Janey's Blogs - October 2010
Friday the 1st of October 2010
Things worry me
This flu bug I had hasn't totally gone or I have a serious illness that's gone undiagnosed. I am still tired a lot and feel as though I have just given birth and my body won't heal and am about to give birth again tomorrow. Have you ever felt like a small bumper car has battered off the backs of your legs for hours and then someone possibly a special person with no conscience has cracked a wooden tree branch off the top of your head? Have you ever woke up and felt as though you have been water-boarded all night in your sleep?
Now, to top it all off, I have a lump underneath my armpit; it is probably just a boil or something, I don't know, but I better not die of this. To make sure I don't die I am going to the doctor and that can be a game of mental roulette depending on which doc you get.
We have one doc who says, "Mmmm, yes," over the top of you talking about your illness. So you constantly try to find a break in her making "Mmmmm yes" noises and slip in your symptoms and you get the feeling she is thinking about something else as you speak: that's mostly because she is looking over your head and staring at a photoof Venice on her wall.
We have another doc who suggests menthol crystals dissolved in hot water as an answer to any ailment and we have one doctor who is cracking and listens to everything you say. I want him and he is never there. So I end up diagnosing myself on the web and that's never a good idea.
Other than me moaning about stuff, I had some fun at the Kirkcaldy Comedy Festival. They put me in a venue called The Abbey. It was closing down the night after my show and by fuck didn't it show on the staff's face? They were giving away bits of furniture before my show which doesn't set an ambient mood; basically it was like a warrant sale and then…. comedy!
What they didn't give away was a cup of tea. They made sure they charged me over and over for a measly cup of tea… that sounds nasty of me to mention and I don't expect free stuff from any venue but a cup of tea would have been cool especially when they had no other booze to sell and they gave away a couch! Some venues offer the comedian a free drink once or twice but the PUB WITH NO BEER that I was at didn't bother and I had to wait as they washed cups and boiled a kettle.
The show itself was cracking fun. Kirkcaldy is a smashing town with people who love their comedy and I had just about the best show ever in front of them. Thanks people of Kirkcaldy! They were nice despite having no beer and booze for the customers!
Ashley has been doing some heavy cleaning in our house; she has done the kitchen units and scrubbed down the hallway doors. I am well impressed as this is the kind of shit she hates, but I asked her and she said "Yes" and did it without being angry or secretly plotting my death.
Normally in our house we have to mentally torture, emotionally blackmail and violently attack each other to get the house clean… and there was the answer, just ASK ASHLEY and she would do it without fuss. OR maybe she is doing all the cleaning, then will slowly poison me (maybe that's my illness?) and sell the house off and she and her dad will run away and live in a beach house without the grumpy fat angry woman who demands clean doors?
Or maybe she is just helping me?
Meanwhile, we are getting new podcast equipment so that the podcast sounds better and clearer and Ashley is super excited at this as she hates the microphones we have.
The podcast is getting a decent following and we made it to number eight in the comedy podcast competition! Soon we will be on Radio Scotland chatting about our podcast experience. You can check the podcast on our website or search ITunes for Janey Godley.
So am off to get my frizzy hair ready for a comedy gig tonight and hopefully I won't feel sick.
Monday the 4th of October 2010
I don't know stuff
Husband asked me to stop arguing with him: "Do you have to correct everything I say or argue with almost everything I say?"
"Yes," I replied, "because this is a relationship and not North Korea. If I just agree with everything you say and never argue about a point, it's a totalitarian regime and not a marriage."
"You can't just let things go, you always have to correct me or have the last word," he snapped back.
"Yes, because you were wrong," I added. That was the last word and that's how that works.
This is ironic as I was just doing to him what he does to me constantly.
I have realised something: if I do the stuff to husband in a sarcastic fashion that he does to me, then I am not actually pointing out how much it annoys me, I am just confirming his behaviour that its OK to be an annoying dick. So he constantly goes to great lengths to show me I did something wrong or to make sure that when I made a mistake and he needs it pointed out to me, me doing that to him all the time just makes us go round in circles and snipe at each other.
But he has Aspergers Syndrome and he has an excuse for being the man who has to stop a conversation to point out a small detail of what you are saying is either mis-information or plain wrong. I have no excuse for secretly planning his slow painful death by suffocating him in his sleep.
