Monthly Archives: February 2010

Gosh I Forget A Lot Of Things After Drinking…

Posted on February 22, 2010 | Leave a comment

Just went for Lunch with Nicole who reminded me that about a million more things happened on Saturday night. Cripes, more free drinks than I thought!

The most important – and some would say unforgetable – thing we discussed, was the fact that Nicole IS currently lusting after someone! I shall name him Pink Shirt, because apparently he wore one once. She wanted me to call him Sex on a Stick, however I argued that one day I may meet someone I consider to be more worthy of the name, and since it’s called climbing Ritzi’s ladder… I guess I get veto on that. Awesome. I love the power.

So, essentially our main wondering at the moment is whether Pink Shirt likes to stick his winky in girls or boys. Admittedly, the pink shirt choice isn’t helping him much here, but Nicole argues that it could just be a demonstration of how comfortable with his sexuality he is. Discuss.

A moment of victory occured today when Pink Skirt Shirt arrived in the building. I believe the conversation when something like this;

N: Hi!

PS: Hello! How are you?

N: I’m fine, thank you.

PS: Good (followed by a smile and a sound effect – or it would be if we lived in a sitcom)

This prompted a fist pump of triumph and an excited giggle from Nicole over lunch. The plan now is for Nicole to confirm PS’s sexuality and successfully seduce him. Preferably in his dressing room because that would make a damn good post. (Nicole, I know you just squealed outloud reading that. Shush. We’re incognito damnit!)

I, on the other hand, still haven’t heard anything from Short Shorts which is really annoying considering that a few months ago (when I was blissfully ignorance of my relationship misery… remember that?) he was desperate to get down my pants. Now? Cue tumbleweed. Which makes me think I’ll text the Hobbit (not an actual hobbit). Yes… I think I shall. Hang on a sec.

Done.

Right, going to do some actual work now, but I shall be updating this post when the Hobbit texts back.

Much love!

RitziCx

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Apparently Cupcakes Are The New Coke

Posted on February 20, 2010 | Leave a comment

…Someone should tell a rather famous producer I know. Might save him some pennies.

So this week has been one of the most insane weeks of my LIFE. You know how I work in this crazy West End theatre world – well fabulous as I am there are still many many rungs on this bloody ladder of mine and the weather’s been so crappy recently that I’ve found it difficult to see even more than a few steps ahead. Hopefully, after last week, that will change soon :)

I’ve been everywhere! In the office, on location, at the Ivy, in theatres, in rehearsals, and even at the Empire Cinema watching a special preview of Tim Burton’s Alice In Wonderland! (More on that later this week) But I have found time to catch up with a few friends as well. Who needs sleep, right?

Tuesday I went to meet Nicole after work. The poor girl had been there since 5.30am, and we were supposed to meet at 6pm. And she didn’t get out until half past! She came out, babbling a bit due to slepdep, and although she was perfectly happy and not at all upset, she started crying too! Seriously, I’m not so sure the hours we work are legal but still we do it. Insane.

I scooped her under my wind and we rushed to Primrose Bakery for some sugar, stat! Half an hour later we were satisfyingly full of coffee and lemon cupcakes. Amazing.

Cupcakes are everywhere at the moment, aren’t they? I remember watching SATC a few years ago and lusting after the cupcakes they got from the Magnolia Bakery. I’ve since been to that bakery and I hasten to add that there was no way that a single one of those characters could ever conceivably have eaten anything there, or they’d never film those sex scenes. Once I had one… I couldn’t stop. I can never move to New York. Cupcakes and Cheesecake considered, I’d just be obese. Luckily (or unluckily) our cupcake culture has caught on, and instead of nipping for a quick drink after work we regularly meet for a sugar fix instead. I’m not sure what’s worse!

Then today, inkeeping with the NY theme, I met my friend Polkadots for lunch. And when I say lunch, I mean cheesecake.

She’s just moved back home after almost a year of living in sin. Her boyfriend, a sensible, teachery type, bought a house without telling her and moved her in, taking rent for the mortgage. This was fine, until one day his sister showed up. She was supposed to just be staying for a month or so, and half a year later she’s still there. Polkadots finally snapped when she discovered that the unwelcome sister was not even paying rent, so she moved out. There we were eating cheesecake, and I expected I’d need to comfort her a bit. I was wrong.

