Monthly Archives: November 2010

“I have to say, I can’t quite work you out. You run hot and cold. So I’m just gonna lay it on the line…

Fancy a fuck? I mean, if you’re willing…

Ritzi.

Ps Unless of course you’re gay – in which case ignore me.”

BLAME MAXIE G! MAXIE G AND RIOJA! MAXIE G, RIOJA AND ICECREAM! MAXIE G, RIOJA, ICECREAM AND JUDY FRICKIN GARLAND!

So, turns out Maxie is back in Engerland for a few hours (hello First, btw, you dirty baaaaastard) and of course we managed to sneak in some wine and some culture. I dragged Maxie to see ‘End of the Rainbow’, which is bloody fabulous by the way, but not before we’d necked a bottle of the Lemon Tree’s finest throughout the half.

I tell Maxie about Dead Famous. I haven’t even told you rowdy lot about Dead Famous.

(nb, Dead Famous is not a dead version of Almost Famous. If only, my friends, if only)

Dead Famous is the West End’s most amazingly awesome Hallowe’en partay where you have to dress up as – no prizes for guessing – a dead famous person. I love Hallowe’en, always have, and have gone to this party every year since I was a mere ticket tearing minion. Now, I am so fabulous that I booked the Friday off, specifically for the purpose of getting hammered.

At Dead Famous, I met a (straight) chap who shall herein be referred to as ‘The Jockey’. The Jockey is hot, straight, works in theatre but not an actor.

The following Saturday, I toddled off to a Harry Potter party (as one does) and when I posted a pic of myself in my naughty Slytherin school girl costume, quoting god on high John Hughes in my caption; ‘being bad feels pretty good, don’t it?’(oh come on, you didn’t expect anything less of me, did you?) I got a private message on the old book of face reading;

“I want to be bad. I want to see you out of your costume  ”

Intriguing, no?

So I message back something equally flirtatious, wait patiently, and then… days of nothing.

A week later, I go to see the show that he works on. We’ll pretend I remembered this fact, when actually I completely forgot. That’s how showbiz I am these days, apparently. Anyway, after that I get;

“You were at *insert theatre here* tonight and you didn’t tell me?!”

Well Jockey… you didn’t shag me. So all bets are off, right?

Casual flirting. Instant messages. Fizzling out again.

Now, this is getting annoying, because at the end of the day I do actually fancy this guy and could envision quite a nice evening of sexual activities, so it’s driving me a little bit nuts that he isn’t hunting me down to shag my brains out.

That and the fact that I haven’t gotten laid since July. Four months in the year of promiscuity… but who’s counting?!?!

And that brings us back to the present. Me, Maxie, some wine, and Tracie Bennett’s tragically brilliant Judy Garland, and by the interval it seems like a really good idea to send the above message.

Three hours on… no reply. Maxie has advised 24 hours before deleting the contact and never speaking of it again.

Come the fuck on, Jockey.

Signing off with a drunken stumble,

RitziCx