECTACULAR teeth.

We all know these guys.

I wish to stop here and dwell on this type of bloke if you don't mind. I have a couple mates who play professional sport and fit the above description perfectly. I love these boys like brothers, they are good guys who are committed to their sport. They are kind, funny and loyal.

However, until they are finished with their sport or click over 30 I would't let my dog date them. I hear how they talk about women and see how they treat them and it'a pretty shocking. AGAIN this does not apply to all professional sportsmen or hot meat axes in general, of course there are exceptions to the rule but I am dealing in stereotypes here so let's push on.

Back to the bar.

Here is how things usually play out.

Friend targets a bloke.

Eye contact is made.

Smart arse comments exchanged.

Drinks purchased.

Much talking at the bar, laughing, witty banter.

Dancing.

Drinking.

Cheeky pash.

Home. ( I have banned them both from taking randoms home on first meeting so they usually don't.)

Facebook stalking commences, photos analysed, friendship requested.

Facebook friendship accepted. Flirting commences via direct messages they miraculously end up at the same place the next Friday night.

Def con 1 pashing occurs.

Home for the sex.

Text messages exchanged during the week, drunk texts on the Thursday night, late night booty call.

Friend HINTS maybe they should do something in the daytime.

Bloke ignores this.

Things fizzle out.

Friend left wondering what the fuck went wrong.

This plays out over various time periods with sex being withheld for weeks or hours with the same result.

After grilling a few of my single, straight male friends I have been able to gather that the fear of commitment comes from the fear of missing out. Missing out on boozy nights with the boys, missing out on the next hot woman who walks in the room and not having the freedom to try and pick her up. Missing out on doing whatever the fuck they want which could involve sitting nude on the couch playing x-box for 8 hours straight.

So how do I combine my knowledge of both sides? How can I bring them all together so we end up with meaningful connections that don't result in boys feeling suffocated and girls crying alone in bed wondering what went wrong? Baring in mind there is multi-million dollar industry devoted to this very topic with eleventy millions books/tapes/dvds and seminars available.

Well, I have given it deep thought. It's not an original solution but it worked for me and I have had the girls try it recently and they are having good results.

Here it is.

When confronted with a potential romantic situation choose wisely and don't RESIST it or ASSIST it just let it happen.

No game playing, no dating rules, no deep analysis- just let it be. Expectation usually leads to disappointment.

Also, and this is the IMPORTANT PART: SAY what YOU MEAN and MEAN what YOU SAY. Then there can be no confusion, about anything.

That's it.

Choose wisely.
Let "it" happen naturally.
Be honest.
Expect nothing.

Before you come up with ten reasons why this won't work. Try it. Just try it.

Go into every new romantic situation with this intent. It puts you back in control, you will have the hand, you will hold the power of grey skull.

So, your homework for this week is to try this course of action. Then I wish for you all to report back.

Go forth my brave solders.

E xx

You're doing better than you thought..

2011-12-20T16:58:00.000+11:00

I get a shit load of joy out of my kids doing well.

I'm a borderline helicopter Mum. If things are running smoothly I hover above at a respectable distance letting both the girls make safe mistakes. I'm pretty liberal with the discipline and they seem to have a lot more freedom than some of their friends.

The same can't be said for when I think someone is messing with them.. I kinda turn into a blackhawk, special forces, black ops, navy seal, ghost protocol, FBI Mum.

I'm slack enough to not be placed on some sort of "trouble making parents" school watch list but I think people still keep a healthy distance from me at events. The thought of joining the PTA makes me want to cut someone however my kids always have fabulous costumes and rad lunches.

The thing is, I am constantly worried that I'm doing irreversible damage to my children.
The number of times they have seen me leave the house sans pants is probably not ideal. I also have a habit of calling them "slack moles" when they don't clean up their mess and on more than *one (*read 30+) occasion (s) they have had breakfast for dinner.

I am also a massive fan of the hard core lecture. I own that shit. I get on a roll and usually find myself sucked into some sort of vocal, mythical vortex. I can sustain a rant for up to 30 minutes! They are more performances than lectures.. I once made them sit through Mozart's "Requiem" to set the mood before I launched them about not putting their clothes in the dirty clothes basket. If you are unfamiliar with this piece here it is: Em's lecture fire up song.
These lectures achieve nothing as their little eyes usually glaze over at the 5 minute mark, they are mostly to make me feel better which isn't ideal.

The problem with the ongoing war with my children over the "putting away of clothes" is that my bedroom looks like a drag queen and a show girl had a clothes baby and that baby exploded. Feathers, sequins, animal print over 200 pairs of shoes. hats, wigs and make-up strewn across every available surface.

Niether of them have thought to challenge me yet but that day will come and I won't have a leg to stand on.

If you're a parent and never feel like a failure then hats off to you hats fecking off.

I lay awake at night feeling guilty, I'm sure a lot of you can relate. You can right? Oh say you can..

Every time I swear in front of them or yell or find myself away for work I resolve to make organic meals, use tupperware and keep the washing pile to a height of 1m instead of the 2m it now towers at. I of course never stick to these resolutions but I have really excellent intentions!

Why am I rambling about my inadequate parenting skills? Well my friends, today I had a win. A big dick off win!

Marchella my eldest got her end of year report card and against all odds she is a rad kid. I mean excellent in everything. I burst into tears after reading it I was so proud. She had a tough time this year with another girl bullying her but it seems coped pretty well and achieved brilliance. I know I am going on but I need this. LET ME HAVE THIS!

The opening paragraph reads:

"Chella has completed a fabulous year. Chella's approach, enthusiasm, strong work ethic and
genuine interest in learning is INSPIRING and she is a positive role model for the other
students."

I won't bore you with the rest but she received "excellent" in every subject and MY GOD I am so relieved I haven't completely stuffed her up. Yet.

The reason I am telling you this; besides gloating and being a massive wanker, is that I wanted to reassure you that you are probably doing a better job at this parenting caper than you give yourself credit for.

I don't think parents take enough time to look at their kids and see all the positive things they have passed on and achieved. I know I am prone to focussing on what I have stuffed up rather than got right.

I will acknowledge my good work as a Mother in that both my kids know Nickleback's music is a blight on humanity that should be wiped out in irreversible circumstances. They both know all the chorrie to Gaga's "Bad Romance" and that it's never ok to wear white pants. They both also know never to start a sentence with "No offence but..."

Job well done right? RIGHT!

So, I encourage you all to go and look at your cherubs. Do it when they're asleep, you always love them 15% more then and give yourself a pat on the back. You've earned it.

E x

Old people die and other stories..

2011-12-19T11:54:00.000+11:00

Hi my name is Emelia but you can call me Em.

You may remember me from previous blogs however it's been so long you will be forgiven for thinking: "Who is this uppity slack mole and why is she here?"

Look, I'll admit it. When my Grandfather died I went into survival mode.

Writing causes me to open my veins and go to that place in my brain where I lock away emotionally challenging things.

Obviously losing a loved family member caused that area to implode so the writing of meaningful words became a little too painful.

I'm back bitches and ready to go.

For those of you experiencing this blog for the first time, welcome!

WARNING: My spelling and grammar are both appalling as I suffer from a glamorous case of dyslexia.

I try to get others to proof read for me however my ten year old insists on going to school during the day, so sometimes blogs go up without the benefit of someone who has a mediocre grip on the English language and all her rules having seen them.

If you think you can handle the occasional mistake and a little bit of swearing then press on. If you think It'll be too much then I suggest you turn back now.

For those of you who stuck around let us press on. I'm glad those other bitches went, they were all so judgemental!

Oh one more thing. I use the word BITCH, a lot. I have reclaimed it and in the context of this blog it is a term of powerful endearment.

I thought I'd write a bit about how people shat their nests when they were faced with me, after finding out my beloved Ted (Grandfather) had died.

I thought I could give you a little guide to dealing with people who have just experienced loss. It's not the bible and it may just apply to people like me (emotionally charged nut cases barely hanging onto sanity) but I thought it may help a few of you out.

The morning I found out Ted has passed away I was in Canberra covering the Queen's visit for "The Project."

I woke up at 4am as I was also filling in on breakfast radio for SAFM. I look at my phone and saw that I had 7 missed calls from my Mother at around 12:30am.

I knew straight away it was Granddad. He had been very unwell for a few months and the family had been keeping a bedside vigil (it's true theses things really do happen) so that he would't be alone when he finally went.

I called her straight away and said "When did it happen?"

Mum replied "Midnight."

I told her I'd get the first plane back to Melbourne.

I called "Showtravel" who; as their name suggests, arrange all the travel stuff for "The Project."

I have to say their level of service was exceptional.

I woke up their on call lady, who's name I cannot recall and I am sorry for that as she was a bloody gem.

I explained what had happened and as soon as she said "I'm very sorry Em, what can I do to help?"
I broke down.

I mean snot coming out of my eyes the whole bit. The truck of sadness that smashed into me was almost unbearable, the lovely woman told me if I could get to Canberra airport in 20 minutes I could get the first flight out.

I packed very quickly and had the hotel arrange a cab.

The whole way I was sobbing, the cab driver must have thought me crazy.

I arrived at the airport in 19 minutes and sprinted to the gate.

They were closing the flight as I approached I explained/yelled hysterically: "I HAVE TO GET ON THAT PLANE!"

This now brings us to lesson one in the "How to deal with someone who has experienced loss" class.

As the lady on the gate scanned my ticket she looked at me and said: "Someone's had a big night. Perhaps you should have got to bed earlier knowing you had an early flight."

Friends, I had a choice here. I could keep my mouth shut and take her light scolding on the chin or make her feel like a right mole and explain why my face looked puffy and snotty.

I think we all know the road I chose to drive down.

I looked her in the eye, squared my shoulders, wiped my snotty nose with the sleeve of my coat and said: "I've just found out my Grandfather has died and I am trying to get home. I was only made aware of this flight 20 minutes ago."

As the realisation of her mistake dawned on her and as I saw her go to atone I held my hand up and said: "Just let me on the plane please." (Someone hand me my Oscar now.)

I know it was petty but I wanted to cause someone a little pain in a feeble attempt to take away some of mine. A ridiculous concept I know but at the time, I was not thinking straight.

During the flight she approached me and apologised profusely. I even got an extra bottle of midget water out of her so you know... Every cloud and all that.

Your lesson here kids is if you come across a person who looks as though someone has died.. Chances are, they have. Tread with care.

The next lesson comes coutsey of my dear friend Tommy Little. I adore this man, he is lovely, funny and usually caring. Upon hearing what had happened with Ted he responded: "Oh Em... (awkward pause 5, 4,3,2,1) I... (More awkward silence) Old people die yeah?"

JESUS H CHRIST! Yes Captain Obvious they do but it's different this time. It was MY OLD PERSON.

He didn't mean anything by it and has been an incredible support to me during this time, I guess he just said EXACTLY WHAT CAME INTO HIS HEAD at that EXACT MOMENT.

Another friend said: "I guess your parents will be able to save some money now they don't have the nursing home fees to pay."

Well, yes. I guess they will but for CHRIST SAKE! You know.. OUCH.

If your friend loses someone the following responses are acceptable:

1. Would you like some brainless gossip? I can distract you with filth for 5 minutes.

2. I'm sorry you have to go through this. I love you very much.

3. That is shit house. Nothing I can say will take your pain away but I'm here should you need to talk, drink, punch or cry.

That's it. Simple enough huh? Honest, real emotion works in this situation.

My "favourite" reaction to the death of my Grandfather came via the boys I was doing the breakfast show with. It wasn't so much a reaction as it was an inappropriate suggestion for a stunt that hadn't really been thought through before they emailed it to me.

All the big things were happening in the world that week. The Queen was in town, my Grandfather died and Lindsay Lohan was doing her community service.

The boys thought it would be a good idea for us to replicate her community service. That the 3 of us should have to do the exact same things as her. I'm not sure how good your pop culture knowledge is but she was doing her time in a FUCKING MORGUE.

I only had one day off during this time (the day he passed) and when I went to check my emails after I'd visited the nursing home I saw the subject line "We should hang out in a morgue."

YEP. The boys had suggested, on the day he had died, without really thinking it through, that we should all hang out with a bunch of dead bodies.

Again, I had a choice. I could have just gone along with the idea OR point out why I may be a little sensitive to this suggestion.

For a second time, I chose to take the low road.

I sent back an email that said the following:

"Boys,

Forgive me but I just don't think I could endure a day in a morgue considering my Grandfather passed away last night. It's just a little too close to home.

Thanks for the suggestion though.

Em."

They were both horrified and were just being stupid boys but still. BLOODY HELL!

It's now been about 9 weeks since he left me. I can honestly say he would have found all the above reactions hilarious as he had a sick sense of humour like me. I think everything has it's funny side and I am a big fan of real, awkward situations. You know, as long as they are not happening to me!

I miss you Ted. You were a good egg, never to be forgotten. (I'm sobbing now. Right now, shit it's hard.)

See you all tomorrow.

E xx

Slack Bitch

2011-11-08T20:50:00.003+11:00

Hello lovely darlings..

I know I've been a slack bitch with the blogs but I've just had so much going on. No excuse I know..
I swear to you I will get back on this horse once my stint on Breakfast radio is over.
I may even mount it before then.
My Grandfather dying took away my ability to write with any joy but I feel like I'm thawing out a bit and soon I will be able to quip in a semi intelligent fashion..

Until then, be kind to everyone except the arse clowns.

Em xxx (Too many kisses? I'm over reaching now aren't I?)

P.S. If you wish to hear me watered down to about 85% (I'm not allowed to swear on air) you can podcast us: Hear Em on the radio here!

Not ALL stories involving nipple exposure end well..

2011-09-19T20:00:00.000+10:00

The following story literally made me gag.

Then want to take a shower.

Then want to hold my children close.

Am I over reacting? Probably, but you're all fairly accustomed to that by now right?

My sister- in-law related this story to me and it has haunted me ever since.. It is in regards to a "friend" of hers.. (You will come to see why the inverted commas are now around the word FRIEND when before this incident they would not have been required.)

*Jill (my sister-in-law) had a couple of the girls from her Mothers group around to her house last week. Let us call them Mother number 2 and Mother number 3. They no longer attended the main Mothers group as they had broken off into a smaller, younger renegade group.

As lunch time rolled around it became apparent that there would not be enough food in the house to feed everyone so *Jill and Mother number 2 said they'd go and get lunch if the Mother number 3 didn't mind staying with the kids.

Of course she didn't mind, so off *Jill and Mother number 2 went.

While they were shopping for cheese rolls, sushi and apple slice unspeakable events were unfolding back at the house.

*Jill and Mother number 2 were gone for a total of 30 minutes. In those 30 minutes that Mothers group would be CHANGED FOREVER.. (Forever, forever, forever......... - FYI this is a dramatic echo)

Am I building the suspense enough? I still bet you can't guess what happened..

*Jill and Mother number 2 arrived back at the house to find all three children having a nap.

Well done Mother number 3 they exclaimed! Mother number 2 was especially surprised as her child hadn't been fed yet and was hard to get to sleep when she hadn't been fed. No milk = no sleep for Mother number 2's child.

"I'm surprised you could get *Misty to sleep, she hasn't been fed yet. I always have to give her a feed before she goes down at lunch time. I don't know what I'll do when I stop BREAST FEEDING HER."

Have I dropped enough clues yet? Need I go on?

Oh alright.

Mother number 3 replied:

"Oh, *Timmy skipped his feed and I had a full boob so I popped *Misty on it. She guzzled it down and went straight to sleep!"

OH YES. YES SHE DID. YOU BET YOUR SWEET BIPPY SHE DID!

MOTHER NUMBER 3 BREAST FED MOTHER NUMBER 2's CHILD!

Let us pause here.

This is an act that can NEVER BE UNDONE. Never, ever not once ever can it be undone..

It's like finding out your flatmate has been cleaning the toilet with your toothbrush. You can't take back all those times you had the brush in your mouth after it had cleaned poo from the crevices of your toilet.

The image of Mother number 3's nipple in her child's mouth can NEVER be erased form Mother number 2's mind. That milk can never be un-drunk.

Yessssss, I know there were wet nurses back in the day and I know some women today use them but for me it's JUST NOT RIGHT. I'm not saying you are a bad person if you allow some other womans boob to go into your babies mouth for nourishment, I'm just saying don't ever let it be my baby.

