Another of my New Years Resolutions (which I've already stupidly broken), was not to tell anyone anything exciting that was happening with my life until something had ACTUALLY happened.
I have always told my family and friends when I was interested in a man or of a job prospect or of holiday plans. I would only tell them if I thought there may be something worthy of reporting and that it might go somewhere but this year I have decided that telling them nothing is better. It saves disappointment on their part when things don't work out. It save my embarrassment when they ask "oh darling, how's it going with so-and-so" when it has never actually got off the ground. My friends get exasperated when I tell them, breathlessly of a new infatuation or a first date and then the next time I see them, there is nothing to report.
So my last but one posting, proves my point. I talked of Oscar, the Columbian restaurant owner, keen and excitable at the prospect of meeting up with him again. Since my phone-call on Tuesday I have heard nothing. We had tentatively made plans for this weekend but he said to call him when I knew my schedule. I told him I would call on Thursday. He said "what time weeeeel you call me darling?" I said "Thursday morning", he said "I look forward to hearing you again". I did as I said and called on Thursday. Confusion began when I realised I had 2 phone numbers for him (a drug dealer, according to my gay friend!). I left messages on both numbers, casually, with a light-hearted and flirty tone. I asked him to call back and let me know when was good for him but suggested Saturday lunch or dinner. NOTHING. It's now Friday night and I have heard nothing back. Blood bloody hell!! What does that mean? This was all supposed to be ridiculously casual and yet now I'm annoyed that I haven't heard back!!
I'm already making excuses for him... was I not very clear in my message, did he even get the message, was my message too enthusiastic and put him off? Fuck, fuck fuck!!! No matter how hard I try to not care or think about it, I've already told you all and now I feel like an idiot because I thought, for once, someone is keener on me than I am on him, so I don't really care. I do care and he hasn't called and now I look like a muppet. My resolution is now re-instated, I say nothing until something has happened and I don't look a fool.
Friday, 26 February 2010
Annoying people at the Tate
I don't call people genius's lightly but after seeing the Chris Ofili exhibition at Tate Britain I can say in my opinion, he is. Yes, most people know him for his bad boy, young British Artist work, 'porn and dung', but until you see them up close, please don't judge. The detail in his work, the patterns, the layering, the colours, the humour in his paintings are simply brilliant. The only thing that spoiled it is the same thing that spoils most things these days... inconsiderate people.
One of the rooms of paintings is called 'The Upper Room', a sort of inner sanctum within the gallery space. Designed by his architect friend, it is a beautiful smelling, luxurious, intimate room made of walnut and housing 13 paintings. Dramatic spotlit canvases of monkeys in every hue with a stunning gold monkey at the end of the room. Jesus and his twelve disciples perhaps. Every person was given the same pamphlet as they went into the exhibition and Chris Ofili himself is quoted in the leaflet as saying: "It was important for the space to feel akin to a space of worship and to experience the kind of feelings you get when you walk into a place like that. I wondered if that was possible, whether paintings could enhance that feeling."
Well Chris, I hate to be the one to tell you this but no one treated the space with that sort of respect. The attendants in the room have the power to tell you not to touch, so why can't they tell people to "shut the fuck up". There were groups of students coming in to sit down for a rest and a gossip, ignoring the work completely. One girl even came in the room and said, in that sort of posh but street accent "Oh God, its like another fucking room of shit!!" I actually giggled at that because the pun she had made, inadvertently referred to the the elephant shit balls on most of his work. Older groups were having VERY loud conversations, others were chatting on their mobile phones whilst standing with their backs to the work. I sat there for over half an hour hoping there would be a point where the room would clear out and a hush might descend. No such luck. The attendants DID notice but simply rolled their eyes at people and looked at the ceiling. I couldn't even say, in my "old before my time" way... "what's happened to the youth of today, they have no manners and are so rude and selfish!!" because it wasn't just the teenagers, these were people of every age, every gender, every race. Fucking buggers ruined my lovely quiet inner sanctum experience!!! So I might have to go back at 5 minutes before opening time and sprint to that room and sit until other people come and ruin it for me.
