Difficulty Rating: 1

Thoughts: Buddhists are always such a happy bunch! I trekked down to Fed Square after work on Day Nineteen for the Buddha’s Day and Multicultural Festival. There was a bustling and merry hubbub down by the Yarra. Lots of white tents had been set up beneath strings of red lanterns and big Buddha banners.

I wandered past bubbling curries and steaming bowls of dumplings, massage tents and meditation sessions and craft stalls where you could fold paper into beautiful lotus flowers or cranes. It was tempting to stop at every tent to sample a bit of everything, but even though a lot of the stuff was free there were donation boxes and price lists by all the popular activities and I didn’t have that many coins in my pocket.

I stopped into a lantern making stall and made a free lantern. It was a lovely paper tube with a quote about the Year of the Snake on it. Underneath we hung a little slip of paper with two wishes on it. I wished for happiness and cash. I wandered through the stalls and picked up a free book called “The Buddhist Perspective on Women’s Rights”, a free bookmark with “Think positively, have good thoughts” written on it, and I won a free pencil for being able to answer a quiz question about Buddhism.

As I was browsing I was hallooed by some enthusiastic ladies at a chopstick stand. They wanted to teach me how to origami my own chopstick holder. It cost $5 and I wasn’t planning on spending any money but they were so keen that I thought “what the hell”, coughed up and sat down. We made beautiful shapes with the paper and even though they didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak Chinese they told me I was very good at folding. Then they gave me my very own set of chopsticks and applauded because I was able to pick up some raw blackbeans with them. I left with arms laden and spirits very high!

Here’s a photo of me and the chopsticks ladies. Technically this was the only bit that wasn’t free, but double technically I donated money to some charity and the chopsticks were a thank you gift.

Difficulty Rating: 2

Thoughts: I was out at a pub being all famous and cool, singing at a friend’s gig. Normally you get some kind of compensation for a performance. It’s not often money, because every single person is poor in smalltime showbiz, but sometimes you get a free drink voucher or a bowl of chips or a copy of the DVD they’re flogging as a way of saying thank you. But this time I was informed that there was going to be no compensation for my at all.

I was a little put out, it was a pretty big gig and it was good exposure, but it’s always a wee bit insulting when it’s implied that you need the exposure and that that should be compensation enough. On one hand you want your name out there, on the other you’re giving away hours of work for nothing, so people get used to paying you nothing. Mind you, I’ve been on the other side of that exchange too – trying to book acts for a variety night and some no-name demands payment when no one else is getting a cent and I’ve just laughed and not hired them. So it can be a bit of a sticky situation for both parties.

I accepted my fate and showed up to perform for free (even though that’s not how 30 Days of Free is meant to work) and ended up having a good time. Everyone had good intentions and they were trying to put on the best show possible on a shoestring budget. My parents decided to come along and see the show too and that was when the little bit of magic happened.

My dad was feeling a bit sick and didn’t want any alcohol. He gruffly declared that what he really wanted was a hot chocolate. It didn’t look likely given that this was a pub in the middle of the night, but I asked the bartender anyway on the off chance that he could arrange it. He was a polite, Irish lad with a pleasant face and as soon as I asked he dashed away into the labyrinth of the kitchen, emerging with a steaming cup of chocolately goodness for my ailing father. Then he disappeared again, not even waiting to take payment. Some say he wasn’t a bartender at all, but a mythic chocolate leprechaun who grants wishes to cash strapped artists. Either way, he made my night and warmed my dad.

Here’s a picture of me backstage being all famous and cool.

Difficulty Rating: 5

Thoughts: As some of you may know, I  unsuccessfully auditioned for the Mama Cass understudy role in Flowerchildren earlier this year. I say ‘unsuccessfully’, I was down to the final two. I was feeling a bit glum about that because it was the best musical I’ve ever seen and I really wanted to be part of it. Then, after forlornly kicking cans down footpaths in a patchwork coat for a few weeks, I saw the cast perform at the Dolly Diamond show and my passion for the piece was reawakened.

