Glory Days

I have just stuffed a vat of pasta down my face. And I don't mean a tiny plate of pasta which I'm just insanely over-exaggerating about. I mean that I just cooked myself half a bag of pasta and ate every last piece of penne and I am now in a food coma on the couch. Other than the wave of nausea that keeps sweeping over me from over-eating and the sweat dripping down my face from trying to digest this much chilli pasta and the fact that my stomach is distended in agony, I feel great. I also may or may not be allergic to gluten, so this meal was perhaps not the wisest of choices but I am pleased that I avoided creamy, cheesy pasta which has been my poison of choice the last few weeks (three times in one week in fact, which was awesome until my stomach started cramping up so offensively that I thought I might be lactose intolerant, hence the tests and the new potential gluten allergy).

This post was actually supposed to discuss happier moments of a life lived off the couch. This weekend, I went on a fun mini-moon with the bf and lived a lifestyle of pampering and champagne-fuelled baths (for 45 minutes, but hey, it counts.) We then watched a major motion picture of extreme sentimental importance to both of us: Glitter, starring the inimitable Mariah Carey. The bf loves her (he's into the busty type that look like cheap hookers. N.B. I am not in this category) and I think she's amazing (psychosis, insanely slutty outfits and a fab voice are a surefire recipe for success in my book) but this film also was particularly close to my heart because I am actually an extra in it (and no, of course you can't actually see me. I suspect my scene was cut because I bore a slight resemblance to Mariah at the time of filming through sheer accident, and we all know how she can get slightly diva-ish about a younger version of herself trying to steal the spotlight). Anyway, there was a time in my life when I made 75 bucks to dance/slut it hardcore in Tunnel nightclub clad in my favourite '80s outfit, complete with tulle headband, as an extra in Glitter. Contrary to popular opinion, this is not my greatest achievement in life (the joint bank account still trumps this). But no matter how long it takes for me to be excavated from the couch, no can take away that I was a part of cinematic history (albeit on the cutting room floor of possibly the worst film in history bar Gigli). So what if I've chosen a life of pasta and vegetating for my retirement years?