2013. Time to get off your ass.

Congratulations! The very fact that you're reading this means that you, like me, survived the Mayan Apocalypse. Which, when you think about it, feels pretty cool. But, more importantly than giving us that feeling of invulnerability that inevitably succeeds each unsuccessful doomsday, it gives us something FAR more important. That kick in the ass that tells us life should be taken advantage of. So, when it's strategically placed so close to the start of a new year, it's hard not to see it as an invitation to make the next twelve months (And, if you're following my logic here, by extension the rest of your life) just completely amazing. 

It's no small secret that 2012 was, for me personally, the happiest year I've had in a very long time. And that's why I believe 2013 can be even better. 

So, because I believe in making your own awesomeness, to ensure is fabulous, I sat down on New Years Eve and wrote 13 things down that I'd love to accomplish in the next year. (Thirteen. Like the year. Get it?) They weren't massive things- one was simply to finally read Paradise Lost. There WERE some big ones on there, but they'll just be all the more fulfilling when they're accomplished. 

Step two, after compiling the list, was to seal it in an envelope marked 31st December, 2013. Next New Years Eve, I intend to open the envelope and see how many of these things I managed to achieve. If I've crossed them all off... well, I think it's safe to say, that would entail a particularly epic year. 

I mean, this year, we survived the end of the world. It's all up hill from there, right?

Happy New Year!

Who's Les? And why is he miserable?

It's no secret that I am a pretty unashamed musical theatre fag. I mean, I'm planning a trip to New York pretty much for the sole purpose of seeing as many broadway shows as is medically possible, so, you know, when it comes to musicals, "obsession" is putting it mildly.

And one of the first live shows I ever saw (certainly the most dramatic, bar one particularly scarring version of Jesus Christ Superstar I still remember from a Newcastle Amateur Dramatics society that may or may not be responsible for my current atheism), was, like most blossoming young theatre queens, was Les Miserables. It's such a solid, resonating show that the memories of that first performance stick with me to this day, and in no small part shaped me into the tragic musical aficionado I am today.

So, long story short (that ship probably sailed a paragraph back), I was pretty excited for the movie. Which I saw at an advanced screening yesterday, and thoroughly enjoyed. It was amazing. Anne Hathaway and Hugh Jackman absolutely nailed the show, the cinematography was fabulous, and the score was as amazing as always (apart from several songs being in the wrong spot, which just made me feel like I'd set my iPod playlist to shuffle by mistake). And over the coming months, a lot will probably be written about all the positives of Les Miz, as it's a movie that had a lot going for it. But I'm sorry, I just wouldn't be me if I didn't have SOMETHING to complain about, and that something?

Russell. Fucking. Crowe. 

Ok, I'm sure someone, somewhere, thought that having Hugh and Russell face off as Javert and Valjean seemed like a good idea, and you know what? On paper, I agree completely. They're both great actors, and they both bring a lot to their respective roles. HOWEVER. I hope that person got their fucking arses fired the MOMENT someone heard Russell open his mouth and (and I use this term loosely...) sing for the first time. It was painful! And it was just further reinforced by the strength of the rest of the cast. Don't get me wrong- he acted the utter shit out of the role, but there must have been SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE that could have done that AND not sounded like they had the vocal range of a crumpet. You know, someone like anyone that has ever portrayed the role before in their entire fucking lives?????

It's a shame that what could have been such an amazing movie will inevitably cop a lot of shit for this one example of complete miscasting. Because it WAS a great movie. But seriously, when is Hollywood going to stop casting people that can't sing in musicals? Remember this: 

No. Because you, like everyone else, blocked it from your mind. And I'm so terribly sorry for reminding you. 

Seriously Hollywood. Get your shit together. Love, Mikey. xoxo

Tis The Season...again.

What's better than my favourite Christmas Carol in the whole world? That's right. The Muppets, performing my favourite Christmas Carol in the whole world. Carol of the Bells, which, until recently, I knew as "You know! That one from Home Alone 2 that goes Dunn Dunndunndunn!" (not surprisingly, not many people knew it...). I learnt the name of it last week, and haven't stopped humming it since. Christmas is fun like that. 

I find that now I'm not in retail anymore, I'm able to enjoy Christmas a lot more again, which is good. A retail christmas truly is a horrendous experience, and that scarred me for a little while, but at heart, it's a time of year that I really do enjoy, mostly because it just promotes fabulousness as a way of life. Glitter, twinkling lights, singing, snow machines- there's really not much to dislike about this time of year. (except for customers. man, those guys are dicks).

