That Girl's List of Not-So-Blind-Items, feat. The Bottom of Melbourne's Barrel

1. Reality TV muppet; questionable cooking ability; spawn of a hobbit and Peter Pettigrew; seen schlepping around suburbs and eating a pie.

2. Born to fail and flail in shadows of paternal on-field prowess and comely sports-commentating; can't kick over a jam tin; seen being inordinately interested in continental rolls.

3. Wife of/mother of/mother-in-law of/jewel-theft victim; Attitude! Y'all better recognise, bitch!; BERT LIKES TO WEAR CHANEL TOO, DID YOU KNOW?; seen pushing prams, people's patience, and possibly queues.

4. Little, smarmy man-troll; unidentified source of fame because Australia obviously doesn't have talent; little; seen wearing loud Hawaiian shirts at dinner, acting smarmy, and being little.

5. Whoring fawn of hawks; formerly dread-locked; seen refusing to walk my way (can't imagine why).

6. Small-screen familiar, onstage newb (and possibly noob); nurse-turned-police officer; seen with bitchface that rivalled yours truly.

7. F-lister aka nobody; 5-second reality TV dance fame; part of the greatest musical of my life, seriously; seen buying [OMITTED], asking for [OMITTED], walking around.

8. Nightly news familiar; very brown...Brown; seen disappointing me by being real-life fail.

9. Whoring fawn no. 2 (why so infestation?); PUNCH HIM HARDER NEXT TIME, OKAY PADDY?; seen trying to be recognised for do-gooding.

10. Sister of; ex-Mrs. 'Christian Troy'; would like you to know she loves her vibrator; seen buying Grown products with a very tight face.

No One Mourns the Wicked...Except Me

I'm obsessed. I'm crazymadpsycho. I need to livebreathedream this story. I can't even begin to explain my love for StageElphaba, let alone for BookElphaba. Oh...BookElphaba...your poor tragic creature. I loved you from the moment you uttered "horrors" and then kept repeating it to freak everyone out.

Today, I almost, almost, asked the Oz Boutique assistant how she got her job. The words were on the tip of my tongue and I was about to be outed as a dire, dire, tragique. Then, out of nowhere, common sense (I don't know whose, but thank-you nonetheless) came flying out and wonked me over the head - duh, she probably works for the Regent Theatre and is therefore not actually affiliated with the production. Then I almost, almost, asked her how I'd go about getting a job at the Regent.

Suffice to say, I made a hasty exit as the atmosphere of the place is obviously damaging to my mental capacity. Only I wound up wandering blindly up Flinders Lane with no intention of seeking autographs or photos at stage door. You know how you get someplace and you don't actually want to be there, but there are people who are watching you and so you don't leave just because you don't want them to watch you leaving approximately ten seconds after you arrive? No? That's just me? Alrighty then...

It was something very much akin to embarrassment that sealed the deal and resulted in my depature. I was actually going to follow Lucy down the street but it seemed a bit creepy, what with the people standing around to witness me stalking after her, including Madame Morrible, and she's just effin' scary. Lesson of the day: be prepared to actually want something from the actors if you're going to skulk around stage door with the pubescents.

And finally...front row seating is quite awesome in that you can see practically everything, including everything on the actors' faces, but it does have some downfalls:

• you may be distracted because you can see practically everything and then it becomes a game as to what you can see - where are their microphones? What is that on their foreheads? Is it their microphones? Why does Glinda get to wear pink underwear to match her pink dress while everyone else just has to make do with plain old black, no matter what colour their costume is?
• no one tells you that you're in prime position for dry smoke inhalation
• no one tells you that the ensemble is going to hurl bits of streamer at you
• you will not be able to see the big dragon overhead without craning your neck
• you will also not be able to see the two flying monkeys who spaz out above the A reserve seats
• you will invariably find yourself watching the conductor at work instead of what's onstage
• you will also invariably find yourself craning to peer within the wings when you catch a glimpse of actors waiting for their cue, and this will somewhat ruin it for you
• you may strain your eyes looking for Elphaba's curtain-platform during Defying Gravity. Then you will miss half the song trying to ignore the obvious stage mechanisms of the entire affair
• actors will look directly at you. Multiple times. And it is unnerving to have "Kill the Witch!" screamed at you from two metres away
• you may be seated next to two cougars who think it's alright to wonder aloud if Millsy is too young to sex up during the show. You'll then be subjected to their catcalls for him at curtain call. This last point may apply even if you're not seated front row

Of course, nothing here will deter me from trying to reach my goal number of viewings before the show closes its Melbourne season. What can I say? "I'm beautifully tragic!"

Why I Hate Love Hate RPattz

I have inherent hate for Robert Pattinson and it has pretty much existed since I first saw a picture, during Goblet of Fire filming, of the purported Cedric Diggory. I'm not one of those diehard Potter fans- if I'm going to be petitioning for anything, it's going to be for a Gimpy Roomies' Baby (Come on! Mindi's preggers already! They wouldn't even need a prosthetic belly!)

However, I do tend to get a little miffed by overlooked physical details because my life is all about those little details that clutter up my head and don't leave room for anything else (like, say...study?) If the author is going to go on and on and on about Harry having his mother's green eyes, I think the actor playing Harry should be similarly green-eyed in the films. That Radcliffe twerp is ridiculously overpaid as it is, and someone somewhere can't stab two fuckin' contacts over his orbs?! "Am I reaching for the stars here? No." (as said exactly like Meryl Streep).

