Monthly Archives: September 2011

Maxie G And The Happy Ending

Posted on September 27, 2011 | 2 Comments

It seems like only yesterday that Maxie G and I were holed up in the kitchen of her basement flat in Chelsea, drinking champagne and eating amazing roasted veggies, before Vienna or France or Dutch men or babies came along. That night, Maxie revealed to me that her perfect marriage that I’d been referencing as such for years, was far from perfect, and I momentarily lost my faith in true love in the West End.

(I’ve since regained that faith and lost it again approximately 27 times. And the year’s not done yet)

I was embarking upon the year of promiscuity, of Ensemble Bingo and heart-hardening no-strings-attached fun. Maxie was back in London after Panto, auditioning, failing to get pregnant, and dreaming of running away.

THEN, she went to Vienna, and suddenly everything changed. She met Tram Man, and Braveheart, and had a crazy European sexfest for 3 months. Coming back to London was understandably disappointing, and pretty soon she ran away to France for a minor mid-life crisis and a season of apple picking.

Why am I reminding you of all this? Well, because Maxie came to Sunday Night Dinner last night, all pregnant and glowing and fabulous, and as we sat down to a veritable feast with Blondie, Irish, Nicole and Twinkle, the subject of blogging came up (as it so often does).

“I haven’t posted anything for ages,” Maxie admitted shamefully. “I mean, I used to write about sordid shagathons and my failing marriage, and that was interesting. What am I going to say now? Woke up this morning, snuggled with my hot young Dutch lover and father of my unborn child, did some light DIY on my dream house in the South of France and generally grinned like a loon because my life is so perfect? Even my ex-husband is okay that I am having a baby with another man! No one wants to read that.”

After much deliberation we came to the conclusion that Maxie has finally managed to achieve what Disney has dangled tantalizingly in front of us for decades.

She’s gone and got herself a happy ending.

I am jealous as hell.

RitziCx

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Posted in Theatreland Tales

I Am Not THAT Girl

Posted on September 23, 2011 | 7 Comments

Weird conversation happened the other night.

So, about a week ago I was out at the theatre and bumped into a guy I hadn’t seen for ages, but who I always liked (as a friend – he’s had a fiancee as long as I’ve known him) and when I demanded his presence in the pub post show he declined due to said fiancee’s early start, but said (and I quote);

‘But let’s definitely catch up for a drink before I head back to the States!’

Okay, fine. So, being the social butterfly that I am, I set about organising said drinks, thinking we could go to the theatre or something, and the fiancee would probably come too, and we could make a night of it. Alas, how naïve poor Ritzi was!

The initial organisation text soon became a conversation, and as it always is with this guy, it pretty soon became filthy flirtation. On his part. After a while I tried to remind him that he was practically married, to which he responded;

‘Things aren’t always so simple Ritzi. You eat the same thing for ten years, it loses its appeal unfortunately’

Ouch. Poor fiancee. On behalf of women everywhere I felt the need to inform him;

‘If I ever catch my imaginary future husband flirting like you do I shall chop his imaginary balls off’

He reckons ‘artists are possibly more sexual than average people’. What a fucking bullshit excuse. Be sexual dear, that’s fine, but it doesn’t give you the all clear to try and stick it in anything with boobs.

I tried to change the subject, commenting (quite hilariously and with a decent amount of wit, might I add) on our mutual friend’s hilarious yet revealing costume in the show we’d both watched last week. Apparently, an epic fail on the schizophrenic text conversation front, because it got his back up and he said;

‘I know enough to know that if a girl you’re attempting to chat up is going on about another guy, you’re probably wasting your time. Obviously I got the wrong end of the stick here babe.’

Um – what?

By this point I’m pissed. Who does this guy think he is? In what world does a friend saying ‘let’s go for a drink’ translate to ‘please, I’m clearly gagging for it, feel free to cheat on your girlfriend with me’. I may write a sex blog and everything, and I’m of the SATC generation who has the ability to ‘fuck like a man’, but despite this I am not a raving slut, and I draw the line at being ‘the other woman’. So I told him as such.