I love that I have an excuse to watch cheesy Christmas movies (so far this year, I've crossed off The Grinch, Nightmare Before Christmas, Muppets Family Christmas, Muppets Letter to Santa, and The Doctor Who special A Christmas Carol... and we've still got two weeks before the big day!) which I avoid like the bubonic plague from January to November. I love that I have an excuse to wish people "Merry Christmas" and not risk being locked away somewhere. And I love that, for one month of the year, even someone as bitter and cynical as me gets to look on the bright side of life and find new reasons to appreciate the people around me. Ah, Christmas! It's weird- obviously all the religious connotations of the event are lost on me (you know... because I'm sane) but I still think it truly is spectacular. I blame all the Christmas Specials I've overdosed on over the course of my life convincing me to be nice to people for a few weeks. 

It also helps that I'm really looking forward to giving presents to people this year. I've often prided myself in my ability to give awesome, thoughtful presents, but this year? I don't want to oversell it, but this year, I genuinely think I've stumbled upon my greatest triumph. There's nothing worse than giving a gift you're not one hundred percent on board with, but conversely, being able to give someone something that you know is a complete winner? And not just a winner, but possibly the greatest gift any human being has ever given another living creature? Now THATS what Christmas is all about. Well, that and drinking too much and wishing you owned a snow machine. 

You know why I don't post more?

You know why I don't post more? You know, apart from the fact I don't think anybody actually reads this? It's because sometimes, the almost Herculean effort required to actually log in to this damn site to post whatever inane ramblings are currently trying to tumble clear out of my brain just doesn't seem worth it!

I am, primarily, a lazy person, so the fact I go to any effort at all is a feat in and of itself. But throw up even the tiniest road block (like a forgotten password, or a slower than usual internet connection that seems to continually plague me whenever the mood strikes me to churn out a post) and I'm ready to give up faster than...well... shit. See, I'm too lazy to even properly finish that amusing metaphor. 

And sure. A smarter person may well decide to keep a well-placed post-it note listing passwords and login details, but please. See above re: lazy. And stop being so damn judgemental. 

Bah. Humbug.

Ugh. It's that time of year again. It's weird, you know. As someone that LOVES Christmas (let's be honest- what's not to love. It's an excuse to wear tinsel, everything sparkles, and once a year, it's socially acceptable to sing Christmas Carols to your hearts desire) I really, REALLY hate the entire song and dance that surrounds my least favourite part of the season: The Work Christmas Party. 

I'm not sure what I find SO repulsive. Maybe it's the idea of being forced to spend time with people you already have to see far too regularly in a social setting against your will. Perhaps it's the inevitable small talk of "So. How's work?" that ensues when people that really have very little to discuss are forced to discover some sort of common ground, regardless of how tenuous or droll. OR, maybe I'm just antisocial. Who can say? 

But, regardless of the reason, the fact remains. This Friday night is my work Christmas party, and I'm looking forward to it about as much as I'm looking forward to The Hobbit. Which is none. Because fuck Tolkein. It's not even because I dislike my workmates! I don't! I genuinely like a whole bunch of them- they're solid peeps. But the idea of standing around at a work function (after spending eight hours at work that day already!) just doesn't excite me. And you can tell I mean it, because I'm using far more exclamation marks than is socially acceptable. 

Never mind. I'll probably go. My indignation and uptight morality do tend to waver somewhat when faced with an open bar. So I'll drink their free wine. But I wont enjoy it. How's THAT for Christmas Spirit?

Nobody panic! It's under control!

You know, if it's good enough for Cher, then it's DEFINITELY good enough for me. And I mean, December? How perfect! What could be more satisfying for Christmas than new material on here? You're welcome, Internet! Well. By internet, I mean the one or two people that still optimistically check this out, and the few other strangers that were tragically led astray by dodgy Google results. (To those people... I'm sorry. So very sorry.)

Anyway, what's happening with Mikey?

