Tag Archives: Ick

What Is Love?

Posted on October 3, 2011 | Leave a comment

I have discovered the secret of true love, and it is not a man. Let’s face it ladies, the gents these days just aren’t written the way they used to be. And if we’re honest with ourselves – even Benedick was… well a bit of a dick.

True love can be found late late LATE on a Saturday night, after copius amounts of alcohol and excessive quantities of pizza, when your bestest girlfriend quietly excuses herself from the throws of a party and disappears upstairs. For quite some time.

A few weeks after she went back home to the States, Dawson’s Creek sent me an email which I received while drinking my morning coffee and listening to Bill and Sian read out the day’s newspaper headlines so I didn’t have to. It said;

‘I’m currently locked in a bathroom with my room mate, holding her hair back because I can’t find a hair tie, while she pukes her guts up. I have never appreciated you more! I love you!’

DC was of course referring to the Saturday night in London town where she got so BLIND DRUNK on free wine that she locked herself in a loo at Balans and refused to come out, earning me a lovely 3 hours worth of door breaking and hair holding before having to hop a cab with her back to her house on account of her forgetting her own address.

I found myself in a similar position with Blondie on Saturday night, while she upchucked a gallon of gin and something or other, and several slices of pizza which, to be fair, she probably shouldn’t have been sneaking what with a wheat intolerance and all.

It’s been a long time since I got so drunk that I spent half the evening with my head in a toilet. In fact – I’m not entirely sure I’ve ever done it, though I came close at a certain West End new years party about 6 years ago. Let’s just say I was lucky it had rained by the time anyone made it through Stage Door the next day.

However – it’s comforting to know that even without Mr Darcy at my side (and let’s face it – the man would probably call a maid over to deal with it anyway) that if I did happen to find myself in that situation there would always be someone around to hold back my hair.

Because that, dear reader, is real love.

RitziCx

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Posted in Theatreland Tales

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Can Food Poisoning Really Keep Me Away From A Booty Call?

Posted on June 12, 2010 | Leave a comment

Well I’ve been suitably absent for a few days folks, due to a horrendous dose of FOOD POISONING. I’m a frickin vegetarian! How can I get food poisoning? Geez, I curse you lettuce leaves.

Turns out, even with food poisoning, life does not stop. Thursday morning I woke up at 4 am and promptly threw up my guts. First I thought it was something to do with the excessive amounts of wine I’d drunk the night before at an Amy MacDonald gig at the Hardrock Cafe, but when I got to work and continued to hurl after every little piece of food I ate, I figured this was not normal.

It’s a sign of how mental my job really is that I was sent home ill at 11am, and I actually left at 3pm. Nice. The next day I dragged myself out of bed at 10 and struggled in for 11, but again I only lasted until 3. I wonder how many deadlines I missed by going home early? Geeez.

Anyway, despite a severe lack of food for 3 days, I feel relatively normal now, cue a timely text from Forbidden asking what time I would be getting in that evening to see his show.

Crap.

How can food poisoning make me forget the prospect of sex? As a result I’m unwaxed, slightly less perfectly coiffed than I’d like to be and had resigned myself to an evening in front of the telly with a box of pringles. Now… I’m not so sure.

I just shaved my ladyplace – painstakingly – in the shower, and after careful hand mirror examination it’s not looking too bad. In the dim light of evening I might just get away with it. My good knickers just came out of the wash… I’m just a hairdryer away from sex readiness.

Yet I’m still not feeling too hot… and it’s a long way to go for a shag. (we’re talking another county)

Do I go? Do I stay? If I go, there’s a chance of watching an incredibly dull show then getting some hot sex afterwards. If I stay… there’s a box of unopened pringles and the oddly attractive new Doctor on my telly box.

The next few hours are crucial folks… I’ll keep you informed.

RitziCx

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Sorry Guys But All That SMUSH Is Bloody Annoying

Posted on January 21, 2010 | Leave a comment

Oh good lord I’ve just realised something. I hate couples.

I don’t mean that I disprove of two people falling in love and deciding they want to spend their lives together… this is fine. Just don’t shove it in my face please!

Last night I was lying in bed and try as I may I couldn’t get to sleep because of the sickening sounds echoing through my wall from the next room.

