Grins

I am having a ball. No really. Is it possible to be having this much fun and be feeling this good?

I know you'll be reading this on a "Blue Monday" and so I may just be nauseating right now. Yes I have bad days and I'm not all rays of sunshine all the time, but right now, I am and while I feel like this, I am going with it. Work with me here.

Weekend is all a bit of a Blur. In a good way. Friday, was interesting... I was a part of a fashion show. Again, I am always quite perturbed that I get asked to do these things. It's not a fishing party right now, but I don't model. I am not a fashion hanger in any shape or form and so it is hilarious. I did this for a childrens charity with some Binnelander and Egoli stars. I wonder if all professional models run thoughts like: "Suck in your tummy! Shoulders back! Don't trip; don't trip..." through their minds. It was a high fashion, think European FTV channel fashion show with the weird make-up and hair and clothes I wouldn't wear out in public. It was fun to be a part of this experience, don't get me wrong, but I wish I could have taken a photograph of the looks I got from the models when I asked a simple question back stage. "To smile or not to smile, that is the question." I wanted to know what "look" we were supposed to be doing with high fashion, dark eyebrows and red lips. Were we supposed to smile or were we supposed to look like we were in pain or bored. I am always fascinated how these models portray their faces down the catwalk...the pained expressions are probably from not eating or shoes that are too small. I experienced this on Friday.

A little blurry, but here are two of the models...

High fashion make-up

Well, in case you were wondering, I was told not to smile from a model (striking features, mind you) who looked me up and down disdainfully, flicked her high-fashioned-teased hair and minced onto the ramp. So I didn't smile and I felt ridiculous. I have to smile. I am a smiley-person and if I can't smile when I want to, I take on a pained expression. Perhaps, that's it.

I had fun though and I got to gaze at the male models that really are quite beautiful. This one in particular looked exactly like Emile Hirsch and I embarrassed myself by staring too long and hard and then subsequently blushed furiously when he asked for my number.

Saturday was spent having breakfast at a quaint restaurant with the family and looking at cars. I have decided to get myself a new car. I felt guilty as I test drove these beautiful cars. Guilty because I felt like I was "cheating" on my car parked at home. I am still driving my very first car and she has certainly served me well for the past 7-8 years, but she's old now and so I am fickly trading her in for a new model. I'm excited.

I went to a braai that night at JB and had a blast drinking glasses of wine and playing 30 seconds...or tried to at least. My poor team mate must have been "chuffed" at being on my team. 2 bottles of wine will do that to you. I pretty much played like this:

"Um...um... It's the actress...um...shit....what's her name...oooh...ooh..ooooh...um....."

"TIME!!" Everyone yelled out, gleefully.

Normally I am a little champ at the game but with wine and shooters, I was useless at it.

I did however, see European Boy. This whole... yes, I can't believe these words came out of my mouth: "Let's just have fun and enjoy each others company with no strings attached" is very new for me and I'm certainly having fun.

I feel like a teenager again.

Today has been spent feeling sorry for myself, lying in bed catching up on all the Girls of The Playboy Mansion episodes and catching up with Sugar. She came to visit me and we giggled like school girls.

Oh and yes...here she is...looking smoking hot...man, I want a body like this and if she can go from looking how she did to looking how she does now...I have HOPE!! HOORAY!! I'm back to gym tomorrow!

Formal vs Casual

I am going to an event tonight at the Westcliff Hotel. The dress code says: Formal.

Dress codes make me nervous because no one ever seems to oblige or obey.

I am very aware that "formal" (in my dictionary) means evening dress and suits for the guys, however, I have been to formal events before in an evening gown and people have been in cocktail dresses or worse, black pants and a smart top. That for me, is semi casual or cocktail attire.I have also rocked up at a "formal" event (having learnt from the above mentioned) in a cocktail dress and people were in evening gowns and ball gowns. Ball gowns.
These days Formal means weird and wonderful things to different people. I have a long black dress with a little diamante detail... I just hope people dress up as well, otherwise I'll just have to target the champagne table in my gown.

What are the chances that I have two formal functions to go to? Apparently good, except I actually do know what to wear on Saturday...it's a Valentines Ball.

I went to JJ Schoeman (a hot SA designer) who is giving me a dress to wear (and return) for Saturday. I have a broad back so zips in that area are always a bit of a mission (as in I need to go up a size. Yay for me.) Designers design for size 0 Fashion Hangers aka Models ; not for the normal woman.Well, I found a dress, after chiffon and silk was thrown around and it is flattering. Alright, honestly I sucked everything in within a cm of my life and was too nervous to exhale, but I did after looking like a smurf and nothing ripped. Phew.

I'll report back tomorrow!

Saturday Night...

Dude...my weekend was totally insane!! The Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Launch was well, um...sexy!
It's just NOT FAIR. No honestly. I know I'm going to sound like such a chick now, but how is it possible for one human being to be that tall and toned with a button nose, piercing eyes, gorgeous hair and not a pimple or dimple in sight?
Wait. I sound like I'm perving. OK wait...this is the "chick" part. I was literally looking for flaws. I was looking and looking and I'm sure I must have looked rather bitchy, but I was gobsmacked. No fair; no fair!
I was utterly exhausted and got home at midnight. Blondie 2 stayed over in the spare bedroom that I'm convinced is haunted. Another story for another day.

Saturday was the day I MC'd for 7 hours and to be honest, I had such a jol! I was exhausted at first, but there is something about 6000+ people all screaming and whistling at you that can perk you up quite a bit. Just saying.

