Cry Me A Liver

Well, first off I suppose I should offer my apologies for it being so long since I last updated. It doesn't mean I will offer my apologies, it just means that I realize I should. Here we go.
If you have been reading this number for a while, you will no doubt be aware of the way in which I treated the general male population. One of the other models I work with puts it very concisely (as she too adheres to these rules) :
'use them, abuse them, and loose them.' ... This illustrates the general boredom that is felt within about nine days into a relationship.
Cute.

It has been an eventful two weeks, one crammed with lots of pretentious people all wearing shoes that are more attractive than most faces. I find there is a delight to be had in many of these people, as once you submerge yourselves amongst them, you feel as if you've grown some rights. The right to hold a champagne glass. The right to glance at someone's outfit and lift a quiveringly disdainful nostril. The right to think of a race as trendy. The right to insult people and tell them it is constructive criticism. The right to sweep the streets before you with exaggerated mascara and prod the peasants who dare cross your path (this path should be littered with jackets thrown down by lesser men).
I do this anyway, but if you are surrounded by these tightly buttocked men and women it seems more like a natural course of behavior.

I've recently done a few shows that have given me some things to mull over, not so much food for thought - as I'm fairly certain that food is seen as basically illegal at these events. At least judging by the chopstick wives and tai-tai lives.
One of them was over in a shiny hotel in Tsim Sha Tsui, the interior of which reminds me of sticking my head inside the silver surfer and swishing it around for a bit. Basically it was gooey and metallic. And may or may not have super-powers.
Bluey, the agent who casts me for most of these, made her usual witty remarks on the place while prodding us to hurry up. I did the show with Collar, who is probably one of the most attractive people I know. After we removed some of the slop painted on our faces, after the shindig itself, we headed to Kashbah and Dragon-I.
One of the fellows that took us to d-i has the first table and ordered champagne that was on fire. I took a photo which is now the background on my phone.
Its to remind me to be rich one day.

The week after this Collar and I did a show in the convention center, along with Spy. Spy is a lovely girl, who was very exited about her paycheck. Endearing stuff. I feel sorry for Collar and Spy, though, because their first outfit involved large false shiny things that poked them most uncomfortably. I was lucky, and ended up in a sequined thing that made my species questionable. I looked something like an ork that had decided to desert the red eye of mordor and seek out a life as a thai transvestite. The garment exposed my midrif, which is better than a side riff or bottom riff. Or even an ostinato, if I have any music nerd in the crowd tonight
*dum dum chhhh*
The second garbberment was essentially a kinky sailor outfit with bizarre shorts. There is such a thing as high-waisted, which I can understand. But these shorts looked like they wanted to escape to my lungs, and hide there stealing away my oxygen until I was dead. I can only assume that once I was dead, these shorts would steal away into the night, brandishing their dangerous waistline at other un-suspecting people. Beware of pants.

After an epic battle in the hair and makeup room, I bested these foul shorts, I had a bit of a frodo moment throwing them far from me where they will never live to cause harm to mankind again. I kept all my fingers though. I have small hands. They must be good for the egos of the men I date.

After this little escapade, I headed on over to wanchai with Collar and Spy. In trafalgar, we yapped and relaxed. Across the street was the dull light coming from that pit of vulgarity, Carnegies. s of bingo-wings and cheap perfumed armpits danced out onto the street from that vile hole. I wrote a previous entry regarding Carnegies and how shall I hate thee, shall I count the ways?

As for personal gossip, because you care so much, I shall pen up an entry soon.
Love in the time of Oliver's,

Jhonnie Cat.

PS. if you want to find that entry before when I was talking about Carnegies - word search 'Serpiente' for that is who I was dating at the time. photo reference, for those of you who have me on fb.