If pushed on this subject I could actually tell you of inconsiderate behavior everywhere... maybe it's just me, am I becoming intolerant (please leave a message if I'm not alone)? I tut at people on the tube as they sneeze or cough over me, I sigh loudly and turn away when a gaping yawn from a business man tells me what he had for lunch, I give people terrible dirty looks when they don't offer their seats to older, pregnant or disabled people. I've been told off by my sister for telling off her two boys. Ok, here, I know should keep my mouth shut for the sake of family harmony but when I am sitting opposite my nephews at the lunch table and they talk over my mother and father or burp or put their elbows on the table or eat with their mouths open, and my sister says NOTHING, I feel it is my duty to tell them off. No?? (Again I would love to hear your opinion). My parents reaction to my horror at modern manners, is to laugh and say "its because you live in London". Their solution to every one of my angsts, from mini cab drivers who don't know their way, to overcrowding on public transport to girls fighting in Primark, is to say "Darling, just move to the country".
As if bad manners are exclusive to London!!! I would love to remind my Father of the time he was waiting patiently for a parking space in M&S car park, and watched in horror as an awful "oik" (his term) came from nowhere and stole it. He actually got out of the car and said "excuse me (in his poshest and most authoritative tone), I was waiting for that space for some time, do you think that's fair?" and was met with such a tirade of foul language he was left speechless. He came home minus shopping because he was so "hopping mad". He often talks of queue jumping in Barclays, the bin men leaving trails of rubbish, strangers on walks having the audacity of not saying "Good morning" as they pass. Admittedly, country annoyances seem slightly less offensive than city ones but I think I am just my Fathers daughter. I just hope I don't become one of those angry old women who have "age turrets" because I'm nearly there at the ripe old age of 41!!
Oh and if you do go to the Tate to see the Ofili and are prone to 'annoyed behaviour of others, put on some headphones and remember to look up when you leave the museum... there is a Union Black flying high!
One of the rooms of paintings is called 'The Upper Room', a sort of inner sanctum within the gallery space. Designed by his architect friend, it is a beautiful smelling, luxurious, intimate room made of walnut and housing 13 paintings. Dramatic spotlit canvases of monkeys in every hue with a stunning gold monkey at the end of the room. Jesus and his twelve disciples perhaps. Every person was given the same pamphlet as they went into the exhibition and Chris Ofili himself is quoted in the leaflet as saying: "It was important for the space to feel akin to a space of worship and to experience the kind of feelings you get when you walk into a place like that. I wondered if that was possible, whether paintings could enhance that feeling."
Well Chris, I hate to be the one to tell you this but no one treated the space with that sort of respect. The attendants in the room have the power to tell you not to touch, so why can't they tell people to "shut the fuck up". There were groups of students coming in to sit down for a rest and a gossip, ignoring the work completely. One girl even came in the room and said, in that sort of posh but street accent "Oh God, its like another fucking room of shit!!" I actually giggled at that because the pun she had made, inadvertently referred to the the elephant shit balls on most of his work. Older groups were having VERY loud conversations, others were chatting on their mobile phones whilst standing with their backs to the work. I sat there for over half an hour hoping there would be a point where the room would clear out and a hush might descend. No such luck. The attendants DID notice but simply rolled their eyes at people and looked at the ceiling. I couldn't even say, in my "old before my time" way... "what's happened to the youth of today, they have no manners and are so rude and selfish!!" because it wasn't just the teenagers, these were people of every age, every gender, every race. Fucking buggers ruined my lovely quiet inner sanctum experience!!! So I might have to go back at 5 minutes before opening time and sprint to that room and sit until other people come and ruin it for me.
If pushed on this subject I could actually tell you of inconsiderate behavior everywhere... maybe it's just me, am I becoming intolerant (please leave a message if I'm not alone)? I tut at people on the tube as they sneeze or cough over me, I sigh loudly and turn away when a gaping yawn from a business man tells me what he had for lunch, I give people terrible dirty looks when they don't offer their seats to older, pregnant or disabled people. I've been told off by my sister for telling off her two boys. Ok, here, I know should keep my mouth shut for the sake of family harmony but when I am sitting opposite my nephews at the lunch table and they talk over my mother and father or burp or put their elbows on the table or eat with their mouths open, and my sister says NOTHING, I feel it is my duty to tell them off. No?? (Again I would love to hear your opinion). My parents reaction to my horror at modern manners, is to laugh and say "its because you live in London". Their solution to every one of my angsts, from mini cab drivers who don't know their way, to overcrowding on public transport to girls fighting in Primark, is to say "Darling, just move to the country".