‘Wooaaaah… you got in touch with me babe!? You know what I’m like after all. Sorry for the misinterpretation, no need for the 3rd degree’

Third degree? THIRD DEGREE???

Not only does this make absolutely no sense, but I’m also massively insulted that this guy, who’s known me for years but never particularly that well, just totally assumed that I’d be up for a one night stand, because he’s a big shot actor who’s doing alright in the filmic world at the moment.

You may have had some luck chatting up random skanks in the past, but it you’re barking up the wrong tree here sir. And frankly, it’s pretty tragic that you’ve been in a relationship for over a decade with someone you respect so little that you think it’s totally fine to shit all over her trust in you and shag around.

Phew – glad I got that out of my system. This guy is an arse, right?

In other news, there are 3 really posh, really old men on the train with me right now, talking about Shakespeare, being generally polite and lovely, and restoring my faith in the opposite sex. Take note, men of my generation. Seriously. Here’s a pencil.

RitziCx

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I’d Like To Thank, Castmembers, Condoms and Coffee…

Posted on September 22, 2011 | 5 Comments

VOTE RITZI! (Subliminal messaging along these lines shall appear throughout)

Well would you look at that? I only got shortlisted for a Cosmo Blog Award! And I discovered this rather later than the rest of the world, it appears.

I was home late (been to the theatre – of course) and because I live in the black hole of nothingness that is South West London, I had no phone signal, and so twitter was having some issues. At last, a teeny tiny tweet makes it through:

BigFashionista: Where is @RitziCortez? Does she know?

Oh bloody hell, do I know what? About half an hour of fruitless refreshing later, I got a phonecall (sure, no twitter but that works) from Blondie.

‘Congratulations!’ she shrieks as only she can.

ON WHAT????

Oh… Oh? Oooooooh!

Needless to say, after that I actually got my slightly drunken self out of bed and whipped open the laptop.

VOTE RITZI!

I’m so freakin honoured to be in that (rather short) shortlist of 8 amazingly awesome blogs, some of which have names which made me lol a little bit.

I started this blog almost 2 years ago now when I was temping in a between jobs job. At the time I was working with a guy I’d known for years, who bounded into the office one morning armed with a piece of information that would entertain us for days.An accquaintance, it seemed, was the writer of an anonymous book of sexcapades. She didn’t tell him her alias, but she told him about the cover art, and after about three days of trawling through Amazon, Foyles and Borders, we came across THIS, and shortly after discovered that the book was born from a rather sordid blog.

Life returned to normal all to briefly, and then one day I was unceremoniously dumped in a Weatherspoons on my lunch hour, and everything changed.

I read ‘Sienna’s Lovers’ from virtual cover to cover, and then discovered more blogs and more hilarious stories, and remembered that before my twat of an ex, I’d had that kind of life. To a reader, it was gold, and no one was writing it down. So I clicked the button on the top of the screen prompting me to start up my own sordid storydeck, and ‘Climbing Ritzi’s Ladder’ was born.

I started off on Blog.co.uk, which I still say is a damn good site. I met the fabulous Big Fashionista there (also nominated. She doesn’t say cock as much as I do, but she does post gratuitous pictures of hot half naked men every Friday) and I wouldn’t be here today if I hadn’t spent my first 6 months blogging every ridiculous thought that sprung into my head on that site.

There have been some close calls – some people have found out about and not all of them have been happy about it, but whaaaatever. I’ve never compromised what I write, and I always write the truth (sometimes a little too much truth) which has resulted in such tales as many rounds of Ensemble Bingo, unexpected anal obsessed Irishman, accidental Hudson River Park Antics and the odd deep rooted reflection on identity.

VOTE RITZI!

So, while I’m super grateful to have been shortlisted for this prestigious award that my mum recently glossed over the details of when telling my father about it, there is one teeeeeny favour I need to ask.

