Went to a birthday party with Chester on Friday.
Got my heels wedged into the front lawn to the point where I couldn’t walk; only swivel.
Drank grappa shots.
Took shoes off and danced. One girl was an aerobics instructor – fuck yes – so it was: "And one, and two and three and four..." while we were doing these fantastically energetic moves to her command. "Higher ladies! Lift those legs and squat and two. And three. And LIFT. Fell the burn ladies, and four."
Sowed the seed for a party idea. I’m hiring a professional aerobics instructor. It means the music will be cheesy and electronic, she’ll motivate everyone to do star jumps and squat lunges, and frankly it’s fucking good fun.
Saw The Ant again on Saturday. So nice to have my pal around again, even if Satan tried to rip my shorts off as I arrived. Christ, can’t they rechristen him?
We looked at some of her possible wedding venues over a bottle of wine. Fuck are weddings expensive or what? I heard that they supposedly broke the bank, but this time I got to see the cold hard figures.
For instance, if you don’t fill the venue, on many occasions to have to pay for guests that aren’t there. Anyway. What?
Fuck, I’d suggest Ant erect a marquee on the huge fuck off garden they have at their house, but Satan would need to go to the kennels for a day.
Satan. Now there’s a wedding crasher you don’t need.
I also went mad at Hilton’s Wiener this weekend.
You see, I’m trying to acquaint myself properly with Hyde Park. It’s a stone’s throw from my pad, so perhaps I should settle in for kugeldom and suck it up.
I don’t know though. Rosebank has always been where I shop or grab a coffee and people watch. Hyde Park is so…not outside-friendly.
And there’s not even a Big Blue there anymore.
So I sucked it up and bought two fabulous dresses at the Wiener and a new pair of jean pant.
Also saw this ridiculous game show on Series Channel entitled, This Is Your Truth or something. Where people win money based on whether they tell the truth to a horrific set of questions.
All their loved ones are sitting around listening in, as questions are fired to the contestant such as, ‘Do you wish your boyfriend John was better endowed?’
Dude, even if you lied – the lie detector test would say so. Why put yourself or your partner through that, especially if you know that your checkered past is going to go down like a frown in Clown Town?
For a bunch of greenbacks? (Each set of questions is worth thousands of dollars.) Other questions were, ‘Have you ever cheated on your boyfriend John,’ or ‘Is your sexual history so provocative your mother would be shocked and disown you,’ Or ‘Is your partner ugly in comparison to other people you’ve dated?’
It’s one of those shows that is so blatantly uncomfortable to watch, you’re hanging off the couch, biting your nails off and breaking into a sweat.
The Ring 2 was less maintenance than this.
Settled in for your classic ‘it’s-raining-so-let’s-stay-indoors-together-and-stuff’ with Ches on Sunday.
Everybody’s doing it.
I mean, it’s what people do in my circles now. And I can see why.