"Glam! Glam!! Glam!!!"

I'm surprised I've come back to blog this soon after my last post. Then again, I have spent the last half hour searching frantically for something other than the pile of work beside my laptop, or pile of laundry on the kitchen floor, or pile of clothes stagnating in my suitcase, to occupy my time with.. So I guess it isn't so surprising that I eventually made my way to "Bitchy in the City". I'm just thankful I don't have to do any of the above-listed things now... And I'm determined to find something non "dear diary" to write even though nothing at all has yet sprung to mind.

A week from Saturday I'm getting a group of very fashionably- and very glamorously-dressed people together to celebrate my birthday for the second time. Some might call me a "diva", I prefer to think of myself as a "genius". What better way to mark the last birthday in my life that my parents will feel obligated to pay for, than to have not one.. but two birthday parties in not one.. but two different countries? Paris H did it! And yes.. Daddy Bitchy is no son of Conrad Hilton, but he's got his fair share of paper!

The dress code on Saturday is "Glam! Glam!! Glam!!!" - ask me where the hell I came up with that shit! I'm now feeling incredibly stiffed up by my own stupidity as, if I'm still in the state I'm in now, on Saturday, then I will be the shabbiest pimpliest attendee at my own party. One thing's for sure... I'll be wearing red lipstick!

What is it about red lipstick that makes women look like women, and makes girls look like girls trying to be women? I have no idea. What I do know though, is that the last time I tried to wear red lipstick, which was about 4 years ago, I rubbed it all off and walked away from the Mac counter at Selfridges as quickly as I could. I didn't think about it again, except in nightmares, until last Saturday, at 1.32pm, when for some bizarre reason (especially as I was already running late for a hair appointment by a good half hour), I suddenly decided to give The Red Bitch another go. The thought literally popped into my head. I hadn't thought about it for 4 years, but all I knew at that moment was, that I was in Selfridges, on the ground floor, and that I was going to walk from men's underwear, to Mac, and I was going to put on red lipstick, and I was going to like it.

I later revealed that weird and extremely random decision to the Coyote (the reason I was in men's underwear). He called me a "nutter".

I did do it though. I did walk up to Mac. Refusing to be intimidated by the weird/funky Afro'd and Tranny staff milling around, I surveyed the rows of cosmetics and then moved myself into prime position.. right above the lipsticks. I had eyes only for the rows of red... and they led me to my first candidate.

The first bitch was the identical twin to the polish on my toes.. A true coincidence that Afro'd Mac chic, who popped out of nowhere after I slathered it on, pointed out. I'm still wondering how exactly she managed to peer through the stencils in my pumps and work that out without at least bending over. Perfect for the toes, Red Bitch Numero Uno was bright and... uh.. bright. She wouldn't have worked on a daily or even nightly basis, but she did definitely draw my attention to one crucial fact on the crux of which the whole mission lay. Even though she was bright, and somewhat OTT, her presence on my lips was not disturbing to me. In fact, I did pout and purse my puckers for a good few seconds, with ease, before deciding that Red Bitch 01 hadn't done the trick. Unlike the first time, I realised, I wasn't darting for the tissue and bruising my lips in the process, I was simply moving onto the next candidate and would keep doing so, until I found the right one.

Red bitch 02 was slightly more subdued, and incredibly sophistikaaaaat! I pouted and pursed in the mirror and did the mandatory twirling (to check out the different angles of course) ... but wasn't convinced. And then Afro'd Mac chic took a step closer (proving she was much more than just a big black Afro) and drew a line around my already rather sophistikaaaat lips. Lip liner (something I had long forgotten about after my resolution 2 years ago to stick to British Airways Molton Brown lip balm and nothing more) sealed the deal.

I knew I liked the look but I needed Afro'd Mac chic to butter me up, so I said I wasn't sure. Just as I had hoped she began ranting and raving about how purrrfect this shade was.. etcetera etceterooo. I'm not an idiot.. I knew she was saying it because she was paid to, but I needed to hear it - If a sales attendant refuses to rave about something you've tried on, then it looks SHIT on you and you should be in tears for ever having been foolish enough to put it on.

I walked away from Mac feeling relatively assured, but wanting even more assurance. I'm greedy... you know this! I needed more. As luck would have it, I ran into someone I knew, when I (eventually) made it to the hairdresser's. She didn't mention the lipstick at first. A little while later I asked... and then she raved. If she was a hater, I would've doubted her, but then she's the little sister of an amigo (the very blunt little sister) who once asked me why I'd drawn "ugly" black lines along my eyebrows, when I was 11. She'd been 8 at the time... and I had wanted to die.

Further confirmation came from [ehem.. codename] Miss Bradshaw, a friend who was staying with me over the weekend. I got home before she did, and as soon as she walked in, she raved first about the hair, and then, about the lips.

And with that... it was settled.

So come next Saturday, when everyone's looking glam, glam and more glam, I won't feel so bad.. Not with Red Bitch 02 purring on my puckers, making me feel and look.. sophistikaaaaaaat!