I’m a fan of makeup

I don’t wear a huge amount of it in the real world

But when I’m at work?

I’m a fan of the transvestite hooker look

Less is more?

Fuck that

More is more

I’m all about the lip gloss, blue eyeshadow, glitter and bright slutty lipstick

I’m forever searching for new shades of tart kinds of makeup

I always use waterproof stuff, ’cause I sweat big time on stage

Like Kirsty Alley at a buffet table kind of sweat

And even with all the waterproof crap I layer on

Some nights I still end up looking like Alice Cooper

After he’s been fucked all night and hung out wet

And lipstick?

Oh fuck, I should have shares in Revlon with all the shit I’ve bought from them over the years

I’m forever looking for a liptstick that stays on, without me ending up looking like a chain smoking 90 year old, with that smudgy-lip look going on

.

So, imagine my utter JOY at finding this stuff

Not just Colourstay

Colourstay ULTIMATE – all together now, ooooooooh!

Oh yeah, I’ll take 2 in every colour

And you know what

It works

It really fucking works

There’s a first time for everything

I mean, these makeup companies can stretch the truth at times yeah?

Think if some of those ads you’ve seen

In the real world, half the women they use are passable at best

But on the ads?

Man, even I’d jump the fence for some of those chicks

They turn out looking HOT!

This new Revlon Colourstay lippy is THE BOMB

No joke

After the show tonight, it was still on, like I’d just applied it

Not even a smudge

But

And there’s always a but

Now I can’t get the shit off

MY MOTHERFUCKING TEEEEEETH!!

This shit is COLOUR FUCKING STAYING!

Good look, no?

All I can say is thank God for days off

‘Cause it’s going to take me the next 24 hours to get this crap off

Hey Revlon,

Fuck you very much!

A little over a year ago I went to the doctor for my anal anual visit

It was the usual poking, prodding and some blood tests

A few days later my doctor called me to let me know that my cholesterol levels were high

Actually I was away, so he spoke to Diamond and Diamond passed the message on to me

Diamond: Your doctor called

Me: Why, what’s up?

Diamond: Something about your cholesterol

Me: What’s that mean?

Diamond: It’s high or something

Me: Yeah

Diamond: He said you need to go on a diet

Me: Fuck him!

And that was the end of it

.

.

A month or so ago I went back to my doctor ’cause I’m a masochist ’cause apparently that’s what responsible adults do when they’re serious about their health blah, blah, blah

The usual, shit you know?

Poke, prod, how’ve you been? Blood tests etc

He actually asked  me how the diet he recommended worked out for me

Ummm, well how do you THINK it went arsewipe DUDE?

Anyhooo

He calls me back a few days later

Doc: Your cholesterol is even higher than it was last year

Me: Awesome!

Doc: I’m serious, you really need to get this under control, or I’m going to have to put you on medication

Me: I’d like a prescription for marijuana please

Doc: It’s at a dangerously high level now – you need to take this seriously

So after a lecture from the Doc and a guilt trip from Diamond, that went a little something like this;

This is not about you anymore. You’re a mum, you need to take care of this. You owe it to me and the girls

Wow, way to make me feel like a shithead

I could barely finish my beer & hamburger

.

.

So between the guilt and the reminder calls from my Doctor, I have actually been trying to be good on this trip

I have been to the gym nearly every day

Have cut out all the foods I’ve been told to – even coffee!

The result?

FUCKING NOTHING!

I’m serious

Close to 6 weeks of this bullshit and nothing to show for it

And don’t give me that whole, muscle weighs more than fat crap

I want results!

And skinny jeans, perky boobs & no cellulite

Something. Anything!

Was getting ready to throw in the towel and go to MacDonalds the other day when I changed my mind

Was laying on the bed in my hotel room when an elephant jumped on my chest

OK, so it was an imaginary elephant, but it hurt like a mo-fo

I could hardly breathe, then I had these shooting pains going up and down my left arm

And I’m laying there thinking, left arm? Does that mean heart attack, or is it your right arm? And then I’m all, oh fuck, why didn’t I pay more attention to the ‘you & your body’ talks at school? (although I DID learn how to put a condom on a banana in one lesson)

At this point I’m getting a bit freaked out, ’cause the pain is getting worse and I’m wondering if I should call mum. I decide not to, don’t want to give her a heart attack

Then I start having visions about dying in a hotel room. Jesus, how lame would that be? And I’m thinking how would somebody find me. I try to reach my bag of almonds and dried apricots to lay them next to me on the bed

‘Cause if I go, I want to go out looking healthy, you know?

So after I have completely staged my death scene, right down to fanning my hair out on the pillow – it needed a wash, but I was hoping no one would notice, I realised that the pain had stopped

That’s right, the pain was GONE

And I wasn’t dead

Needless to say, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t having a heart attack

Not really sure what it was – a bad hotdog maybe?

Who knows

I’m just happy I’m not dead

And that I didn’t die in a hotel room

I mean come on, how embarrassing would THAT be??

And to try and keep me away from the buffet table on the straight and narrow

I’m carrying this picture around with me wherever I go

And so far it’s working like a charm

The one thing worse than dying in a hotel room?

Dying in the SHOWER of a hotel room

Was it a full moon yesterday?

You know when you have one of those days when everything’s a bit weird?