Well, University is a thing, at last! I'm currently half way through a bachelor of Social Science at University of Newcastle! (Don't ask me to elaborate on what Social Science specifically entails- I'm still not one hundred percent sure either.) The end game is hopefully that it will help me finally get into a career where I'm helping people, as opposed to preying on them, as seems to be the general trend developed in my past jobs, in retail and banking. Currently waiting eagerly for my final results to be released for Semester Two, and knowing I've passed two out of three of my courses. The only one really bothering me is Psychology. I'm teetering on the brink of a fail there, but I'll see. It all comes down to my performance in the final exam, which was hopefully enough to secure the nine or so marks I needed to bag a pass. I think I can sadly say, with some certainty, that my aspirations of becoming the next Frasier Crane have been mercilessly dashed, BUT in my defense... psychology proved to be a stupid course. So there's that. 

What else?

Oh, Sarah and I have FINALLY booked our trip to New York! So THATS a thing, at long long last! Next year I can finally cross seeing a broadway show off my bucket list (But fuck me- Book of Mormon tickets are bloody expensive!!) We're staying in a Hostel off Broadway for ten days in April, and it promises to be a trip of a lifetime. I feel that Sarah and my friendship has been building towards this moment since the very start- it's going to be amazing. We're doing ALLLLL the touristy things- Statue of Liberty, Rockefeller Plaza, Central Park... and did I mention Broadway? Basically, we're cramming as many shows in as humanly possible. If I don't come back a little gayer, I'm asking for a refund. Although I DID start this post with a picture of Cher. I'm not sure if "a little gayer" really sits within the realm of possibility any more...

And finally, BIG news...

This is ALSO a thing. His name is Dean, and, at the risk of sounding sappy... I'm a pretty huge fan. Oh god. I've become one of THOSE people. I'm blogging about my boyfriend. (Bet you're REALLY regretting clicking that Google link now, aren't you, poor stranger!) But yeah. This is new and exciting and lovely, and more importantly, it's inspired me to write again. So, expect more of these. Hopefully. And remember. If you haven't got anything nice to say... come sit by me!

It was the blurst of times...

I was talking to Beau the other day (That's right: he of the Tightly Buttoned Sleeves ) about how badly I wish I could start blogging again, but how whenever I tried, I always seemed to be in the midst of the general series of ridiculous occurrences that pretty much define my existence. Anytime I gave it a go, it felt like I was trying to explain an episode of an established television show to someone that had thoroughly enjoyed the first few episodes of season one.

To put that in context, imagine jumping from the Buffy pilot to the Season Four finale, without ANY of the backstory of what filled in the gaps. We're talking THAT level of incomprehension. Most of the characters look the same, but where we are, and how we got there? And why Willow is kissing girls now? That takes build up. But Beau convinced me to just ignore all of that. Pick something, and run with it. We can fill the back-story in as we go.

And at the moment, the thing REALLY occupying my mind a lot, is Borders. The bookshop that featured so heavily in my life over the last few years has gone into receivership. They're closing the doors, and soon, they'll just be a memory. So many good people that I'll always remember fondly have been made redundant, and for some inexplicable reason, even though I haven't worked there in over a year, it feels like a really personal loss. Which is dumb. I hated working there in the end. It was a nightmare. I used to sit in my car and just cry after a shift sometimes. It was THAT level of awful.

But the people? Some of the best people I've ever known, I only met because of that place. In a time in my life where everything was falling apart because of my breakup with Michael, these people provided stability, and acceptance, and became family. If it wasn't for Borders, Parkhill never would have become what it is today, and I shudder to think the person I would have become without the love and guidance of those amazing people.

Which is why it seems so strange to think, some time soon, the doors will close, the lights will go out, and the shelves that WE put up and filled with our bare hands will be disassembled and destroyed. Kind of devastating really. To make matters worse, souring what should have been a time of solidarity and togetherness, a rogue bitchy element in the place seem to have made it their mission to fuck heavily with Sarah, a crime I don't forgive lightly, and which led to me being UNinvited to the Borders Farewell. (How childish is THAT!) Which sucks. Because I'd love to drink to the stores memory with people that I haven't seen in so long, united in the knowledge that WE had something to do with the places success. But I can't go to an event like that and look the people that betrayed one of MY best friends in the eyes. I'm just not wired for that.

But whatever. The beauty of memories is that they last forever, and the beauty of that place is I made friendships that even now, years down the line, I know I'll carry with me for the rest of my life. Much like the way you never forget a REALLY good book. It's never far from your heart.

That's it, Glee. Suck my balls.