Can you go here please? Just for a sec? And vote your arse off for Climbing Ritzis Ladder (yes, they missed the apostrophe. I’m not holding it against em)

THANKS WORLD! I LOVES YA!

RitziCx

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Did You Grow Up In A Naked House?

Posted on September 21, 2011 | 10 Comments

A decent homecooked meal was much overdue, and so last weekend I demanded the presence of my favourite girlies, Irish, Blondie and Twinkle (who lives here so it wasn’t hard to convince her) over for a good old fashioned Sunday dinner.

Now, I’m a veggie as you know so whatever you’re imagining, replace it with fake Lincolnshire sausages and you got it. Yorkshire puddings from scratch though – credit where credit is due.

Anyhoo, chocolate brownie, cornish icecream and several bottles of wine later, we’re all still gathered around the dinner table, laughing at Twinkle’s unfortunate recent holiday experience with her parents – who would send her out for a run in the morning in the 40 degree Egyption sun so they could sneak in a quickie. Hilarious.

This somehow got onto the subject of naked houses. Did you grow up in a naked house? I certainly did not. In fact, just recently I was home visiting my folks and hanging out in their room one morning, drinking tea and chuckling merrily at Dick and Dom (you know you do it) and my father made me leave the room when he eventually got up because he’d slept in his t-shirt and boxers and therefore didn’t have any trousers on.

I also used to give him a heart attack if I had to leg it downstairs in the morning in my bra to grab my shirt from the dryer before school.

TWINKLE, however, will stand chatting away to her dad in her pants and think nothing of it. And sunbathed topless in Egypt (which I’m pretty sure is illegal or frowned upon or something) and so did her mum. Of course, it may have something to do with her meagre 32B’s being slightly less imposing than my ample bosom but still.

Blondie once visited a family friend with her parents, and as she was getting ready one morning she spied him (a man of at least 45) wandering past her room COMPLETELY STARKERS and when he saw that she’d seen him he stopped and WAVED.

Who ARE these people who wander around naked all the time? Surely we’re British – excessive flesh is not something we like to see on a day to day basis.

Sex education in my childhood was a horror story about my mum’s first period and a poorly illustrated book (it showed a couple doing it missionary style on a beach – on a beach??) and the first time I saw a penis that wasn’t a spray painted on the side of the tennis courts was when one was in my face.

I cannot tell you how much I hoped they all looked like that.

This is a subject that now intrigues me: naked house vs clothed house – what say you readers?

Fully clothed RitziCx

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Nicole And The Circus Freak

Posted on September 20, 2011 | Leave a comment

Gone are the days when Nicole and I would while away our lunch hours seeing how many Margaritas we could polish off before the bill came. Nowadays we have serious time consuming jobs ya know, but when we DO get together for a catch up – boy is it worth it.

Nic’s been playing a rather successful West End dating game of late, but despite some remarkable (and frankly jaw-droppingly gorgeous) notches on her bedpost, she’s found herself the object of affection for yet another Circus Freak.

Nb – not an actual Circus performer. That would be hot. Coincidentally if any Cirque Du Soleil or bendy Batman Live cast members are reading, I’m free on Thursday. Anyhoo.

Nic was out a few nights back with her work buddies, casually ignoring the Circus Freak texts that had been landing in her inbox all week. Even after telling him very clearly that she wasn’t interested, he just would not give up. So, as a compromise, she dropped into conversation that she was having a drink round the corner with her friends, and he could join. She supposed.

Of course he showed up. He bought drinks, turned on the charm, and flirted his (no doubt rather toned) arse off, but to no avail. She simply was not interested.

In an attempt to let him down gently, she explained that although she was sure he was lovely, she’s opted out of the dating game for a while due to a recent run of total dickheads and players, and has no interest in seeing ANYone at the moment.

After he left all disheartened and gloomy, and she continued to be fabulous, she received the following:

‘Really lovely to see you tonight. I’d have stayed out only for two shows tomorrow. It’s really hard to get to know someone in a club, let’s meet up and I’ll show you that not all the guys you meet are idiots.. etc etc’.