Yesterday was one of those days for me

And I know you’re probably thinking, ‘well most of your days seem kinda weird Jenny’

But I’m talking WEIRD,WEIRD

Not just a normal day in the life of my family every day weird, you know?

Just one funky thing after another

Weird emails, weird food, weird people

At the Cardiff show last night I met a lady called Jenny who has named her dog Fluffy and has my name tattooed on her shoulder

She wanted to know the number of my hairdresser

Mkay?

As we were leaving the venue, we stopped to sign a CD the theatre manager had. It was for a mate of ours, John

(John used to work at the Cardiff venue but has some health problems right now and couldn’t make it to the show last night. We missed him – he’s such a top bloke)

And then I lost my camera

Which as you know, is usually being shoved in someone’s face attached to me

I remember having it in my hand, then it was gone

We looked all over the venue

Mum, Dad & Holly waited for me in the dressing room while I ran back into the foyer to look for it

Everyone had left the building at that point, so it was kind of eery

Then the lights went out

And I wet my pants

Fair dinkum, I was shitting myself

I just stood there like a complete pussy total scaredy cat saying, “Hello? Hello?”

Like one of those dumb chicks in a bad horror film

And this little creepy dude appeared out of no where

Him: YES?

Me: (trying to hide the fact that I had wee running down my leg)

Oh hi I’m with the show and I think I may have left my camera around here somewhere

Him: (Not even looking anywhere) It’s not here

Well thanks for going out of your way there buddy

Me: OK then. Well could you let me out please? All the doors are locked now and I can’t get back to the dressing room

Notice how nice and friendly I’m being? That’s the 1st rule in the “how to avoid being chopped up by a serial killer” handbook – you can borrow my copy!

Him: Silence

Me: Or I could just find my own way out I guess (and jump through the fucking glass door)

Him: Follow me

Me: (splurrt - I think this is the sound I made as I shit myself)

So I follow him (to what I am convinced at this point will be my horrific death – but I’m comforted by the fact that I have my nice underwear on, so the the autopsy photos won’t suck)

It’s so dark and I’m trying to work out what I have on me that I can use as a weapon. I have nothing. Except my teeth. Which I have already decided is not happening. There is nothing on little gremlin man’s person that is going anywhere near my mouth. Not happening

We go down a couple of corridors and I swear I can hear the sound of him getting an erection him breathing

We get to the end of the hallway and I hear laughing

Oh great. He’s got mates. What’s the plural for serial killing gremlins?

Seraili gremli?

So he opens the door and my heart sounds like it’s playing a double time drum solo, with a waterfall in the background – ‘cause I’m still weeing

And the first thing I see is…

Mum

Then Dad

Then Hollywood

It was so dark that I didn’t realise he’d led me straight back to the dressing room

And the 3 of them are pissing themselves laughing because they’d worked out I’d been gone so long I must have gotten lost

And rather than come and fucking look for me they think that’s hilarious

Can’t you just feel the love?

And then little gremlin man turns around to leave and says,

Loved your show Jenny

My favourite part was when your song, ‘Bend over and take it like a man’

It’s a but naughty – but I like naughty

So apparently serial killers can have sense of humour and like it ‘naughty’

Who knew?

*you can stop looking for my camera

it was hidden in one of my bras at the bottom of my bag

and I know gremlin man totally put it there

We did our last show in Scotland last night and now we’re headed off to England for a month of shows

I’ve always had such a great time in Scotland. The people, the food, the sights, the food, the shopping, the food!

Even though I’ve been coming here for years, I still have a bit of trouble with the Scottish accent. Don’t get me wrong, I love listening to people talk here. They sound cute.

Even if they’re giving me the ‘bird’ in traffic and calling me a GIT out the window of their car

It’s sooo cute!

Now I know I have an accent to everyone here and I talk too fast,

butitcouldn’tpossiblybemyfaultsoshutup!

Signing CDs after the show in Motherwell was a great example of the ‘accent barrier’, as I like to call it

Man: Hiya Jenny. Canny ye sign this fer me gullfriend?

Me: Sure, what’s her name?

Man: Vicky

Me: Is that with an ‘I’ or a ‘Y’

Man: Ey!

Me: OK

So I sign the cd VICKI – with an ‘I’

And give it back to him

He looks at it

Man: Nooor, I meant with a ‘Y’

Me: I thought you said ‘I’

Mana: Nooor, whenny you sud ‘Y’ I said, “ay”. Vicky with a ‘Y’ ya wee duffa

Are you still with me?

Translation: He meant ‘Y’, I thought he meant, ‘I’

It was his fault. End of story

Second example was at the Kilmarnock show

A really lovely lady came to say hi after the gig

Lady: Uff traveled ull the wee frum ‘EFFIN’ fur tha shoo tunight

Me: ‘EFFIN?’ Where’s that at

Lady: Nooor – nort ‘EFFIN’, I sud ‘EFFIN’

You can see how this gets hard sometimes, no?

Me: How do you spell that?

Lady: Ay, arrr, vee, ay, unn, aay

WTF?

Me: Here, use my pen and write it down for me

So she writes it on a piece of paper and I read it

It says IRVINE – she’s from IRVINE!

Translation, ‘EFFIN’ is IRVINE??!?!?

Arrrgh, no wonder my brain hurts