Breast feeding is an intensely personal thing. It is bonding time, it is boobs and nipples and babies and family and well it's breast feeding for christsake! Who shoves their tit in a random kid's mouth without at least asking said kid's Mother first? (Wow that sentance would be SO wrong if taken out of context.)

Mother number 2 apparently lost her shit.

Mother number 3 was ushered out of the house at a rapid pace. It was excruciatingly awkward and none of the girls have been able to speak since.

I don't think I would recover from that type of thing either.

Am I being a weirdo? I totally accept it if you think I am.. Perhaps I am not as open minded as I thought I was..

How would you react if this was your child?

*Jill, Misty and Timmy's names have been changed to protect their dignity and identity.

In totally unrelated news I have a new facebook page here:"Like" Em here (I know what a wank huh?)

I also have a live show in Melbourne this Saturday night, it involves stories like this one and some singing. Come along if you can. Info here: Em's live show info

I'm of course worried the room will be empty so tell your friends!

E x

2011-09-12T18:16:00.000+10:00

Darlings,

I have a new facebook page. Please come across and "like" me.. God I feel like a massive wanker typing that.

It will at least allow us to communicate is a more meaningful way!

Em's facebook page.

Thanks.

Em x

PERTH SHOWS HOORAY!

2011-09-06T15:20:00.001+10:00

Darling Perth,

Oh how I've missed you. I am coming back for a weekend fling, we need to spend some time together. I have 2 shows happening at the amazing Bamboo. Please come along, we shall sing, dance and drink under the stars.

Ticket info here:

http://www.luxebar.com/bamboo/tickets/

I am very excited to see you all once more.

Em x

I'm sorry. This won't take long..

2011-09-06T14:43:00.000+10:00

Please forgive me for what I am about to tell you.

Try not to let your eyes roll out of your head when you read what I have done.

We can get through this you and I, I promise.

I have broken up with friends for less so I understand what you are about to feel towards me.

Here goes.

I am on a health kick.

I have been exercising, a lot.

It's been about 8 weeks now and God help me I feel good.

It gets worse, I look forward to my daily run and my twice weekly "strength" session with my *trainer Dean - aka the dark lord.. (*I know I used the "T" word.)

If it makes any difference he is an ex stripper! He once belonged to a "dance troupe" called "Bad Boyz" so at least he's got pizazz. Picture a huge chunk of a man with brown hair and deeply tanned skin. He's in his mid forties and gets around in high waisted, tight, black silky tracksuit pants. He minces about the gym in a manly fashion (it's possible picture Paul Mecurio in Strictly ballroom.)
You can tell Dean knows how to do a decent pelvic thrust.

I am attributing my newly acquired fitness to my ability to deal with the challenging time I have been going through mentally. If it weren't for the endorphins produced by the exercise I think I would have tattooed something by now or spent thousands of dollars I don't have on an antique "saddle leather" chesterfield couch. (I still may, just checking the dimensions of the space I wish it to fill..)

Usually I switch off and wish death upon someone when they start taking about their "amazing new diet" or how many "pump" classes they've done that week. Exercise braggers do my head in, you know the ones - they check into their gym on Facebook. When you ask them how they are they complain about how sore their calves are from Zumba (vomit).

I haven't become one of them but I have joined their cult, I pledge to remain a silent member.

I purchased a running "app" on my iphone and this lovely lady with an English accent coaches me through my walk/jog/sprint program. It really does help, having that polite voice say to me "keep going you've only got 15 seconds more to run and then we're half way" makes all the difference. I also like how she refers to it as "us" like her and I are in this thing together.

I am deliberately making this a very short post as I wish to limit the amount of damage I am doing to your opinion of me.

I just wanted to say if you've been feeling a little flat recently or out of control it could be as simple as strapping on your runners and working a sweat up. Those lunatics who preach the exercise gospel are unfortunately onto something. Disappointing isn't it..

Sorry.

Let us never speak of this again.

Em x

P.S.

If you're in Melbourne town this Sunday night I am singing a couple songs at The Toff, it's a nice early one so you'll be home tucked up at a reasonable hour as it is a school night.

Details here: Em's Toff gig.

The picnic birthday thing. A story by Odette (Em's 4yr old)

2011-08-27T13:56:00.001+10:00

My 4 yr old daughter asked me "Can you type a story on your Puter that I have in my brained?"
"Of course I can!" I exclaimed, so I grabbed my laptop and the following is EXACTLY what she said. Word for glorious word..

Once upon a time there was a dog named Toby.
He lived in a family and Odette wasn't strangling Toby.

One day Mummy comed along and she said we can have a picnic outside and then Daddy comed along and he wanted to come to the picnic too and then Sienna comed along and then Paige camed. They started the picnic together then Toby comed along..

Well, then this um... Big sparkly unicorn called Harry Potter comed along and he was a very nice horse he wanted to share the picnic with us.

At the picnic there was fireworks, then an owl camed along and took Mum's apple because he didn't have any food at his house. The apple he took was poisoned like in Snow White. A werewolf had poisoned Mum's apple but lucky the owl tooked it so Mummy couldn't get dead.

The owl got dead. Then his brothers and sisters and his Mum comed along and took him to the doctors and then the doctors fixed him so he is all better and not dead anymore.

Back at the picnic we were playing hide and seek, tiggy and Hyackie home. We saw lots of flowers in the land and then the Daddy unicorn comed along with the brother and sister unicorns. Then it started to rain so we went inside the end.

Up coming gigs!

2011-08-22T16:10:00.002+10:00

I'd very much like to see some of you at a couple gigs I have coming up.

I don't do them all that often due to the children and my other work so it's always a treat to get out of the house, don a leotard and sing my heart out. I also throw in a few interesting stories along the way.

The first one is on the 11th of September at The Toff in the city. It's a preview show of my "The Saintly Bitch Sings" show (info below). I am there to support a friend of mine, the fabulous Hans and his backing dancers the "lucky bitches". Here is the link for the ticket info..

Em's Toff gig info

The second gig is the big one. I'm doing my own show for a whole hour for "Butterfly at trades."
It is a 150 seat venue so first in best dressed I'm afraid. I shall have glitter cannons a wind machine and the worlds most temperamental fog machine. I would love to have you all there, well 150 of you at the very least! Trades hall is in Carlton and I am playing in the new ball room.
show and ticket info here:

Em's Butterfly at Trades gig info

Thanks very much you wonderful people.

E x

Taylor Lautner and the screaming girls.

2011-08-21T21:57:00.002+10:00

Two security guards, thousands of screaming fans, waving, smiling, witty banter, a chat with a world class celebrity and NOW LOOK AT ME! Home, surrounded by bloody washing and school lunches to make with no bread in sight.

Tonight, briefly I lived both sides of the coin and I have to admit I don't mind my side so much now.

Let me take you back a few steps.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Taylor Lautner:

For the uninitiated, ugh. I can't believe I have to explain this to you. Taylor Lautner plays Jacob Black in the HUGELY successful Twilight Saga. He is a Werewolf, who am I kidding?! He is THE Werewolf. If you haven't heard of him chances are you are a straight male or too highbrow.

Basically, Twilight fans are either team Jacob or team Edward (who is a vampire). That's all I'm giving you, go and google it if you're desperate to know more. You get the gist, he's hot. The late Gen Y/ early Gen Z's Tom Cruise (pre-couch jumping days.)

I am a huge fan of the Twilight series, so when offered the gig to host the red carpet for Taylor's new movie "Abduction" I obviously fell over myself at the chance. Then let me take you to the moment I found out I was going to interview him on the red carpet - more falling over followed by a lot of sweating, gushing, phone calls to my gays and so on and so forth.

Tonight was the night. I was worried on a few levels. First of all big hollywood stars usually go one of two ways. They're either super dooper nice, generous and friendly or massive wankers. Usually the really established actors are the most delightful and the young up and comers give you grief. I know right? It should be the other way around. Taylor is a young up and comer so I was worried.

Secondly "Twilight" offers me intense, free, escapist therapy. I was concerned that if he disappointed me in any way I would no longer be able to loose myself in "Forks" and hang out at the "Res" with the "pack." (None of that will make sense if you haven't read Twilight, if you have you are right there with me aren't you?!)

When I arrived at the Cinema where the event was to be held there were already hundreds of tween and teenage girls milling around. Supre must have been cleaned out this week 'cause all the girls looked shiny and new. As I walked up the red carpet wafts of impulse body spray assaulted my nostrils."Merry musk" and "Honey due" mixed incompatibly together. Their mouths full of hardware and their eyes full of hope that maybe, just maybe, Taylor will pick them out of the crowd and want to marry them.

Any time anyone remotely resembling the male species went within a one meter radius of the red carpet the screaming began. Oh the screaming, let us talk about the screaming. If a hundred monkeys rang a hundred bells and inside each of those hundred bells were a thousand tiny microphones - so we're talking 100,000 microphones amplifying the hundred monkeys ringing those bells ( I chose Monkeys because they too screech like teenage girls. So whack that into the symphony of terrror that was going on.) You wouldn't even come close to the high pitched ear bombs being dropped. Jesus H Christ I thought I may die from it.

I had to entertain these ladies, odd gay man and supportive Father for an hour; it was like being sent into battle. The enemy wore shit loads of lip smackers and were wielding "Australis" painted talons and rainbow coloured sharpies. I've had some tough gigs in my time but this had to be up there with the time I sung the national anthem at a Danny Green fight after half the crowd had been evicted by the riot police for wearing their gang colours.

I took it head on. I skipped up and down that carpet like I'd never skipped before friends. I gave them jelly beans, movie passes, impersonations and unconditional love. I dare not judge the Mothers grasping their daughters crying and the prospect of meeting someone 20 yrs their junior. No! I celebrated those creepy Mums because I too am a creepy Mum!

Finally after I could pad no more, he arrived! I braced myself for the screaming, I knew it would come like a tidal wave. I held on to my security man and waited.. Then, ABSOLUTE SILENCE! The girls were so beside themselves they forgot to scream. I couldn't believe it, they were so well behaved bless them all.

To his credit Taylor posed with pretty much everyone. It took him 35mins to walk the 80m red carpet. He signed autographs. he embraced Mothers and daughters alike, he behaved in such an impressive manor I was able to relax and take in the fact that I WAS ABOUT TO MEET HIM!

His publicist lead him over to me and I introduced myself: "Hi I'm Em" (brilliant huh?). He took my hand and said "Hi, it's really nice to meet you." I then said "Are you alright, you must be tired and perhaps a little deaf by now?!" (Good Em, really slay him with your wit..) "I'm great, I'm so glad they're all here."

Then we took to the stage.

It was a blur of screaming, laughing, sweating and shouting and that was just me... He was gracious, generous and very giving. We'd call him "good talent" in the biz.

It was all over very quickly and then I was escorted back up to the green room to gather my things.

I saw him again on my way out and he put his hand on my arm, rubbed my back and said "That was awesome, you were awesome, thank you so much. It was really easy." With that he was whisked out a back entrance into a waiting limo and I walked myself to the train station...

So here I sit in my PJ's, make-up scrubbed off eating a block of pecorino cheese on its own and I feel happy. I don't know how he copes with all that SCREAMING and the publicists and the constant scheduling of his young life. He can have it, I'm happy just to dip in and out and then walk to the train station after.

My Twilight fantasies are well intact as he is ridiculously good looking, kind, open and taller than I expected. Well played Taylor, well played.

Nonno

2011-08-07T20:55:00.003+10:00

I am very proud of my Italian heritage, above all it gives me an excuse to behave in an outrageous manner should the mood strike. I only have a couple links left to my Italian side, one of them in my Grandpa/Nonno. I wanted to write about him so that he becomes etched in the net somewhere for all time as he is a man who should be remembered long after he is gone.

My Nonno is 92 and still going strong. We've always had a special relationship mainly because we share a birthday and a temper. He has all but given up on the English language save two words: "no" and "fucking"... He's also a fan of constructing entire sentences using only the F word and it's italian version, it's quite the colourful experience chatting with Luigi!

He lives in a nursing home near me so I am able to visit often. Before you conjure up images of piss infested carpets and green walls rest assured, he lives in the Taj Mahal of nursing homes. Every flat surface has a plasma and they all get a winged back recliner to watch aforementioned plasmas in total comfort.

He is amazing, he shuffles around the home unassisted swearing at people but does it with such charm no one really cares. As you could well imagine in that environment, live men over the age of 85 who don't need an adult nappy or a walking frame are a hot commodity. It's about a 5 to 1 ratio in there. Basically, he's living in the playboy mansion for seniors.

Here is Weegie (That's what my 4yr old calls him, he calls her "little girl." Hey, at least its not "fucking.")

"Little Girl and Weegie."

Every Sunday as a kid I would go with my Dad (Vincie) to visit Nonna and Nonno, they lived in a small house in Coburg. My Mum didn't come very often as many years earlier there had been an unfortunate spitting incident involving Luigi and her.. After my Dad had announced he was marrying an Australian, Nonno showed his disapproval by liberating some saliva from the confines of his mouth. If you're reading this and you're a wog then you know spitting at someone is the HIGHEST form of disrespect. (Obviously, I am trivializing this situation and it deeply effected my mother and her relationship with my Dad and my grandparents but let us not get bogged down in cross cultural politics. Luigi and Mum are tight now.)

Luigi served as a chef for the Italian army and I later found out - a secret vegetarian! That was up there with being gay back then. He immigrated to Australia in the early 50's with his Brothers, my Father and my Nonna came over a short time after. Here he is with his brothers and extended family.. Yes, I'm aware of the blazing stereotypes covered in this photo:

Luigi is in the white shirt in the middle. No this is not the cast of "Good Fellows."

This is my Dad with Nonna Violante and Nonno Luigi.

Sundays were spent with Grandpa either picking his tomatoes, planting his tomatoes, attaching his tomatoes to a stake or drying his tomatoes. We were on a year round cycle with the tomatoes.

After we tended to the tomatoes we would then go in and get ready for our lunch. My Nonna made everything from scratch. We'd start with pizza and minestrone then came the pasta followed by schnitzel and salad. We ate the same thing every weekend, I never once got sick of it, and still to this day I have never had food that good.

I'd like to be able to say that it's only with age that Grandpa has become cantankerous but alas no, most things have pissed him off for as long as I can remember! The highest compliment I have ever heard him pay ANYTHING was "It'sa alrighta I tink" - His response to Cathy Freeman winning the 400m in Sydney 2000.

He once started a war with his local bakery. The Italians who had owned it decided to move on and sold it to another family, an Asian one. If you are related to or know an old school immigrant you will also know their tolerance towards other races/religions is pretty low. I'd just stop short of calling them racist, JUST. When he realised that the bakery he had been going to for over 30 years was now run by another family, an Asian one, he started to find fault with the bread. (Note: there was nothing wrong with the bread.) He then accused them of hiding the "good bread" in the back of the shop when they saw him coming. This situation escalated to a stand off between Luigi and the baker. He refused to leave the shop until the "good bread" was produced and tasted. My Father was called into the shop on this occasion with the police not far behind..

Grandpa has never had a bank card and has only ever dealt in cash. I got my first $50 when I was 10 and it gradually grew from there. Every time I'd say ciao at the end of a Sunday visit he's slip a wad of cash in my hand like we were taking part in an illicit drug deal. Obviously, I thought that was awesome beyond awesome.

So now "little girl" and I go to see him of a Sunday and instead of cash he pulls from his pocket small containers of Jam he has swiped from breakfast. I love the idea of him conspiring all morning to steal them, I also know a part of him wishes he would get caught so that he can argue with someone. I'm not sure how good he is at stealth given the fact he is 94, I think they've a fair idea where all the raspberry jam is going. He always escorts us to the door at the end of the visit just like he did at his house. He still dresses immaculately, more often than not in a pair of well ironed front pleat italian suit pants, a pair of leather loafers, a woolen cardigan, a penguin polo and a kangol cap. Easily, the best dressed man I know and considering the amount of gay men in my life that is really saying something.

There is no moral this week, no opinion and no punch line. I just wanted to make sure someone else knew about Luigi and not because he had abused them. He's the reason I am the way I am and he also gave his eye colour to "little girl." My other daughter, my husband and I all have brown.. Go on, go back and look at the photo of them, it's quite something.

A recent visit "Little girl" and "Weegie" having a chat.

Ti amo Nonno.

E x

Ever sent an email you'd sell your first born to get back?

2011-07-18T17:36:00.006+10:00

I rarely get embarrassed. It's not because I have some sort of herculean self esteem barrier that protects me, oh no. It's because I am a control freak of ulcer producing proportions..