“I’ve been with him for two years and I swear he doesn’t actually know me at all,” she told me. “I mean, seriously, the other day he said ‘I don’t think I’d ever have even thought about going to the theatre if I’d never met you’ and I was like… ugh! I know he bought me flowers and everything for valentines day but they were roses and I hate roses. You know I hate roses, right?”

And I did. You see, Polkadots is a vintage clad, slightly feminist, bright haired stage manager, and such cliches like roses on valentines day are like cryptonite to her.

So I asked her why she was bothering, and she said she didn’t know. Then she said she didn’t think she should any more. Then we went off on a complete tangent about my new found ‘If he’s not the man of your dreams why are you wasting your time?’ philosophy.

It’s not that I think everyone should hold out for a knight in shining armour who looks like Colin Firth circa Mr Darcy and treats you like a goddess, but there has to be someone out there who just fits with you. I’m pretty sure my mum and dad, who are still ridiculously happy, are evidence enough that this can happen. And Maxie and her hubby, sex issues aside, just work. They just fit.

Nicole and I are off out for the evening, our minds well and truly set on the ensemble bingo board ;)

Will keep you posted.

RitziCx

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MORTIFYING IVY EXPERIENCE!!!

Posted on February 16, 2010 | Leave a comment

Okay, so here in my glamorous West End World I get to do the most high profile things… like taking flowers sent by a stupidly famous person to another stupidly famous person who’s been tucked away in the Ivy, hiding from the torrential downpours outside all afternoon.

So, equiped with my fabulous leopard print umbrella, I headed out of the office across town to the Ivy, carrying flowers that were – in actual fact – bigger than me. I get there and stagger inside, dripping all over their lovely marble floor and have a quick chat to the nice lift operator man who comments how he hasn’t seen me much lately. Well yes darling, that’s because I stopped shagging the bloke who used to show off his showbiz contacts by dragging me there on a weekly basis.

Up I go in the lift and pop into reception, fully prepared to drop off said people-sized-flowers and disappear. Sadly, this does not happen.

Just as I get out of the lift the receiver of the flowers appears in reception, gushing gratitude as he grabs the flowers off me and gives me the obligatory cheek kisses. He asks how I am, and I reply that I’m fine and ask how he is. We stand there, chatting away like old friends for about five minutes.

I HAVE NEVER MET THIS MAN!

Seriously, people tell you and you don’t believe it but I promise you it’s true. In this industry people will pretend they know you if they have even an inkling that they’ve met you before, just to avoid embarrassment.

The guy then said; “Oh, so-and-so’s inside…” as if to say, ‘come and join us!’ but I hastily replied that I should get back to the office, lots to do, you know how it is!

I knew who So-and-so was. The boss. THE BIG BOSS. Now I’m actually sort of wishing I had gone inside. Can you imagine? Sipping cocktails and tallying up how many drinks I could get out of them as they avoided calling me by name.

They seriously would have let me join them and started chatting about the state of the crumbling Theatre Industry, each pretending they knew who I was and sure that I’d sent them a Christmas card in December.

Bless.

It’s a wonderful world!

RitziCx

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Sex Without Love Is Fine, But What About Love Without Sex?

Posted on February 13, 2010 | Leave a comment

Hello all! Wow it’s been a very hectic week, and it’s only going to get more so as I stubbornly ignore V-day and roll right into next week! Work is very exciting at the moment, I have to say. Much as I’ll try to be about for the next seven days it may just be blurry midnight wafflings for a while… just warning you.

Thursday saw a reunion with Maxie G, a fabulous friend of mine whose face has been on my TV more than it’s been in my line of vision for most of this year much to my dismay! Cue a few ‘I miss you in my life!’ texts and a bit of shifting of schedules and I that evening found myself holed up in the kitchen of her amazing basement flat (that I want for my own so badly that sometimes I dream about it) drinking some potent Rioja accompanied by a vegetarian feast and some exotic herbs. Ahhhhh. Heaven on a school night.