It's funny, the things that can drive me to start blogging again. Sometimes, something exciting will happen that I really want to share with the world. (By which I mean with the two people that still occasionally bother to check this place). Sometimes, I'll feel some sort of guilt at the fact I haven't updated in a while. And then, some days, I'll just be so monumentally pissed off about something that the only way I can adequately unleash the fury is by expressing myself in blog, so as to publicly (again, by which I mean to you two) acknowledge my indignation and rage. Guess what type of post you're getting today!

Let me preface this by acknowledging the fact that, in the past, I've used this very blog to sing the praises of Glee. Even this season, when almost everyone I know has stopped watching, and even I have to admit the show has been terrible, I've stuck in there. Because no matter how bad it was, I wanted it to get good again. I was like a battered wife, and Glee was my liquored up husband. I was prepared to keep telling people I was walking into the door, because every now and then, he'd come home sober and tell me how pretty I look. And that made me forget about all the bad things.

But then, Glee went and won a Golden Globe for Best Musical/ Comedy TV series. Which is all good and well, until you realise that it beat 30 Rock, Modern Family, AND The Big C. Are you fucking kidding me? Those three shows are three of the most well written, intelligent, HILARIOUS shows I've ever watched, and they were beaten by the inane adventures of a High School Glee Club? In what parallel world does that make sense, exactly? What episodes could the judges have POSSIBLY been watching that made this seem like a good decision? Was it the bad acting? The redundant songs? The lack of a continuing storyline? Honestly- as somebody that has made NO secret of my guilty obsession with Glee, even *I* can't think of a single reason for anybody claiming it's a better show than the other three! And I know everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but really? Is ANYBODY (apart from the Golden Globe judges) going to stand there and tell me that this seems to make any kind of sense?

I suppose I should be glad it happened. It made me angry enough to finally get sick of his shit. Glee, when you come home, expect to see my stuff gone, with a short note telling you I've moved out, and not to come looking for me this time. We're over. I can't take this abuse anymore. I'm sorry.

Spoilers!

I've generally got a pretty strict "when in rome" policy when it comes to doing weird or unusual shit, which, thankfully, has always gone pretty well, and lead to some pretty interesting (and sometimes downright stupid) adventures. But it almost always gives me something to talk about. Which is why, when Simon, Wade and I were in Sydney on Sunday, we decided to take advantage of a handwritten sign on a scary looking door that said "Psychic Readings Within". Because why the hell not? I've always been kind of curious to have my fortune read, and this seemed as good an oppurtunity as ever. Now, I'm not sure if you know this or not, but I'm a big fan of theatricality over reality, so when Wade and I (Simon was FAR too sensible for this nonsense) ventured indoors, I was immeadiately thrilled that the store resembled a messier version of the Magic Box from Buffy, and after we paid, we had to follow a sign up the stairs that said "Ascend to the Oracle". So far so good.

Then, the Oracle appeared, and I shit you not, she was a seventy year old, one-eyed french woman. I couldn't make this shit up. The ONLY way I would have been more into it at this stage would have been if the door had been opened by this woman:

And as impressed as I would have been, I still probably would have asked for my money back. Anyone that can make Hermione Granger lose her shit aint worth my $25... So, everything was proceeding well, and then the reading started. And thats where it started to go downhill...

Now, I freely admit to being a slightly cynical person when it comes to stuff like this. But I'm cynical with a hint of optimism, because deep down, I really WANT that crazy, blow-your-mind experience people talk about. I was the same on the ghost tour I went on. I WANTED to be scared shitless, but couldn't get over my own skepticism. So it's possible that my problems here weren't entirely the fault of the vision impaired clairvoyant lumped with the task of giving me the upcoming spoilers of my life, but still. I was underwhelmed.

Here's what we learnt:

Travel is on the agenda. Love is just around the corner. I'll change jobs within a year. It's ok to be gay.

Which is all great, if slightly generic, until you realise one thing. I'M IN MY MID FUCKING TWENTIES.

TRAVEL- What person my age HASN'T got a trip planned somewhere? Especially when she felt the need to clarify that it wasn't necessarily a big trip, just that I'd be going somewhere. Like, I dunno, BACK TO NEWCASTLE??? Nice job, psychic sally. But seriously, without a destination or a time frame, thats an unimpressive guess, at best, as far as I'm concerned.