Right, so I'm getting to the good part! SATURDAY NIGHT! Blondie 2 and Special K came over to my crib (because I'm ghetto like that) and we did something so High School and I loved it! We got ready, we did each others make-up, helped with hair and took photo's. As you do.
We were getting ready for Daddy Long Legs Birthday Party. We weren't quite sure how "sober" he would be considering he had been on a pub crawl from 10am; so we were figuring we'd have a party anyway.
We arrived in the pouring rain and managed to hobble (quickly) through the puddles in stiletto's to the venue. We were right, he was a mad/glazed-eyed man who was dancing with anything that moved or didn't move, as the cleaners broom stick got to discover.
We danced, downed shooters and laughed the whole night long. I was having a swell time until it was my turn to go to the bar and get a round of drinks. A guy in a red shirt came up behind me and started dancing with my back...No. Grinding his stiffy into my back. It was horrifying. I turned around but he had moved onto his next victim with his "I can't quite see you, but you must be woman" look.
Two hours later, it was my turn again. I went to the bar and stood next to someone I haven't seen in ages! So there I am, chatting away when I feel some wet splashes on my leg. I didn't think anything of it because I had heard a glass drop. The next second, I feel a LOT more liquid on my leg travel straight into my shoe. I whip around to see Red Shirt guy keeled over the bar vomitting his guts out. Well. I have never been so repulsed. The bouncers removed him and I spent 15 minutes in the bathroom, emptying my shoe out and cleaning my leg, wretching from the smell.
I promptly sprayed half a bottle of Michael Kors onto my leg and went back to party.

At about 02h30, we all piled back into Special K's car and went in search of pies. The first garage we stopped at only had 2 and none of us were feeling charitable enough to share; so we moved on.
At the next Sasol garage we found 3 pies waiting for us, I mean they literally had our names on them. Instead of eating and driving (it's sooo dangerous!); we found a small table with two chairs on them. Special K and Blondie plonked their asses down and left me to sit on the ice-cream drawer. I like to think I was freezing my assets.
So, we're pretty "happy" - a lovely warm alcohol glow stuffing our pie holes with, well, pies when our victim arrived.
At this stage, we are pretty fucking hilarious. Blondie 2 goes up to him (he's buying a Fanta) and decides to be one of those sales woman that irritate the shit out of you in the supermarket.
She walked up behind him, picks up a box of washing powder and proceeds to be a cheesy salesman.
Mr. I Have No Funny Bone says to her: "I don't think you're very funny! I mean no girls should be eating pies at 3am!"
Say what? Oh no he didn't! (Ghetto Blondie is da bomb!)
Well, all 3 of us mature girls starting hucking him. Eventually Blondie 2 put the washing powder and handed him a box of Brooklax. Priceless.
I nearly wet myself.

Ah, the good times!!!

Ze French have a way with words....

So, seen any aliens? Today was D-Day. Will Smith didn't need to be on alert,after all!
Well... What a fucking day.

I was asked to be in a fashion show today for charity. I am not a model. I am not size zero and I am doing this for fun with other profiles. Some are top models and others that are TV personalities, radio presenters etc.
Right. So. The organiser of the show, who happens to be a friend of mine, asked for my dress size.
I told him and he looked at me like I was crazy.
"Honey! You are hardly that size! Look at all the weight you've lost!"
"Flattery babe, thank you, but I know my body. Even though I've lost weight, I've lost no weight in my boobs (thank God) and my back bones/ribs can't lose weight and I've always had a broad back. I know my size hun!"
I arrive at the rehearsal and dress fitting last night, to find that he has organised dresses (they're beautiful and expensive designer dresses) that are 3 sizes too small.
As a result, I had to organise with the boutiques and designers to get new dresses tomorrow morning (the day of the show...which is today. Keep up.) Not my job and a little annoying, but he's a friend and I don't mind. All that much.
Oh and this is awesome, I am standing with Miss South Africa and other celeby models who are trying on size 28 and 30 dresses.
"Oooh, it's too big. We'll have to pin it!"
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrggggggggghhhhhhhh!! I can bearly fit the dresses over my head or above my knees. Kill me now.

I race off to the first designer (time is of the essence) and eventually find something that fits.
I then race off to the show, do the final rehearsal and then race to the final store before the actual show starts.
Mission and a half. I walk in with the dress that doesn't fit. It's a size 32. I go straight to the manager who actually happens to be the owner of the store. She's French. A FRENCH BITCH!
"Hi there, I need to change this dress for the Fashion Show happening in 2 hours time!"
"Oh, is ze model obese?"
"Excuse me? It's actually for me. I'm not a model, I'm one of the personalities modelling in it."
"But you are 'uge!"
"WHAT??"
"Zis is ze beegest dress we 'ave!"
"Well, I am hardly obese...I'm a normal woman who has curves."
"Well zis is a beeg size for ze French. You will stretch ze clothes."
"Right. You're in SA and I don't need you being bitchy, I just need a solution since I'm wearing your clothes in an hour! If you'd rather I don't, trust me, I'd be thrilled. I don't need to wear your lousy clothes anyway."
She sulked off and threw outfits into the change room while making sarcastic, bitchy comments to her shop assistant about getting Really, really, really BEEG sizes and "non, non, that vil never fit her...get her a beeger one."

Fuck, I'm so pissed off. I couldn't believe the nerve. I was actually more irritate with myself that I hadn't stood up for myself and bitch slapped her. I wish I wasn't such a walk over, but it was literally one of those: Could've; should've; would've scenarios.

I finally found something and pushed my shoulders back, the boobs forward, sucked the tummy in and pasted a smile on my face and walked out there...no I "minced" out there for the world to see this Curvy REAL woman strutting her stuff down the catwalk.

I had fun, but dude.