I won't do it, but I do think about it. I wonder how many women out there are married to a man who has Aspergers Syndrome and almost every day of their lives they concede defeat in a situation. Despite being right they have to accept he has to say this shit because if he doesn't he will get agitated and we have to witness the day being screwed up. The only way forward is to allow him to patronise, snicker and talk down to you about something that is totally wrong, or make him insane by proving you are right.
What do you actually win? The point? No… because he will go to further lengths to explain how he is right and we will be stuck in an anger cycle of frustration and at the end of it the answer is he has Aspergers Syndrome.
The downside for me is I tend to agree with stuff I am not agreeing with just to get past this situation. OR we can debate, argue and he can constantly repeat his point, because men with Aspergers Syndrome assume if they just repeat the thing they are saying over and over again, it will win over everyone eventually. (It usually doesn't but exhausts everyone.)
I feel disloyal writing this down as my husband doesn't mean to hurt me nor want me to be an 'agreeing person'. It would shock him if he knew I felt like that sometimes; then it would no doubt cause another argument which would be catastrophic as he now won't be sure if I am agreeing to shut him up or agreeing because he is right and we all know how he needs to feel he is right!
The upside is I don't have Aspergers Syndrome and neither does Ashley and we can have arguments that don't end in Groundhog Day like tendencies.
So, if you have arguing with someone today, think of me.
Oh, did I mention what started the argument? We bought a Behringer mixing desk to make better podcasts and it doesn't work with Windows 7 and that made him slightly mental and set him off on a big Aspergic trip of jaggy anger. Yeah… if I could meet Mr Behringer today I would punch him in the balls.
Saturday the 9th of October 2010
This is how I see it
Have you ever read a book that was so bad you screamed and threw it at a hotel wall so hard that the manager calls your room to complain about the rumpus? I read Harlan Coben's Play Dead and, to be fair, he does say in the intro that it was his first book and it isn't that good. I should have fucking listened - it suspended belief so much you almost feel like voting David Cameron back in with a majority and going hunting for unicorns in Bexleyheath.
I hate when I invest time in a book and you just spend the whole time picking fault with the storyline and basic facts. Who are you to critique a book, I hear you say – Well I wrote a book, albeit my autobiography, and even I didn't suspend belief that much and I'm a bit mental!
Anyway I was in a hotel in Leeds over the weekend, doing comedy and throwing books at walls. I recall when going to hotels was sexy, I remember getting out seductive nightwear for me and husband to have a dirty weekend at a hotel, I revelled in the wee fancy bottles in the bathroom, the big white bed and enjoyed the feeling of being in a new room. Now I hate it. Its not sexy, it's lonely and boring and the only good thing is having a bath and making someone else clean it.
Nothing stops me loving comedy though; I won't ever get bored of that.
I do like Leeds, though tell what I don't like… is this new fashion for patterned opaque tights for young women. Three times I stared at young girls' legs and thought Leeds had a plague of impetigo – OK, camouflage-splattered sheer tights make me think you have a violent boyfriend who kicks your legs; the lacy ones with chevrons are hideous and look like skin cancer and the flowery ones are just plain weird. Yes, I am fashion critic as well as literary today. This from a woman who wears an O'Neill snowboarding coat circa 1994 and a 'Simon' top from C&A circa 1987.
Am not vintage funk, am old and that stuff isn't ironic on me; I look homeless and angry.
My husband must look at me and think, "What have I done?" I always talk about the imaginary wife he should have married; she would have been called Sally or Sophie with long straight easy-to-manage blonde hair. She never got stretch marks during her three easy pregnancies (unlike my sick, deathly one); she would cook, wear tight body-hugging dresses, do yoga, bake and make jam. They would attend literary festivals, do beachcombing and enjoy walks in the park; she wouldn't stand on stage and talk about heating up her fingers with a Gregg's steak bake and touching herself in the toilet; she would never throw a book at a wall in a hotel or eat stale biscuits at 3am and suck milk out of tiny plastic containers.
Then again, maybe she wouldn't love husband the way I do and make him laugh by trying to do the splits on the carpet and accidentally head butting the Hoover as I did when I tried that. She wouldn't wake up at 3am and try to invent a Velcro carpet hair cleaner with rollers and gaffer tape nor would she like his bare arse sticking to her thigh during sleep. So he maybe is better off with me?
Have fun on 10/10/10 – it's a date we should all remember!