Was it the sound of my flatmate’s sexual exploits? Was it the bed springs straining under the weight of rampant sex? Was it heck. I almost think that would have been more bearable. You see, the flatmate and her boyfriend combine to make one of the most vile couples known to man. All I could hear through the wall was the occasional smack of disgustingly slobbery kisses interspersed with constant declarations of love (yeah, we get it, you’re like totally into each other), playful little teasing fights (even though less than an hour before they’d been having what had sounded like an actual serious argument in the kitchen) and more pet names than you would have thought it possible to think up. I mean seriously, you wouldn’t think that many words could be made to sound so WRONG!

They call each other;

‘BABY’ and ‘SWEETIE’ – these are bearable when not said in an american accent. They are both very English.
‘SNUGGLES’ – enough said.
‘SILLY PANTS’ and ‘STINKY PANTS’ – the latter disturbs me greatly as it is what my Doctor friend used to call my godson when he needed a nappy change.
‘BUGSY’ – this is purely directed at the boyfriend since he wore braces once. Would be fine if it wasn’t a direct reference to Bugsy Malone… who is 12.

Honestly, I’m not that bitter. I do realise I’m currently sounding a little bit like Carol McGiffin before she started getting laid again, but I truly believe there is nothing worse than couply couples. I don’t even appreciate it when I am PART of a couple!

Next time guys, I’ll take some animal noises, the odd gutteral grunt, the sound of breaking furnature… that sort of thing. THAT sort of thing I can sleep through.

RitziCx

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You Can Teach Me How To WHAT???

Posted on December 18, 2009 | 1 Comment

This will make you laugh… or cry. I haven’t quite decided how I feel about it yet!

A few days ago I went to visit a good friend and colleague (who I accidentally bumped faces with last new years eve) in a slightly questionable area of south London. He and his girlfriend (yes – she was also his girlfriend last new years eve. SHAME ON US!) live in a beautiful flat – all modern and warm and cosy, with the cutest little kitten you have ever seen and really secure electric gates all around the little complex. The problem is, to get to this lovely little bit of real estate, you have to walk through said questionable area.

So I got off the train with the rest of the city types, all brief cases and suits, and felt relatively safe. Then, as I followed NYE’s simple directions and turned left at the traffic lights, I noticed that there was a severe lack of suited folk and significantly more loitering suspicious folk.

After a minute or two walking down the road, I realised a guy was following me on a bike. He started talking and I couldn’t understand him at first because his accent was so strong, but as I walked and he kept pace with me I began to realise that he was in fact talking to me.

“Do you live around here my love?” he asked, his glittering eyes peeking out from under the rim of a black, woolen beany hat.

“No, I don’t. I’m visiting a friend.” I said in reply, nice and polite but firm as well – in the tone that basically says; ‘so bugger off and leave me alone you weirdo, or my big, strong, male friend will kick your arse.’

Undeterred, the guy kept following me. “Will you show me where you live?” he asked, slowing down so he was following behind me now. I ignored him this time, because I could see the gates of NYE’s complex so I was feeling a little safer.

He was still lagging behind and kept calling comments after me.

“You’re beautiful, you know,” was the first one. I ignored it again, and let it slide.

“I like watching you walk away – you have a great ass,” came the second. This one confused me a little, because it’s december and I was wearing quite a long, thick coat that didn’t exactly flatter my derriere, but it was bloody warm. Again I ignored it, and because I was almost at the gate and his voice was so distant, I figured I was out harms way.

Then, came this corker;

“Hey beautiful lady, if you come with me I can teach you how to squirt!”

Erm…

YOU CAN WHAT???

I turned and stared, incredulously. The guy – hilariously – still looked hopeful, sitting on his bike waiting for me as if I looked likely to run over and let him rape and murder me. Nice.

In shock and disbelief, I pressed the buzzer to NYE’s place, thankful that the gate unlocked straight away and I could slip through easily.

I got to NYE’s and could still hear the guy chuckling away out in the street.

Had a very lovely evening with NYE, the girlfriend and the kitten who decided to use my £35 legwarmers as a scratching post. Aw bless.

Still reeling from said experience, and needless to say I called good old Addison Lee to give me a lift home to my door.

Any thoughts? Ha!

RitziCx

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