LOVE- She asked if I was seeing someone at the moment. When I said no, she smiled and said "You will be soon". I suppose that sales pitch is more impressive than "You're going to die a lonely old spinster and your dog will probably eat your corpse," but it's still not an overly informative piece of info. It's not like I'm some kind of hideous mountain goblin- I did kind of assume there would be someone in the future somewhere. I'm a single homosexual. Of COURSE somebody is in my future. It's just how it works.

WORK- What person in my generation is settled enough in their job that a career-change isn't at least a thought that has been MILDLY entertained at some point? We're known for being flighty! If she REALLY wanted to impress me, she could have told me WHAT I'd be doing, so I'd know when to apply for it! At this rate, I still have to do all the work! What's the point of knowing the future if I only know enough to go in chanting the mantra "Stay the course..."

GAY PRIDE: I walked in wearing tight jeans and rainbow converse. I think I crossed the "Good to be gay" bridge a while back. Seriously. Loved the reassurance, but look at me. Do I look like I'm struggling to deal with my sexual identity? I haven't been in a closet for so long, Aslan is sending me christmas cards addressed to "Mitchell". Stupid lion.

So, my first psychic reading was a tad underwhelming. It's not that I needed to OVERwhelmed, but just whelmed in general would have been nice. Maybe one or two bits of info that I had to admit was a little creepy, or wonder how she'd figured it out. Instead, I think I just received a stock standard, generic Gen Y reading. Which sucks. I wanted to find out that I was going to punch Winona Ryder, or get a pet monkey, or go to the moon or something. On that token, maybe I should become a fortune teller? At least I've got two eyes- surely that makes me twice as good at seeing the future than the one I saw?

I'm so cynical it hurts.

Utter fail.

Turns out that blog I posted yesterday, of all the tattoo designs I liked and disliked, failed miserably (cos I'm retarded like that) and none of the pictures actually showed up. Which is awkward, in a post that kind of existed wholey and solely FOR the pictures. Damn internet, thwarting me at every turn (because, you know, it couldn't POSSIBLY have been me making a mistake)

Anyway, I THINK I've fixed the problem, so if you looked and couldn't figure out what the FUCK was going on, have another go. The problem was probably your fault anyway.

Oh, and just for kicks, here's another design I like...

Although to be honest, now that I've waited a few days, I'm less keen for a new tattoo. I think I have issues...

Ink me baby, one more time.

When I got my tattoo, lots of people warned me that it was an addictive experience, and that it wouldn't be long before I'd be strapping myself back in the chair for another go. Knowing that I don't have an addictive personality (*cough*), I figured I was safe, and ignored all such warnings.

In a completely UNRELATED note, I kind of want another tattoo. The trouble is, I'm having a REALLY hard time picking something that not only LOOKS awesome, but that has some sort of significance or emotional connection that I'm confident wont wear off in a few years. See, the Batwoman tattoo I got, I adore. And I'm confident I'll always adore it. Because it's a snapshot of a very specific time in my life, and not only do I like the symbol, but it matters. It's a way of reminding myself, every time I look at it, that I'm in control of my own life. Which sounds wanky, but have we met?

So now, I'm faced with the challenge of finding something JUST as relevant, and equally nerdy, and you know what? That's harder than it sounds! At first I was considering getting the Converse symbol, like this:

But as much as I love cons, I don't love the idea of permanently marking myself with ANY kind of advertising. (Unless it's the JB Hifi sticker "Buy me, I'm cheap'...) Also, even though I DO have an unhealthy obsession with them, they ARE just shoes. And I'm not quite crazy enough to forget that.

Then I saw this one online, and wished I was a bigger Ghostbuster fan, because let's face it, it's pretty much the greatest thing ever:

But as much as I love the movies, I don't have any sort of obsession with them, and I think for the permanency of a tatt, your fan levels need to be a little higher. Other possibilities have included:

(too cutesy)

(possibly TOO obscure)

(Wallace Wells is awesome.)

In all my searches for nerd tattoos though, one that DOES keep popping up, and impresses the hell out of me, is this one-

BUT! I could never get it, for several reasons. Firstly, you'd have to maintain a relatively attractive, hair-free chest for the rest of eternity, and let's be honest- thats SO much work. Second, as someone pointed out, I DO want to have sex again at some stage in my life, and unless the other party is every bit as nerdy as I am, a tattoo like this could be a DEFINITE deal breaker. Thirdly, IT MAKES NO DAMN SENSE! If Spider-Mans skin was torn up like that, you'd see his insides, not his damn suit. So, as geeky as that makes me sound, I could never get a tattoo that would drive me insane with its total lack of logic for all eternity. It would just piss me off. And I'm not prepared to give up ALL future chances of getting busy for a tattoo that would make me crazy anytime I started to think about it!