Oh dear, that’s nice and all but… still not interested.

Then a few days later, a text asking her out. Polite – if slightly frustrated – decline.

Then AGAIN the next night!

Until finally:

‘Your a fine looking lady, I’m not into getting serious, two years single and counting. we could have a lot of fun together if we both know were we stand and are both adult enough to understand the ground rules. Cheeky I know, but I’m very honest’.

Honest AT LAST it seems. So the whole, ‘taking her out and showing her not all guys are idiots’ thing… where did that go Monsieur La Clique? Huh?

She replied. Correcting his grammar. Atta girl.

Though I get the feeling this is faaaar from over.

Stay tuned!

RitziCx

Oh and PS… Cosmo Blog Awards? Fricking VOTE FOR ME!

*does a happy dance*

Ciao x

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Top 10 Ridiculous Search Terms

Posted on September 17, 2011 | 2 Comments

I get a lot of merriment from the search terms some crazy folks use to hunt down my blog. It has been known to make me laugh out loud (and occasionally snort – not that I do that) in inappropriate situations.

Here are a few of my favourites

1) pick your own fucking fruit

Indeed… a good motto for life I’d say.

2) rope climb orgasm

I think you’ll be searching for ‘rope burn’ next if you try that my friend.

3) lolita climbing to orgasm

Um… what kind of blog do you think this is?

4) i see sparkly things around my eyes

I think you might want to see something else. Like a doctor. Weirdo.

5) lifeguards sex on the beach

If only, readers. If only.

6) happy ending massagenew york citywest village

Again – what?? I mean, what I actually got up to in NYC was probably just as bad, but seriously, how does this land you on my ladder?

7) lords of drunk couples orgys

Do we think this illiterate douche was trying to spell ‘loads’? Is that the most worrying aspect of this search term?

8) Jockey cock

I beg you to google image search this. Not when you’re eating mind you.

9) do vultures attack rock climbers

I suppose it depends how many cans of redbull Nora has had.

And finally…

10) gliding cock into warm wet pussy verbage

There are no words.
Until (of course) I googled it and discovered an article entitled ‘Dirty Talk – Advanced’ on SexInfo101.com, which frankly explains the techniques of this pleasant gentleman.
What of it fellow bloggers? What is your favourite random search term of all time?
RitziCx

 

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Sassy Gay Friend Climbs The Ladder…

Posted on September 16, 2011 | Leave a comment

You may have noticed, if you are an avid follower of mine on twitter (and, let’s face it – who isn’t?) that I’ve been annoyingly ill this week. So much so, that I’ve barely managed to do anything worth documenting, other than nearly stumbling through the backdoor of the Wyndhams on my way home.

With this in mind, a helpful little fairy decided he’d step into my stilettos and  take up the mantle of fabulousness, while I hibernated in a cocoon of Kleenex, Berocca and How I Met Your Mother.

Enter stage right: Sassy Gay Friend.

SGF:

Ritzi may be out sick but that hasn’t stopped her own SGF from channeling his own inner-Ritzi across the pond.

Since coming out to his former teammates from home, this SGF has been set up on not one or two but FOUR, count ‘em, FOUR blind dates. Little did I know I would be getting more action at home then I did the last 6 months at university.

What is spelled out below are the misadventures of finding true gay love, one fabulous blind date at a time. [Insert jazz hands here]

Blind Date #1

On paper he was perfect. Attractive, sassy, involved in theatre. After a two hour meeting over coffee (he didn’t believe in drinking – strike ONE) I discovered his two favorite musicals happened to be my two least favorite. In Baseball, it’s three strikes and you’re out. Needless to say, we haven’t spoken since.

Blind Date #2

Sassy. Attractive. Still at university. We have hung out since date #1 but this one is fizzling out quickly. Might be because he is younger – might also be because he is a little sleazy – and we can’t have that.

Blind Date #3

Liz Lemon is our idol and we love our Bluths (if anyone in the UK gets those two references please high five yourself). A 6 hour first date ended in a steamy snogging session in the backseat of my car. We have another date planned for somepoint but his current enrollment in grad school might impede this one from continuing on much longer.

