Things I'll Never Do Again: Salsa Dancing

So the last night I was “tricked” by my flatmate, fellow skinny bitch and all-round fabulous person to go salsa dancing.

Here’s the thing about me and partnered-up dancing; I cannot do it.

Seriously. I’m all awkward and I look at my feet too much and am so self-conscious, it’s not pretty to watch. Despite my foreboding that this was going to be the worst thing I’ve ever done, and I’m including the time I sang karaoke, I put on my favourite heels and a dress that would lift up when I did turns. I may be bad at choreography but I still have Dirty Dancing fantasies. And off we went.

This is how I thought I'd look. Not even close in reality.

We paid and settled in to watch the intermediate class before our beginner class. And that’s when I wanted to throw up. What we witnessed was dancing of professional skill and no one messed a step. I was assured that our class would be nothing to worry about. I nodded and started to look for emergency exits.

When we started, I admit the warm-up and basic steps were fun. I could do these. And at one point I actually managed to let go of my issues and swing my hips and look kinda like I knew what I was doing. Then we started to partner up. This is where shit got real. As I partnered with the various men (a goldmine if you’re looking for boys that can dance ladies) I realised they all had a similar problem. They were dancing with me. Some were very nice about me messing up the steps, one wasn’t. A couple were worse than me (thanks for small mercies) but then again the guy’s are doing all the hard work.

After what I consider torture, we all formed a line again and did our warm down. This was my chance to excel. And let me tell you Baby has nothing on me when it comes to turning and clapping my hands to the music.

One day. One day.

This experience has taught me many things:
1. I will may for my own humiliation.
2. Nothing can prepare you for a foreigner to shout “No!” when you get the steps wrong. Sorry dude! Didn’t realise I was in the way of your Strictly Ballroom ambitions.
3. Bad dancing cannot be solved by my usual way out of awkies situations with boys; wearing a low-cut top and lots of eye makeup.
4. This could be where a lot of the cute men are hiding. And they can move or at least want to. Major points.
5. Having a good partner can make all the difference.
6. Salsa is great cardio.
7. I’ll probably never do this again :)

Ex-Oh! Ex-Oh!

Images from here.

An Open Letter To...

…the creators of chick-flicks. You have ruined my life. Don’t get me wrong I enjoy your movies immensely, I watch them all the time and thus have a horrible romantic life.

I waste so much time looking for guys with sparkly skin or secret royal lineages in the hope that I can be the one who makes a difference in their lives, you know be “the only thing that’s real” or at least get them to go outside and strip. Shiny things make me happy.

I am probably ignoring dozens of perfectly eligible men because I’m on the lookout for boys with posh British accents who are willing to partake in sad attempts of fighting for my honour. Never mind that these same guys will cheat on me with skinny-ass tanned women or that they prefer a little something-something from ladies of the night, Hugh Grant I’m talking to you, I’m hooked.

I dance my ass off at clubs because I have come to believe many hot guys are not only sensitive souls but can also bust a move and one day we’ll end up doing choreography in a street together.

I want to wait in the rain because I’ve learnt not only will I look radiant and my mascara won’t run but that guy, the one that got away will find me and we’ll have a moment and kiss and totally ignore the fact my shirt is see-through.

You have convinced me that a kiss is a gazillion times better when it’s accompanied by a killer soundtrack. Also running into each other’s arms makes for great dramatic moments. On a side-note, have you ever tried that? It’s hard to master and if you’re out of sync, teeth bash, foreheads bump and someone lands up on the floor.

I also fear that when I do find love without an elaborate gesture I may not believe it. If there is no guy with cue cards telling me I’m perfect or a John Cusack look-a-like holding up a classic 80s song on a boombox, how will I know if it’s real. If a guy is not willing to slay an evil sea witch or go to prison ‘cause some little bitch of a sister falsely accused him of something then I’m gonna eject his ass.

Ex-Oh! Ex-Oh!

Image from here.

Things That I ♥

Good Times

Last week our office went out for a team-building event at LaserQuest. It was totally awesome to spend some fun time with the coworkers I like and I got to wear my jumpsuit and legwarmers which is always a good thing. I tried to use the name “Skinny Bitch” but it was just too long so instead I used Princess. Princess ended up coming fourth which I was really happy about it. Also the game was much more strenuous than I remember from my childhood days so I think I also lost a bit of weight. It would have been a plus if not for the pizzas and drinks we had after the game. The best part was hanging around in the bar afterwards and using the jukebox. Not sure what the allure of them are but I spent way too much money playing 80s songs and dancing by myself. Everyone else was playing pool but I’m crap at it. So I danced to Just Can’t Get Enough and You Shook Me All Night Long. Good times.

Bite-size treats

Chocolate covered romany creams. Romany creams are a chocolate biscuit with a chocolate bit in the middle. Now imagine them bite-size and covered in chocolate. I don’t think I need to go on.

Movies like Pretty Woman

Skinny Bitches watched this last night and realized apart from the whore part, we are so like the Julia Roberts character. We’re the type of girl who has random facts about body parts and the kind who sings Prince off-key in the bath and we’re totally the girl who says “Oh honey I got a runner in my pantyhose. I’m not wearing any pantyhose.”