But yeah, that's where I'm at. NO closer to figuring out what I want, but getting closer to thinking that possibly, I might want something. I'm decisive like that.

I do also like the idea of getting a quote from one of my favourite books, but how the hell do you narrow THAT down?? Look, this is all too much. Here. Have a picture of Michael Schofield, half naked and covered in tattoos. Because that's how I roll.

Romance. A lost art.

Ok, so we ALL know I have issues when it comes to romance, and REALLY tend not to be the best at responding to "I love you". We could sit around for hours trying to figure out why that is, dissecting my inner psyche and diagnosing me with an ever-expanding list of eccentricities, OR, we can accept it as all part of the wonderfully quirky landscape that comes together neatly to make me me. I choose that one. But anyway, I was trying to figure out the PERFECT response, because let's face it, sometimes it does come out of nowhere, and thinking on my feet always seems to get me in trouble (And would probably make me respond with "Yeah, I love your mum. Real good") I found the three GREATEST responses when someone says "I love you". If I'm cool enough to go with ANY of these, I'll need some sort of medal or something. For winning at life.

1. THE MELODRAMATIC RESPONSE

(Ok, so the video didn't include the "I love you", but we get the picture. There's a reason she won an Oscar for this.)

2. THE DOCTORS RESPONSE

(If you're in a hurry, jump to 3:20 to see the important bit. Otherwise kick back and treat yourself to one of my favourite Doctor Who clips ever. If you don't tear up, you're dead inside. We probably shouldn't stay friends)

3. THE GREATEST RESPONSE

(Honestly, if this doesn't make you want to have Harrison Fords babies, you're lying. As arrogant as it sounds, this is the perfect response. PERFECT. If I'm ever dating anyone nerdy enough to get this reference, my life WILL be complete.)

And just because I love me some Star Wars:

I love you.

My music doesn't ALWAYS suck!

See! Proof that my musical tastes aren't ALWAYS as predictable as people assume they are (musical theatre and Cher notwithstanding), I decided to share a song that I've been listening the HELL out of lately! I think this buys me cool points, if you're that way inclined. Personally, I'm not. But you might be. And if so, you're welcome. And consider yourself lucky it's not the new Cher song. Ah, Burlesque. It's like someone took a movie directly from my brain. But I digress.

Hello, Lovers!

Wow- THAT was a pissweak attempt to restart regular programming! Look, in my defence... fuck off. I was busy. Doing what? I can't get into it, but let's just say, your mum says hi.

Actually, turns out, living with your parents and maintaining an award winning blog are two VERY difficult things to maintain at the same time, and because a house was SLIGHTLY more important than keeping you updated on the various eccentricities of my everyday life, this place suffered. Which is a shame, because I love keeping this thing. It's the one place I can unleash all my crazy without a therapist trying to medicate me. (Actually, thats a lie. I've been to a bunch of therapists, and not ONE has offered me the meds I've been craving. It's ridiculous)

So, as was always the plan, I've flown the coop again, and finally set myself up in the new house, but as could only be expected, the internet took six and a half years to connect. Which is frustrating, but there you have it. And on that note, I'm back, baby.

Now, I COULD get bogged down in recapping the last few months of my live, but you know me. I'm not one to get weighed down talking about myself, so let's just imagine one of those huge title cards flashed up on the screen on the Parkhill TV show...

And here we are. New house. New love interests. New characters. New season.

Parkhill is still going strong, and I'm back to do my bit by chronicling it. Well. Chronicling my bits. Cos I'm selfish like that. Selfish like awesome.

I'll Defy YOUR Gravity

Like all good theatre-loving homosexuals, I do have a certain level of appreciation for all things Wicked. I know I've already spoken about how Wicked was the reason Sarah and I stuffed ourselves in the Echo for the worlds fastest roadtrip down to Melbourne a few years ago to see the show, and I'm pretty sure I mentioned that Ben and I went earlier this year. And the fact that I MAY have dressed as Elphaba for Halloween. Now, it's not my FAVOURITE musical of all time, but clearly, I'm a fan.

