Fill Me Up

I just had lunch with a girlfriend who was discussing her bras as if there was variety. Please. Mine are like socks, all the same and just as boring.

That's the difference between someone with boobs and without. I need to attach breasts to my breasts so it looks like I've got something. There is no other option.

Even back in the day - pre breast feeding - when I had semi decent boobs, I was still recruited to do a commercial for those chicken fillet inserts. Oh yeah, I had a "friend" who pinpointed me as perfect to show the difference between flat and plump! I agreed to do the silly thing not realizing people would recognize me at gym as the girl who was running around in a bikini with chicken fillets. And those were the good old days. I think I was a B cup. Now I'm lucky if I crack an A.

I can't walk out of my house without attaching some serious artillery. My last bra fitting involved the sales assistant bringing out the mother of gel bras. My boobs looked so fabulous I bought five of them. Yep, all the same. If there was another style that did the same job, trust me, I'd go for it.

Not even Victoria's Secret could live up to this bra I've got. On a recent trip to the US, I dropped in the store to concentrate on my bottom half and was stopped by the sales assistant waving the hottest new gel bra. I discouraged her from wasting her time with me but she insisted on me checking it out. It only took a quick feel to realize it wasn't going to touch the sides. The problem is the bra I have makes my boobs look so decent that people actually think I have something to start with. I've even had moments where friends of mine thought I had a boob job. I can live with that.

But as far as my participation in the bra-for-this-and-the-bra-for-that conversation, I'm a one hit gel wonder. Well actually, I've just discovered I can change the straps. So there you go I've got variety called "clear". Now, that's what I call living dangerously!

Madonna Live In Tokyo
Roxy Lee gets up close to Madonna at her final Confessions World Tour performance

Is it crazy that I flew to Japan to see Madonna last week? I put it down to one of those moments in life that couldn't be missed. Since the Material Girl decided not to visit Australia I convinced a friend to hit Tokyo for the big event. We not only saw Madonna, we were almost on stage with her in some of the best seats in the house.

First impression? Little Madge was exactly that ... little! Of course this is obvious information but when you see her up close it gives you a whole new perspective. I was able to see every inch of that muscle which was something else. People make out like she has overdone it but when you see her up close she looks AMAZING. I certainly wish my butt went up and out instead of down and down.

Madonna kicked off the final show of her Confessions World Tour performance an hour and half late. But that didn't worry the crowd. The Japanese waited patiently for the dancing queen as they're so darn polite. My friend and I didn't mind either as we sorted out a few technical difficulties of our own. Elle forgot her camera and I ... well, I had one dot of battery left on my camera. Can you believe it? Elle reminded me it was up to me to capture the entire memory for her on a dot. There was only one thing left to do and that was network with our entire row. We now have photos coming to us from a NY stylist, a producer, two kids' entertainers, a director and our three Japanese buddies. I think it's safe to say we have it covered. Two of the Japanese girls we met were amazing. They sort of took us under their wing and showed us the way. One was a producer and the other works in gaming but is also a voiceover star in her own right. They were able to introduce us to some fabulous people including a very famous Japanese make-up artist who was with Madonna and Steve Klein days earlier at the Louis Vuitton party.

The concert itself was phenomenal - as you can imagine. We all know Madonna does nothing half-arsed. Even the dancers got involved in a bit of extra fun. During the Ray of Light song they appeared with Power Ranger masks which were obviously news to Madge. She could barely contain herself. But I must say I was focused on the guitar thing she had going on which started in the previous song I Love NY and was carried through to Ray of Light. She looked so hot I could almost turn. For that very minute I wanted to be her. Okay, maybe for the whole darn thing. She was in a very slick black jacket, tight pants and boots sporting a blonde wig strumming a black Gibson Les Paul guitar. I only know that because my husband has eight guitars hanging on our walls so I've been programmed over the years. Speaking of my man, he has been dying to teach me guitar and after that experience it's all on. My night ended with an email to my husband saying, "...our guitar lessons are on, we have to start with Madonna's I Love NY song and since you're so passionate about upgrade and change can you make one of those guitars black before we begin..."

After sending the email, I sat for a minute with energy still surging through my body, reliving in my mind what had just happened. Then my Chinese massage man came knocking on my hotel door. He didn't speak a word of English. And I was practically bouncing up and down trying to explain I had just gotten back from Madonna. Surely he new the word "Madonna" but I got no reply. So I held up balloons with her name on them, the program and pictures that finally got a "hai" - meaning "yes" - followed by a bunch of other sentences that made no sense. We continued speaking our respective languages but we both knew what was going on. It didn't matter. I let the rush continue through my body and soon the night felt like it was all an illusion.

Footage of Madonna in Japan www.youtube.com
For everything Madonna visit www.madonnalicious.com

No Blood, No Foul

I don't understand the complete obsession a man has with watching sport. I definitely understand the idea of playing sport.

I've grown up playing all kinds of sport. I'll try absolutely anything that requires physical skill. But to sit down for numerous hours watching a game is beyond anything my brain can cope with.

There are games and there are games. Games like the Super Bowl and State of Origin (played in Australia) are important sporting moments so I understand that. It's everything else in between that gets me. In Sydney, my husband has the Foxsports Channel finely tuned in. There are five-day cricket matches, rugby league, rugby union, Aussie football, soccer, tennis, golf, etc... Most men have their favourite sports that they follow which include a few different ones. Some take it to the next level and follow everything going in their country. But not only does my husband like to follow everything in Australia, he is obsessed with American sport. If you ask me that is a huge problem. It means the flow of sport never ends. When it's over in our country, it's starting in another. This has resulted in Foxsports being under tight regulation in our house - only short of a booking system.

I've even gotten to the point where I seduce my husband during major sporting games... fortunately he does find me more exciting than the game. He now knows his only guarantee of seeing anything is in a box seat.

Playing sport together is a different matter. We are so dangerously competitive that it would take a hospital trip to call off a game. To give you an idea, within the last four weeks we have repeatedly flirted with assault and battery. In a family soccer tournament where I was playing goalie I found myself just short of a broken nose and a black eye - that was after I had scored a goal on my first attempt against him. Hmm... a man's ego?

Then there was a silly baseball game we played with the kids. I was so desperate to catch my husband's pop fly, I was crazy enough to let my youth come flashing back which led me soaring through the air completing a double somersault, losing both shoes and enormous grass stains on my pants all with no ball in my hands.

We topped this sporting frenzy off with a brief moment of playing catch with a Nerf football. My husband jammed his finger after five minutes thanks to my heat! Score? Roxy 2, Husband 1!

Maybe I will follow a sporting team this year to mess with my husband. I'll start with football season. The NY Jets work for me. They're fast, fabulous and they wear green. In the end fashion always decides.