As if bad manners are exclusive to London!!! I would love to remind my Father of the time he was waiting patiently for a parking space in M&S car park, and watched in horror as an awful "oik" (his term) came from nowhere and stole it. He actually got out of the car and said "excuse me (in his poshest and most authoritative tone), I was waiting for that space for some time, do you think that's fair?" and was met with such a tirade of foul language he was left speechless. He came home minus shopping because he was so "hopping mad". He often talks of queue jumping in Barclays, the bin men leaving trails of rubbish, strangers on walks having the audacity of not saying "Good morning" as they pass. Admittedly, country annoyances seem slightly less offensive than city ones but I think I am just my Fathers daughter. I just hope I don't become one of those angry old women who have "age turrets" because I'm nearly there at the ripe old age of 41!!
Oh and if you do go to the Tate to see the Ofili and are prone to 'annoyed behaviour of others, put on some headphones and remember to look up when you leave the museum... there is a Union Black flying high!
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
Inner slut
One of my New Years resolutions was to let out my inner slut and I think I definitely managed it on Friday.
A friend and I always meet for steak and red wine when we get together and we have sampled quite a few around London but for the last couple of times we have been to la Pampa Grill in Northcote Road, a loud, bustling, chaotic place with south American waiters and quite mouth-watering Argentinian steaks. Until Friday we hadn't met the infamous owner Oscar, a devilishly charming Columbian who has made London his home for the last 30 years, dabbling in restaurants and shops around Chelsea.
On Friday, just as Jo and I were thinking of leaving, Oscar blew through the door, kissed half the locals and looked around. He spotted Jo and I and came over to introduce himself. It took approximately two minutes for Oscar to charm the pants off us and we sat there giggling and playing with our hair whilst this smokey 50-something latin lothario flirted outrageously. At midnight, Oscar ushered everyone out and then locked the doors. Jo and I looked at each other and grinned. The waiters and Oscar sat around telling stories to us, Jo and I laughed and drank and had one of the best evening we've ever had. I was so fascinated with this man. He is craggy and cheeky and utterly enjoyable. I was completely smitten and in front of everyone I sat on the table and took his face in my hands and kissed him as passionately as I could. Oscar said something in spanish, the waiters all laughed and then we danced. We danced and kissed with abandon and it was just lovely. I didn't care what I looked like, I didn't care what Jo and the waiters thought, I was just enjoying the moment.
We finally left at about 1 as Oscar pirouetted me out of the door and winked. So... that was that. A night of fun and frollicks. But no. I had forgotten I had given him my phone number. Last night he rang: "Julietta, thees ees Oscarrrrr!" Oh my god... I melted. His voice really is something else!! He told me stories on the phone for about an hour and then asked me when he could see me "Julietta, thees is just the beginning... you must kiss me again the way you did before" Oh shit. Think I may be in trouble here. I haven't looked forward to seeing someone this much in years. He's been married twice and is a naughty naughty old man but I think I can cope... it will be quite something. It may just be one date but I think it'll be one to remember.
A friend and I always meet for steak and red wine when we get together and we have sampled quite a few around London but for the last couple of times we have been to la Pampa Grill in Northcote Road, a loud, bustling, chaotic place with south American waiters and quite mouth-watering Argentinian steaks. Until Friday we hadn't met the infamous owner Oscar, a devilishly charming Columbian who has made London his home for the last 30 years, dabbling in restaurants and shops around Chelsea.
On Friday, just as Jo and I were thinking of leaving, Oscar blew through the door, kissed half the locals and looked around. He spotted Jo and I and came over to introduce himself. It took approximately two minutes for Oscar to charm the pants off us and we sat there giggling and playing with our hair whilst this smokey 50-something latin lothario flirted outrageously. At midnight, Oscar ushered everyone out and then locked the doors. Jo and I looked at each other and grinned. The waiters and Oscar sat around telling stories to us, Jo and I laughed and drank and had one of the best evening we've ever had. I was so fascinated with this man. He is craggy and cheeky and utterly enjoyable. I was completely smitten and in front of everyone I sat on the table and took his face in my hands and kissed him as passionately as I could. Oscar said something in spanish, the waiters all laughed and then we danced. We danced and kissed with abandon and it was just lovely. I didn't care what I looked like, I didn't care what Jo and the waiters thought, I was just enjoying the moment.