So when the Parkhill kids decided we needed to see it before it closed in Sydney, naturally, I was onboard. Especially because, you know, I didn't want my final Wicked experience to have been tainted by who it was with. And seeing it again with Sarah kind of felt like getting the band back together after we'd had such an amazing time the first time. So that was great. Seeing it the third time was marvelous, even if I DID make a complete dick of myself (let's face it- when DON'T I) when I whispered loudly to Sarah "OH! Ruby Slippers! Just like the MOVIE!!!!!". Since we last saw the show, this has become an inside joke between us due to the retards that had been sitting behind us the first time that clearly had NO idea what Wicked was about and felt the need to point out EVERY connection to the Wizard of Oz as it happened. It was cute. Sadly, the inside joke between Sarah and myself was lost on a theatre full of people, who have now all walked away thinking I was every bit as stupid as the people WE were sitting behind. The moral of the story? Don't talk in the theatre. You're going to look stupid. Anyway, I figure that was it. Three times the charm.

Then, my new friend from Melbourne, Dave, randomly suggests he fly up and we see it one Tuesday night. Now, you know I'm a total sucker for spontaneous fun, meeting new people AND musical theatre, so naturally, I was in. Drove to Sydney, saw the show, had a blast. Although I gotta say, the woman playing the lead that night? Not so great. Which was unfortunate for Dave, who was really holding out to see Jemma Rix again (the Primary Elphaba, and a bucket of talent) but which inspired the NEXT part of the Wicked adventure. Obviously, because he didn't want to miss her completely, the only sensible option was to go and see it AGAIN a few days later, for the shows final performance in Sydney!

If you're counting, we're up to five times now for me. Which sounds impressive, until I mention that it would have been his ELEVENTH. I'm slightly jealous. Anyway, because the universe likes to be a dick sometimes, Daves flight was cancelled, which sucks for him because the show was AMAZING, but the biggest highlight of the entire thing??? I bumped into Jemma Rix in the parking station at the end of the night after the show. It was lucky she still had green paint around her ears, or I'd NEVER have recognised her, but still, it was awesome. And because I'm a fabulous individual, I made her sign a program with a personalised message for Dave. Not to rub it in or anything...

Anyway, now the show's finished in Sydney, and I've seen it five times. And it sounds stupid, but I REALLY want to see it again- especially because I can't handle the fact I've seen it FIVE times. That's an odd number. And that bugs the crap out of me. So I NEED to see it again. Bring on Brisbane.

Parkhill: Still Kickin'

You know, I've bragged about how awesome my friends are on SEVERAL occasions. Because let's face it. They are. But I haven't had much to say on the subject recently, and this isn't because they've grown less interesting, it's just because, well, I'm a self-absorbed tit. But despite that, my friends are truly the greatest people known to man. I used to assume that everyone thought that about their friends, but, you know, I've realised since that ISN'T always the case (sometimes a persons friends are so boring, even THEY can smell the beige) but thankfully, thats an accusation that can never be levelled at Parkhill. I mean, shit. We were at a red carpet event, fuckdammit!

Look!

And weep that YOU'RE not included. I love almost EVERY person in this picture. Some of them I don't actually know. They were introduced to freshen up the cast for ratings, I assume. I'm guessing they didn't makr it past sweeps though. Awkward for them...

I wish *I* was a mermaid...

Yes. In this particular story, I'm Ariel. Despite the obvious resemblance to Flounder. Piss off.

Also, I love this musical, if only for this song. It's so fun!

Lifestyle of the Rich & Famous

So, after years of bragging that it was only a matter of time, on Sunday, I finally managed to climb the social ladder and mingle with a better class of people. "Hobnob with the elite", I think the professional term is. I've discovered that Red Carpet Film Premieres are a great deal of awesome, especially when you're only slightly less famous than the "celebrities" that are actually paid to be there. To the extent where we managed to cut in front of at least one Home and Away star without realising who the hell he was, AND almost being intrviewed by several frazzled looking reporters who'd given up on recognising anyone of note. Almost being the key word. Sadly, I couldn't convince anyone that they wanted my autograph- not even when I offered to sign some ladies boob for free. True, the lady was Patty Newton, but still. She could have been polite and said yes- would it have killed her?

Apart from going to see the premiere of Tomorrow, When the War Began, the other purpose of the trip was to snag myself a famous boyfriend, but that didn't really go so well. Which is probably good, because my non-celebrity boyfriend may have had some issues, but it's early days yet- the less he knows about me the better, I feel. And it doesn't count as cheating if there's fame involved. Pretty sure that's a law somewhere (can we get a reference for that?)