Everything I do is agonized over and well thought out. Except perhaps this blog. This is my one place of opening up the veins and letting it all pour out. That's why it's appropriate that I am here gearing up to tell you of an embarrassing event. One that involves an old blog, my high school sweetheart and an email.

Intrigued? Oh you should be.. Be prepared to laugh like a little girl at my expense.

A while back I wrote this blog "You've all experienced this." I'm sorry but you are going to have to go and familiarize yourself with this blog to get MAXIMUM enjoyment out of this one..

When one of you leaves a comment on the blog I get an email so that I can moderate the crazies. I received an email on Friday that told me "MatChap34" had left a comment on the above blog.

My heart kinda raced a bit, then it stopped, then it started again, then it raced again and THEN the sweating began. If you recall the last line of my blog "I dated his best friend on and off for most of high school- but let's not look too deeply into that." things may start to fall into place. If I now tell you that Chris's best friend's name, the one I dated for most of high school, is Matt Chapman, you should be right where you need to be.

Oh yes my friends, the one person I never really thought would read this confession of secret love actually read it AND commented.. The boy I did love in high school, the one who's friend I admitted to lusting after HAD READ MY BLOG. I'll save you the trouble of clicking on the link again. The comment said:

Match34 said...

"I believe his best friend @ high school just read your blog....he is literally shattered."

Oh dear me. Dear baby Jesus in heaven.. Was he serious? I hadn't seen or spoken to this person in nearly 16 years. I bumped into him once 8 yrs ago but it was awkward and we were both in a rush. No meaningful contact since 1995. Had I poisoned all his fond memories of us? We were off and on for the better part of 4 years which is a pretty big deal in high school. He truly was my 1st love, his friend Chris (the subject of the offending blog) had just been beautiful eye candy. All my real teenage angst went into Matt.

Well, I did what any self respecting internet stalker would do. I set about finding Matt. I just had to set things right with him. I got his email address easily enough and composed the following email:

"Matthew,

Sometimes us writer/comedian/performer types pump things up in stories to make them more interesting. While I did think Chris was breathtakingly beautiful, my heart well and truly belonged to you. There is an entire segment devoted to you in my stage show and you will always be my first love.

I literally had to google you to find this email address. I truly feel like a stalker.

Your comment near broke my heart and I felt an intense need to set the record straight.

I hope this finds you well.

Em Rusciano."

I thought that was Ok. It hopefully explained things and made him feel better about our time together.

With my guilt alleviated I went off to have a shower, upon returning to my computer I saw that Matt had responded. What I read caused me much anxiety/embarrassment/shock/ (did I mention embarrassment?)

"Em,

I think someone else must have posted the comment... But thank you for following up!

Regards,
Matthew Chapman"

JESUS H CHRIST!

He had never read the blog.

Someone pretending to be him had posted the comment.

HE HAD NEVER READ THE BLOG! I HAD EMAILED HIM FOR NO REASON.

I had emailed him like some sort of lunatic thinking I was such a good person but really coming across like a woman who lives on a hill with 13 cats.

I didn't know how to proceed so I did what I always do in times of crisis, phoned my bestie Michael.

You see, Michael is well aware of the whole "Chris Cornell/Matt Chapman" phenominum as he attended the same high school I did. After laughing so hard he dropped his phone, he advised a "cap in hand" follow up email be sent. So I emailed this:

"That's not at all embarrassing, not one bit..

Maybe don't read the blog in question, best for both of us!

Em."

Well, of course he went and read it and sent the following in response:

"Em,

I've read it, but don't fret - I was only slightly offended and only considered retribution for ten minutes or so... I did think about calling Carrie (Bickmore) and asking her to embarrass you on camera but thought better of it.

How are your lovely parents?

Matt."

Well, it was done and he had handled it with such grace and aplomb I actually felt OK about my wanky email.

So, this one is dedicated to you Matthew. Thanks for being so fond of me when I was 12-15: a short haired, freckle faced, flat chested, sport loving, drama nerd. Also, thanks for being so understanding of me now: a 32 year old short haired, freckle faced, flat chested, gay loving, drama queen.

E x

The Great Australian Racist (Title stolen from Twitter)

2011-06-23T15:27:00.002+10:00

If you've not been watching SBS's powerful doco/reality event "Go back to where you came from" then stop right now and give yourself a slap. It's OK, I'll wait. If you have been watching - well done you.

Right, let's move on from your embarrassment. So you can play along I have kindly cut and pasted the SBS website's show synopsis below.

"Six ordinary Australians agree to challenge their preconceived notions about refugees and asylum seekers by embarking on a confronting 25-day journey. Tracing in reverse the journeys that refugees have taken to reach Australia, they travel to some of the most dangerous and desperate corners of the world, with no idea what is in store for them along the way.

"Go back to where you came from" has been utterly mind blowing to say the least, however I wish to focus on one of the 6 participants who has become quite the "star."
Twenty one year old year old Raquel.

Raquel lives with her bikie boyfriend Levi (who has an immaculately platted ratstail) and their 12 staffordshire terriers in Sydney's Blacktown.

Her acrylic nails have southern cross tips and she pronounces Australia: "Straya."

Two minutes into the introductory package Raquel admits she's racist and that:

"Blacktown really has become black town."

After hearing that little gem I turned to my husband and said: "Hello, what do we have here? This one's going to challenge a few people." Too right she did, she almost broke twitter.

Raquel is a television producer's wet dream- she's a walking sound bite. I was quoting her after a couple of minutes. My friends and I are already planning our Raquel halloween costumes.

I dare say there will be a Raquel drag show coming to a gay bar near you. She's THAT GOOD and by good I mean fearless. It's as though Chris Lilley dreamed her up or if Kath and Kim had a politically incorrect cousin.

So far she has threatened to knock one of the other participants (63 yr old Raye) "fucking head off her fucking shoulders" and proved that you can construct an entire sentence using just the word "fuck."

Upon arriving at the Refugee process centre in Kenya she told the registration officer who asked her what she did in her country of origin: "Nothin, I do nothin'. I just stay home and do nothin'."

Oh yes, she's quite the peach.

Raquel is an easy target for those of us who, well, aren't racist. She challenged me very early on and I went to write several scathing tweets but managed to catch myself and relax.

Her frank admissions to growing up in a racist family and hating Africans were confronting and not something we would normally see or hear in an open forum.

I wondered why she put me on edge? Did I have a little bit of "Raquel" in me? Her intolerance is on the surface but perhaps mine was deeper down and she was evoking it and causing some discomfort. A bit of psychological projection perhaps? After the Cronulla riots it was suggested that there was an underlying racist culture in Australia. I believe that to be true.

Well after some reflection I decided Raquel wasn't unearthing some deep dark feelings because I'm not racist. In fact, my Dad came here with my Grandparents on a boat in 1954 searching for a better life as things had become so bad in Italy. I feel nothing but compassion for asylum seekers, but I digress.

I admire her for taking part in this experiment which I think would be challenging for the average person let alone a self confessed racist who has no tolerance for refugees or asylum seekers. I have found her entertaining, offensive and honest. I think this experiment would have been less compelling without her.

There has been some significant personal growth in the other six participants but Raquel has stood strong in her intolerance. I very much doubt we're going to see a fairytale ending here.

We'd probably all like to see her skip off into the sunset holding hands with an African child but I think her beliefs are so deeply intrenched and the environment in which she lives in will hamper any potential attitude shift.

The final installment is on tonight and I encourage you all to tell a friend. Preferable a racist friend... Ok that sounds wrong but you get the idea.

8:30pm SBS.

BIG FAT TRY HARD.

2011-06-20T16:14:00.002+10:00

Hello my name is Em Rusciano and I am a try hard. I've been a try hard since the age of 2, I tried to give up being a try hard during the 90's when it was cool to look homeless, I relapsed at the age of 17 upon meeting the head of my gay mafia Lyndon..

As you can clearly see everything about us screams effort.

At high school I was constantly called a try hard. At the time it was devastating. I enjoyed French, sport, dancing, art and English. So; of course, I felt the need to captain the debating team, hold arts and craft fairs, read French poems at assembly, perform dance routines at assembly and get trophies at assembly.

Because I crossed social group boundaries (Language nerd, jock, drama queen, art loser)The other kids didn't really know where to place me so I just got called a try hard, a lot.

I was pretty much left alone. Alone, by myself. TO ACHIEVE. (Sorry that just burst out, obviously I'm still repressing a few things.)

It should be noted that only in Australia is "trying hard" considered a derogatory thing. In America they have parades for people who try hard. They give out medals and have public holidays. Here it makes you a loser; a tall poppy, someone that must be cut back down to mediocrity.

Remember the inspiration story of Kurt Fearnly? The Australian para olympian who CRAWLED the treacherous 96km Kakoda trail. I bet; sitting in a a pub somewhere in Australia, a group of blokes caught that story on the news and one of them probably shouted "bloody try hard." Yes he did fictional group of blokes.YES HE DID! What a champion.

Why does the act of putting in effort make people nervous? Just because I like to hand sew sequins onto my bonds singlet and buy matching sets doesn't mean I think I'm better than you.

Of course there are two types of try hards. One puts in contrived effort in an attempt to be something they're not and the other just tries hard. I'm only dealing with the latter.

In my adult life the trying hard has not lessened. If anything it has increased, so I have decided to reclaim that term and make it a positive thing.

Here are some more examples of me being a try hard (smiles- positive reinforcement people)

This is what my lounge room looks like. ALL THE TIME.

I hand made everything you see here for my cabaret show. HAND MADE IT bitches.

Christmas is a colour coded affair.

My husband says I am not a try hard he says I am anally retentive and should seek professional help. He's one of those effortlessly cool people. WE hate people like him. Hater.

If you; like me, put loads of effort into everything you do. Stand proud my friend, stand proud. Just like Justin Bieber says: "Never stop trying." (I may have tweaked what JB actually says so that I could "tag" his name and get 1 million new hits. Having said that, look at HIS fringe - what a try hard.)

Em x

Calling all ethicists!

2011-06-12T18:07:00.000+10:00

Hello darlings.

I read an article today I want your genuine opinions on. I expect the comments section to be overflowing with intelligent and respectful arguments.

The article was entitled: "Bligh's backflip sees rapist go from zero to hero to zero."

We'll address the "reporters" choice of headline later.

Basically, a man who was convicted of rape and armed robbery 12 years ago was to be honored for his outstanding contribution to the volunteer clean up efforts in the flood effected areas of Queensland. This man went above and beyond driving thousands of kms over the past few months cleaning up houses and helping when needed. When the government sent out his invitation to an awards ceremony where he was to be honored, they were not aware of his criminal past.

Upon learning of his crimes the Premier's department director wrote to him and said: "It has now come to my attention that you have a serious criminal history. After discussing the matter with the Premier, I have decided that it would be inappropriate for you to accept this award and to attend the ceremony. I trust you can appreciate the reasons for this decision."

Well it seems he could not. This man went to the local press such was his distress at being snubbed by Anna Bligh.

After reading this article I was genuinely in two minds over what the "right" thing to do here was?
On one hand this man is a convicted rapist and I'm pretty sure his victim/s wouldn't feel he deserved to be honored in any kind of fashion. On the other hand he served 12 years in jail and claims to have turned his life around. He feels he deserves a second change and has paid for his mistakes. By all accounts his contribution during the floods and after was huge and selfless.

Then I go back to his victim/s and think they will never get a second chance. Being raped is something that I imagine would leave a permanent mark on your life forever.

I will now turn the discussion over to you lot. I'll moderate so try to keep it nice.

Does this man deserve a second chance? Should he be honored for the volunteer work he did? Did Anna Bligh do the right thing in rescinding the award and ceremony invitation?

Go forth and debate.

Em.

In Neeeeeeeew Yoooooork.

2011-06-03T11:20:00.002+10:00

Man. I owe you all BIG. What a slack whore I've been.. Yes, WHORE. I deserve it.

Right now I'm sitting in my hotel room in Soho; looking out over a busy NY street, tapping away on my macbook.. "Big" should be pulling up any moment (although I always preferred Aiden) and I'm still a bit drunk from my boozy lunch with Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte. (Everyone thinks they're Carrie don't they.) This should be an epic moment for me, I really want it to be. It almost is except I'm on my 4th hour of an SNL marathon as I can't leave the hotel room due to all the ugly crying I've been doing..

Oh I'm hopeless. I'm George Bush at a meeting involving numbers. I'm a huge failure as a traveler my friends.

I thought I could be like Madonna in "Suddenly seeking Susan" and Sarah Jessica Parker and the Gossip girl cast all combined into one all powerful New York conquering goddess.. I'm trying to be. I've worn all my best tutus and sat in cafes but the truth is: I miss my kids and the dog and my husband. (Yes, maybe in that order. Of course not in that order. Maybe a little bit in that order.)

The last time we spoke I was wetting my pants over my upcoming show wasn't I? Jesus H, I gotta get my emotional shit together huh? Been working on that one for a good 10 years now.

My one woman show at the Butterfly Club could not have gone better. Turns out all that worry, sleepless nights, anxiety acne and excessive drinking was not required! The last two nights were a sell out and I've been invited to perform at the Melbourne cabaret festival. I'm taking the show to Perth in October and I will also be doing a return run in Melbourne later this year. Against all the odds people liked it.

A few days after the show finished I received a phone call from one of my producers at the 7pm Project. The conversation went a little like this:

"Ring ring" (That's my mobile phone ringing. I felt that was important to assist you all with the "theater of the mind" stuff)
Em: "Hello"
Producer Kelly: "Hi Em. We were hoping you would be interested in shooting another behind the scenes story on Master Chef next week."
Em: "Yes! I mean let me check if I'm free..(Fake checking of diary) Oh yes! Yes I am."
Producer Kelly: "Great. There's just one other thing.. We would need to send you to New York on Thursday."
Em: "Whaaaa? Shut up! SHUT. UP. (Panting, screaming etc)

So here I am.

In New York.

The one place I've always wished to come to and all I want to do is go home.

Booooooooooooooooo(breath)ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo to me. What a pathetic, un-grateful person I am.

I have been here a week. In that time I have achieved the following: (I'm not going to bore you all with the stories behind that list. I'll just use one word to describe each.)

1. Spent 24 hours vomiting. (Acidy)
2. Wallet Stolen. (Gutting)
3. Spent 2.5 hours with the NYPD (Frustrating)
4. Shot with the Masterchef kids. (Rad)
5. Visited the Met and the Alexander McQueen Exhibition. (Overwhelming)
6. Ground Zero. (Confronting)
7. Central Park. (Green)
8. Brooklyn. (Skatiehipster)
9. Greenwich Village. (Gated community)
10. Tribeca. (Rebuilding)
11. Walked the High Line. (Touristy)
12. Saw "Sleep no more"a cutting edge, multi-leveled total emersion play. (Witch-orgy)

Yes, if completing travel tasks were an Olympic sport I would be Flo Jo; you know, minus the excessive steroid abuse and heart attack stuff.

Don't get me wrong, New York has been great. I think I'd just built it up so very high in my mind and what with all the vommitting and the Grand Larceny-ing it all got a bit much.

Here are some happy snaps!

It's a FROZEN YOGHURT VAN!!

B.Dylan street art.

A friend of mine.

Preparing for McQueen.

Self explanatory.

Hipstermatic School bus.

McQueen paperweight.

I purchased everything related to the exhibition.

I was forced to buy some "sensible" shoes as the heels were shredding my feet.

The front cover of the McQueen exhibition book.

The masks we had to wear while watching "Speak no more".

Crossing the Brooklyn Bridge.

Hipstermatic Brooklyn.

Times Sqaure.

Walking the High Line.

I have 3 days left and in that time I fully intend to get my shit together and have an amazing time. Right now it's 9.22pm and I have ordered room service. Ferris Bueller's day off has just started and I am excited. Baby steps.

E x

A letter to you all...

2011-05-10T18:00:00.001+10:00

Dear Friends,

It Tuesday afternoon, it's 3 minutes into the hateful "witching hour" and I really should be bathing and feeding the children however I simply must type a bit before my head explodes.

For those of you without children the "witching hour" starts around 5/5:30pm each night and involves your children changing from well behaved small people into the spawn of the dark lord. Everyone is tired from the days activities yet we must all push on to ensure the children are fed, brush their teeth, read a story and put to bed. It is WORST EVER. What I really want to do at this time is open a bottle of red and lay on the couch.