Obligatory career based talk kicked off the night – oh it’s so bloody stereotypical darlings but we’re luvvies, deal with it – and turns out things are going pretty well in that area for both of us. Who’d a thunk it? Brilliant. Then talk turned to the personal life. Ah.

So I begin by telling the tale of Trilby (who texted again… eek!) and the rest of the Ensemble Bingo plan. Maxie is thrilled by this concept and declares that she is going to join in. She’s married and all but hey, I’m not judging! (Ahem)

(By the by, Trilby texted saying ‘I would like to see you again but if the last time we saw each other was it for you, that’s cool. We had fun. Hope you’re well’. Wow, I felt harsh. I do hope all the gits who’s fucked and chucked me in the past felt as bad as I do about it… although they probably don’t. Anyhoo, I texted back what people seem to agree was quite a nice message, saving his feelings etc. All part of the learning curve peeps)

Maxie and I are at very different points in our lives. While I am single and still fantasising about the man of my dreams (*cough* Mr Darcy *cough*) who will one day sweep me off my feet, find all my weird quirks adorable and not begrudge me spending half my paycheque on shoes, she has already found this man (not Mr Darcy mind you, he’s mine. Bugger off Bennett). He’s a lovely chap and bought her amazing shoes for her last birthday. What a winner.

Tricky part: They’ve been trying to have a baby through IVF now for quite a while. It’s not been working and it seems to be affecting the relationship. Not in ‘falling out of love’ kind of way but in more of a ‘if you don’t shag me soon I’m going to shag someone else’ kind of way. This topic of conversation got mighty interesting after a bottle of wine each as you can probably imagine, and it got me thinking.

As most of us who’ve ever been promiscuous know, you can have great sex with someone who you don’t love, but can you be properly ‘in-love’ with someone if you’re notmaking love with shagging them? Maxie commented that she and the dream man have a friendship, not a marriage. They live together, they love eachother, they’re not having sex. The same could be said about flatmates. But that’s not all it can be, surely? These two have been married for ages, are devoted to each other and will be together forever, whatever happens. That said, Maxie has made it clear that if she doesn’t start getting some proper lovin’ at home, she’s going elsewhere.

In an ideal world I would like to say that sex is not everything, but it’s pretty darn important. I have a friend who’s mother was a virgin until she was 41. Seriously. She fell hopelessly in love with a man who was in a really bad car accident and left paralysed from the waist down so the kids were test-tube jobs. This would be a really great story if they’d grown old together and still sat on a porch somewhere, her in a rocking chair and him spinning about the place in his wheelchair, but they’re not. She hit the bottle (stressed much?), yelled alot (frustrated much?) and they divorced before the kids even got out of primary school. I’m sure it must work for some people but this woman was quite clearly a sexually charged being. As is Maxie. As am I.

I haven’t ever been in love – not properly. Sometimes I thought I was, but I have now realised that the feeling I had then was me desperately trying to convince myself that I felt what I should be feeling. I never did. Never have. But I will one day, so when I do I suppose I’ll understand the difference between having sex and ‘making love’. Ugh. I really hate that phrase. Maxie tells me the difference is simple; when you’re in love with someone you’re more willing put up with inadequecies in the bedroom department. Oh great. Can’t wait for that! But seriously, I just can’t envision a time (except when I’m reeeeally old and wrinkly) that I wouldn’t want to be getting any.

Also, I hasten to add, I’m not superduper sex obsessed. At the moment I’m putting myself out there because if not now then when? But it’s not the only thing I think about. I need mental stimulation too if it’s going to go anywhere, intelligent conversation and whatnot, but if sex wasn’t part of the deal? I don’t think I could do it.

Maxie’s got a plan though! Make him watch porn. Brilliant. And besides, she’s an actress. What happens on tour, stays on tour and all that. At the end of the day, I don’t know what I would do if in her fabulous shoes. You can say that cheating is wrong, but if it’s the only way you can keep your sanity and your happiness then is it so bad?

I don’t know! I’m so ridiculously undecided in this situation. Lil bit jazzed at a new Ensemble Bingo player though, I have to admit. What do we think folks?

Anyhoo, I’m off to actually get some work done. I’m in my office on a Saturday. What is that about? Sigh.

