sju-sjukskoterska

pseudo swede blemishes the internet with her impure thoughts and so on.

keskiviikkona, huhtikuuta 27, 2005

Pilgrimmage to Beyonce's ass - Part II

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So, no sooner did my little sister whisper "backstage passes to Destiny's Child" than I had booked my self a hot little ticket down to melbourne and promised all el prima's kids (and their cousins!) to get as many signatures / photos as possible. I felt like Charlie finding his golden ticket to the Chocolate Factory ...

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(oh. that is a big picture isn't it? *fans self with hand*)

I did not bargain for the behemouth of maccas marketing however... by the time my lil sis and I arrived, palpitating with beyonce fever and clutching armfuls of children's clothing to be dutifully signed, it became apparent that the "backstage pass" was in fact a ticket to a staged "meet and greet" session, and that it was one ticket only - for my sister alone, who had worked her little assistant manager butt off to win a management award. Freeloading relatives (ie me) would not enjoy the privileges. And there would be no signing or photos (other than the official maccas photographer) - only some episodic shaking of celebrity hands.

.

meh.

Here is where we must divert to review a terrible and sad confession - once upon a time a LONG LONG LONG time ago (let me spell this out - about 12 years ago - gasp!) - i wore these:
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with a lot less enthusiasm than this young lass. I didn't buy them at the camberwell market for 20c and just decide to wear them home, rather, I was a teenage macca chick. (amazingly enough, when I typed "macca chick" into google, that was the picture I got... along with some fluffy looking penguin chicks / osprey etc) I imagine the osprey chicks don't usually work for $5 an hour serving lard in the shape of different "foods", but then I'm no ornithologist AM I?

N E Way.... we'll leave the horror stories of a teenage macca chick for another time - suffice to say that I started at maccas as an enthusiastic meat-eater, and emerged a clown-phobic vegetarian. The fact that my beloved baby sister not only works there, but has risen through the ranks is a testament to her hard work and strength of character (and stomach).

So. Just as I'm moaning about missing out on my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to ask Beyonce for a personal demonstration of that "thing" she does, my sister points out the marketing manager who is progressing through the small crowd of metaphorical-golden-ticket-waving hopefuls. And a little light goes on in my head - it's Michelle - who worked with me on the counter all those years ago and was one of the people at Macas who didn't make me cry. (that was only once, and if you were being yelled at for not smiling enough by a 6foot tall woman with her peroxided hair pulled back so tightly it was a wonder that her 2cms of makeup didn't just *ping* right off when she put her lips together the day after your kitten had gotten run over, well, you might cry too).

When Michelle arrives I launch into "Hi Michelle - do you remember me, we used to work together - you've got a twin sister haven't you? and here I am with *my* sister, I've flown down from sydney especially, actually we were just wondering..."

"Hi Sjusju, nup sorry you can't come in".

and she was gone.

My sister departed with promises to tell Beyonce "how much I missed her" and all, and I was left there like Veruka Salt after she popped out of the Chocolate River pipes, all bedraggled with chocolate-flavoured disappointment.

I lumped off towards the city, swore at who-ever-it-is having the cheek to move the melbourne tramlines around without asking me, and haranged my dear friend s to come and have a drink with me. there's nothing quite like surprising people when you show up in town again - that and some red wine in a small bar mended my mood.

as for the concert itself - it was superb. Although you can whinge at the edges about turning 4 of destiny's child's best early songs into a medley, they were lovely and brilliant and noisy and oh they can sing, and oh they can dance.

the herald-sun was a lot less kind

keskiviikkona, huhtikuuta 20, 2005

oh what a hussy!

(i hope i can make helen mirren proud)

my apologies for being such a slovenly blog-hostess. I may as well serve you all this:


I must warn you that this is a bit of a on-going pattern where life takes over and my poor blog grows lean and hungry-looking. But as my dearly beloved fop and brownie remind me, "this just won't do!"

my current excuse for this neglect is the usual work / family complaint - el prima's kids have been on school holidays and we've been trying to have as much time together as possible. and as much as el prima's complicated family / ex-husband / cultural / religious situation would make for a delightful telemovie plot, it is damn tricky to live through. i'm still looking for that text book on "finding acceptance for your sexuality within islam 101" if anyone's seen it.

NEway....

As proof of my laziness, Fop has beat me to the punch in announcing my exciting news - on tuesday night I'll be meeting these ladies


no i mean


ooooh hoooo!

if i get the chance, what words of advice should i offer to beyonce?

1. i would suggest a bit less of this creepery:
I want my unborn son to be like my daddy
I want my husband to be like my daddy
There is no one else like my daddy


2. and stay away from this man

If I wanted bad desexed barry white slow-dance, I would have asked for it. okay?

3. Instead, I think Beyonce needs to take a little bit of the polish off her gospel-girl mary immaculate act, preferrable with some lessons from the queen bee of bad behaviour, miss white, most people know her as, Lil Kim.

can you imagine? Beyonce plus a lil bit of "who gots the bootie" Lil Kim? just what we need to revive r'n'b from its downward slide!

4. a little bit of this advisory wouldn't go astray either:


Speaking of, we are soon to have a reprise of my continuing thesis "surely missy elliot is a lesbian". I bet you can't wait!