We finally left at about 1 as Oscar pirouetted me out of the door and winked. So... that was that. A night of fun and frollicks. But no. I had forgotten I had given him my phone number. Last night he rang: "Julietta, thees ees Oscarrrrr!" Oh my god... I melted. His voice really is something else!! He told me stories on the phone for about an hour and then asked me when he could see me "Julietta, thees is just the beginning... you must kiss me again the way you did before" Oh shit. Think I may be in trouble here. I haven't looked forward to seeing someone this much in years. He's been married twice and is a naughty naughty old man but I think I can cope... it will be quite something. It may just be one date but I think it'll be one to remember.
Thursday, 11 February 2010
Poo
I know everyone sometimes gets caught short, but there is getting caught short and peeing down an alleyway, and then there is getting caught short and doing it on a public footpath on a busy thoroughfare!
Last week, I was walking to the tube from my house and I spotted, about 20 yards away, a gigantic poo. I said aloud "Oh for fucks sake", who lets their dog poo in the middle of the pavement and not clear it up? It was huge, 2 gigantic logs! As I got closer, it was obvious this was no dog poo, this was a giant human poo. I deduced it wasn't animal because I know of no dog, even a Great Dane that can lay something that large. I'm not near a zoo and have not read of any escaped exotic animals, so I gaped in horror at what I was looking at. I let out a piercing squeal of disgust and carried on walking, thinking of the poor street cleaners that were going to have to clean up this deposit.
The next morning, it was still there. I had to look because I was convinced it would be gone but even the street cleaners must have lines they don't cross. Oh for God's sake! I swore loudly and just hoped for a heavy rainfall. All will be well I assured myself.
The following day, I promised myself that I wouldn't look but as I rounded the corner, eyes to the sky, muttering "Don't look, don't look" I couldn't help it. Everyone knows, once you know something is there and just 'horror film' disgusting, you can't help but look. I caught it out of the corner of my eye and there it was, giant and proud: "Hello" it was saying "Yes, I'm still here and by the looks of things I'm going to still be here tomorrow, and probably all year, no one can touch me, I'm INVINCIBLE!!!" I swore loudly.
Yesterday, I walked passed again, trying to ignore it but this time my peripheral vision caught a glimpse of pink. Someone had stuck a cocktail umbrella in it! I burst out laughing and thought "Soooo, I am not alone, this poo has been noted and someone else is keeping track of the turd and is giving it some character." What next?
This morning I approached giant log with interest. Absolutely brilliant... secret turd dresser had given it a sweatband. Yes folks, there it was with a neon green, toweling wrist band around it. Whoever was doing this was brave, number one. I'm not sure how many people would get that close to a foreign object, let alone a strangers toilet starbar, yet this anonymous stylist had bent down and given the cocktail drinking turd, some headgear. I was impressed. It had now become the talking point at work too.... should I accessorise the turd?? Should this become a community project?? I'm not there yet but I'm worried this poo is invading my thoughts too often. It's London fashion week next week, should I do it justice and create a spectacular outfit?? British designer, of course!
Last week, I was walking to the tube from my house and I spotted, about 20 yards away, a gigantic poo. I said aloud "Oh for fucks sake", who lets their dog poo in the middle of the pavement and not clear it up? It was huge, 2 gigantic logs! As I got closer, it was obvious this was no dog poo, this was a giant human poo. I deduced it wasn't animal because I know of no dog, even a Great Dane that can lay something that large. I'm not near a zoo and have not read of any escaped exotic animals, so I gaped in horror at what I was looking at. I let out a piercing squeal of disgust and carried on walking, thinking of the poor street cleaners that were going to have to clean up this deposit.
The next morning, it was still there. I had to look because I was convinced it would be gone but even the street cleaners must have lines they don't cross. Oh for God's sake! I swore loudly and just hoped for a heavy rainfall. All will be well I assured myself.
The following day, I promised myself that I wouldn't look but as I rounded the corner, eyes to the sky, muttering "Don't look, don't look" I couldn't help it. Everyone knows, once you know something is there and just 'horror film' disgusting, you can't help but look. I caught it out of the corner of my eye and there it was, giant and proud: "Hello" it was saying "Yes, I'm still here and by the looks of things I'm going to still be here tomorrow, and probably all year, no one can touch me, I'm INVINCIBLE!!!" I swore loudly.
Yesterday, I walked passed again, trying to ignore it but this time my peripheral vision caught a glimpse of pink. Someone had stuck a cocktail umbrella in it! I burst out laughing and thought "Soooo, I am not alone, this poo has been noted and someone else is keeping track of the turd and is giving it some character." What next?