Much love,

RitziCx

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To Sext Or Not To Sext, That Is The Question

Posted on February 9, 2010 | Leave a comment

Ahhhhhh the sex text, the most foolish of horny things.

You know that thought that occurs to you when you’re out with your girlfriends and you just HAVE to text that guy right there and then? Fine if he’s out too and a little bit drunk… not so fine if he’s stone cold sober and fancies you more than you fancy him.

I made this ridiculously stupid error a couple of weeks ago while out with Nicole and a couple of out other gal pals. Nicole was texting The Revolutionary (we’ll get to that later) and another of our friends was texting a damn fine looking barman (who I believe she is still yet to sleep with… sort it out woman!). Anyhoo, with no one on the go for me to text (this was between my epiphany and Trilby’s texts) I thought it would be a really good idea to text this poor boy I knew from my office, who had made it quite clear that he fancied me. To this day I do kind of like him, but 1) he’s shorter than me, 2) he’s actually really nice so I’d probably end up messing him about and 3) I work in the same building as him so it would NEVER EVER WORK. However, because I had a lot of wine in me that particular evening, I conveniently forgot these factors and started texting him so I’d have something to squeal about when my phone went off. I believe my first text was something very classy, something along the lines of; ‘Wooooooo! I’m drunk! xxx’

Obviously this is an inviting conversation opener. The texts began, passing back and forth about how he was just about to fall asleep, then about how ‘FAME’ was playing the the bar I was in, then how we should go for a drink after work one night (doh!), then how he hated his job, to which I responded something along the lines of ‘not all jobs are bad ;)‘

Quite frankly, what a ho bag.

Anyhow, the conversation petered out and the next week when he asked me out I made some kind of CRAP excuse about being busy every evening that week and then by the next week it had gotten a little bit awkward. Horrible horrible Ritzi! I’d say I won’t ever do it again but I probably will. I don’t have that much self control. If it helps at all the same night my friend called TVboy pretending to be a chinese takeaway at 4am and I heard his voice and cried. Karma! He’s a dick though so it’s fine :)

Then of course, there is the other kind of sex text (herein referred to as the ‘Sext’) which is altogether more mortifying. You see in my case, if office boy were to show my texts to his mates the next day the best they could do was laugh about the fact that I’d insinuated that I was good at giving blow jobs. Nicole however, committed the other kind of Sext Crime.

Over Margaritas (thank you Las Iguanas) she told me most of the tale. She left out some of the exact wording but little does she know she actually gave significantly more away on Friday night after lots of free Sambuca. She also gave the oddly attractive barman her number that night, but I’m pretty sure that will be a story for another day.

So it’s a regular thursday night, she’s at home, and she gets a text from The Revolutionary. She has already ticked a box with this pratt so basically she gets no points for any further activities with him and should just not bother. Also, he makes he cry a lot. Heeeeeeeeeeee’s a bastard! Last week we decided she would tell him to bugger off and she did. Then he texted again.

First of all he made small talk, probably because he was on the way home from work and didn’t fancy getting a hard on on the train. Then later on he asked her what she was doing and she replied that she was just catching up on emails etc (and no doubt reading her pal Ritzi’s blog I’m sure), to which he responding by asking what she would rather be doing. To her credit, at first she wasn’t playing his game, but it seems this guy’s rather smooth and when she shot him down he sent a text back telling her exactly what he would like to be doing to her. Now, I am not privy to the actual phrasing of this but I believe it involved some kind of tongue action… and we’re not talking tonsil hockey.

She says she didn’t encourage him at this point (Uh huh) but probably responded with something along the lines of ‘oh stop! (but don’t really)’

Then he told her exactly what else he wanted to do. I’m assured it’s not weird or anything, so I’m assuming it was along the lines of shagging her brains out.

Then he stopped texting. The absolute bastard (once he’d wanked off I imagine) left her hanging on the last text… quite possibly the same technique he uses in real life after demonstrating his inadequet female pleasing skills. She later (drunkenly – well she was with me, what do you expect?) text again (nooooo!) saying simply ‘You’re rubbish’. This would have been fine if she hadn’t ended it with the dreaded ‘X’.

