Perpetual anticipation is good for the soul but it's bad for the heart

Hello blogosphere,

The piece of advice my mother most often gives me is as follows: "Beck, you've got to get your finger out." Well, mum, blogosphere, consider my finger vehemently extracted as, despite the many procrastinatory tools the internet offers, I have much blogging to do. Especially now that "I'd Do Anything" has finished. I don't know about you but my productivity dwindles to nothing in the face of musical theatre. Add a shedload of tack to that equation and you've got me almost comatose with glee.

I'm powerless to resist this. It is my nature.
I also love their shitty 'signature' petticoats and Tyra-branded "catalogue" pose.
Incidentally, this competition was all about the emotion behind the eyes as well. If you wanna be a model or a musical star, ya gotta have the mad retinal skillz of a Streep or a Lady Pacino.

Anyway, like every other blogger in the free world, I'm going to see the Sex and the City film. Me, Tor and my boyfriend are hitting the Odeon tomorrow night and it goes without saying, does it not, that we are dressing up in all our Pat Field-inspired tranny glory. I'm wearing a skirt that is flappy, chiffony and thoroughly too short for me and I'm stealing a pair of whorish shoes from Tor, who will be dressed as a Primark prom princess. Tristan, my endlessly tolerant beloved (who actually loves SATC and demands marathon binges), will be dressed in one of the 5 combinations he wears his clothes but as he's never without a suave jacket, we'll just tell everyone he's Mr Big. Unless he pisses me off, in which case I'll tell everyone he's that dude who kept pooing in front of Miranda in Season Four.

I'm clenching my stomach muscles and floral vagina accessories in anticipation! A review and fashion editorial will follow. Predictable posting, I know but rest assured, There Will Be Jokes.

Your absent friend and People's Nancy,
Becky.