Saturday the 16th of October 2010
The world's laziest woman
I am well aware that the blog is late. I was lying in bed last night, thinking, "I haven't written a blog in ages," and then felt guilty and fell asleep tangled like a pretzel, woke up and have a squinty, squashed tit. Hope you are all happy now then, eh?
Last week was stressful as I had to get millions of forms filled out to apply to the Adelaide Comedy Fringe. Seriously there must be an easier way to do that. I can't even imagine how people went to festivals and organised them before the internet was invented, all that posting forms and videos must have been hellish. But I can tell you that I hate E-Forms that decide they can't take information for no good reason other than being bastardish and that's a word I just invented for E-Forms that refuse information.
Meanwhile my flat has decided to sabotage me. The shower got angry and pre-menstrual and stopped providing hot water, the shower then whispered passive/aggressive abuse to the toilet pan and in a fit of pique it dislodged its toilet pan seat and loosened the screws so that, when I sat on it, it all fell apart and grabbed my flabby arse flesh and hurt it.
The carpet in the toilet saw the revolt happening and soaked itself with water that we have no knowledge of the source and is now damp and smelly. A small curly insect of no known origin stuck itself to the toilet roll and I touched it with my finger.
The kitchen cupboards heard the commotion, got insecure and wobbled off their hinges. At that exact moment two big boxes of paperwork in my wardrobe had nervous exhaustion from all the tax information they held and burst at the seams, then slid out in an avalanche of slippy plastic folders all over my bedroom floor, jamming up the sliding mirror door.
The kitchen got worried it wasn't getting enough attention and all the big kitchen spoons and bread knives decided to make a pyramid team and jam themselves into the drawer and refused to open. No amount of cajoling would get it to reveal its hidden cutlery. They all sat in their in a big bad mood and spoons curled round each other like emotional teenagers screaming "Don't touch me!". We have been using chopsticks from the drawer that houses the take-away menus and the thing that fits into the food processor.
I stood exasperated and smelly in my hallway and screamed at the house loudl. Iit answered me back by letting go of the screws that held up the washing pole in the cupboard and disdainfully let my wet towels land on the Hoover. It's been that kind of week.
If houses have a personality then mine reflects 'Carrie- The Possessed Years'.
To top it all, a pigeon flew in my bedroom window, smacked my head and flew out shitting on the curtains.
I may go live in a tent soon.
On a happy note, the podcast is becoming a roaring success gaining thousands of subscribers daily - THANK YOU PEOPLE!
Ashley and I went on BBC Radio Scotland and spoke about the podcast and had fun chatting with Janice Forsyth on her Comedy Café radio show.
By the way, if you have any questions you want to raise about the podcast or anything you want to add just twitter me @JaneyGodley and we will include it in the podcast.
I am off to London next week for work, meetings and fun with my mate Monica. I do miss her.
I will have to win the Lottery soon to pay for all things that have gone wrong with my flat so,if you have the winning numbers, tweet them as well!
Thursday the 28th of October 2010
Business and Fun
Was in London for a whole week, was great staying with my best pal Monica. She lives in a beautiful flat in Battersea: her apartment is basically a spa. She has an awesome bathroom and power shower with the BEST products in the world on French polished drawers that zoom in and out silently. I am not really a product junkie but Monica does have amazing stuff and I get to use it… that's what pals are for. She owns her own PR Company for high-end restaurants and I get to eat the most amazing Michelin starred grub and all I can offer her is some blokes swearing about masturbation in a dimly lit comedy club. She hates comedy; she says the majority of comics I have made her sit through are basically dysfunctional humans with personality disorders and mother issues. She hates female comics who go on about cakes, eating too much, being fat, being divorced/single and their lumpen naked bodies to a paying audience. My mate Monica is very opinionated on such matters and don't even start me on how she reacts to 'whimsy'.
"If I wanted to see a slide show of tortoises, chatter about cats and a poem about an asymmetric rug, I would have joined a help group for people with brain injuries," she quipped when a famous whimsical comic was onstage before me at Edinburgh.
"That woman needs to fix her hair. Who cut her fringe? A meerkat with wooden spoons?" was what she actually said loudly.
The upside is her job is amazing - one of her clients won Best Restaurant in the World! You can't beat that can you? No… you simply can't.