Utterly ridiculously this was a much talked about Sext conversation both over the weekend and over lunch. And why??? She did not even like him that much in the first place. This was a guy who Nicole met when trying to get over someone else, purely rebound, and to embrace her new found sense of freedom and sexuality she went home with him and had a one night stand. The next week we went for coffee and our conversation went like this.

Nicole: ‘The thing is I don’t really even like him that much,’

Ritzi: ‘Then why are you bothered?’

Nicole: ‘I don’t know! But why isn’t he texting back?’

Ritzi: ‘Well, probably because he’s a twat and he already got his end away.’

A week later cue the drunken evening in our favourite theatre bar where she’s texting him and I’m texting the poor Office Boy. A few weeks later he’s still the subject of much heartache. What is that about these men that make them so appealing? One weekend VERY VERY SOON we are going to go out and she is going to get herself a Trilby-esque experience that leaves her free and liberated. I’m going to make sure of it, even if I have to don a moustache and shag her myself.

Speaking of Trilby, he texted me again. Ouch. Saying he had some time off and he would love to go for a drink or dinner or something… this was about a week ago and I’ve been putting it off. Now it’s too late to text back! I’m a bad bad person, but liberated! So it’s fine.

Right?

Much love!

RitziCx

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Whatever Happened To Saturday Night?

Posted on February 8, 2010 | Leave a comment

Morning! Crikey the only thing that got me out of bed today was the promise of Monday Margaritas with Nicole at lunchtime today… Las Iguanas is good to us!

My weekend has actually been INSANE. Seriously, I haven’t slept and not in a good way. My family (bless them) have been down here in London town, demanding I show them a good time, so I tried my damnedest! West End show on friday night followed by a tour of the theatre bars, which was intended to be rather brief but somehow we ended up getting back at 4am after I convinced my mum that shots were a great idea. Oh my.

Then Saturday was all about shopping, then I had to cook (the magical risotto… oh this old thing? I just whipped it up!) and then somehow I ended up in Camden at theRoundhouse watching the last show in the Kerrang Tour.

I ask you… is this the kind of thing Ritzi does regularly? No it is not!

Now I’ll admit, the music was so loud I couldn’t actually tell when it had finished because the ringing in my ears continued at full volume, but some of those boys (once I had confirmed that they were all legal) were pretty darn HOT. In a sweaty, eyelinered, backcombed kind of way.

One in particular who my little sister had apparently been chasing after for 2 years decided he rather liked me. After the first couple of bands had played I was dragged out into the bar to meet them all and pose for photos… apparently this is what is done. One observation I made on Saturday night is that pretty much every fangirl in the audience dressed like a boy. It seems to be the norm to squeeze into skinny jeans, comb your fringe as far forward as possible and don a black t-shirt which is not exactly something you would catch me doing. So there I am, my usual glamorous self, and this particular bleached blonde bassist reacted as though he’d never seen a woman with actual breasts and a waist before.

It helps a lot that he was incredibly hot.

Anyway, while the others went back inside to watch the rest of the ‘show’ I stayed out in the bar, tweeting my socks off while The Bassist continued to do his best to woo me. He did keep getting interrupted by gaggles of emo kids who kept stealing him away for picture opportunities, (why is it the second a camera comes out these people pout like goldfish? It was a constant source of amusement for me) but he did keep coming back eventually I asked what they were planning on doing after the show and he said he wasn’t sure, but whatever it was I (plus mother and sister I made sure) should come along.

I conceded that this would be an agreeable turn of events, and took his number, saying that since I was probably the only non-fangirl in the room he could probably trust me not to stalk him.

To which he replied ‘are you not a fan of me then?’

To which I replied, ‘Well I’ve only seen you do three songs sweetheart so I’m not quite converted yet’

Smooth.

So I took his number and drop called him so he had mine, later on as I was leaving and he was occupied with fauning fans I walked past him and he reached back and made a quite well aimed grab for my arse. Classy. But since he’s all hair dye and tattoos I didn’t really mind all that much.

Ended up getting dragged to another club, and I believe that a very posey/autograph centric evening occurred at the Roundhouse followed by an exhausted early night for all, but The Bassist has my number… so we shall see ;)

Admittedly, I wouldn’t get any points in Ensemble Bingo… but then I’m not going to deny myself a groupie shag just because he’s not theatrical!