I don't care how perfect you claim your child to be: ALL KIDS TURN.

I swear if they were really serious about cutting teenage pregnancy rates they would send them to any household with more than one kid at 5pm. That will extinguish the fires in their lusty teenage loins toot sweet.

Why am I borderline manic right now? Well, if you've been playing along at home you may know my one woman show is starting this Thursday night at the Butterfly club. If you're new; well done, you've missed most of the anxiety!

This show has been all consuming. I feel ridiculous writing that as it's only a tiny production, an hour long and my "special effect"involves fake candles and a self operated fog machine. Still, it's something I've come up with and written so if it's God awful I have no one to throw cake at at the end and call a wanker..

The stage is only as big as the front of a small car and I am filling it with my guitarist and a home made change screen. Yes, I purchased a "frame wall" from the reject shop, punched out the pictures and replaced them with sparkly material. Boom, somewhere to complete my costume changes.. Tonia Todman 'aint got nothin' on me friends. The screens lack of structural integrity is a little concerning.

I just hope a stiff wind doesn't blow through the Butterfly club the moment I strip.

I have also made an actual "power point presentation" this whole production plays like a Yr 12 theater studies project. Which, I'm ok with.

This is one of the scariest things I have ever done.

I am packing shit. (I love this phrase, it's not used enough in my opinion)

Seriously.

Why did I think I could do this?

No. I can do this.

If Britney could get back on the stage as medicated as she was; and not pass out, I can get through an hour of talking about myself!

As my annoyingly calm husband said to me at 3am last night when he found me running lines in front of the bathroom mirror: "If you feel anxiety you are living in the future."

At the time, I wanted to spit listerine in his eyes. Not so much now; it's become my mantra, just don't tell him that.

If you live in Melbourne and you're free Thursday/Friday/Saturday or Sunday night around 7pm it would be nice to see you. If you're got this far down and haven't given up then we are kindred spirits (copy write Anne of Green Gables) and your presence would provide moral support.

Book Tickets to Em's Show Here!

Earlier in the week I did an interview on JOY FM, it previews the songs in a ridiculous way.

This is the last time we will speak before I embark on this tour of self doubt and sweat.

See you on the other side..

E x

Selling my Soul, Singing and Story telling..

2011-04-27T20:42:00.000+10:00

Well, I am two weeks out from the opening night of my little show and I've ceased "the sleeping" all together. Anxiety pretty much consumes me and I am convinced I have taken on far too much. So, all is pretty normal!

That all being said, I am really looking forward to performing as well. The experience of doing something that scares the shit out of me and also allowing me to combine my love of telling stories and music has been a fantastic one.

Here is the show poster:

If you think you can spare the time to come one of the shows I'd really love to see you there. All my friends and family are coming (out of obligation) however it would be great to see some new faces as well.

A lot of you would only have ever seen me in 30 second bursts on the 7pm project or perhaps remember me from Idol when, well, I wasn't really sure what the hell I was doing. (I am marginally better now!)

If you're curious please come along.

Tckets to Em's show here!

Selling my Soul!

Recently I filmed 5 "mini whips" for a Kan Tong promotion with the 7pm project.

Yes, as in: "Mammas making Kan Tong, doesn't take long for the word to spread around" - That's now going to be stuck in your head all night my friend.

Here they are!

I've also been writing for the amazing Mia Freedman at her website: www.mamamia.com.au

That's all for now kids.

Speak soon.

Em x

A little something I wrote for Mammamia.com.au: Why Chubby Models are bad for your health.

2011-04-27T10:49:00.000+10:00

So here it is ladies and gentleman.

The reason why so many of us struggle with our weight.

The reason behind the obesity epidemic facing Western society.

Are you ready for this jelly?

The blame can be squarely laid upon the fleshy shoulders of FAT MODELS.

Italian researchers Dr Luca Savorelli and Dr David Dragone from the University of Bologna have concluded, that putting larger women on the catwalk (i.e. bigger than a size 8) sends a message to the obese people of the world that it's ok to be fat.

“To promote chubby fashion models when obesity is one of the major problems of industrialised countries seems to be a paradox...Given that in the US and in Europe people are on average overweight, we conclude that these policies, even when they are welfare improving, may foster the obesity epidemic.”

Of Course! I bet, this very minute ,thousands of overweight people are stalking the catwalks of the world. If just ONE model dare hit the runway weighing in at more than 50kg they'll all rejoice. I can see them now, pumping their chubby fists in the air screaming: “SEE! She's a model, she's not thin, therefor I can stay fat!”

The good “Doctors” had more truth bombs to share at the Economic Society's annual conference in London this week.

“If being overweight is the average condition and the ideal body weight is thin, increasing the ideal body weight may increase welfare by reducing social pressure.”

Just so we're all clear. The “Doctors” feel we should keep our models nice and skinny so we all still aspire to be like them thus ensuring we feel insecure about our imperfect bodies. Who needs the boring excuse of “a better quality of life” to lose weight. We need to feel BAD about ourselves to get on the path to a healthier life.

Shame = Killer abs.

For the love of all that is good and right in the world! Seriously. These men were given actual money to come up with this crap?! Was this “state sponsored” research? Silvio Burlusconi protecting his orgiastic aspirations? We CANNOT have fat models turning up to sex parties can we Silvio? Even a mask won't cover that.

Obviously, putting more realistic women on the catwalk WILL NOT make overweight people feel good about being overweight. What a breath takingly ridiculous statement.

Putting “larger” models on the catwalk would be a HUGE step in the right direction.

I could bleat on about “realistic role models” and “positive body image” but anyone with half a brain knows why “real women” on a runway would be a better situation for everyone.

Back to our friends from Italy. I am confused as to why they were concerned about this issue to begin with? Has there been a dramatic increase in overweight models that I am unaware of and did this increase coincide with a spike in the world's obesity rates?

No, no there hasn't been. In fact, models are thinner than ever and obesity rates are the highest they've ever been. I didn't need a degree from the University of Bologna to figure out that either.

Back to the drawing board Dottores.

7 Reasons to get excited about the Royal Wedding!!!!!!!!

2011-04-14T12:34:00.000+10:00

The Royal Wedding is upon us (it deserves incorrect capitol letter usage) and I AM EXCITED!

I know a lot of you think it's cool to PRETEND that you don't care. You must be pretending because I don't understand anyone with a pulse not being moved by the up coming nuptials.

The available commemorative merchandise alone is enough to get me going. Here are some of my personal faves:

I just LOVE the "Bobby's hat" for extra Britishness.

I may be needing one of these as excitement reaches FEVER PITCH!

Commemorative Gnomes! Nuff said.

They've been VERY generous with Will's hair here..

I love that only Kate is wearing the wedding ring..

They look happy and relaxed in my SCOLDING HOT tea.

I just want to be as happy as this guy. SOLD!

How wonderful that this wedding has inspired so many entrepreneurs to get out there and have a crack.
Commemorative memorabilia aside (try saying that fast 3 times) I have other reasons for being excited about the Royal Wedding.

1. It's been a miserable start to the year. There has been floods, cyclones, earthquakes, tsunamis and fires. Obviously this wedding isn't going to make any of that better or easier but it does allow for some good news to float through the media and perhaps, for a short time, allow a few people to escape their reality and bring a feeling of optimism to what has been a tough time for many.

2. The CRAPTASTIC made for TV "William and Kate" movie that is coming out. Here's a preview:

3. Prince Harry. More of Prince hot ginger pants. Yes, I just wrote that.

4. It will give everyone the chance to remember Princess Di in a happier light. Obviously the last wedding of this magnitude was hers and Charles so the comparisons are inevitable. Sure, it didn't end well. On MANY fronts, but at the time it was a wondrous occasion watched by a huge television audience and is still looked back upon with fondness.

5. The celebrity invitees.. This is THE ULTIMATE red carpet event people make no mistake about it. Every man and his dog is trying to score an invite. From Elton to GaGa, Sting to Lloyd Webber this list is A+++++.

6. THE WEDDING DRESS. Lets face it, we know Will will be wearing a well cut suit with a shit load of medals, perhaps a sword and some fancy shoulder detailing but this party is all about what Kate fronts up in and you know it.

7. Good for Britain's economy. Boring but true. Travel and tourism will get a boost, local buying will increase and it will generate jobs.

So there you have it nay sayers. Seven perfectly legitimate reasons to stop poo pooing the wedding and to get your limited edition commemorative plate and get on board.

April 29th, I 'll see you there.

E x

Dear God what have I done..

2011-03-31T10:15:00.001+11:00

Who the hell do I think I am? I mean really. It all seemed like such a good idea at the time, something I could totally pull off. Now, I'm having anxiety and regret of such epic proportions I'm finding it hard to breath/sleep/function..

What have I done, oh I'll tell you what I've done... No, I don't think I can bring myself to type the words for fear of asphyxiating on the fumes of impending failure (dramatic enough for you?)

Oh all right.

You'll need to read this next paragraph in a fast high pitched slightly manic voice and try not to breath. (This is how it loops in my head)

I've booked in a venue for my one woman show and now I have to sell tickets and I'm afraid no one will turn up except Mum and Dad who will be there out of obligation. I'm also concerned that I will sell tickets therefore people will be expecting to be entertained only what if I can't be entertaining? What if my voice can't hack the grueling 8 pop songs a night? What if people find my stories self indulgent and boring? Oh God, what have I done.

Yes I'm aware this entire line of thought is self indugent. Yes I'm aware doing a "one woman show" telling stories about my life is pretty self indugent also but bare with me folks, I'm a woman ON THE EDGE.

I hosted breakfast radio for 4 years, I have interviewed Prime Ministers and Pussy Cat dolls. I am on live national television every week, I was a finalist on the most successful season of Australia Idol but I have never had to drive and be responsible for my own show. Now, after years of bitching about how everyone else gets it wrong I have put myself up for ridicule and judgement.

At the start of the year I made a few resolutions, if you feel so inclined you can read them here:

Orah, Eurovision and world domination - Em 2011

I am trying to stay true to these promises I made myself so I decided to take myself way out of my comfort zone and do this show.

Let me tell you all a bit about: "Em Rusciano - The Saintly Bitch Sings."

The show is my big haired guitarist Ryan (who gives me instant music cred due to the afro) and I on a small stage in a very cool performance club. I have 8 stories to tell and with these stories comes the pop song that helped define the moment for me. For instance, my very first dancing concert...

(Imagine me on the small stage, I will have my own smoke machine and Ryan sitting casually looking cool... Cue spot light)

"If Hitler had a female counterpart her name was Glenda Jean and she resided in the outer eastern suburbs of Melbourne and ran an operation called “The Glenda Jean Dance Academy”. Every Thursday and Saturday I would turn up with 30 other girls my age to be barked at by our all mighty leader. Why she went into working with children I will never know, I think she may have been more suited to a career in a Maximum security prison or slaughter house..

Glenda Jean's Mother Jean (how very Spears of them) played all the accompaniment for us on an old, decrepit black piano. It had seen better days and sadly.. So had Jean.

Jean was a lovely lady, however she was the wrong side of 70 and sometimes wouldn't hear Glenda's cues. By sometimes I mean never.. Glenda took to violently whacking a large stick on the top of the piano to let her Mother know when to stop playing, this scared the living shit out of Jean EVERY TIME. This scene would play out at least 50 times a lesson:

“Mum, stop. STOP!” - WHACK

“Oh, heavens, Glenda you scared me”

EVERY TIME.

Our annual concert was of course a highlight.. I religiously watched Young Talent time every week just dying to be like Dannii Minogue (Spelled with 2 n's and 2 i's- Hasn't she come up trumps in the end..Poor Kylie) so our yearly concert was a close as I got.

It was also my first taste of drag queen like make-up. So much hairspray, so much lycra and sequins and the tantrums oh the tantrums.. My Mother still speaks in emotional tones of having to front up to “Costume Inspection” where you not dare make eye contact with Glenda Jean as she went over your offering with a fine tooth comb. If one seam, one rosette was out of place she would simply yell “not good enough” and the poor Mother would scurry off to try and fix the offending costume.

One year we did a saucy little jazz number to a song called “Black Velvet”

The costume was a one shouldered leotard made of...Oh Yes.. BLACK VELVET.. Looking back it probably wasn't all that age appropriate to have thirty 9 year olds gyrating to this song on stage but at the time I remember feeling amazing."

End Scene... The music will start and I will give you all an acoustic rendition of "Black Velvet" complete with an exact replica of the costume I wore when I was 9. Don't think I didn't attempt to make that one fit me... Oh I did. It really didn't..

My husband is going to have me on a plate for admitting to everyone I am feeling less than confident in people showing up or even caring. He is all for the positive thinking and living in the now.

He tells me to only worry about the things I can control.. Saying that kind of thing to a control freak like me is pointless.

I am going to post a link to the tickets here:

Tickets to Em's show can be found here.

I am not going to beg.. I mean I can but I won't... I can though.

Thanks for sitting with me in my hour of need.

I feel much better now, I can focuses on delivering a fabulous show and my 7 costume changes in an hour.

I cannot control who turns up or how they feel about it..

(I wrote all of that for the benefit of my husband who vets this blog however he won't read this bit as I have added it post vet)

E x

Broken Vibes.

2011-03-16T15:32:00.001+11:00

I always thought I had pretty good vibes.. You know, a tad crazy but earthy and authentic at the same time. Well meaning if not a little un predictable but all in all solid, dependable, fabulous vibes...

Up until a short time ago I thought if my vibes were a person they'd look like this:

It would appear I had my vibes all wrong.. It would appear my vibes actually look like this:

Yes friends. I have rancid vibes. How do I know this? I know this because someone I have known for 12 years and held very dear to my heart recently ended our friendship due to my aberrant vibes.

Recently I was sent the following text message:

"Your vibrations are no longer welcome in my life. I'm sorry if that sounds hurtful, but it's my absolute truth."

What? Hurtful! No of course not... That's a perfectly reasonable text message to send to someone you've been quite close with for over a decade, fine. I'll just be taking my unwanted, toxic vibrations elsewhere then will I? Is there somewhere I can go to have them counseled? Can I take some sort of a tablet to fix them? Can I get new ones?

Obviously there was some sort of catalyst that lead to the SMS being sent. I will have to simplify the situation that resulted in this text message for NUMEROUS reasons. Mainly because it's a very long, boring and juvenile tale. Here's the break down:

This person's sister started seeing a friend of mine.

It ended spectacularly badly.

I stupidly got in the middle of it.

This person felt I didn't protect their sister adequately enough during the ugly ending.

I have since learnt this person's sister has many problems, one of which appears to be distorting the truth to make herself out to be a victim in a situation she exacerbated by erratic and appalling behaviour.

I had no idea my friend had an issue with me until I went to send them a message on Facebook and realised with a sting that I had, in fact, been deleted!

Ah the facebook deletion.. It's my generation's answer to slamming the phone down. It's hard to hang up on someone with flair nowadays. The person on the other end cannot sense how hard you push the "end call" button on your iphone or blackberry so we turn to the facebook deletion..

Its not as sudden but when the relisation hits that you've been barred from someone's profile you once could access easy breezy, the effect is just as breath taking.

I thought... Wait a minute! We have plans this weekend.. We spoke only 3 days ago... I've been deleted? DELETED!!

I immediately called this person, I had to know what had happened.. No answer.

I text them.. No answer..

Finally after a week the now infamous "vibes" text arrived on my phone..

I was truly flabbergasted. We had not even had a conversation regarding what I assumed to be the issue which was their sister's and my friend's relationship going horribly wrong. Not one word spoken. They'd taken the word of their troubled and hurt sister over mine. I didn't even get to take the stand. Given a guilty verdict without trial, sent to the chair without an appeal - I'll stop with the law analogies now.

I felt the need to canvass all my friends on my "vibes" just in case I did have an underlying issue I was unaware of.. You can never be too careful with these things. I was re-assured I had excellent vibes by all "The Gays" and "The Girls" confirmed the health of them also..

So, I've had to try and be at peace with this person's behaviour and decision to end our friendship.

My husband Scotty probably had the best response to this whole situation. After viewing the text message and dealing with my sobbing he said: "Emy, that message is piss weak. Move on."

Sage words husband, my vibes and I are going to do just that.

Speak soon.

E x

Big Occasion Fighting

2011-03-01T18:34:00.000+11:00

My family are what's known as "Big Occasion Fighters" most of the time we are pretty civil towards each other. Give us a wedding, birthday, funeral, Australian Idol live performance, national athletics final and we are at it like Mike Tyson in a room full of ears.

