Let's Get It On (Part I)

My head keeps reeling off this song. I can't help but sway and get all warm and fuzzy inside. It makes me imagine coming home to my husband in my suit, lights down low, my tie slightly undone... And things go from there...

Marvin Gaye // Let's Get It On

I've been really tryin' baby
Tryin' to hold back this feeling for so long
And if you feel, like I feel baby
Come on, oh, come on

Let's get it on

We're all sensitive people
With so much to give, understand me sugar
Since we got to be
Let's say, I love you

There's nothing wrong
With me lovin' you
And givin' yourself to me can never be wrong
If the love is true, oh baby

Don't you know how wonderful and sweet life can be
I'm asking you baby, to get it on with me
I ain't gonna worry, I ain't gonna push
So come on, come on baby
Stop beatin' around the bush

Let's get it on
You know what I'm talkin' about
Come on baby
Let your love come out if you believe in love
Let's get it on


Sexy.

So I'm in debt. To my blog that is, as it has taken me days to sit down and complete a coherent entry. The last entry was last Friday night, before of course I drank to excess, to the point where I ended up dancing to Mariah in my bedroom (on my own, mind you) and passing out next my bed and 4am. Never again shall I consume so much alcohol in isolation... Never again.

The sorrow I was drowning was just a shit day at work, where head office had dumped 40k worth of stock on my doorstep, with one other staff member and two hours to make the store look decent. Psychotic-Dean stepped in and went mental. You thought the Cambo-Clowns from Springvale were psycho... You ain't seen nothin. Wielding folding boards and hangers across the room like ninja stars, cutting up cardboard boxes with karate wood-chop actions and merhandising like Karl Lagerfeld on speed, pushed me to the point where I was muttering to myself and twitching like a drugged ferret. It scared the hell out of Steph to the point where she had to throw everything in the fitting room and push me out the door.

So that's why I needed a drink....or six.

Saturday at work couldn't have gone any slower. Everyone was anticipating Imma's party. I was a bit more mellow, especially after my night in. I fell asleep in the fitting room on my break, and woke up with a neck dislodgment and a great big shoe print on the wall of the fitting room which I scrubbed off with Jif. Chalks picked me up after work and we went straight to my place to chill and for some alcoholic thirst quenching. Imma finished a bit later, and she was going insane. So much stress in such a little girl. She had her hair done at Rakis (fuck yeah!) and looked a million dollars. She burst into my room fretting, stressing about the day, about Liam's dawdling, about her dress, about the apartment, about fuckin' everything... I gave her a glass or red and she was fine. Like candy to a baby.

After we had a few more glasses, we decided to drive down to the PI on Southbank where Imma had booked a room for two nights. On the way, I called Brad, all excited and stupid. Imma made such a fuss about her shoes (rightfully so, mind you) that I had to take a photo and show Brad all the fuss. I smacked the shoe on the dash, took out my camera. 'Capture, Send'. Waited for a response.

"Oh my god. They're hot. That girl has taste."

It made her night. Chalks and I were peckish, so we stopped by Macca's where I was so ravenous, I ordered half the restaurant. Paulina called and wanted us to pick her up, and as it was just around the corner, we obliged. She was freaking out because she couldn't fit into her size 0 or whatever her tiny size dresses are... Oh the pain... She looked radiant as usual. At this point, everything became a little stupid. Driving with a car full of Asians, with their glamour kits and 7 outfits each in the boot, having had comsumed alcohol, can become somewhat a scary experience.



After detouring via three suburbs, stopping by two car parks, and laughing hysterically at Filo jokes, I needed to piss really bad. I was really, dying, ready to burst. From the Australian Ballet carpark, with all my suit bags and overnight bag in tow, I shuffled like a Filo mother collecting rice at the local market in her slippers, trying not to burst my bladder.

After pissing an ocean, I settled into the apartment. And let me tell you, for three half filo's, there were certainly not enough mirrors. Paulina practically called dibbs on two of the three mirrors, and Imma was left posing to her own camera, that all I could do was dance around half naked to Beyonce whilst ironing my shirt, pretending to be a Manila-squatter (you ain't seeing that photo), and posing in D&G sunnies (not mine, Sarah's).


Getting ready was tedious, as we all had our own issues. Well, I had mine, I know that. I had to sew a button onto my shirt (while I was wearing it, for some reason) so that you couldn't see below my navel, above my jeans. Paulina had hair issues, having not brought anything with her to do her hair. We bought wine, but couldn't find a corkscrew. Thanks to the anglo Abdul (say what?) at the front desk for the sewing kit and corkscrew. Imma looked absolutely stunning in her Scanlan outfit and fuck-off shoes. I think my new belt cut off the circulation to my head, because at one point, I looked in the mirror (only for a moment, before Paulina took over again) and felt fat. Jeans, dress shoes, a white shirt and suit jacket will always make you feel fat. Imma was going to slap me.

We decided it was photo time as we waited for Liam and Charlie.




This is one of two parts. Freakin' hell. It's a long one.