Then the next day I went to see… Strictly Come Dancing at the O2. Quite honestly I haven’t had a weekend so ecclectic since a quite memorable one about four years ago when I took in a Matinee of Midsummer Night’s Dream and followed it up with an Alice Cooper concert. It was quite exhausting! However, Mark Ramprakash’s bare chest certainly made my Strictly experience more bearable.

On another note I received a text from Nicole stating that she had cracked and had TEXT SEX with the guy she was SUPPOSED to be giving the heave ho to. I shall have words at liquid lunch today, have no fear! And of course attempt to dicipher what the actual conversation was and relay it to you! Ooo dirty :)

And now it’s snowing again! Come on weather gods, what the heck are you playing at? I’ve got a collection of cheese cloth dresses and florals that are begging to be worn… Vogue is telling me to put them on right now but the weather is not letting me!!!

Geez, I need a cocktail.

Enjoy Monday Y’all!

RitziCx

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Bill FRICKIN Nighy In Cafe Nero!

Posted on February 4, 2010 | Leave a comment

OH MY GOD!!!

Okay guys, you surely know enough about me to understand that running into random famous people is general practice, why only yesterday my workmate and I were walking to Charing Cross to go home and we nearly tripped over Richard Wilson coming out of the Duke of Yorks, but I just went to meet a couple of friends for Coffee and Cheesecake and BILL NIGHY held the door open for me as I stumbled dumbstruck into Cafe Nero on Old Compton Street!

Our exchange went like this;

Ritzi: Thank you (polite smile)

Bill: You’re welcome (nod of the head)

… and then I went and bought coffee and cheesecake.

ARGH!!!

It may be wrong, he may be 60 (I just googled him, it’s true) and nearly old enough to be my grandad, however I will always openly admit my slightly inappropriate crush on this man.

And he’s a gentleman too! *swoon*

That is all, you may now continue with your day.

RitziCx

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Oi! This Never Happened To Carrie Bradshaw!

Posted on February 3, 2010 | Leave a comment

Okay so I sent TT a text saying how busy I was and that I had a really good time and kind of trailed off and left it at that. BUT THEN I GOT THIS BACK… STRAIGHT AWAY.

‘No rest for the wicked then!! I left our room (our room? I’m sorry, was I so drunk that I married you and bought a house?) about 11 then went to bed in dressing room was trying to find my feet all day. Had to do the show on auto pilot, was happy that I wasn’t the only one in the company hung over. Got some time off coming soon so we could get together and do something? I do want to see you again, hope sooner rather than later. Xxx’

ARGH!

Seriously, men of the world, what is wrong with you people?!?!?!

So for the first time in forever I go out with a guy, have some fun and don’t fall head over heels in love only to find out he was only after one thing, and then he actually wants tosee me again? It’s just too ironic.

It doesn’t change anything mind you, I still don’t actually want to date him. I also don’t think my lady place could take another assault like last time so I won’t be sleeping with him again. So what can I do? Just… not text back. Ever again. Like the total wimp I am!

The thing is, after realising I’d been dating a complete loser, having an epiphany about my previous half-hearted attempts at living it up and deciding to embark on the next year with confidence and gusto, the penny is gradually dropping. I’m not going to stop this journey of self discovery just because TT wants me to be his girlfriend.

One day, I want to find love. Real, gut-wrenching, shakespearean, TRUE love. The thing is, I can see now that I’ve never even come close. It’s definitely out there, I know people who have found it, so I’m not too worried about finding it because I truly believe it will show up someday. However, in the mean time, I’ve been thinking. Dating is great fun, usually involves drinks and flirtation and giggles and if it goes well usually ends in sex, and all these things are fabulous. However, if after a few dates you’re not feeling the magic of true love beginning to take over… what exactly is the point? I mean, I’ve known people (and been in the situation myself) when it’s very clear that one person is more into the relationship than the other. In these cases I now think; what is the point? People may argue that the closeness you get out of a relationship is better than being single, but is it? Is it really? If you have a good group of mates you’ve always got someone to spend time with, and if you need a good dose of mushy words just pick up a copy of Jane Eyre. At the end of the day, by jumping ship on a dead end relationship the only thing you’d actually have to make an effort to get would be sex, so staying in a relationship purely for that is basically lazy.