Cedric Diggory, from memory, is meant to be good-looking. You know, facially. And I am aware that this is plain and simple personal opinion here but Robert Pattinson's face? Is kind of fug. Actually, a little more than kind of: he's all sorts of fug. And I keep coming across all these random 'news' items about his gross hair and poor hygiene and just general greasy gross fugness and it's really not helping his case. Bottom line: he is not good-looking. Not enough to be Cedric in any case. So what did some of those hardcore Potter manics do? Petition, of course, to be rid of RPattz and more importantly, to secure a certain Henry Cavill for the role instead. Again, personal opinion and biased at that, because Henry is my husband #3 (I can't remember if I divorced him before I married Kate Moennig. I think I'm polygamous, y'all! And completely in need of psych help!), but why not choose a guy who's actually good-looking for the role of a good-looking guy? Am I all alone in my bewilderment here?

It could've been so beautiful, Cedric. My third (ex?) husband could've done you justice.

Needless to say, Mr That Girl didn't get the role. But whatever, right? Cedric dies anyway! RPattz could have his 15 minutes of fame and be done with it and the fug would disappear. Yeah? Yeah?! Not so. Circa mid-2006, I chose to read a novel entitled Twilight based purely on the fact that the author, Stephenie Meyer (she of the whysofail?), selected Henry as the actor she felt could embody the male protagonist, Edward Cullen. Who happens to be a vampire. A vegetarian vampire. A 100something-year-old vegetarian vampire with old-fashioned sensibilities and, most importantly, the face of a god slash angel slash model slash everythingelseMeyerdeemstobeimpossiblybeautiful. That is to say, he is good-looking. As in, she (and that absolute twit of a main character, Bella) won't let you forget his AMAZINGBEAUTYOMIGAH*DIES*

So, time went by and the novel got optioned by film studios and whatnot and eventually, the lead female role (ie. TwitBella) was announced to have been won by a certain Kristen Stewart (who I may or may not have ditched Wife Kate for. I really can't remember. So many weddings, so little time). I love me some Kristen, she of the hott legs and husky voice, but that is a little besides the point. The big, gigantic, motherfuckin' point ("on this motherfuckin' plane!" as said exactly like Samuel L. Jackson, because when else am I going to be able to use that line?) here is that when the role of Edward was finally cast, despite author and fan support for Hubby Cavill, it ultimately went to that fugmo RPattz again. Now, I say once more that I am not like those obsessive freaks who dub themselves Twihards or whatever the fuck their moniker is, but it was a very bitter pill to swallow (and I am really not particularly good at swallowing pills in the first place, so as you can imagine, I was choking). Some who witnessed the moment I found out like to say that I exploded into a screaming fit, of rage blackout proportions (akin to those suffered exactly by Summer Roberts), but you really shouldn't believe everything people say.

"I could be here and now...I should be" (as sung exactly like Nick Drake).

But whatever, right? I mean, Edward is pretty much a controlling, obsessive, stalking, prude of a not!dead! boyfriend. I should be happy that Mr That Girl dodged that bullet, yeah? Yeah? Yeah...except for the part where Henry had also somehow managed to dodge bullets Superman, Batman and James Bond too, so this was yet another "You're not even a has-been. You're a never-was." moment (as said exactly like Coach Reilly). Then, there's the fact that RPattz shot to instant fame and fortune playing the roles of good-looking guys. Is it permanently Opposite Day now? Am I missing something? Is fugly really the new pretty? (Fug Girls, you are my heroes!)

And so lies the basis of my RPattz hatred:

1. he is fug and he keeps playing hott ("What's it doing?...You ruins it!" as said exactly like Andy Serkis)
2. he stole my (ex) husband's roles! ("...filthy little thieves!...They stole it from us!" as said exactly like Andy Serkis again. I flove Andy Serkis)
3. he got to mack on my would-be wife, Kristen, before I did ("My precious!")

However, on the other side of the love-hate spectrum, I have grudgingly found RPattz (while quite possibly perpetually drunk or high or both) to be entertaining. I think Hollywood has yet to find another actor who readily 'fesses up to not washing his hair to the point where built-up residue can be misconstrued as styling product. And then helpfully shakes some dandruff out to demonstrate the state of his not-so-luscious locks. Then talks about watching pornos. And having a Buddha inhabiting his head, giving him answers to the questions of life. Most importantly, he admits that he is not good-looking enough to play Cedric or Edward! I can't completely hate someone who agrees with me, can I?

Then, there's Art. Well, there's Art and Daniel Gale, and while Daniel was just as delightfully eccentric and dorky, we're going to focus on Art. Art fits RPattz to a T and if ever there was going to be a niche for him, it would be these kinds of characters: weird, loner, misfit, possibly functionally-retarded goofs.

Meet Art.

Note the 'tard giving Art's music the thumbs down.

See, RPattz-as-Art and I could get along; we both have an affinity for Canada.

Who doesn't love watching a film about random escalator-riding?

Note the spilt breakfast cereal. Incidentally, in this scene, he tells his mother he's trying to fix whatever is wrong with him.

'Nuff said.

How Art passes the time on the job. Frankly, I prefer Ben Willis' method of stripping female shoppers and drawing them in the nude (as seen exactly in Cashback), but to each his own.

Really? Am I alone in saying that I like films about the average loser's path to semi-self-actualisation, to the point where he can confide and bond with his mirror reflection? It's rather sweet: he's telling his image not to worry and that everyone will love them, despite the fact that he's a shit musician.

And when all else fails in Art's life, he climbs into bed with his parents...until they kick him out and his mother calls him boring and miserable and he runs outside and starts banging his head against objects. Honestly, RPattz should stick to these characters. He's actually good in these moulds and his non-looks are a non-issue. Win-win all 'round! End rant.