But what of the film? I adored it! I'm not usually a fan of action movies (they stress me out, and subsequently age me prematurely) but this one was REALLY good- and not in that way where you say "really good for an Australian movie", in that patronising sense where you're really saying it was a bit shit but you feel you should support it anyway, but actually, genuinely, a great movie! It did further drive home the fact that I'm far too impressionable for my own good when I came home and started googling molotov cocktails so I could be as cool as Ellie, but beyond that, it was fabulous. I can't believe it was filmed so close to here, either. Parkhill NEEDS to get our asses into gear to become extras in the next one, assuming the first does well enough. Even in the Show Ground, just so we could say we were. Actually, I suppose we could always just lie and tell people we were in this one? I mean... we were totally in this one. Look close, you can see Sarah in the chase scene!

There was one scene where two characters discuss the fact that books are generally FAR better than movie adaptations which I thought was kind of brave (because imagine if the film had sucked- you'd look pretty stupid having pointed that shit out) but apart from that, it was a really intelligent, genuinely suspenseful movie. I wanna go again. I also want to fire weapons, blow shit up and go into hiding, but that's my burden. And you wonder why I think it's a bad thing for boyfriends to know too much?

Sing out, Louise!

There are times when I realise I come across as a fairly suave individual, with an air of coolness about my person that reduces others to tears of jealousy and an overwhelming desire to emulate. It's both my gift and my curse. I've learnt to deal. However. One social situation in which this does NOT apply, apparantly, is when I'm busted in my car, singing Cher's "Turn Back Time", complete with hand movements and hair flicks, at the absolute top of my lungs by a group of heterosexual males that happened to pull up alongside me whilst we were both stopped at the same set of traffic lights.

Yeah. There's no smooth way to come back from that. Maybe if it was one or the other, horrendously loud OR ridiculously animated? But no. It was a mash-up of the two, and as I've since learnt, my car ISN'T some kind of Cone of Silence, in fact, it seems to have the worlds greatest acoustics, because I 'm pretty sure they heard every word. Every. Single. Word.

It wouldn't have been so bad, had I noticed they were there earlier. As it was, I managed to make it half way through the damn song before I twigged to the fact I was with audience, and from then, it seemed to take another seventeen minutes for the stupid lights to actually change, all the while with me trying to quietly disappear from the face of the planet, with no success.

What can I say? I was born to be on a stage. So long as, in all future experiences, that stage is as far removed from others as possible. Preferably in a soundproof room. With the door shut. And locked. From the outside.

Brand New Day!

It's always fun when you look at yourself and get the smug satisfaction of knowing your life is back on track. That overwhelmingly good feeling where you look at your calendar and see that you've got an upcoming schedule full of fun and awesomeness, filled with people you can't get enough. From the simple pleasures, like a plan to watch Legally Blonde: The Musical, or hosting a Tupperware party, to the slightly more elaborate, such as seeing Wicked for the third time, or going to see JOSS FUCKING WHEDON live! (Hell yeah!)

Because I'm a firm believer that boredom should pretty much be reclassified as one of the seven deadly sins, (Surely nobody thinks "Lust" deserves to be on there anymore, am I right? Let's start a letter writing campaign...) which is why I try to be as constant as possible. I mean, it's worked pretty well for me so far. Despite the fact even I sometimes find me exhausting ("Hurricane Mikey", somebody once described me as, which I found apt) but I'd rather that than have my only memorable quality being my overwhelming sense of niceness. There's nothing that screams "BLAND INDIVIDUAL" more than someone describing you as "nice". Because really, that's such a cop out. Everyone's nice. Nice is how you describe furniture, not people.

So for the next few weeks/ months, a full agenda means I'll FINALLY have something to write about here again, which I think we can both agree (because you know you're the only person reading this, right) will be more entertaining than the continuing non-adventures of my love life. Although romantic mishaps DO tend to be entertaining, despite the fact I don't have a great deal to report on that front right now. I do have to admit though, it IS one of the more pleasant things about being single, doing that whole flirty/swoony thing all over again with new people, and finally finding people that respond to your looks, instead of just your exceedingly fabulous personality. What can I say? Flirting is fun!

This post has been kinda nonsensical, in hindsight. But if you think reading a stream of consciousness like this is exhausting, you should try camping out in my head sometime... It gets worse...