Blind Date #4

Out of left field came Mr. #4. A hairstylist and part-time male model, he definitely has the looks to keep me interested – and the free haircuts don’t hurt as well. Our first blind date ended with me in his bed – which I guess isn’t saying much but I still consider myself a reformed manwhore. Oh, and did I mention he is a former gay pornstar? Ya, that happened. In true Ritzi fashion, this fancy of a fuck is definitely a winner. Too bad the rock next to me is smarter – but hey, we can’t all be blessed with brains. And he definitely missed that train – quite literally.

For now, the blind dates have stopped but that doesn’t mean that if you have your own SGF in the California area you shouldn’t send them my way. They may be famous enough to end up on this blog.

Until later,

The SGF

… Oh good lord what have I done?

#1 – I MUST know what the musicals were

#2 – STILL AT UNI?? Does he have PUBIC HAIR?

#3 – No idea what you’re on about. But kudos on ‘snogging’

#4 – Will he cut my hair? I need a trim. Gay porn star dude – get him an STD check and check that shizzle out because my dear, you only live once ;)

Oh and one last thing… ‘Since coming out to his former teammates from home, this SGF has been set up on not one or two but FOUR, count ‘em, FOUR blind dates.‘

HOW did you hide the giant pink feather boa in your closet from your ‘teammates’? Because honey – this is you and me ———>

Enough Friday night drivel from me. I’m off to pound grape.

Night night!

RitziCx

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A Thousand Words In Theatreland…

Posted on September 14, 2011 | 1 Comment

On my way home this evening, I took a short cut through Theatre Alley (to the common man, the alley behind Leicester Square Tube Station, that runs between the Wyndhams and Noel Coward Theatres, and comes out onto St Martin’s Court) and was stopped in my tracks walking past what is usually an entirely blank and boring wall (though it has been lined with David Tennant and Catherine Tate fans of late).

Driving Miss Daisy is moving in, and it seems the fastest way to get stuff in there is to open up the wall and load directly onto the stage, leaving the passing crowds of Theatre Alley to have a good old nosey into the auditorium.

Random, unexpected, and a little bit beautiful, so thought I’d share. And I hope those two at the back of the stalls enjoyed their cups of tea.

RitziCx

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Bad Fish. This Is Why I Am A Veggie.

Posted on September 5, 2011 | 1 Comment

Plenty of fish in the sea? Is that what the website says? Because frankly, I think I’m scraping the bottom of the net.

Blondie McDoucheface (her new name) forced me at gun point to join this ridiculous dating site, so I gave it a go in the hopes of finding my Cornish Husband, you may recall. Unfortunately, I had to go to New York, and then the world exploded, and then the West End went a bit mad, and then I got given 2 months notice on my amazing flat (that’s a story for another day) and it turns out my Cornish Husband has twigged that I don’t actually spend every other weekend in the West Country. Bugger.

So, with this in mind, I managed to free up my schedule for a couple of hours to meet a rather hot American “musician” for coffee. He’d been bugging me for a date for weeks, and I’d never managed to be free when he suggested, until I suddenly thought, fuck this shizzle, I have to make time or I’m going to die alone with cats eating my face. So, in the interest of saving my face, I cancelled theatre plans one night and got my ass into gear.

Considering most of the men on this particular dating website have approached me with an opening line that eludes to a party in their pants, the hot, sporty musician man seemed like quite a catch.

‘I know the difference between ‘your’ and ‘you’re’, AND I appreciate 80′s movies’ he declared in his opening gambit (two conditions in my dating criteria) and pretty soon emails became texts and texts became a date.

Coffee (nice move) in Covent Garden (good location) in Notes next to the Coliseum (I LOVE that place.)

About ten minutes in, however, it became apparent that the Musician Date did NOT love that place. In fact, he’d clearly never been there. And he ordered tea – which sensible people do not do in Notes. And openly complained when it showed up and did not resemble a builders brew.

