I’m actually not, because he was a bad man…and he kissed men…and I’ve been there and done that. Ha.
The one person I am slightly in love with though, much to my surprise, is Lady Gaga. And for this I blame Stickels, for his consistent playing of her Euro-trash, oh-so-catchy tunes. A bit slow to catch up with this one really, I wasn’t phased by Just Dance or Poker Face, I thought the meat dress was nothing more than a disgusting, rancid experience for whoever she ended up sitting next to and couldn’t have cared less about the mental Tea Cup stories, superstar or not. Then two miraculous things happened, Stickels moved in AND Born This Way was released. I now cannot stop watching her, her live performances move me and every fibre of my being is desperate to learn each and every dance routine. I’ve gone from Gaga-bashing at anyone who will listen to me, to watching every live performance with Stickels whilst debating her ‘realness, emotion and longevity as a performer’. These are strange times Musers, strange times indeed.
Well. Summer is fast approaching and love really does seem to be in the air. Love of a sickly, sweet, fairytale nature ever since THAT double kiss on the famous balcony which set our proud, British hearts alight last Friday.
And what a wedding it was for Wills and Kate. She looked stunning in her McQueen get up, he looked a bit like he could have tried harder with that bald patch, Harry looked like he was going to laugh through most of it (love him). Of course, I was able to view these historical moments through nothing more than the medium of Elle.com as, unlike the majority of British folk enjoying a public holiday to witness the eternal vows exchanged between two young lovers, I had to endure the quietest day of all time in my shop. I’m sick of it actually, sick of no long weekends and sick of having to miss out on these lovely things, just because I work in the service industry and there may be a slim chance somebody wants to be styled, whilst the rest of Britain watches Kate waltz down the aisle at Westminster Abbey. I know I work for a lovely brand and have a banging, beautiful wardrobe. But I am, once again, struggling to make myself happy about serving people who seem to think they are so much better than me, day in day out. So much so that I invested in the beautiful, 70s-inspired Dana Culottes as a new piece of uniform, to both cheer me up and to aid my daydreams of swanning around a la Des Barres, amidst throngs of hunky musicians. Methinks it’s time to look at new career options – other than best selling novelist of course. The book is coming along well thanks for asking…
Still, all was not lost this week as I still managed to celebrate the Royal Wedding in style over at the O2 Academy with Miss Lloyd (who ruined her shoes on the dancefloor – mostly because she could barely stay upright, ahem) and Lovemenot, who has since become smitten with a young man with whom she became acquainted that evening – he’s got Lovemenot written all over him, face of a young boy cherub with stubble. There were starter drinks at Slim Jims, Kate and Wills cardboard cut outs, scary bride costumes (none of which were mine) and there was The Locomotion. Of course, by the time Min made herself present on the decks, Miss Lloyd was nowhere to be seen and Lucy was off being romanced by her new crush on the dancefloor.
Now I’m not one to tot up the list of crushes and encounters (both appropriate and very inappropriate); but I am often approached/accosted by various menfolk on nights out, none the least on visits to O2. Lets review…there was The Shirtless Man, his friend, the Night of the Two Twat Toms, Drunk James (O2 Arena – still counts, Lord help me) and so on and so forth. I literally have kissed a million frogs to no avail what so ever. So it should not have surprised me that on this night, I had no less than 8 men-tals approach me. Some were chancers, others were lucky enough to get a tongue-in-cheek slow dance to Lady In Red. Then came The Fox.
With Miss Lloyd having sloped off with his mate near enough upon entry to the club, The Fox and I started having a dance-off. Him - a very cute, very funny, mediocre kisser with a lot to say and a promise of a date in the upcoming week, versus Me – Glad-Ragged and suspicious, but always more than ready to hit the floor to some Rick Astley. There was plenty of flirting, a phone number swap and more mediocre kissing before he disappeared, it appeared, to chat up other women. I left it, I danced the night away and ended up back at the flat of Lovemenot’s new lip-accessory, chewing the ear off some random about my unrequited love for Dreamboy (that’s my Judas, right there). It was 5.45a.m when I climbed in to bed.
Cut to a lazy Sunday evening catching up with comedy on the Internet, after an horrific day at work (my fault, not work, for once), and my message alert sounds to reveal a text from The Fox. His texting etiquette is humorous and to the point, he mentions something about becoming a stand-up comedian and, before you can say ‘but hang on a minute, were you not tonguing the face off another woman last night?’, I have arranged to meet him at Piccadilly Circus that coming Tuesday. Lovemenot is all a-gidder next to me, having arranged a day date with Young Cherub for that Monday, I wasn’t sure how to feel – other than overtired, and in love with J-Rich.
Still, Tuesday came, The Fox turned up donning Stripy T Shirt and Blazer and it wasn’t horrendous. The Rose-Print dress was dusted off and there was Cider a-plenty, as we chatted about our work, our likes, our dislikes and surfing in Portugal (obviously not me – my hair wouldn’t stand it). I always rather enjoy those spontaneous dates, the ones where you don’t know where to go for your next drink so you walk around for ages, arm in arm, having easy conversation. I felt comfortable with him. Ironic really that, on the day I text my Mum to tell her that I am officially done with silly little boys who don’t know what they want, I have a rather lovely date with ANOTHER 22 year old.
So we had a lovely time, and I do hope to see him again, there has been talk of a random trip to a random gig at a random venue, but who knows? Having been in the dating game for some time, one knows to expect the unexpected and, sadly, not to expect anything. The Fox is being a little slow off the mark with his texting currently, so we wait with baited breath, not great for a man who describes himself as a ‘doer’ though. Still, perhaps I’m not done with the silly little boys quite yet.
So there you have it, what a magical, fairytale-ish week to be blogging…The Prince marries his girl, the evil sorcerer Bin Laden is defeated and somewhere in a faraway castle, in Dalston, one little Princess dreams of being rescued by her Prince
P.S. Dear J-Rich,
I will be coming to your good self at Koko next week for the recording of the last in the current series of ‘Stand Up For The Week’. Look out for me, I’ll probably be the one being ousted by security in a ‘Mrs Richardson’ T-shirt….give us a wave!
Much Love
Miss Musing
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