This is why I have grown to hate my birthday.

Here is a fun fact for you all.

Every year from age 5 right through to 16 I was sent to my room DURING my birthday party for poor behaviour. Yes EVERY SINGLE ONE. I remember one particular year I was having a pool party and I refused to be kind to my little sister. I really didn't want her there, I begged Mum to ship her off to my Auntie's for the day- No dice.

My Mother became so frustrated with me withholding the pool pony from her and generally being a cow I was sent to my room....

Which over looked the pool....

While my party continued on I sat on my bed watching it silently plotting the death of my sisters guinea pig, it was to involve a slinky and some peanut butter (Note, no harm ever came to Oswald the guinea pig, well that's not entirely true.... Wait, I'll get into that in a moment)

The next year I had another party which involved me being sent to my room because we had been busted putting incense in our mouths and blowing it out like cigarettes....

It was PATCHOULI for goodness sake! My Mum freaked out and I was banished.. It seems a few of the kids got a little light headed on the incense (Ok so maybe a few had joints instead of incense but I was not one of them, I was too piss weak so I went with the sandlewood patchouli mix. Straight off the incense stick no less!) ....and may or may not have let him out of the cage.. To this day there is no hard proof that someone at my party killed him, I still think he could be out there roaming the streets of Diamond creek....

Once I moved in with my husband we took over the proud tradition of B.O.F.. At our wedding we fought right there on the dance floor, he refused to twirl me.. I'd pretty much waited for this moment my whole life and when he refused I was livid. So as we swayed to Al Green's "Let's stay together" those sitting close enough to the dance floor would have heard me muttering through gritted teeth "God, you are so selfish. Just fucking twirl me".....

Anyway, today is my birthday.. I have become very anxious about this day. I wake up expecting to fight with someone in my family. I didn't realise this is why I hate my birthday so much until my husband was doing some "unsolicited life coaching" and got to the bottom of it.. He asked me to think back to as many birthdays as I could and see if there was a common negative theme.. There sure was! Me, in my bedroom hating the world while my friends played. I usually deserved to be there mind you, it's not that my Mother was a sadist.. She turned into one when I hit 15, as did I.

It's 6:07pm and I am about to meet my parents for dinner. I am going in with a positive attitude.
I must put an end to the Big Occasion Fighting for the sake of my children. This is not a legacy I wish them to have.

Smiling and waving!

Em x

You've all experienced this, maybe not the deodorant sniffing but the other stuff!

2011-02-28T10:57:00.003+11:00

Take yourself back to high school... I'm very sorry if this reduces you to a shaking mess in the corner, hold my hand and we'll get through it together..

It doesn't matter which clique you belonged to, from Mathlete to Goth you will have an example of what I am about to discuss.

Put aside all the flash back pain you may be experiencing now and take yourself to a happy place. A place where that one person who, when they'd walk past, would make your stomach turn over, your heart race and your hands sweaty.

The one who's name you would write next to yours at night to try and work out your love percentage by using a very complicated maths theory which involved adding all of the letters in your name together according to the availability of the letters L.O.V.E.

The one you would race down to the canteen just to be able to stand in line next to, the one you auditioned to be in a play with even though you knew deep down you could never remember the words to Hamlet.. The one who's deodorant fell out at sport and you kept in your locker just to steal a sniff each day...Whaaat? only me? Ok then...

For me, his name was Chris Cornell. Even saying his name now makes my heart race a little. He was my first absolute high school crush.

His coolness factor was off the charts. His Father drove a vintage porsche, he shared a name with the lead singer of Sound Garden who were big amoung our school community. He had blonde hair that was styled similarly to Kurt Cobain's (who was hitting his peak at this time also) he had amazing eyes, tanned skin, long muscular limbs and could sing. SWOON.

His hotness covered a 3 grade radius.. By that I mean the girls in the year below, in his year and the one above where all in love with him.. Obviously not that same love I felt, silly superficial cows. My love was real and deep and belonged on the "Wonder years" with Kevin and Winnie.

Well folks, yesterday while sitting in the movies with my two daughters about to embark on a slaying of the classic Romeo and Juliet (Gnomeo and Juliet).... I heard someone say...

"Emy Rusciano"

I think you know where I am going with this.

IT WAS CHRIS CORNELL!

My God, so many thoughts and emotions.. I'll try and give them to you in order:

1. Shit I'm not wearing any make up!
2. Oh he looks amazing.
3. Damn my children are here.
4. Shut up you love your kids.
5. Yes but they make me seem un available.
6. You are un avaialable you twat you're married.
7. Shhh brain, Chris might hear you.
8. Wait, he's in a kids movie.. He must have kids.
9. Shit, he's married.. So are you, remember...
10. Oh God it's been too long I have to say something..

Em: "Chris! Wow, how did you know it was me?"

Oh BRILLIANT Em. Great opening line for the man you obsessed over for most of high school.

Chris: "I see you on the TV each week, it wasn't hard"

Brain going into melt down.... He's been watching me on the TV?!

Em: "What? Really.. You, um... watch TV.. Of course you do.. So Oh.. You've seen me on the TV"

Mayday! Mayday! We were heading for a crash landing...

Chris: "Are these your girls?"

It took me a while to respond to this one, for 10 seconds I was standing at the bus stop I had shared with him during high school. They were the greatest 5 minutes of each day..

Em: "Oh, yes. This is Chella and Odie. Are you here with offspring also?"

Chris: "Yes, I've got 2 here and 2 on the way... This is my wife....." (I've blocked her name out, it must have been too painful for me to take in)

Yes, he is an almost Father of four... He has a lovely wife, they live near where he and I grew up they go to the movies together on Sundays and he hasn't aged ONE DAY..

The movie started and so of course I sat there analyzing and agonizing over the 3 minute conversation we had squeezed in.. I had to make up for my atrocities when the lights came up so I started workshopping ideas..

I would ask about the impending birth to throw them off the fact I still obviously had a school girl crush..

I would talk about my husband, YES MY HUSBAND! Someone loves me now that's right!

As the lights came up I steadied myself, I knew this had the potential to go horribly wrong.. I needed this to end on witty banter at the very least.

We gathered up our respective children and walked slowly up the stairs..

This was it Em, get it together.. Nothing boring or inane.. You need pizazz and brilliance..

However, as I looked at him with his two impossibly beautiful sons and glowing pregnant wife who he obviously adored I realised I was being ridiculous..

What did I think was going to happen? I'd impress him so much he'd obviously want to go back in time and be my boyfriend? Because that's as far as I had got. I wanted him for my 14 year old self- it wasn't practical for now..

Once I remembered I was in fact 31 and not 14 I was able to look at him through adult eyes and see that ship had well and truly sailed, as had mine...

In the end we talked about gestational diabetes and nappies... I gave him a kiss and a hug (swoon- look I'm only human ok) and wished him all the best.

I should also point out I never ever got more than a hug from this man. I spent most of high school on and off with his best friend.. (Lets not delve into that one too deeply huh?)

Have an amazing day, relive that first crush today.. Facebook stalk them if you must. I insist!

See you tomorrow.

E x

Relax Julia!

2011-02-17T19:30:00.001+11:00

OK! I admit it. I was sucked into the romanticism of a female Prime Minister.

Sure, I felt sorry for Kev. When he gave his wobbly chin goodbye speech I shed a tear - I'm not a robot.

I was also swept away in the Kevin 07 campaign. Besides the campaign name having excellent alliteration, here was this silver haired fox ready to take our country out of the clutches of the old blue bloods and inject some much needed life and left into our decaying political system.

I'll digress for a second, beg your forgiveness for being a wanker and say that I have interviewed Kevin Rudd several times. I had the IMMENSE privilege of speaking to him after he apologised to the stolen generation. It was one of the greatest moments of my life, up there with meeting Lionel Ritchie - I was bursting with emotion.

Oh Kev... You came out of the blocks with such promise.

You'd been to the strippers, we loved that.

You spoke Mandarin, we were OK with that.

Sadly, in the end you seemed to be away for most of the time and left a legacy of dodgy ceiling insulation, rumours of tantrums over hair dryer speeds and an emissions trading scheme farce.

Enter the RED HEADED SAVIOUR!

I bought into Julia, why wouldn't I? Such shiny hair, such kind eyes, not Tony Abbott.
Julia valued education and health and when that woman gives a hug she commits.

Now, several months in I find myself asking one very large question. What does Julia Gillard stand for? What are the burning issues that keep her up at night? What does she believe in? Why does she present as a robot now instead of the charismatic and passionante woman she once seemed to be.

It appears she has bowed to the ridiculous expectations the Australian public place on our politicians- That they must live as though they're in Victorian times, that they must be infallible, benign and beige.

While I'm not sure what she stands for, we all know what she's against - Gay marriage.
Her stance on this issue flummoxed me. Tony Abbott can hide behind his "religion"as it's a sin for a such a union to take place. What was Julia's reasoning? When pressed she bleats on about "clear party policy" and that their stance "refects where there community is at".

As Julia Gillard is yet to give a clear cut reason as to why she's PERSONALLY against gay marriage I thought I'd come up with a few for her.... Then I reaslised none of them could apply... So I'm still a little lost... Aaaaaaaany way:

1. Worried about procreation- Julia has chosen not to have any children.
2. Doesn't think non tradiotional unions should not be recognised - Julia is in a defacto relationship.
3. Religion - Julia is an atheist.
4. Believes in up holding traditional policies - Females weren't allowed to vote until 1903. If it weren't for the tireless campaigning of women's groups she may not be in the position she is today. Sometimes, traditional policies are stale, out dated and in need of modernising. She has benefited from exactly that happening. Just because something is deemed inappropriate years ago doesn't mean it is now or in the future.

With the recent floods, cyclones and fires our politicians have been very prevalent in the media. Social media has been closely scrutinizing their every move, reaction and tear. With regards to the floods - Julia was critised for being too "wooden". To be fair, I thought she handled it beautifully.

It was Anna Bligh's show to run; I think Julia did what most women would have done in that situation. Offered her unwavering support and in no way felt the need to undermine the authority of the person in charge.

Tony Abbott was recently caught up in a shit storm for saying "shit happens" during a highly charged military conversation. GOD HELP ME I supported him on that one. He allowed himself to get caught up in the moment without thought or care to how it may have effected him politically. If it weren't for some opportunistic editing on ch 7's behalf he may have won back some support. At least he was being authentic.

It would be remiss of me not to mention Bob Brown and his Greens wouldn't it? I'll say this; good in theory however as Malcolm Turnbull said "there are none so pure as the impotent." Lets see some major policy put into play and then I'll be a believer.

I know this is ended up being more of a vent than a blog post but I make the rules here so it is what it is.

Basically, I want more for those in charge of running our country. I want to know what it is they believe in. I want passion, I want AUTHENTICITY and I want fearlessness.

To Julia Gillard I wish to say - Relax lady. Be yourself.

Make a difference this week you lot.

E x

Boof heads should not be role models.

2011-02-07T19:20:00.000+11:00

I try to keep this blog a place of self reflection, self ridicule and musings.

Today I will actually have an opinion.

An issue has come up yet again that I feel must be addressed.

Friends remember, if you disagree with what I have to say here- that's Ok! It doesn't make either one of us a bad person... It just makes you wrong... (I joke - couldn't resist)

I was at a cafe this morning and overheard a couple women discussing the recently bought to light antics of a few of the Western Bulldogs players. One felt it was a disgrace and wondered what was she going to tell her 6 yr old who was a "mad Doggies fan." That these footballers were role models to young kids and blah blah blah blah blah...

In my very humble opinion athletes should not be held up as role models for children in the area of "desirable personal attributes." Sporting prowess? Absolutely. If I ever have a son I would want him to be able to go in hard like Glen Archer did, I would not want him to look to Brendan Fevola for financial advice or to Nick Riewoldt for personal grooming tips.. (I am still scarred by that image)

The article in the Herald called it a "Youtube disgrace." For those of you not aware, during their end of season trip last year to China a few of the WBD players among them Adam Cooney who is a, GASP Brownlow medalist (this was mentioned numerous times in the piece as though it should make him immune to stupidity) and Jarrad Grant misbehaved on a night out. After exiting a bar they stopped a couple of cabs, got on the bonnet of a car and were involved in some VERY questionable dancing (Adam Cooney's pelvic thrusting is quite impressive) and yes, were generally behaving like douche bags.

I have watched this video and the only disgrace I can see is the bloke in the devil horns attempting to do the "worm." It is a truly shocking display, he should have a good hard look at himself in the mirror.

Someone taped it unbeknown to them and posted it on Youtube, it's already had over (another gasp) 8000 views... Make no mistake it's bratty, stupid and arrogant behaviour but it's not a reason to call for their guernseys.

Watch the bad behaviour here.

The club were quick to respond using language like "frustrated" and "disappointed." Bulldogs CEO Simon Garlick went as far to say they may need to reconsider their careers as footballers... Wow! Slightly over the top don't you think?

In my opinion the club should have said: "This is a non story, they were off the clock, no laws were broken, no injuries sustained- you should all seriously consider getting lives" but obviously put it in wanky football administrative terms.

To those of you yelling at the computer "Em, AFL players choose their occupation and get paid handsomely thus forfeit the right to a normal life and should accept their role model status" I say this:

I don't believe footballers knowingly "choose" to open up their private lives for our entertainment.
My husband and I had a VERY heated debate over this point. He feels lots of information is given to players before and during their time in AFL clubs about what comes with being a player in today's climate. That by choosing football they also accept the reality of public scrutiny on the rest of their non football lives. (It should be pointed out my husband's job is to help AFL players, coaches and executives deal with the pressures of their lives so that their professional performance is optimal- he's the expert) I say when they start out they are 18 and just want to play footy, they are incapable of fully understanding what awaits them should they stuff up along the way. Once they do stuff up, it's far bigger and scarier than anything they could have imagined.

I accept it's a players responsibility to conduct themselves in a manner that doesn't embarrass the club the game or anyone else, but why should these footballers be expected to show my children how to be honest, humble and generally good humans when all they really signed up for was to play footy? Some of these guys are genuine dickheads but my God can they kick. I would hope that my kids would be able to discern which attribute is more desirable to have - that's MY job as a parent.

If a child sees a picture of his favorite player, oh I don't know, posing inappropriately with a dog and thinks that it's ok to do the same - I'd say there are some deeper issues there at play.

The whole notion of a"role model" is flawed anyway. No one person could be held up and deemed the perfect specimen for a child to "model" their "role" as a human on.. I have many, many attributes I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy yet alone my children and I'm their Mother. I hope they get my uncanny ability to line up the centre of anything without the use of a tape measure; I sincerely hope they both bypass my crippling anxiety and the neurotic behaviour that results.

There has been some bloody ridiculous behavior by some AFL players, I don't deny that. I am not here to defend the boof heads, I am here to say that I do not expect said boof heads to teach my children right from wrong.

Have an adventurous week.

E x

Strippergate -Why you should never drink and Tweet.

2011-01-24T12:10:00.000+11:00

There isn't a word that a woman can call a man that has the same impact as c@nt.

We have NO retaliation.

Early Sunday morning someone called a friend of mine the c-bomb.

On Twitter.

This may have not have been such a big deal if said person and friend didn't both have over 56,000 followers each.

Upon reading the tweets I actually found myself quoting the great Danny Glover - "I'm too old for this shit." I knew it was going to get ugly.... Holy Barbara Streisand, did it ever.

For the sake of protecting the innocent lets call the 2 main players "Tosh" and "Tuby."

Tuby and I had been booked to play at the Donkey Wheel house as part of the Midsumma festival. I was singing she was spinning.. (I'm so music biz now)
Half way through her set Tosh arrived. We'd only met once before however I was well aware of who he was as he had dated a very good friend of mine aaaaaand he's on a very high rating television show.
He was very pleasant and endeared himself very quickly to me with his self-effacing humour and immense anxiety - A potent combination.

After Tuby had finished she came over and saw that Tosh was there and they both seemed genuinely happy to see each other. It was my understanding they had been friends for years... They have a few things in common the biggest being they are Australia's token gay and lesbian celebrity groovy kids.

The decision was made that we should move on to another venue. A strip club was suggested...

I will pause here to say I had never been to a strip club before in my life.