Aside from that, it started off relatively well – we had the South West in common, and he was from California originally, very near the bucking bronco ghetto I briefly called home. However, I soon discovered that the term ‘musician’ was one to be coined loosely. In fact, he plays the guitar, and not too well I’d wager. Not in a band, not sessions, not solo…

‘So… how do you make money if you don’t actually play anywhere?’

‘Oh – I work in a store.’

Music store? Okay, that’s not so bad. Waiting for his big break and all that.

‘Yeah, it’s pretty good money. I can work a forklift now so I get to work out the back. Still have to wear the nerdy vest but at least no one can see me!’

Wait a second Jess Mariano…

‘What shop do you work in?’

‘Tesco’

JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH.

I don’t remember the next ten minutes of the ‘date’ but I recall soon after he admitted that he’d been to the theatre once… to a PANTOMIME, he didn’t know why there was so much music in the walls in Notes and when I explained it was because it’s the ENO cafe next to the Coliseum he asked what ENO was and mused that he thought the Coliseum was in Rome.

WHY do the pretty ones have to be so god damn dumb???

Safe to say I terminated pretty quickly, feigning some industry drinks (and damnit, I found me some industry drinks and quick, cos I needed a stiff one or twelve) and high tailed it outta there faster than you can say Tesco Clubcard.

Strike ONE for internet dating.

RitziCx

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Ritzi’s Day Off

Posted on September 2, 2011 | 3 Comments

Ferris Bueller and Ritzi

You know that friend you had in college, the one who you could always count on to brighten your day, to show up as designated driver and take you on a roadtrip to the biggest Tesco in the world, collect vouchers so you could enjoy free weekends at Alton Towers, and make you laugh until your sides hurt? The one with the world’s cutest dog, the overbearing mother who’s a sweetheart really, and the potential girlfriend on the horizon you hope he never actually scores with because that would mean he wasn’t yours any more?

Yeah, that’s my college bestie, who shall be known as Ferris.

Ferris and I fell out in our final year. He went a bit emo. I went a bit emo. There was a lot of stress. He discovered his penis. I discovered antidepressants. It was a mess.

A billion years later, we reconnected over Facebook (it’s a magical thing) and one day I was watching Ferris Bueller and it got to that scene…

‘Bueller… Bueller… Bueller…’

You know the one.

And I felt I had to text him. Months later, we finally found ourselves in similar parts of the country at the same time (he’s now a hilarious radio presenter… and the dog is STILL alive) and a road trip was inevitable.

He skidded down the drive way. We drove to Sainsburys (much cooler than Tesco) and marvelled at the escalator, we wandered around Roman ruins in town, and drank ale in the oldest pub in the universe. We created a playlist of all our oldest and greatest songs…

‘Black Betty’, ‘Sweet Home Alabama’, ‘Hey Jude’, ‘Johnny B. Goode’ …and ‘Daddy Cool’ (don’t ask)

And drove past my evil cousins’ mansion yelling;

‘SNAPE KILLED DUMBLEDORE AND HARRY’S A HORCRUX!’ at the top of our voices. Just like the good old days, when we didn’t actually know the ending of the story but still…

The next day, Ferris texted me all forlorn.

‘Darn it, I miss those college years, last night brought it all back :( ‘

And it made my heart ache.

Things used to be so simple. We used to party all night, slack off all day, watch a lot of theatre and fall asleep in film studies (I once took my duvet to class. Not kidding.) and those were the bestest of best times.

Now we’re all old, and have responsibilities and debt (and a Fianceé, in Ferris’s case) but those memories remain, and on those rare occasions when we get to relive them, be it a reunion, or a random meeting, or a spontaneous road trip on a Saturday night in August, we remember just how good it used to be.

Remember that person, that friendship that fizzled out, because it probably wasn’t the person who was to blame, it was more likely the situation. Get your asses in a room together again, and you’ll soon find out that you’ve not changed one little bit.

It’s just the world that’s changed. And damnit, we can deal with that.

RitziCx

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