This morning I approached giant log with interest. Absolutely brilliant... secret turd dresser had given it a sweatband. Yes folks, there it was with a neon green, toweling wrist band around it. Whoever was doing this was brave, number one. I'm not sure how many people would get that close to a foreign object, let alone a strangers toilet starbar, yet this anonymous stylist had bent down and given the cocktail drinking turd, some headgear. I was impressed. It had now become the talking point at work too.... should I accessorise the turd?? Should this become a community project?? I'm not there yet but I'm worried this poo is invading my thoughts too often. It's London fashion week next week, should I do it justice and create a spectacular outfit?? British designer, of course!
Friday, 5 February 2010
Ten things you don't know about me?
A friend recently asked me to do this… Ten things you don't know about me.
Ok here goes:
1. 70% of time, I have an itch in my inner ear. It seems to be half way down my ear and halfway up my throat so I can't reach it. It is absolutely infuriating and when no one is looking, I end up either doing a "cat with a hairball impression" or wiggling a pencil/little finger/cotton bud down it.
2. I much prefer one of my parents to the other.
3. I think my sister could has made some odd choices.
4. I still think one day, I may be discovered (whether that's as a writer, actress, presenter... whatever)
5. I dream I may one day win the lottery and start a traveling theatre company, run out of a gypsy caravan.
6. I want to ride round India on the back of an Enfield motorbike, with a long haired youth at the helm.
7. I would like to try more positions out of the karma sutra, on a regular basis.
8. I wish I had better willpower... eating, drinking, smoking!!!
9. I sometimes get incredibly lonely and think about selling up everything I own and traveling the world until I meet the love of my life.
10. I think I have good, boobs, eyes and bum for a 41 year old. The rest is not so good but in the flirting stakes, the eyes are pretty good.
Ok here goes:
1. 70% of time, I have an itch in my inner ear. It seems to be half way down my ear and halfway up my throat so I can't reach it. It is absolutely infuriating and when no one is looking, I end up either doing a "cat with a hairball impression" or wiggling a pencil/little finger/cotton bud down it.
2. I much prefer one of my parents to the other.
3. I think my sister could has made some odd choices.
4. I still think one day, I may be discovered (whether that's as a writer, actress, presenter... whatever)
5. I dream I may one day win the lottery and start a traveling theatre company, run out of a gypsy caravan.
6. I want to ride round India on the back of an Enfield motorbike, with a long haired youth at the helm.
7. I would like to try more positions out of the karma sutra, on a regular basis.
8. I wish I had better willpower... eating, drinking, smoking!!!
9. I sometimes get incredibly lonely and think about selling up everything I own and traveling the world until I meet the love of my life.
10. I think I have good, boobs, eyes and bum for a 41 year old. The rest is not so good but in the flirting stakes, the eyes are pretty good.
Disaster
Gosh, how things change. Have been waiting for my date on Saturday with Fred, the half Egyptian, half Indian chap, with some excitement until yesterday when it all went disastrously wrong!
After spending at least half an hour on the phone setting up where we were meeting for lunch in Chiswick (West London), yesterday morning at 7am, he texted me saying "I can't make saturday". No apology, no explanation. I bit my lip and suggested we meet tonight instead. A long exhausting, exchange of emails ensued... he lives in Ealing (west west west London), I live In Balham (south London) so a central meeting point we agreed, would have been where our tube lines crossed... central London.
He sent an email back, obviously totally ignoring the meeting in central London part and suggested meeting in a shopping mall in WEST London (5 tube stops from his house.. 19 from mine and two train changes!) because it was "good neutral terrotory" and had the appeal of "its great because it has free parking!". Oh dear... was this a date or a business meeting??? I started to doubt this man and I may be compatable. A mall is not the first thing that springs to mind when I think first date and the allure of free parking doesn't really swing it for me!!! Oh My God, I almost forgot to mention.. his real name is Fiesal Butt, I kid you not. No wonder he calls himsef Freddy, bless.
Finally, after a whole day (it seemed) of to-ing and fro-ing about times and locations, we agreed to meet at 7pm in central London... phew!