They'd always conjured up unappealing visions of green and mustard striped velour couches, sticky floors and women named "Candy" who had seen better days and to whom gravity was no friend... I wasn't excited by the idea however the 3 lesbians and the 3 gay men in our group out voted me. (I really gotta get some heteros in my life eh?)

Some of you may be asking: "Em! Why didn't you just go home?" Good question. The answer? I was the D.D.P. that night (Designated Dignity Protector) each time we head out someone is assigned the D.D.P role. Tuby has done it for me on other occasions.

We entered the venue and the woman on the door spotted Tuby and a V.I.P area was quickly arranged..

The interior of the club looked like what can only be described as the Qantas club meets Gold Class meets the inside of Jeannie's bottle... Who knew wing back chairs and Chesterfield couches were popular in the high-end strip club interior design aesthetic?

We were seated, the gays and I huddled together like babes in the wood.. I honestly didn't know where to look. The strippers were pretty much naked, actually naked... Yes I know IT'S A STRIP CLUB but still- NAKED!

I decided to just embrace it all and really appreciate what these girls were doing, admire their dedication to their craft. When Miss Pole 2010 came out I was so impressed I almost wept. It was like some sort of magnificent x-rated circ de soleil number. She was performing acts on that pole that truly boggled my mind. Her thighs were all that stood between her and a 4m face plant... AMAZING.

Also, I feel it would be remiss of me not to address the extremely high personal grooming standards these women have. I did not see ONE hair out-of-place, not ONE tan line, those perspex platforms were clean and shiny - it was a very tight ship ladies and gents make no mistake about it.

Then a couple of bottles of Champaign arrived.....

I declined because of my D.D.P. status, I needed to stay sharp. Everyone else (except Tosh) had a glass.

A short time after that I grabbed Tuby and told her it was time to go. Nothing good can come from 2:30am onwards. Also, I'm a Mother of 2 for goodness sake. I have to be accountable!
We said our goodbyes and then Tosh jumped up and said: "Hey! My credit card is behind the bar!"
Tosh has recently become a home owner and is trying to be more money conscious he was just checking he wouldn't be left with a huge bill. We all discussed the best course of action and then Tuby said she had been told the club was "taking care of it" so we all thought everything was sweet.

APPARENTLY NOT!

Flash forward to 8:30am Sunday morning and as I feed my children breakfast and regale them with tales of women who can hang off "fireman" poles by their toes, I check my twitter feed and see this from Tosh:

"So it turns out Tuby ordered $610 worth of Champaign without paying. I have the bill now.Turns out Tuby is a cunt. Surprise!"

There it is. That big, ugly, can't take back word.

56,700 people received that tweet..

So as I was saying. There is nothing Tuby can say back that would equal that word. I understand that he was upset, I would be as well. However, he could have just taken it up with her on the phone. Perhaps penned an angry letter, anything that didn't involve so many people and that word.

Whhhhhhhy? Tosh Whhhhhhhhhy?

It's all sorted now, we've all offered to give him money and he declined to take it...

As Tosh is a talented comedian I'm sure this will give him amazing content for his next show- "Why you should never call someone a cunt on twitter" and he'll joke about it and probably make back the $610 he paid for the Champaign in ticket sales alone. I think he handled the situation appallingly.

I'm exhausted.

Speak soon.

E x

P.S. I am seriously considering taking up pole dancing. I'll just be wearing...You know...Clothes.

Oprah, Eurovision and world domination. Em 2011.

2011-01-04T22:07:00.001+11:00

My year off is officially over.

Dear baby Jesus in heaven it went quickly.

I now have to find proper employment. Creatively, spiritually and finacially doing 10 minutes of television a week just 'aint going to cut it anymore.

Yes I have my children however as Miranda pointed out to Charlotte in the only decent piece of dialogue to come out of the flaccid Sex and the City 2 movie: "Being a Mother, for me, just isn't enough". To be fair there was another line in that movie which I quite enjoyed. Samantha proclaiming: "He can be Lawrence of my labia" but I digress.

Yep. I need more. If left to my own devices I turn all my creative energy into negative actions (spot the woman who's been to intensive counseling).

The only problem is... I'm not sure what I want to be when I grow up. I have a vague idea that involves Playschool, Eurovision and Oprah but other than that I am lost.

I'm not really qualified to do anything except think fast on my feet, talk and wear false eyelashes.

I don't even have a current resume. So I am sticking with what I know.

I made a few (God forgive me for writing this) resolutions.... I know, I know, I'm sorry but that's what they are. I have decided to tell you all so that I can't hide from them. I'll leave it to you to harass me throughout the year if I appear to be deviating from the course (Feel free to leave me yours in the comment section and I will do the same for you.)

1. Sing more. - Happy to announce my first proper gig is happening on the 16th of Jan at the Mid-Summer carnival at Birrarung Marr. I'm on stage at 12:45 singing 4 songs with my guitarist. Just covers to start with, we have re-arranged Whitney Houston, Amy Winehouse, Pink and Tina Turner. Please, if you can come down to support me I would most appreciate it.

2. Get on the big kids table at the 7pm project - This is a tough one. I want one shot at the desk, not anything fancy like what the amazing Carrie Bickmore does, just a spot down the end. When Dave's having the night off.

3. Attempt (I am shaking as I write this) stand up comedy... I am not a comedian, I do not think I am funny, I just like telling stories.. I thought I'd get up and tell a few. Weird shit happens to me, a lot. I thought others may find said weird shit amusing.

4. Take Acting classes - I'm hoping this will help me as a performer and help me let go of the crap that causes anxiety before I take to the stage or camera. I enrolled today in the beginners Meisner Technique course. Once a week for 8 weeks, I'm nervous but excited.

5. Write a short book. I've been wanting to do this for a while now however my rampant dyslexia had always scared me away. In the end I thought I just need to find a really good editor to do all the heavy lifting.

6. Finish writing my one woman cabaret show. It's almost done, I just need Michael Lucas (Click here for Gays of Em's life reference point) to stop being so busy with "Offspring" and his new movie starring Ryan Kwanten (subtle plug) to help me perfect it.

7. Get back onto the radio - I think, out of everything, it's what I do least badly..

I will share something with you all now.

I probably shouldn't. It makes me sound like a massive wanker.

Only Michael Lucas knows this... (Yes I refer to him with both names in real life as well)

I am on the Oprah timeline. (I thought if I made it small it wouldn't look as bad)

I am acutely aware that she was my age when she started on cable.

Eventually I wish to dominate the talk show world. I will be a mixture of Graham Norton, Dame Edna and Tony Martin. I have already spoken to Channel 31 about the campest talk show in the world... It could be happening. The big O started small, I must also. BUT IT MUST BE NOW!! Oh the pressure..

I'm aware this may be the most self indulgent piece of writing you've ever had to get through but let's move on from that! I had to put it all out there.

Now the year of Em begins... Yes that's right, I just wrote "The year of Em".

Be bold this week kids.

E x

P.S - I am reading another fantastic book. It's called "A fraction of the whole" by Steve Toltz... I know I am a little late of the mark with this one and a lot of you have probably read it however if you haven't.. DO IT.

My 10 cents and my nude picture.

2010-12-21T22:55:00.000+11:00

I once posed nude for a "healthy body image" campaign.

Here is the picture:

Yes, fairly tame compared to the St Kilda boys but I knew full well that after I posed for this shot other people were going to see it. I think that can be assumed of any photo taken.

After I had taken in ALL the available [visual] information on the "St Kilda nude photo scandal" I have to say the one thing that stuck with me was the fact that the boys posed for the shots in the first place and are now crying foul that they have seen the light of day. That and the lack of pubic hair... (Did anyone else find that a little confronting?)

Nick Riewoldt is now bleating about how he asked that the photo be deleted HOWEVER he obviously did not make sure of this. Also, for those of you who have seen the shot - it's not like he has his wang covered with one hand while trying to block the lens with the other. Boyfriend is working his angles - AKA posing.

This "school girl" as she is disturbingly referred to in the press has been called everything from a "trouble making slut" to a "lost little girl". I think one thing's for sure ladies and gentlemen; meet your January Zoo Weekly cover girl.

Some people are asking why? Why is she trying to deliberately destroy these young mens lives? To them I say: SERIOUSLY?! Has she not been clear enough? Let me break it down for you all.

Here is a series of the "school girl's" tweets from a month ago, you can actually see the flames of revenge grow from glowing embers into a full blown inferno..

Remember, this is the same girl who claimed to have fallen pregnant to an un-named St Kilda player earlier this year. The tweets are obviously aimed at the player she had the alleged affair with. She is also clearly upset with how the club and the AFL handled the situation - THIS is a woman scorned:

"I need you to be here for me, I need you to be a part of this, I need you to keep my last ray of hope alive."

"Don't put me through this again, If anything... do it for bubs."

"Last Night... Well, What can I say? Absolutely shattered at the consequences... Ciao Ciao Life Plan.. x.."

"It's safe to say that if this goes through; My life will be a mess and not worth living. I'm awaiting judgement day.."

"As if you have a new girlfriend, then you call me and say you love me.. What the ? A tad confused .."

"I feel strange, I'm used to being the one in control and the one that's manipulating you, not the other way round.."

"HA. But, I WILL take you down, you know I will... I've got nothing to lose, unlike you. It's ON."

"Now it's getting interesting.... come get me fucker... Oh how I can't wait for next month."

You know how this ended... She posted the pictures and here we all are.

I do not wish to say much more on this topic, every man and his dog has had their go. I do wish to make the following points.

1. If she did in fact lose her baby as she claims them I am truly sorry for her loss and hope she has some kind of a support network around her.

2. Those boys should never have posed for the shots if they were not happy with the possibility of them getting out.

3. Nick Riewoldt blaming Sam Gilbert is a cop out. He could have shown leadership and accepted some responsibility.

4. The footballers are not the only ones to blame. This girl has displayed behavior that is down right predatory.

5. When you break it down it's just a bit embarrassing for the boys. They'll move on and probably be able to laugh about it all in time. I get the feeling this is a deep scar for this young girl, one that may never heal.

6. The AFL has a very long way to go to repair and grow it's relationship with the ladies.

Keep it in your pants if you don't want your Grandmother to see it kids.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Em x

How I was almost arrested at the dry cleaners.

2010-12-15T15:56:00.001+11:00

A few hours ago I tweeted this:

"So, how's your morning been? What's that? Oh, yes the dry cleaner tried to have me arrested. No biggie. JESUS what a day."

I thought a mini blog was in order to explain myself.

Today I found myself being held against my will inside a dry cleaners.

Not a sentence I expected to have to type, ever in my life. EVER.

I have been going to this dry cleaner for the past year. They are a Vietnamese couple, you pay cash up front and they operate on a fairly dodgy hand written receipt system.

The cash register is a throw back from colonial times and they prefer to grunt instead of speak. Why do I go there? They do a bloody great job and it's cheaper than anywhere else I've been to.

A week ago I had dropped off 3 of my most sparkly dresses and 4 black jackets with various tassels, studs and leather trimmings. These are the staples of my wardrobe as you can well imagine. It is what I call the "nucleus" clean, all the most important and utilized items put in together for an en mass sprucing.

I now realise this was a mistake when I was faced with never seeing them again. What was I thinking?! The royal family never fly together just in case the plane goes down. The President and the Vice president travel on seperate planes for the same reason... You always have a spare around just in case. I should have only put half of the nucleus in.

The man who works there gestured at the receipt book and I was forced to admit that I had, in fact lost the 10cmx10cm piece of paper he'd given me the week earlier. My dresses happened to be hanging just to the left of the counter. I said "Look they're just there, if you call the number on the receipt my phone will ring and you'll see they're mine" he shook his head and told me to get out.

I said- "Can I show you some I.D to prove it's me."

He said: - " Drivers Licence"

I then produce my WA license as I am waiting for my VIC one to come.

He said: "This is fake. I not trust this. Must be Victorian"

I then produced the following:

Passport.

Medicare card.

Credit cards.

Working with children card.

All of these cards baring my name and/or my resemblance.

He still refused to hand over the dresses and press some sort of button that alerted the two women working out the back. They came rushing up to the counter demanding to know what was going on.

I again tried to explain that I had lost the ticket but if SOMEONE would just ring the number on the receipt hanging on the dresses my phone would ring or perhaps they would like to peruse the 55 other forms of ID I had produced.

Woman number one said: "We not trust anything but a Victorian license. You find someone with a Victorian license to sign for you."

I said I would not be doing that. I explained that I had already paid, I have more than enough ID here to prove it's me and that I was taking my dresses and leaving... I grabbed them off the hanger and headed for the door.

THIS IS WHEN THE SHIT HIT THE FAN.

Next thing I knew the man has got me in some sort of head lock and woman number one has jumped across the counter and locked the door. Woman number 2, with the skills of a Ninja -managed to wrench the clothes from my hands. She then screamed something in Vietnamese which was obviously along the lines of "call the police."

Cut to me standing in the corner shaking with no escape and 3 crazed lunatics shouting at me and calling me a thief!

The police were on their way and I had heard them tell them I was "violent" and an "angry person." Really?! Only one person had been placed in a head lock and it wasn't any of the 3 small shouty people who stood before me.

I managed to stop shaking long enough to call Scotty. The conversation went something like this:

Scotty: "Hello"

Me: "(Hiccup, sob)...I'm being held captive at the dry cleaners, they've called the police they say I am trying to steal my own clothes. Can you please come, and please bring your Victorian drivers license"

Scotty: "Right, (deep sigh) I'll be there soon."

The fact Scotty didn't even question it or sound remotely surprised probably looks pretty bad but I can honestly say this have never happened before.. Ok, so once I took on a woman who punched a bank teller in front of me but other than that my record is clean!

The police were taking their sweet time, I guess I wasn't considered that dangerous a criminal in my leopard print maxi dress with my bewildered 3 yr old child (yes Odette was there) sitting on my hip.

Scotty arrived to find me crumpled in the corner with Odie stroking my hair, bless her she knows the drill. He knocked on the door and surprisingly they let him in. He produced the much sort after "Victorian drivers license" and my clothes were handed over... JUST LIKE THAT.

I informed them all I would not be returning there ever and to expect a visit from the police as I was pressing charges for assault... Of course I will never follow through with that but it felt really good saying it.

I am still a bit disturbed over the whole incident but I do have my vintage Chanel sequined jacket back so alls well that ends well.

E x

Radioleaks and how to win a prize pack!

2010-12-14T18:22:00.004+11:00

Radio had little meaning to me until I was introduced to Tony Martin and Mick Molloy. I was 15 when they started doing drive time. I was hormonal, a bit angry and pretty much hated everything (except Dawson's Creek) when I first heard: "Now it's time for the adventures of Blimpy the Lactose-Intolerant Cat. He's not very well, he's leaking a smell. We should put him out but, it wouldn't be fair. 'Cause he's just a normal cat..... with the shits!" It's fair to say The Martin Molloy show rocked my Dawson's Creek loving world.

With segments like "Girlie Man" who shopped at Portmans and loved fake tan and the aforementioned Blimpy, radio suddenly stopped being background noise. It became a genuine source of joy, and above all, really good poo jokes. Now I'm afraid with the departure of Hamish and Andy radio is in danger of becoming bland, background noise once more.

When the boys finished up last week a huge gaping hole was created in the radio landscape. I, like a lot of poeple were left wondering what was next? Teams like this rarely come along and for a radio nerd like me it caused a little bit of panic. You see, I want people to love radio as much as I do! I am some sort of self appointed ambassador and radio is my wayward daughter...

Anyway, I thought this week I'd take you on a small tour behind the curtain of the radio world. Inspired by Julian Assange (topical), I thought I'd share with you a little of it's seedy underbelly, some of my experiences and assist you all in winning a prize pack!!!

I wish to start by saying as a performer, how much I love radio. It's instant, you can't be edited and you and only YOU are in control. Also, it's very personal. People chose to let you into their lives on a daily basis, I always felt very humbled by that. The five years I spent on radio were the most challenging and rewarding of my professional life so far.

I am not here to give away all of radio's secrets as I do wish to return to that medium one day, it's kind of like the "magicians alliance" - certain things should be kept quiet to maintain the mystique.

So here is my watered down version of Radioleaks.

In relation to breakfast radio - the listener is king. You lot wield a vast amount of power, we live and die by the ratings. One day an un-assuming little media survey book may arrive at your house. Our careers hang on that book and the boxes you tick. The ratings come out 8 times a year and in fact, one came out today. Only those who work in radio truly care however should you ever wonder how your favorite radio team are really going, all the results are widely available on the internet.