I now see that the men I’ve slept with in the past haven’t necessarily all been arse holes, it’s just that I got involved and they didn’t. I spent days wondering; why didn’t he call me? Am I fat and ugly and hideous? What is so wrong with me that he couldn’t fall in love with me but he fell for the next girl that came along?

Well, the answer is this. You can fall in love with plenty of people throughout the course of your life, but it will only be truly fantastic if that person falls in love with you too. Why waste time trying to make someone feel the same way or hoping they will change their minds? Just move on, and find the one who will love you back.

So, much as I feel sorry for Trilby, the sad fact is that if I saw him again or (god forbid) actually became his girlfriend, I wouldn’t feel the same way about it as he would me. It wouldn’t work. It would end in tears. So really by not calling him, I’m saving him the trouble right now.

Now, what would be kind of wrong would be if I texted him in a few weeks when I fancied a shag, and then dropped him all over again. Unless both parties are willing, booty calls are not cool. Poor Nicole just got a text this week from the last guy who messed around who didn’t call (because, like me, he just didn’t see himself being with her… it’s harsh but it’s not wrong. It’s just the way it is!) and lo and behold he apparently wants to see her again. I told her to tell him to take a long walk off a short cliff. It’s just not worth the hassle of getting involved with him again.

Yesterday I went for coffee and cupcakes in Primrose Bakery with a few of my girlfriends in a show of support for Irish, who has just been dumped by her boyfriend of 3 years. By email. Ouch.

Last week I went for a drink with my Northern Chum who broke up with his girlfriend a few weeks before and felt really bad because he knew she was a lot more into him than he’d been into her. He broke it off because he felt like he was being selfish staying with her when he knew he’d be ending it a bit further down the line.

Both these situations are sad, but at the end of the day Irish would never have stayed with her boyfriend because he wouldn’t leave Ireland and she wouldn’t leave London. She’s an actress, she needs to be here. And my Northern Chum would have ended up making both him and his girlfriend miserable because he would never be able to give her the love she wanted.

Which brings me around to the fact that… TVboy broke up with me because he couldn’t see us being together long term. It’s true, I couldn’t either, but I was labouring under the illusion that there here and now was more important. I mean, he’s still a total cock who was quite possibly sleeping with his new emo chick girlfriend while we were still together, but it was all for the best. In the grand scheme.

So these are my words of wisdom for the humpday. All these pennies have dropped in the first month of 2010, the year of all good things. I can’t wait to get stuck into the next eleven months!

Much love to you all, especially my insane friend NORA (of pavement face-planting fame) who succeeded in getting me to spill my alter-ego name over 50′s-style burger and chips in Ed’s Diner yesterday.

RitziCx

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Ritzi’s Adventures In Ensemble Bingo Land : Part One

Posted on February 1, 2010 | 1 Comment

WARNING… THIS COULD GET A BIT NAUGHTY

Hello all! Well, it’s a little later than promised but gosh darn it, how typical that I actually get given work to do on the day I have so much to tell! Ah well, tis all set aside to tell you the tale of my date with Tilted Trilby.

So the lead up to this date has been a bit of a mission. Looking back in hindsight I’d say that next time I go about ticking a box I’m going to try and get it done quickly and painlessly… like tearing off a bandaid. Seriously. So much time has been spent texting this guy that it almost felt like a chore by the time I actually got around to going on the date. But I digress…

So, on Saturday I got myself all dolled up and looking fabulous. I had to nip into town in the afternoon to get a wax since the stupid salon double booked me on Friday… outrageous! So after massive amounts of pain I got myself home and showered and make up-ed and manicured and coiffed and whatever else was required, then I got myself down to the theatre and picked up my ticket. When I sat down in the auditorium I realised I had a text from Tilted asking where I was sitting and saying that he was really looking forward to seeing me. At this point I got a slight case of cold feet – not because of the sex thing, you understand, but because of the general slightly questionable nature of what Nicole and I are doing at the moment. I did think for a minute that just because so many blokes in the industry have been arse holes to us in the past, I might have just found the one genuine one among them who actually wanted to be nice to me. Ah well, tis all part of the exercise!