In between gigging, auditioning and smearing expensive cream on myself in London, I had some time out to go see stuff. I chose to go see Gauguin at the Tate Modern Gallery. It wasn't until I was halfway through the exhibition that I realised what a skanky paedophile Gauguin actually was. He infected small girls with syphilis in Tahiti and beyond, I hate him now and can't believe I didn't know he was a bloody kiddie fiddler. The Tate described him as a 'story teller' I can only imagine the stories he had to tell and it's amazing that, if you have a talent, the world forgives your paedophilic tendencies… for example, do I need mention Polanski one more time?
Anyway, for the record I walked out. I didn't pay and that made me feel slightly better and his work is a bit shit. Am glad Gauguin died with heart problems and suffered horrific pain with syphilis is all I am saying.
So I am back home and am off the cigarettes yet again and have taken up an exercise regime and diet so I can lose some fatty arse flesh and look good for my up coming 50th birthday.
I need to look after myself a bit more and there is no time like today to start! Ashley has joined me in stopping smoking so am so proud of her.
Sorry the blog was late… Do remember to check our podcast - episode 16 is out. Search Janey Godley's podcast if there isn't a link on your site or go to my webpage janeygodley.com and click there.
Saturday the 30th of October 2010
Been a tense time in the flat: Ashley and I have stopped smoking. I am so proud of her; I have done this before and she hasn't, so I can see how tense she is. She is answering every question with a screechy voice and her stomping feet about the flat must be making the downstairs neighbours insane. The upside is every morning she gets up her nose isn't blocked anymore and that's been a problem for years. Every morning she used to stand in the loo and snort, breath and make dragon noises with her nose that drove her mad, trying to breathe through it.
So good positive signs, eh?
I am also on a diet and a keep fit regime, which is on hold as I have antibiotics for an ear infection and a suspicious angry weeping boil on the crease of my leg near my ass. It has to be the most inconvenient place for a boil - 'right on the crease' - it hurts when I walk but it will go soon. I can't even see it and need a selection of mirrors and strategically placed spotlights to see the fucker. The doc says it's a symptom of the infection in my ear and to expect more boils.
My snoring has stopped which is an awesome side effect of stopping smoking and I am going to be 50 soon, so I need to take care of my body more.
I don't want to be 50 and still breathing like a ragged out hack and I don't want to be this fat anymore.
I went running the other night. I haven't run in 15 years and it was a good feeling to be doing it again. But it will be ages before I can manage a decent run at all.
I spoke to a personal fitness trainer but Ashley was aghast and said: "Mum, don't do that. I see those men out in the West End screaming at fat people to run faster then make them do lunges outside the all-night Asian shop. It's humiliating. Just get dad to shout at you: it's cheaper and he knows how to do it good."
I am not sure about a personal trainer, but I do need some help.
Have been worried about my dad lately as well. I haven't seen him much since I have been travelling and working. I always feel incredibly guilty when I don't see him. He doesn't make me feel bad; it's me who does that to myself. We talk every day on the phone and I go see him when I can, but I just hate the thought that he is sitting in his house alone and sad. Having said that, I am so lucky as my step-sister is an awesome daughter to him and she visits often and loves him to bits. Dad is out every single day as well; he meets his pals every day and goes for a natter with them. In actual fact, my dad has a better social life than me and Ashley!
It's a queer time for me, this approaching 50 years old; I am taking stock and yet not slowing down. Ashley and I are off on a wee world tour of LA, Adelaide and hopefully NZ right after my birthday in January.
I love going away with her. She makes me laugh and is such a good mate to hang out with. I wish my mum had been alive when I was 24, though I don't think I would be accompanying her on a comedy tour. I do miss her so much, especially as I have now outlived her - she died at 47. I suppose this is why me and Ashley are closer: we are aware how fragile and flippant life can be, though she never knew my mum - she was born four years after mum died.
By the time I am 50 in January, I will be a stone lighter (at least), my lungs will be clean and healthier and I will look better and feel better than I do right now with a boil on my arse and stuff leaking out of my ears.
It's early here as I write this. I couldn't sleep as husband was up and down all night for drinks or a piss: he is in his late 40s and still can't sleep right through the night. Shit eh? Pity he wasn't breast fed. Well it ain't my job now to fix him, I am fixing me and I hope you will all be here to support me!
Thanks again for listening to me and Ashley's podcast.