Burberry Prorsum Autumn Show

The coats. The body con dresses. The thigh-high boots. The military theme. It’s tres love in the dark after lights out.

Weekend News

On Friday the girls and gays went to see The September Issue. I think I love Anna Wintour even more. No matter if you’re interested in fashion or even care about Vogue magazine, you need to see this movie.

On Saturday, it was my birthday! I got given a lovely present by my roomie and fellow skinny bitch and then we went out for breakfast. We also did a little window shopping and found some amazing dresses. Only problem is, we’re crazy broke and it was the hardest thing to put them back because we need to spend our money on food and petrol. Too bad those dresses can’t do that.

Later that day, the gays came over again and we had a getting ready party for that evening. We started the night at Boo Radleys with friends and families. I was totally spoilt. Not only by the great cosmos. Not too sweet and not too sour but perfect. And I got amazing gifts. It was awesome. So awesome in fact that I think I may have to celebrate it again in six months. Birthdays totally need anniversaries. After cocktails, we headed to the Dubliner where drinks were doubled, I hurt Blue Eyes when I tried to do the jumping lift from Dirty Dancing and almost slapped a girl who kept dancing in our area. “Bitch, that’s my song. I need to break it down.”

The next morning, however, was not so awesome. The last time I was that hung-over was the year before, also at my birthday. I did not feel good. It got so bad I had to go home to my parents house so my mom could look after me. In the end I had to sleep it off and later that evening when I eventually came to, I was ravenous. After 10 hours of sleep, I ate everything in my way. I’m back to feeling normal but am still pretty dehydrated so have attached a large water bottle to my side.

Hope everyone else’s weekend was just as fabulous.

Ex-Oh! Ex-Oh!

Working For The Weekend

When the weather’s good (and you’ve just been paid), weekends tend to be fabulous. This weekend was one of those. On Saturday, with the gym being firmly ignored, we went to try out the new Lazari in the Cape Quarter. For some reason, breakfast is always better when you get an outside table and are surrounded by some beautiful people.

Then it was off to my niece’s birthday party. When it comes to kids, I always thought I’d had two, a girl named Boleyn and a boy called Conor. They’d be ridiculously good looking and smart and Boleyn wouldn’t have the hair problems I have to endure. I’d also send them to one of those uber posh schools and they’d learn five languages and do a collection of extra-curricular activities. Witnessing 25 kids high on sugar, dressed up for Halloween and fighting over cupcakes was enough to put that fantasy to rest. In the end though, aided by good food and lots of champagne, we managed to have a good time. This good time was spent behind a closed door, away from the noise and watching the 5^th season of The Office.

Later that night, after some serious prepping, we headed out for some boy hunting. We decided that instead of complaining that no one loves us, we would be brave and make them love us. In other words, we would actually go up to guys and make the first move. This was a lot easier after we finished a bottle of champers and put on Wonder bras. The venue in question was The Dubliner, known to all of Cape Town as an awesome place to get drunk and dance to old music. This is also now known as boy hunting ground. Most of the patrons are foreign, which is great if you’re a sucker for accents. We danced the night away and then got kicked out when the lights came on and the last round was served. They say dancing is a good workout. Judging by the pain in my legs, we must have done the marathon equivalent. It shouldn’t be this hard to climb stairs. I’m hoping a gym session later will help.

Other highlights include an amazing steak lunch, some episodes of House and a party pack from Saturday’s party. Those were reason enough to go to a child’s birthday party!

Hope everyone else had a good one.

Ex-Oh! Ex-Oh!

Wish List # 4 The Power To Turn Gay Men

Us, skinny bitches like gay men. A lot. We actually love them. Most of our best girlfriends are gay. Most of our male friends are gay. So there’s a lot of love in this relationship. And why wouldn’t there be. Gay men are faboosh! Whether they’re stereotypically loud and bitchy or sensitive and caring or even into sports and completely straight-acting. We love love love spending time with them. They’re the perfect men apart for one big thing: other men.

Gay men have dressed us, comforted us and laughed with us. All while doing so in designer labels and smelling better than we do. The relationship could only be improved by some action in the bedroom. So there’s no surprise that if we had a multitude of wishes, we’d definitely wish to turn those cute, charming well-dressed, well-gelled men into appreciators of the female species. And we don’t just mean appreciating our outfits. We want those men to do more than stroke our hair. We’d ultimately like them pulling it in the throes of passion. Instead of dressing us in fabulous ensembles we’d like them to rip our clothes off without caring about the stitching. After we watch the Dirty Dancing together, we’d want to get down and dirty. Maybe even dance too.

Alas this is one thing we know we’ll never get. Sure some of willing to experiment but ladies, these ladies are only focused on men. So we’ll settle for being their hags. The girls they call when they want to go out for a latte. They girls they don’t getting undressed in front of. The girls they tell have lost weight over the phone. The girls they create a fabulous beehive updo for. And the girls they watch The Sound of Music with. Gay men, still pretty perfect.

We may not be allowed to have them but we can still look at them.

Here are the top 5 guys we wish we weren’t gay:

Simon Amstell

Kyan Douglas

Tom Ford

Luke Macfarlane

Adam Lambert