Then, this morning at 8am I get a text "I can't make tonight". No apology, no explanation. Sound familiar?? This time I didn't bite my lip and phoned him. Calmly I asked what had happened and why the change of plan again?? He sort of verbally shrugged and so I said, "Look, you're obviously a bit busy right now and the timings' not so good so why don't we leave it for a week or so and try again?" I thought that was incredibly reasonable considering inside I was screaming "What the fuck, you miserable cretin, you DARE to cancel on Jules AGAIN???" I might as well have screamed that out loud because all I heard was a "Hurrumph" and he hung up. He hung up on me for being nice. Bloody hell, what a fucking weirdo. I was sitting there with my mouth open for several minutes until my phone beeped and it was a text message. "Sorry for messing you about and hanging up. Do you still fancy meeting for lunch tomorrow?"
My mouth is metaphorically still open. I didn't reply.
After spending at least half an hour on the phone setting up where we were meeting for lunch in Chiswick (West London), yesterday morning at 7am, he texted me saying "I can't make saturday". No apology, no explanation. I bit my lip and suggested we meet tonight instead. A long exhausting, exchange of emails ensued... he lives in Ealing (west west west London), I live In Balham (south London) so a central meeting point we agreed, would have been where our tube lines crossed... central London.
He sent an email back, obviously totally ignoring the meeting in central London part and suggested meeting in a shopping mall in WEST London (5 tube stops from his house.. 19 from mine and two train changes!) because it was "good neutral terrotory" and had the appeal of "its great because it has free parking!". Oh dear... was this a date or a business meeting??? I started to doubt this man and I may be compatable. A mall is not the first thing that springs to mind when I think first date and the allure of free parking doesn't really swing it for me!!! Oh My God, I almost forgot to mention.. his real name is Fiesal Butt, I kid you not. No wonder he calls himsef Freddy, bless.
Finally, after a whole day (it seemed) of to-ing and fro-ing about times and locations, we agreed to meet at 7pm in central London... phew!
Then, this morning at 8am I get a text "I can't make tonight". No apology, no explanation. Sound familiar?? This time I didn't bite my lip and phoned him. Calmly I asked what had happened and why the change of plan again?? He sort of verbally shrugged and so I said, "Look, you're obviously a bit busy right now and the timings' not so good so why don't we leave it for a week or so and try again?" I thought that was incredibly reasonable considering inside I was screaming "What the fuck, you miserable cretin, you DARE to cancel on Jules AGAIN???" I might as well have screamed that out loud because all I heard was a "Hurrumph" and he hung up. He hung up on me for being nice. Bloody hell, what a fucking weirdo. I was sitting there with my mouth open for several minutes until my phone beeped and it was a text message. "Sorry for messing you about and hanging up. Do you still fancy meeting for lunch tomorrow?"
My mouth is metaphorically still open. I didn't reply.
Wednesday, 3 February 2010
What is it about Egyptian men??
I have got a date... a lunch date set up with a guy called Fred on Saturday in Chiswick. He's off the internet dating site and I spoke to him for the first time last night. He's well spoken (tick for Mother), charming (tick for Mother), reads The Telegraph (big tick for Mother), went to public School and then Cambridge (huge cheer and a double tick for Mother), is 35 years old (weeeheeee, tick for me) and is half Egyptian and half Indian (very curious tick for me... probably a big X for Mother). Now, don't get me wrong, my Mother is far from racist, she just doesn't want one (that could be any country, any colour, apart from white British) as a husband for her daughter "Darling, think of the children" she once told me when I was seeing a black guy called Orville!! That's another story.... a wealthy, champagne quaffing, coke snorting, city boy turned born again Christian. I'm not sure why Mother was so worried... his new happy clappy life meant no sex before marriage and I sure wasn't going to get hitched to a man with the name of a ventiloquists' dummy (sorry UK reference) just so I could do bad things to him!
So I will keep you informed of how it goes...
Other than the date as a new pasttime, I've started dancing again. Dancing in a proper dance class not just willy nilly around the place. Last night I did a contemporary Jazz class with lots of jazz hands and step ball changes and grinned throughout the whole hour in pure delight. Dancing really does make you happy and until I have regualr sex, the other thing that makes me very happy, I'm going to stick to shaking my bootie!
So I will keep you informed of how it goes...
Other than the date as a new pasttime, I've started dancing again. Dancing in a proper dance class not just willy nilly around the place. Last night I did a contemporary Jazz class with lots of jazz hands and step ball changes and grinned throughout the whole hour in pure delight. Dancing really does make you happy and until I have regualr sex, the other thing that makes me very happy, I'm going to stick to shaking my bootie!
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