The two main players at any radio station are:

1. General Manager - Has the final say on hiring and firing. Oversees the stations finances, sales, promotions and client integration. Manages "talent" expectations. Essentially GOD.

2. Content Director - Everything you hear on air this person is in charge of.

A very special mention will go to the hardest working, most under paid and least appreciated person at any radio station - the Breakfast show and Afternoon show producers. They are the heart and soul of the show. They take the ideas from the white board and make them a reality, then the on air talent take all the glory.

When you first start out on a new radio show every show is to be treated like a first date, you're courting a new audience. The poo and fart jokes must be kept to a minimum and the "re-set" technique is heavily employed.
Every time we spoke about something in our personal lives we were trained to always "re-set". That is, I couldn't just say "Marchella came home from school with a penis pen" I had to ALWAYS say "Marchella MY DAUGHTER came home from school with a penis pen." For a very long time people thought my husbands actual name was "Scotty my-partner". The re-set became second nature, I found myself doing it in everyday life. When I introduced people I would unconsciously re-set each of their lives for the other. A proud moment for me came 2 years in when my then boss said "Em, you no longer have to refer to Scotty as your partner. Market research shows it now has traction". Woo hoo!

The good news for you is that most show are heavily reliant on good quality callers. If you wish to become a much loved and relied upon "regular caller" it's quite easy. Listen for the call out on a phone topic. The early phone topics are the ones that struggle the most. I suggest you start here, only a handful of people are your competition and they are usually a little off the pace. The show's producer will answer your call, you have about 10 seconds to impress them. How do you do this? Take your voice up an octave on what it normally is and smile A LOT. Seriously, the word "vibey" gets bandied around as the main attribute a good caller needs to have. Be ready with your story, sound happy, get it out quickly and you will be welcomed back time and time again with open arms with many a Delta Goodrem CD pack to be enjoyed.

Another thing I can tell you is that there is a check list of "stunts" that seems to be mandatory if you take part in a radio show.

1. Drinking your own Urine.
2. Setting yourself or your co-host on fire.
3. Drinking breast milk.
4. Jumping out of a plane/bungee jumping/ab sailing
5. Lie detectors (Although Kyle Sandilands pretty much ended that for everyone.)
6. Some sort of dangerous animal in studio.
7. Facing a phobia live on air.
8. Public nudity.
9. Listener Wedding.
10. Piercing some part of your body.

Every time it was suggested that I to do one of these (which usually coincided with a dip in the ratings) I would end up in a lengthy battle with the content director. I would always argue that it was lazy radio, that people could see through it and know we were just desperately trying to get publicity and ratings. I was worried we'd become "Stunt FM" - It was a battle I seldom won. However, I am proud to say I NEVER drank urine or breast milk on air, I have no comment on the rest of the list.

Sometimes you get to use your powers for good and not just commercial gain. We came up with the pap smear express which actually helped to save at least 2 women's lives. We were able to highlight post natal depression and help those who genuinely needed it. I was always overwhelmed by how generous the public were when it came to helping their fellow man, for the most part people are good.

It's a hard balance though, sincerity and satire.. The two are not happy bed fellows by any stretch of the imagination. It is possible to have a show purely based on comedy but you couldn't just have a "helping the community" show because, well - it's depressing. We were always torn on how to combine the meaningful with the comedy..

Each week we would do what we called a "rescue". The station would help out a family/individual who was going through a tough time. We didn't always get these right, and many questioned their place in the show entirely. You would have heard these on air. The host's tone changes and the emotive music begins...On one horrific occasion a man who'd lost his wife in a house fire was on hold waiting to speak to us and we realised we were playing a song called "dead and gone" there was nothing we could do. It was THE longest 3:30 sec of my life. The worst, by far, was giving a woman who had cancer, tickets to a Beyonce concert with thanks to a HAIR LOSS company...

Nothing is truly "live" we had a 10 second delay and also, a dump button. A highlight for us was when someone would accidentally dropped a C-bomb or F-bomb... Thanks to the dump button-you will, in theory, never hear that. After the Kyle Sandilands lie detector debacle things became very sanitized and controlled. Every time a slightly risque topic was suggested in the months to follow my boss would just shake his head and solemnly say "Kyle".... Yep, nuff said.

But enough of the secret stuff... I've only just still got my foot in the door as it is.

What is next for the beast I love?

I have some suggestions!

Brave new content directors and show producers who haven't come up through the system. NEW BLOOD.
A return to well written sketches.
Bring back the radio play.
Live studio audiences.
A house band.
Less dumbing down of content.
Smart, articulate, challenging and entertaining people on air.
Smarter and more effective integration of ads.
Less focus on getting web hits and more focus on what people are listening to IN THE MOMENT.

One of the saddest moments of my life was the last Martin Molloy show. Hearing serious news reader Jim Waley manipulated to say "Crazy lesbians full of beans" to the tune of a Prodigy song and then Rob Sitch's un-mistakable nasal tones declaring "Tony Martin and Mick Molloy have left the building" was very disappointing.
I felt much the same way when Hamish and Andy signed off for the final time.

Who will save us from more mediocrity now?

I have some suggestions!

Sam Mac
Ed Kavalee
Sam Pang
Ryan Shelton
Tom Ballard
Dave Thornton
Paul Verhoeven
Hannah Gadsby
Dan Burt
Scott Doolie
Aleisha McCormack
Rebel Wilson

Thanks for indulging this radio nerd. All I ask is that you demand more from your radio announcers and the stations they belong to. Because in the immortal words of Rachel Hunter: "Yor werth et"

Have a fantastical week.

E x

Mums gone wild.

2010-12-06T11:47:00.002+11:00

"Here she is! Miss party animal 2010. Do you even remember what your children look like?"

Yes, that was the opening line from one of my husband's relatives upon my arrival at his family christmas lunch on Sunday. It didn't stop there....

"You have a better gay life than I do"

"Why don't you ever wear pants when you go out?"

"I saw you dressed as Rihanna one weekend and then Britney last night."

"Have you forgotten your husband and children? Here they are how about I introduce you to them."

Facebook has a lot to answer for. I see these people once a year. I usually get along with them very well. When two of them requested my friendship on facebook I of course accepted, I had no idea they would be keeping very close tabs on my social activities and drawing incorrect conclusions about my parenting.

I had my first child when I was 21. From there I went on Idol, moved two states, hosted breakfast radio, got married, bought a house, had another baby - cue post natal depression, quite said radio job, sold my house and moved back home to Melbourne. Before all that I had been training 6 days a week for athletics. Yes, it's fair to say I have been letting my hair down and then some over the past few months. Also, my children are past the new born/toddler stage and I no longer feel the need to be by their side 24/7.

I'm home with the girls Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday full time partaking in fairy dancing, music class, circus, little aths, making school lunches blah blah blah.. I work Thursday's doing up people's houses and Fridays I do Kerri-Anne and 7pm project. WHY AM I JUSTIFYING MYSELF RIGHT NOW?!! I could delete the last paragraph but I am going to leave it in case one of the in-laws reads this.

After they'd finished with the verbal attacks I found myself floundering trying to explain that I only post things on facebook that are mildly interesting, I don't bother with status updates like: "I am home with the kids today as I am most days. We have watched Barbie fashion fairytale 6 times in a row and now I'll clean up the bathroom and think about dinner."

It's true, when my friends and I go out we get dressed up. Yes, we may take it a little further than most but how does my love of sequins and feathers equate to me neglecting my family? Just because I go harder than most, because I choose not to wear an ill fitting lycra dress, unfortunate white shoes and inappropriate underwear, this somehow means I'm an absent Mother and wife?

Here are some of the "offending" shots from facebook:

Black and white theme night at home with Michael.

A night out with the WA girls, we were shopping..

Parent teacher night.

Just a family dinner at my parents house.

Tre, Lyndon and I on a quiet night in.

Britney Jean Spears

Zombi Rihanna

To be honest I don't really have many friends with kids. I only know a handful of other Mothers as I find it hard to bond with the 40yr old plus Mums at my daughter's school. Her best friend's Father is 50, my own Father is in his 50's. I am not really sure what the "norm" is in terms of socialising for people with children. Perhaps compared to other Mother's I do go out a lot... (1-2 times a week) I have just never accepted that having children should put an end to who you are as a person and the things you enjoy doing.

I think I'm a good Mother. My girls know that Kylie is the more talented of the Minogue girls. They don't see why gay people can't get married, they both detest Justin Bieber, they have never seen the inside of a McDonalds, they don't litter are kind to animals and only swear for effect.

I am also lucky that my husband is a morning person with morning hobbies. He stays home with the girls when I'm out because he shares their bedtime. He and I do not spend nearly enough time together but that's a WHOLE other blog!

I am led to believe a lot of stressed Mothers finish the week with a large bottle of wine at home. I just choose to do that in a leotard, covered in glitter on a podium surrounded by gay men.

Have a festive week.

E x

A confession of sorts.

2010-12-01T17:05:00.002+11:00

I think, un-intentionally, I have created a safe place for all of you to come and feel better about yourselves.

I imagine you must read how out-of-control, irrational, pathetic and flawed I sometimes am and think to yourselves "Jesus, I thought I had problems"... This is a public service I am happy to provide AND today is another such example of me falling on my sword. Get ready to love yourselves sick.

There is a very clear marker I have in my life that indicates how I am traveling. Where I am at mentally, spiritually and physically. For some of you this marker may be alcohol, chocolate or perhaps a lover. For me? It's Twilight.

Yep, go on JUDGE ME. I have transcended embarrassment over this one. Yes. There is a direct correlation between the amount of times I watch Twilight/New Moon or read the series and how I am getting along in life. What I am trying to say is: I love Twilight.

At first I resisted the Twilight saga. I'll admit, it was hard. I have had a love of fantasy novels and movies my entire life.
I grew up on The Never Ending story, The dark Crystal, Labyrinth, The Princess Bride, Flight of the Navigator, Xanadu, The Wizard of Oz, Willow, Edward scissor hands, Beetle juice, Star wars - you get the idea. I also obsessively played Zelda on my Nintendo and had a disturbing collection of unicorns and care bears.

For a fantasy nerd (Ferd) like me Twilight was a given. Alas, I let the more intelligent, highbrow literature loving friends of mine shame me into looking down on it like everyone else with a mild intelligence level or who was over the age of 16 did.

I would feign boredom when the young kids who worked at the radio station would pledge their allegiance to either team Jacob or team Edward and ignored the release of the first Twilight movie all together. It was on a flight between Dubai and Rome that in a weakened state I gave into watching the movie and since then, things have never been the same.

Fear not, for those of you who hate Twilight I am certainly not going to delve into the story line, which team I am on, or even mention the fact that I have pre-ordered Eclipse on DVD.
I am also completely aware the books are written by a 35+ year old Mormon woman living out her repressed sexual fantasies through her teenage fictional characters.

The main character Bella is a shit house role model for young girls. She requires CONSTANT supervision as she repeatedly lands herself in near death experiences and finds it endearing that her vampire boyfriend likes to position himself inches away from her face staring maniacally at her while she sleeps. I am well aware the text is not comparable to Austin or Bronte or even Enid Blighton however I DON'T CARE.

I watch it and read it so my brain can rest. It takes little to no effort to submerse myself in and as I am a romantic at heart it really is one of the greatest love stories I have ever been involved in. Edward says things to Bella that I think deep down a lot of us yearn to hear. Even though she is needy, clumsy, plain looking and of mediocre intelligence the glorious creature that is Edward loves her unconditionally for who she is on the inside. Trite yes but I feel something a lot of us can relate to. The fantasy that the goddess/god we have lusted after could look past our perceived imperfections and see our pure hearts and amazing intentions... or something like that.

When I'm feeling neglected by my Husband - I turn to Twilight.
When there is nothing on TV - I turn to Twilight
When I miss out on jobs -I turn to Twilight.
When I'm feeling flat - I spend the day in bed watching Twilight.

I've noticed lately I have been watching it a lot and have been dipping in and out of the books again.
It forced me to look at the reasons why. As I mentioned before, the amount I read and watch it directly correlates with the status of my life. Twilight not only helps me escape it also forces me to address why I need to escape. BRILLIANT!

The moral of the story this week is as follows - If there is something you love that those around you mock you for, hold your head up high and tell them to feck off. I am surrounded by intelligent, hipster, self important, New Yorker reading, multiple degree holding wankers (friends that I love dearly) who take themselves far too seriously. I have let go of my attachment to what they think of my reading habits and instead of hiding my copy of "Breaking Dawn" inside my "Book of Longing" by Leonard Cohen (which by the way is an excellent book, some of the most beautiful poems I have ever had the pleasure of reading) I proudly bandy it around openly proclaiming my love for it.

My point is, love what you love no matter how daggy, low brow, cheap, tragic or embarrassing others may judge it to be. Who cares what they think anyway? I don't. I know that I have the love of a good man to keep me going.. Edward Cullen.

Be proud this week darlings.

E x

Can't see the depression for the mustaches...

2010-11-23T21:38:00.002+11:00

Depression is a bitch.

It's lonely, boring, dark and it hurts.

I have battled with it for as long as I can remember. Right now, I'm good as gold. That is always a fluid statement though.

I know I probably seem like the last person you'd find weekly in the fetal position on the bathroom floor at 3am crying hysterically into a pile of towels so not to wake the children. Well I am.

And I'm sure I'm not alone.

I'd like to have a short chat about depression and suicide. Not sexy topics I know. Uncomfortable for many. Too be honest I don't give a shit if it makes the vast majority of people uncomfortable. Enough is enough. I know people, high profile people who suffer from depression. I know everyone of you reading this now have had it effect your life in some form yet for most people it's still the big fat weeping elephant in the corner.

A young man killed himself last week in Prahran, I saw them covering his body on the tracks near Commercial road. You didn't hear about it because the media are not allowed to report on suicides as there are fears it may spark copycats and also it is obviously very distressing for the victims family. Sometimes I think the media should report on it as I think most people would be shocked at just how prevalent it has become. Suicide rates in Australia are ridiculously high, especially amongst young men.

On December 6th, 2008 a man very dear to me killed himself. He was the most talented, kind hearted, funny, humble and intelligent person in my life. He hid his depression from all of us, only those closest to him truly knew the depth of his pain. Ironically, Richard was a comedian. Having said that, I know quite a few male comedians and quite a few of them have battled with the black dog from time to time.
It was Richard's funeral that made me realise I needed tackle my own demons. If it could overpower someone as amazing as him, what hope did I have?

This month, many men have grown mustaches to show their support for mens health including male depression. While I absolutely support the idea behind Movember I just worry the absurd mustache is in danger of distracting from the REAL ISSUE they are trying to bring awareness to. I know a few blokes who have grown mustaches and when I enquired as to how I could donate I recieved a blank stare in response. They were just using Movember as an excuse to put porn star strips above their top lips because "everyone else was."

Statistics show that men are hit harder by depression than women as they are less likely to talk about it. Thats why the suicide rates are vastly higher among men than women. Movemeber is an awesome idea, but it's not enough. I know talking about depression and suicide is, well, depressing. It's not ideal dinner party conversation but maybe it should be.

I just ask that the next time you see a young man looking disturbingly like Adolph Hitler or a young Tom Selleck, spare a thought for WHY they look so ridiculous and ask them how you can donate.

If you are feeling shithouse, so bad it hurts to get out of bed. TELL SOMEONE. Tell me if you need to, YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

www.beyondblue.com.au
beyondblue Information Line: 1300 22 46 36

Life line: 13 11 14

Mens Line Australia: 1300 78 99 78

Salvo Counselling Line: 1300 36 36 22

SANE Australia Helpline: 1800 18
SANE(7263)

Everyone deserves their little bit of peace.

E x

Brown paper bags don't always mean porn. Sometimes, it's much worse.

2010-11-16T23:17:00.000+11:00

On Saturday mornings my husband goes out riding with a group. Yes, I VERY generously allow him out of the dungeon once a week for some fresh air and sunlight.

He and the rest of the bike nerd brigade head out in their tres un-flattering and ridiculously expensive skin tight red lycra jumpsuits into the Dandenongs and do manly things. (Spitting, farting, weeing out the side of their nicks you get the idea)

When he gets home he is usually so tired and grateful I can get him to do pretty much whatever I want. Cleaning, cooking, child rearing he is but compliant putty in my hands. It's a win win for both of us!

