So - did you imagine all that? Did you imagine you were that once-popular little girl who did well at school?! I reckon it's my God-given right to be a little screwed in the head after all that! And screw anyone who doesn't like me or who judges me. Nobody is perfect and even after all that, I can at least hold my head high and say that my mum and dad are proud of me (which is more than some of the haters out there can say). I'm 27 years old: I've never done drugs, I've never been married. I feel about 16 inside (and like feeling 16 year olds when I go out!) and I know that somewhere out there is a lifetime of happiness for me - I just gotta find it before I die! Anyway..... back to Ben.......
I haven't got a clue if I'll even see him again as I'm not entirely sure he will still be my dance partner for the final. He's happily loved up and I probably meant nothing to him. It's ok though. It was fun while it lasted. I'm just gutted I didn't get my agent to call Dance Fever and ask him out for me when I first thought of it. I know I write things on here that I probably shouldn't but I like writing and sometimes to see it written down, it helps me to make sense of things. I don't claim to be anything I'm not. I'm a nice person, a really nice person. I'm clever and I'm misunderstood (I hope Oliver is reading this!). I'm pining for someone I can't have and I feel really sad that I might never see him again. I'd like to just take him out for a drink (or whisk him away to Italy, Marbella or Barbados - or all three!). I need to know if there could have been anything between us if he had been single. Like I said earlier; I don't agree with cheating. Never have, never will. But (and it's a big but), I really do like him. I know I could make him happy (and I know he could make me happy). I'm not interested in anybody else. Deep down I know that great as the time was I spent with fit barman, it's never going to happen and as for TMBMITW, well, I don't think I truly want it to happen. He's too good a friend and it'd be too complicated. I don't want complicated. I want an easy life; fun-packed and mad, but easy! As I sit here dreaming of cuddling Ben (and doing lots of other things to him), I know that I should just walk away from him too. Leave him to get on with his life and to be happy. So why God, why, do I have the insane urge to text him and tell him I need him, demand to know if has any feelings for me and beg him to come to Brentwood to live with me in my countryside house with two velvety bulldogs?! I'm managing not to text him at the moment. Only time will tell if I have enough will power. Perhaps in a few weeks I'll be over my obsession and I'll be able to invite him out clubbing (or to Stringfellows like my original plan) to say "thank you". Until then I'm doing everything in my power to forget about him. That said, there's nothing to stop him texting me and if he does, I'll be doing cartwheels round my living room!!!!
So, last night......
Me, Lauren, Carolina and Tony went to Sugar Hut. We lasted half an hour before saying "this is shit" and deciding to drive to London. We arrived at Embassy at midnight and got straight on the free drink. We hit the dance floor and got properly involved! After a few hours sweating there, we decided to move on to another club. I fancied Funky Buddah, Kabaret or Playroom (in fact I'd have gone anywhere there was free drink and fit men! Ha ha) but Carolina had mentioned on the way to London a new club called Cuckoo. I'd never heard of it (I should have known that if Jodie Marsh party QUEEN hadn't heard of it then it wasn't going to be good!). We got in the chauffeur car outside and told him to take us to Cuckoo. He hadn't heard of it either. We ended up driving round London for half an hour, getting more and more fed up. The paparazzi (who had gone nuts for me outside Embassy) heard me tell the driver "Cuckoo" so had all jumped in their cars and on their scooters/bikes and were waiting for me when I got there. Twenty paps went ballistic outside the door and as I walked up (blinded by the flash), a little bald man on the door tells me it's members only. I ask him politely if I can buy a membership there and then (to be honest I just want to get away from the millions of flashes going off and the naughty paps trying to get a shot up my skirt). He tells me "no". I know his type. He had Short Man Syndrome anyway (being only about 4 foot high) and he only works on the door for £10 an hour because he can't live without the power-trip of being able to turn people away. I asked to see the manager and he refused to go and get him. Twat! I stood for a moment watching the random people coming out. Michael Jackson, Madonna and the Queen they were not! In fact, one very ugly old bird (dressed in black trousers, black top, gold earrings and without a scrap of make up on her face) stumbles out and shouts "slut" at me. Nice! If that's the sort of trampish people they have in there, I don't think I want to go anyway! I turn around and jump in the nearest rickshaw yelling at the guy to go as fast as he can! The paps are all around me still and I just want to go home!
So, since the paps got twenty thousand pics of me from last night, I thought, instead of the magazines doing their spiteful "ring of shame" or putting giant arrows pointing out my flaws; I'd do it for them!!!! Here goes:
I've got three bruises on the inside of my left arm, I've got a giant bruise on my left leg and bruise on my side, just underneath my new tattoo (they're all from doing the lifts with Ben). I've got a cigarette burn on my side (also next to the tattoo) and two more on my right leg (from Aiya Napa). My back and arms are peeling badly, my tan is real NOT fake (I've just come back from lying by the pool in Cyprus every day). My nose is peeling, I've got cellulite and I've got a few tiny stretch marks from where I put on weight and lost it again. I got turned away from a members only club (even though I could afford to buy ten memberships on the spot) because they probably guessed (correctly) that they would get more publicity if they turned me away than if they had just let me in (another classic case of people using me to try and get publicity!), I got in a rickshaw because we tried for 5 minutes to get a cab and couldn't get one (in the end, I just wanted to get away from the paps who were probably getting minging shots for the magazines to abuse me with even more). I think that's about it...... peeling tan, bruises, fag burns, cellulite, stretch marks, turned away from shit club I'd never even heard of and ride in a rickshaw. There - all you hater journalists - now go write something about me the people don't already know!!!!! And if it's not true I'll sue you, cos I've had enough of your sh*t. For all the nice journalists - I hope you're having a good day and I hope life is as good for you as it is for me!
So, I'm off. I'm going to a bikers convention today at my mates pub today. My brother and his band are playing. Basically it's just an excuse for load of fits blokes to ride their bikes, listen to a bit of music and have some food. I might ride my R6 down to it. I've got it taxed again now! I'm hoping there are going to be a load of fit bike-riding dancers there to take my mind off Ben. Although, right now I'd settle for just a biker, regardless of whether they're a nice person, good-looking or got a brain. I've sky-plused the MotoGP from this morning but haven't watched it yet. I'm hoping none of the bikers let slip who won cos I don't like to know before I watch the race. I know that Rossi started on third so hopefully The Doctor will have kicked arse on the track again. Hope you all have a lovely day. I will. The only thing that could possibly make it better (cos I'm still floating on my gloriously fluffy cloud of winning the All Star Talent show!) is if I get a text from Ben declaring his undying love (or even just asking how I am?! Ha ha).
Lots and lots of love to you all. Have a great Sunday!!!
Laters
xxxx
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