I decided there and then that I would get a job on the show no matter what it took. I messaged the director and asked for a job and he didn’t reply. I messaged the producer and asked for a job and she didn’t reply either. That was every tactic I could think of. Bugger. Then I got a message from the director asking me if I knew how to use a certain music writing computer program. Next thing I know I’m sitting in rehearsals listening to beautiful singing and drinking the staff coffee.

Day Sixteen dawned and I now had a job. This was very exciting for me because as a person who has spent 85% of her life being unemployed (oh yes, I did the maths) jobs are still a novelty. But the best was yet to come.

I rocked up to the comedy theatre feeling like a massive fraud. I hadn’t auditioned or been interviewed. 24 hours ago my job hadn’t existed. Plus I’d never done anything like it before so I couldn’t even point to a long resume of computer program thingies as a reference. However I opened the stage door, tried to look legit as I passed the security guard and set myself up at the little coffee table underneath the stage. I set to work with the squeaking of floorboards over my head and the slap of power cables being sorted all around.

Soon I discovered the coffee table was a communal space for more than one company, and I was taking up a good deal of it with my laptop and papers. The producer was kind enough to relocate me to my own private office with heating and a bathroom. Yeah, that’s right. I got promoted to the executive suite. And the best part was…. my office was James Earl Jones’ dressing room! I know. Feel free to high five me.

Here’s a photo of me losing my shit in the best con job of my life. I Maebe Funke’d a job on my favourite production, got the most famous office ever AND one of the cast brought me a cupcake. Pretty unreal, I think!

Difficulty Rating: Basically 0

Thoughts: I’ve had luck like this before. Strutting through a shopping mall – or ‘plaza’ if you will – confronted by a mystical box standing solemnly amid the tide of shoppers. The box offers a chance to win some unbelievable prize if you care to write your name on a card and pop it inside. For most of my life I considered these kind of boxes too fanciful to be true so I never entered my name, preferring to let the opportunity pass than build my hopes up for nothing.

The sneaky secret, though, is that with the exception if prizes that you’d actually want to win (like cars and holidays) the boxes are less competitions and more promotional giveaways. Putting your name in is just accepting the gift they offered you. There’s no competition in it at all. I know this after “winning” two glamour photography shoot in one month from different boxes. Either I was the luckiest camera-whore in Brunswick or these things are rigged.

So it was with utmost confidence I wrote my name on a little slip of paper and shoved it into a box at my local Subway eatery. Sure enough, this morning I was informed I had “won” a free gym membership. I tried to feign surprise for the benefit of the woman on the phone, but also told her I wouldn’t be in to claim it for at least a week (I needed to finish my other free gym membership first).

Anyway, once again I say to you all, free gym memberships grow on trees. Go pluck one!

Also, Subway totally needs to make a nine inch sub. Here’s how I feel eating a six inch sub.

And here’s how I feel eating a twelve inch sub.

Difficulty Rating: 2

Thoughts: I rocked up to the Ascot Vale Library for a free talk they were hosting about Fashion in History. The talk was meant to be about the links between history, clothing, and their influence over or expression of the capabilities of women throughout history, but ended up being a bit of a free-for-all on movie costumes.

The speaker was an author/costumier who specialised both talents on the years between 1750 and 1870. She wasn’t nearly as consummate a speaker, stuttering with nerves in front of the 12 women assembled, but that was forgivable. What wasn’t was her lax structure and tendency to leap off on tangents without finishing her original thought. She started off the talk by telling us about her career but didn’t get further than her gap year of uni because she got distracted by something else and never returned.

The content was interesting enough but she’d structured it so haphazardly that the whole talk felt a bit meandering and pointless. She seemed to rely heavily on people asking questions and didn’t steer the conversation towards any goal so she ended up repeating herself a lot. I found myself thinking “well, what can you expect for free?” but then I realised that I’d gotten a lot of things for free lately that weren’t so amateur. Maybe my standards have been lifted by how much awesome stuff you can get for free in this town.

The best part was when she took off her self-made costume to show us how many layers women wore under their dresses. Apparently ladies didn’t wear underwear back in the day and when they got their periods they just splashed straight into their petticoats. Hot shit.

Ah yeah, then she gave us mints!

Here’s a photo of the lady. She had some good things to say, I just hope her books are better than her speeches.