So, I just told you about my struggles with my fabulous new camera at Freakout. And after all that, I really needed to get myself to The Blue Note, because there's something that's been bothering me lately.
Size.
Now, you may have noticed it in my photographs. Or perhaps you've seen me in-world. Maybe we've even had sex, in which case I certainly hope you noticed, but 'm not a big girl.
Nothing wrong with big girls, of course. Quite the opposite. I think it's wonderful that the modelling industry has finally started appreciating different shapes and sizes. Although I do find it amusing that I still get the glamorous campaigns while the plus-size girls are apparently doing the cereal commercials. But that's neither here nor there.
I'm happy in my body.
Which isn't particularly surprising, considering how many other people have been happy in it too.
Anyway. Size. I've always believed that what we lack ourselves, we tend to appreciate in others. And since I’m not the biggest one, I've developed a healthy appreciation for things that are. I like it big. Really big. Give it to me. I can take it. I'll deal with it. Bring it on. I've never been one to shy away from a challenge, especially when it comes with the possibility of being thoroughly overwhelmed.
But every now and then, someone comes along who makes you question everything you thought you knew about yourself.
An exception to the rule.
And I've told you about Bubbles before. Now, Bubbles isn't exactly a towering monument of masculinity. He's a rather compact little fella, actually. But darling, what he lacks in physical dimensions, he more than makes up for with a truly extraordinary gift. His music.
Oh. My. God.
When that man puts the needle on the record, something happens to me. It's as if I've handed him the remote control to my entire nervous system, and he immediately turns the volume up. All the fucking way.
My hips start moving, my knees become rather unreliable, and any remaining sense of dignity goes straight out the window. He knows exactly which buttons to push. And he doesn't even need to touch me. It's infuriating. It's magnificent. And I absolutely love it.
In fact, I love it so much that I've started having some rather selfish thoughts. I want it for myself. I want him for myself.
Which brings me to yesterday at The Blue Note. And something I need to confess. I'm not particularly proud of this, but I believe in being open with you. You've followed me through far worse scandals, and I see no reason to start pretending to be a respectable woman now. So here goes.
I sabotaged Bubbles' set.
Yes. That was me.
I was on the dance floor, performing some of my signature moves. A little grinding here, a little bending over there, making sure several people got considerably more than they'd paid for and while I was bent over, enjoying some rather enthusiastic attention, I spotted something. A plug.
Attached to Bubbles' little deck. Just sitting there, looking terribly vulnerable and before I knew what I was doing, I'd reached out and given it a yank. Silence. Absolute silence.
The music stopped, the dance floor froze, and for one glorious moment, I thought my plan had worked. You see, my reasoning was simple. No music at The Blue Note meant Bubbles would have to stop playing. And if Bubbles had to stop playing, perhaps I could convince him that the evening was ruined and that the only sensible thing to do was come home with me. Where he could play his tunes.
For me.
All night long, privately and without all of you getting in the way. I thought it was a rather great solution, actually. Naturally, I immediately started cracking jokes to divert suspicion. A little laughter, a few innocent remarks, perhaps a surprised expression. I'm an actress, darling. I know how to handle a crisis, especially one I've caused myself.
Unfortunately, before I could even begin suggesting alternative arrangements for the evening, Bubbles had already figured out what was wrong. Plug back in. Music back on. Dance floor moving again. Just like that.
The little bastard.
Remarkable, isn't he? Not only does he know exactly how to make me lose control, but he's apparently rather good at regaining it himself. I suppose that's part of his charm. So, to everyone at The Blue Note yesterday, I owe you an apology. I'm terribly sorry for interrupting your evening. It was selfish, immature and entirely inappropriate behaviour. Although, in my defence, you really should have felt what he was doing to me with those funky tunes.
And Bubbles, my little darling, if you're reading this... Next time, just come home with me. It would save everyone an awful lot of trouble.
Anyway, I did manage to take some photographs between my dancing, scheming and attempted DJ abduction. So at least you have something to look at. 💋
Click them for a larger resolution and save.
This post is not sponsored or paid for in any way. I was also not blackmailed or tortured to write it.
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