Don'tcha Wish...

I think I might be a witch. Or an Indian Chief. Or whatever that person in the tribe is called that does the rain dance and conjures rain.

Last week I provocatively danced round the kitchen to 'Don'tcha' brashly inviting men to admit that they in fact wished their girlfriends were (amongst other things) hot, like me. Then Bam: I get asked out. Within the week. Some lovely man not only wishes his girlfriend was hot like me but actually was me.

I feel a bit like I invoked the same brand of power threatened in those chain-letters/blackmail emails where you HAVE to send this to 20 people or you'll never be loved again and it MUST be within 5 minutes or your arm will turn into a swan and you will break your own neck.

I wonder if I should send an email to all the people I know encouraging them to dance and sing to a prophetic song, in the kitchen, at 11pm, on Thursday, and it will happen within a week.

Careful what song you pick though. Nothing that could be taken literally. 'Bleeding Love', 'Heart of Glass' and 'I've got a Luverly Bunch of Coconuts' are out, but I'm thinking of composing a song called something like 'Please Can I Get A Brilliant Acting Job That Pays Me Healthily and Also Please Can My Brilliant New Boyfriend Keep Thinking I'm Brilliant and Hang Around For Quite Some Time'. I think the chorus needs work.

I am a Dribbler

I am a dribbler. I would like to say this is a purely somnolent activity but it isn't. I'm like those dolls who's eyes close when you lay them down. Except I dribble. And have real lady parts.

I have never been horizontal and not dribbled: watching tv on the sofa, after a picnic in the park and most embarrassingly, post-coitally.

The only time this is tricky is when embarking on a new relationship or as I like to call it 'continuing to knock about with a boy you're kissing and really really like'. 'S catchier. I have a quirk quota/ratio of no more than 5 a day and generally 1:3. For example, I use my knee as a piano and make up little songs in my head but have impeccable manners, am good with people and am not annoyingly girly. I also write words in the air with my finger, sit with my arm raised, talk to and answer myself prolifically and have over clicky thumbs.

So as you can see, my quota had been reached before we got to laying down and I have run out of good things to make the ratio work. So I have either had to slurp up my dribble noiselessly or wipe it on my arm without it being noticed. Oddly, I think I've got away with it. Or, he also has impeccable manners.

This morning I found dribble BETWEEN my eyebrows. How is that even possible?

Disney Club

I had to be 15 and 20 in the same day yesterday. I don't mean that in olden day's talk as in 35, I mean 15 was the age of the character and they were seeing people between the ages of 15 and 20. The dilemma arises when you are 7 and 20 (I do mean that in olden day's talk). A full TWELVE years older than the character and subsequently most of the other auditionees. Or as some people said 'almost twice their age'. Some people are dead now.

I had to say I was born in 1991. The 90s! My god-daughter was born in 1991. In 1991 I went with my family to see Jason Donovan in Joseph at the Palladium. A man got caught in the tube doors and I laughed at him so heartily and so hard I had to be turned to face the other way so my spluttering guffaws weren't too obvious. These are the sorts of things I was doing in 1991. Laughing at people's misfortune. Not being born.

I sat with a group of 3 other girls: a 15 year old, 17 year old and 18 year old.  They were gobsmacked that I was 20 and one pointed out how 'grown-up' (her words) that was. I didn't want to blow her mind with my real age. I felt like the Secret Millionaire with no millions or airs. We discussed what we were singing, we'd be told to sing something up-beat and high-energy, someone mentioned Miley Cyrus's song 'Party in the USA' and they all went mad for it. They each gave a song related comment:

1 - My 9 year old sister loves it!
2 - It's on my most played list on my i-pod!
3 - It's such a happy song!

Each of these statements plagued me and here is why:

1 - The boy I'm kissing has a 9 year old daughter.
2 - I don't own an i-pod.
3 - On first hearing this song I found it so insipid I changed the word hips for tits.

I felt bad for poisoning them with the wisdom in my eyes.

Then I did the most old-person thing. Rosey (lovely, sweet, disney, Rosey) couldn't get her name badge to stick and I said "Don't worry, I have a safety pin." I have never had a safety pin in my whole entire life. I also never have a clean tissue or pain killers. I think you are officially grown up when you carry a tissue, a safety pin and pain killers. Like your mum. That's not a mum joke. I'm too old.