So after the show (which was actually pretty damn good) we went for a few drinks, which turned into several, which turned into many, and before I knew it we were checking into a hotel. A hotel! Of all the cliches. Some general obligatory chit chat took place, followed by the inevitable first kiss.

I do find it quite amusing that it was so obvious how the night was going to play out, since we didn’t even make out until we were actually in the hotel room.

I should probably take this moment to point out that Tilted Trilby is of the 2nd generation Jamaican persuasion, which is something that this little white girl from a very monotonous part of England has not sampled before. Sceptical as I was of the old theory that all black men are well endowed, I’ve got to give this guy some credit. It was… well… ouch.

So back to the story.

We’re in the hotel room, making out. First thing I notice is that the boy seems to think he’s a lizard. Seriously, I didn’t know they made tongues that long, and it’s like constanttonsil hockey. I think my jaw is actually strained from trying to keep up… well that and… I’ll get to that in a sec.

I get pushed back onto the bed (which wasn’t that comfy, considering it was quite pricey) and suddenly I’m naked. How did that happen? Magical powers of clothing removal give him a few extra points. In retaliation I’m a bit more haphazard in tearing his clothes off, but it’s totally worth the popped buttons because this boy is a fine male specimen. I’m pretty sure the nature of their show requires them to be quite buff, so they have some kind of in house trainer. THANK YOU MISTER TRAINER! Suddenly I’m getting all the attention, and that lizard tongue doesn’t seem such a problem any more. That’s all I’m going to say.

The actual sex itself was pretty carnal, and started out just as athletic as it meant to go on. I didn’t think it was really the best time to point out that though he may do eight shows a week and go to the gym and have that fitness advantage of being, well, male, that I am the most unfit non-smoker in the history of the universe. Seriously, my office is on the 2nd floor and I need a rest when I get there. So, like a marathon runner I gritted my teeth and did my best to keep up.

You know the expression, when your eyes are bigger than your stomach? Subsitute some words in that sentence and you have the reason I won’t be hitting that again. Not that it wasn’t a lot of fun and very naughty and probably better cardio than I’ve put myself through all year, but sometimes, big can be just a little bit too big. Thank the lord I was blessed with award winning cleavage, or I may not have survived. Ooo… dirty.

The next morning I managed to escape quite early, seeing as I had already concocted myself an alibi the night before and was picking my godson up for lunch. (Yes, I do appreciate the irony of spending time with the boy who I’m supposed to be keeping on the straight and narrow after a night of passion with someone who’s real surname I’m not even sure I can pronounce). After I left I staggered home to sleep for a couple of precious hours, and when I woke up I was suddenly a lot more aware of just how adventurous my night’s activities had been. In fact, it’s still causing a problem, I’ve got some serious joint ache going on here!

That afternoon I got the following text message;

‘Thought I’d let you know that I had a really good time last night. Know you’re busy so if you’re up for meeting up again just let me know. Have a good day and hopefully catch up soon X’

Oh man! He doesn’t actually like me does he? I mean, it was fun and everything but even if sleeping with him again wouldn’t risk my health, I still don’t really fancy fancy him. As in, ‘I’d like to spend time outside the bedroom with you’ kind of fancying. It might sound harsh but it’s exactly what’s happened to me in the past, so karma’s a bitch! Am thinking I’ll probably say something along the lines of ’twas fun, I’ll call you’ and then just… not. Eek. How dreadful.

There are a couple of very important observation that need to me made at this point. The first, that Nicole and I just toasted with Monday Margarita’s a couple of hours ago, was that due to Tilted being revealed through the power of programmes to be an understudy in his show, I get two whole points on the bingo board… woop woop! The second, is that although I feel kind of bad that I don’t have any kind of emotional attachment to the guy, the more important thing to remember is that I feel no emotional attachment to the guy. It has now been proved that Ritzi can sleep with an actor type and not fall irrevocably and disastrously in love with them afterwards. Score!

And so we come to the end of today’s tale kids, and the moral of the story is… just because someone looks a bit scrawny in real life, doesn’t mean they definitely won’t split you in two if you shag them.

Much love!

RitziCx

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