So when he got home from his ride 3 Saturdays ago and announced he needed to go into the city to "pick something up" I then found myself getting all Angela Lansbury on his arse. (if you're under 30 here's her wiki page http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Angela_Lansbury)

Em-"What do you mean? You've been gone all morning, it's family time now" (Note to reader "family time" usually consists of me escaping from the house to get a coffee and read the paper)

Scotty- "I'll only be an hour or so, I have to go into the city to pick something I ordered up and then I'll come straight home."

Em- "SOMETHING?! What is this mysterious package? Are you some sort of a drug mule now?" (I always go to worse case scenario to throw him off.)

Scotty- "Yes Emy, I've joined an international drug cartel. See you soon."

OH NO HE DI-IN'T.

He totes did.

So I waited, I waited HARD. When I heard the front gate open his hands were empty.. I tried to pretend I was faffing with something near the front door so he didn't feel completely ambushed when he walked in, it was a VERY weak attempt.

Emy: "So WHERE'S the package Scott?"

Scotty: "Inside my jacket"

Emy: "Let's have it then"

Scotty: "What? No! It's none of your business" (Red flag, bull.)

I'll spare you the rest of this particular argument. It ended with him producing a (da da da daaaaa)

brown paper bag....

Of course my first thought was PORN. What else comes in brown paper bags? Liquor? Cigars? Nope it had the shape and weight of porn. I was relieved, I have no issue with porn. I'm not all that into it but I get that it's pretty much the sole reason for the Internet being invented.

He took the reading material out of the brown paper bag and I totally expected to see "Revenge of the Slutty McSlut Sluts 3" or something along those lines.

My friends, what he took out was far worse.... Twas a book.... Entitle:

"The way of the Superior Man" - A spiritual guide to MASTERING the challenges of WOMEN, work and sexual desire"

He'd bought a SELF HELP BOOK.

I of course read the above title as "The way of the MASSIVE WANKER who wants to MASTER his woman, Em Rusciano"

Disclaimer: I have nothing against those who turn to self help books. I guess as someone who has suffered from a severe mental illness I scoff at those who turn to books instead of hard drugs (prescription kind) and therapy. HOWEVER, I also know sometimes you just gotta do what ever gets you through and gives you a bit of hope. So if you are reading a self helper now and loving it sick, carry on with my blessing.

I also feel there are a lot of opportunistic chirpy morons out there who write these books filled with empty, new age bullshit promises that prey on the overweight, sad, lonely, clinically depressed and the divorced and often deliver nothing. Also, these same chirpy morons are CASHING IN.

According to Forbes.com: "Americans spent $11 billion in 2008 on self-improvement books, CDs, seminars, coaching and stress-management programs--13.6% more than they did back in 2005, according to Marketdata Enterprises, Latest forecast: 6.2% annual growth through 2012."

The other thing is- my husband is a high performance coach. He helps dissatisfied executives, elite athletes and everyday people find balance in their lives. He is essentially a walking self helper, he's the best there is. Why was he now turning to a BOOK? I thought I knew why. Obviously he had a problem with the one thing he couldn't life coach his way out of, ME!

I was irrationally upset and felt very threatened by the whole situation. Every time I would catch him reading it I would make a big point of sighing and shaking my head, To his credit - DID NOT BAT AN EYELID.

He read the thing in a week. He said it was a great and I should think about reading it. HA! As if I would give him the satisfaction and AS IF I would EVER stoop to the "self help" level of pathetic.

I started reading it yesterday. In secret. It's good. It has some wanky language but the overall message can only BENEFIT our marriage. He was doing a positive thing for us, I had managed to build it up in my mind as an attack on me. It wasn't. Damn him and his evolving self.

I knew it was going to be ok when I read the last line of the intro..

"Stop waiting.Feel everything.Love achingly.Give impeccably.Let go."

My husband loves me in his own quiet, reserved way. Sometimes, I want FIREWORKS and ROSES...

If this book can deliver something close to that then I'm OK with it.

Be kind to yourself - That's for free!

E x

Why sex and GPS don't mix.

2010-11-09T14:55:00.003+11:00

This is a a cautionary tale and a moral dilema, lets call it a "cautalema"... This story was told to me over the weekend by an old friend who I had not seen in 10 years. By the time he had finished I had gone through so many emotions I thought I'd started menopause.

Before I begin I must explain to you that you will need to leave any sort of judgement, homophobia, shock and political correctness at the door. If you don't feel you can then best you stop now and come back next week. I need you all to look at this in terms of being HUMAN and nothing else.

Also, the key player in this story is an iphone app called "Grindr". Wikipedia explains it as:

"A geosocial networking application for the iPhone, iPod touch, and iPad. The app makes use of the device geolocation, which allows users to access other gay and bisexual men within close proximity. This is accomplished through a simple user interface that displays a grid of representative pictures of men, arranged from nearest to farthest away. Tapping on a picture will display a brief profile for that user, as well as the option to chat, send pictures, and share one's location."

Basically it's speed dating via GPS for gay men who are not looking for anything meaningful.
I have several friends who have become so addicted to this app they are incapable of holding a normal conversation anymore as they are constantly checking their Grindr profile for nearby sex options. The iphone beeps, a photo appears (I won't go into detail on the types of photos that get bandied around. Let's just say NONE of them would be on Mum's mantle) and they disappear to meet the headless torso they've just ogled.

It's crass, brash and frightens the hell out of me. I've ask them what if it's some freak posing as a gay man trying to lure them to his house with the intention of chopping them up into little pieces. They laugh at me and tell me to stop being such a "mother".

Here comes the the very true tale..

My friend Barry* is a lovely guy. He's handsome, reliable, punctual, family orientated and painfully shy. He moved to Sydney 9 years ago to pursue his now flourishing career and also thought that since he was fresh out of the closet his chances of meeting someone would be greater in Sydney. Grindr isn't for everyone, it's for brave, forward men who aren't afraid to throw cation to the wind. Grindr is Barry's worst nightmare, poor darling has only had 2 long term relationships and finds it very hard to meet men due to his crippling shyness. Against his better judgement, he decided to give Grindr a go.

At first Barry would just chat with blokes and when the idea of a meeting was suggested he'd panic and swiftly block the man from his profile. However, one night after a few beers he decided he'd just bite the bullet and accept the next invitation extended to him....

He turned on his profile and had a look at the men who were within walking distance of him.. Being in Surrey Hills quite a few popped up. He saw a picture of one that he quite liked and was only 500m away so he clicked on the profile and had a look. The guy was olive skinned, muscular had long eyelashes and a kind face. The fact that he had his face in the photo was a relief for Barry as usually it's only "waist down" shots. They exchanged a few polite messages and finally it was decided Barry would go to this guys apartment.

He gave himself the pep talks to end all pep talks and walked the short distance to the man's apartment. He got in the lift and waited to be buzzed up. The man said he'd meet Barry in the hallway so as he arrived at the correct floor a rush of nervous excitement swept through his body. The doors to the lift opened and he looked expectantly to see his Greek adonis with the kind face......

He looked left, he looked right he walked out of the lift and fell over a small man in a wheel chair.

YOU KNOW WHERE THIS IS IS GOING DON'T YOU.

I'll take a brief break from the story to tell you that as he was telling us this we were in a very crowded Sydney pub all gathered in to try and hear him over the din. When Barry dropped the wheelchair bombshell the gasp echoed around the room so loudly the DJ stopped playing.

So. He walked out of the lift and shin boned himself on the edge of a wheelchair.

"Barry?" the small man asked....
(At this point someone says - "Tell me you lied. Tell me you said no.")
"Err yes, yes I'm Barry" Barry answered.
"Great, that didn't take you long, come in. Can you try and be a bit quiet my Mother and Grandmother are asleep in the next room"

Barry, being the polite person he his followed the man back into his apartment with the sleeping kin and didn't know what to do. WHAT WOULD YOU DO?

Yes of course disabled people deserve healthy sex lives. No it should not make a difference if someone is in a wheelchair but it does doesn't it? Especially if you're not been expecting it.

Various theories were being thrown around the pub at this point, one of my other boys said he would have been upfront immediately and said "you didn't mention this" (pointing in the general direction of the wheelchair) and would then have promptly left.

Barry is not that guy. He's not one to assert himself and he's certainly not one to make someone else feel terrible. So, he went inside the man's apartment and did what was expected of him. The logistics of this hook up were a nightmare but that's not for this blog to dissect, however I will say the term "wheelchair mono" was used. Barry said it was awkward, awful and humiliating for both of them. He could not believe after all the angst and worry about going on Grindr his first experience led him to a man who lived with his Mother and Grandmother and was wheelchair bound as well. He asked me what I would have done, I said the guilt and my innate need to make everything ok would have taken over and I probably would have gone through with it also.

Needless to say he's never been on Grindr again.

Word on the street is "straight" Grindr is in production as we speak.

E x

Keeping it nice at the races.

2010-11-03T14:47:00.003+11:00

Yesterday I was disbursed by my employer the 7pm Project to cover the Melbourne cup. There are still two big days left on the spring racing carnival and I just felt some sort of an intervention needed to be done after viewing the many disturbing sights I saw yesterday.

I give you:
Em's guide to keeping it nice at the races - because as we all know, the difference between triumph and tragedy can be just half a length or just half a Champagne.

1. Shoes on AT ALL TIMES ladies. I CANNOT stress this enough. If you cannot go the distance don't wear the footwear simple as that. In fact do not remove any part of your outfit unless it's a jacket. The Melbourne cup is not the place to get your kit off and dance like it's 1999.

2. Do not allow yourself to get completely horizontal AT ANY POINT. Having a cheeky Nanna nap is not a good look.

3. Do not under any circumstances use a garden bed for a toilet/rest area.

4. Have a sober friend who's sole purpose is to maintain the groups dignity.

5. Chugging Champers STRAIGHT from the bottle is a no no.

6. Have either cleavage OR legs out. Repeat "OR" not "AND".

7. Decent underwear as it can get windy.

8. The only "mounting" of a filly should be happening on the track NOT OFF.

9. Do not let your boyfriend "design" your outfit and keep it for a "surprise" on the day. When you watch the video below please take note of the poor blonde girl in the silk cream and green number. Wardrobe malfunctions were occurring every time the wind changed.

10. If it's going to rain be prepared. Cutting a hole in a garbage bag is just not a good look. Also the "drowned rat" look is so last year.

Thus ends my public service announcement. If you missed it, below is the link to my Melbourne Cup 7pm project story. You have to go about 5 minutes in before it starts.

Em at the Melbourne Cup for the 7pm Project

Keep it nice, think of your Mother.

E x

How to ruin a child in 30 minutes

2010-10-26T21:36:00.001+11:00

Last week I'm certain I made my first big parenting mistake. The type of mistake that will be dissected in therapy in 20 years time by my now permanently damaged child.

I'm wary to not dedicate too many of these efforts to my children as I am well aware they're not everyone's bag however I think this is something all of you can relate to.

My eldest daughter, the beautiful Chella is my carbon copy, just remove the incessant need to show off. On more than one occasion we have been likened to Edina and Saffy (for those of you familiar with Ab Fab this does not bode well for me). Marchella is ridiculously smart, thoughtful, quiet and conservative. I am, well, the opposite of most of those things.

On Thursday she woke up feeling a little under the weather so I kept her home from school. After a bit of a nap she rallied and we decided to get the 86 to Smith St and trawl the bargain shops for some awesome stuff for her lolly bags. (Her birthday party was on Saturday)

We walked past one of those hair salons that are so uber they don't need any signage. I said to Chella, "how about a hair cut?" She'd been sporting the same hairstyle her entire existence and I thought she may like a bit of a change for her party... Yep, there was my first mistake. I applied my need to make myself over for EVERY occasion to my nearly 9 year old daughter. The very kid who has worn the same coloured converse since she was 3 years old. She reluctantly agreed so we entered the aforementioned uber salon.

The hairdresser asked what we'd like and Chella muttered "just a trim" I of course steam rolled her and said "let's go for something groovy and a bit shorter"....

Fast forward 30 minutes later and we have a little girl slamming her hood over her head in a flood of tears storming out of the hairdressers. OH DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN, IT WAS TRULY TERRIBLE. Not the hair cut - she looked hot. I'm talking about THE GUILT. She sobbed all the way home, she locked herself in her room and cried some more. I coaxed her out with some chocolate and the Glee box set I'd been saving for her birthday.

I had inflicted a haircut on my daughter she didn't want, wasn't ready for and couldn't change. In the past there was nothing I couldn't fix with money, love, shouting or glitter. I COULD NOT MAKE THE HAIR GROW BACK. Marchella knew it and I knew it- I had failed BIG TIME.

If you are reading this and thinking to yourself "Jesus what's the big deal its only a haircut" then clearly you've never had one you truly hated. When you're 9 years old it's important to assimilate. Those who stand out are quickly shamed and taken down by the herd. This haircut was far different to the shiny blonde and brown ponytails all the other girls in her class sport.

She woke up Friday morning refusing to go to school. There was nothing I could do to get her to get out of bed and get dressed. I tried. You know when you pick a kid up and they go "boneless"- heavy and slippery all of a sudden. It was pointless. YES I admit it - I let my kid stay home from school due to a bad haircut.

I gave her the "people love you for what you are on the inside not what your head looks like" speech- no dice. I don't even believe that crap why should she? Nine year old kids are scary arse bitches, I don't think I could face them now as an adult. There had also been a slight bullying incident a few weeks before so she was extra sensitive to teasing..

On Saturday nine of her friends came over to celebrate her birthday and she was filled with anxiety. I was sweating bullets, their response to her new look would determine the level of permanent damage I had done. The first child arrived and screeched "Chella you look so cool" the second one arrives and squealed "I'm cutting my hair next week".... It was much the same story for the remaining seven girls, Oh THANK THE LORD BABY JESUS! They liked it, they really liked it.

We are day on day 5 of new hair-cut and I am happy to report she can now look in the mirror. Without crying...... Kill me.

I have learned a very valuable lesson here, don't do make-overs on people you live with. Oh and kids should be allowed to express themselves as they please, don't force your ideas on others blah blah blah.

Have an amazing week!

E x

P.S. I would like to have put a picture up of the haircut however I am already on very thin ice with my eldest so I thought it best not to.

P.P.S My Grandfather came through the operation, he is still in the high dependancy ward but was well enough to cut his own feeding tube as it was "annoying" him.

No snappy title this week folks. Just a letter to my Grandfather Ted.

2010-10-19T15:42:00.003+11:00

Dear Grandfather Ted,

Right now you are in your 8th hour of surgery. All of us are worried and anxiously waiting for news from the theatre.

You're a tough old bugger and I thank God for that on this day. To date 245 skin cancers removed from your body, a heart attack, two broken hips, a bung knee, bowel cancer and now this Melanoma that had wrapped itself around your jaw bone.

At 80 years of age most people would just decide that they've had a good run of it and not opt for the highly invasive and dangerous surgery you've decided to go for. Grandad, you, by no stretch of the imagination are “most people”.

Our family is complicated, I don't remember the last time everyone was speaking to everyone. Perfect harmony has always eluded us however I think most families can claim the same. Presently things are at their worst amongst all of your children but we will not dwell on that right now. Right now I need to remember the times you and I had together- which were always unique and hilarious.

You and I have always had our own bond being the designated “family trouble makers”, your trouble a little more serious than mine but who knows what I may be capable of in the future!

You once told Mum to “back off the girl” at dinner when she was laying into me about my "bad attitude" and that the only bad thing you could see about me was that I was an "over-achieving little shit". I have never thanked you for that but need you to know to a then 14 year old mis-understood, sad little girl, your defence of my honour meant an imeasurable amount. You were the first person in our family to stand up for me, so thank you.

Thank you for:

Taking me yabbying.
Hunting for witchetty grubs.
Collecting Yowies and then sticking them on your ute.
Collecting elephants.
Frequently telling me how proud you are of me.
Boasting about me to the boys at “The Federal”
Teaching me to drive.
Getting drunk and telling totally inappropriate (according to Nanna) stories.
Having glitter in your gear stick.
Being a champion footballer.
Loving me BECAUSE of me not IN-SPITE of it.
Busting Aunty Rachael out of school the day I was born to come down and see me even though Nanna forbid it.

I'm getting a bit teary now, actually more than teary; there's snot and much hiccuping involved so I'll wrap it up.

I love you Grandad, we've never actually said that to each other as emotional sincerity is not a strong point of our families. I hope it's not too late to say it now.

Emy x

A moment of quiet reflection for both of us on a big day.