This morning I am caught on girldir, browsing over a trend that gets me thinking. Recollecting the SATC I watched last night, I start to wonder about hot pants and my mind draws a blank. Why? Girldir’s statement ‘Have you ever had a nightmare in which you show up at a public meeting or a gathering of some sort and everyone stares at you and begin to burst in demented laughter? And then you realize what caused such hysterics. You’re only half dressed’. It gets me thinking . . .

Instantly jumped on to google to verse myself in a topic which is a possible debate as I wonder if the 70s trends that we so often see come back will include hot pants someday. Or perhaps the trends we see of shorty-shorts and cheeky-shorts are the hot pants, remade.

Kylie Minogue brought her pop career back to life with her well known hot shorts, a hand me down from London Hooker, Michele Renee. With her rise in this country as more than just that Locomotion Gal perhaps hot pants should be credited. Is it her bootylicious bum, which by more than one blogger has been called perfect, in those little goldies that gets your body moving? The woman re-invents disco beats and good dance like no other. Would it be too far of a reach to say she is an inspiration to women everywhere that if you spend your days dancing your a** off you will literally dance it right off?

Well I know what I will be doing tonight. I too shall drop my socks and grab my mini boom box. And might I recommend for all you out there who also wish to work your rump and one day wear your hot shorts (to a disco). with pride. Yes, that is right. Wear them to the discotech and check this out.

Lastly and very importantly.

Sigh. I start off on a quiet note. Relaxing behind the 3 by 6 skirts, attendees go right, attendees go left. However, despite the usual expectation of others that I am bored , I am not. I am content. Quiet. They flock towards the sliced roast turkey and anxiously wait their turn at the desert table. I sit quietly observing their chaos and yet amidst their rushing this is my quietest time. Gazing at the eye candy that the conference center staff provides. I am thankful my boss chose a place with so many cute men. Perhaps it was fate.

The music here makes me want to climb the walls. I would imagine they consider it high class and calming. I however, find it makes me tap my foot at cheetah speed, my head is running in circles. I am just thankful I have been lent a cute little iBook G4 for my day otherwise I am sure I would twist my hair into snarls.

AND on that note. I enjoy a good beehive like the next guy. Sure, they are pretty impressive and mysterious (i.e. What you hiding in that weeve sista gurl? ask Heidi Klum she said ‘Snacks’ in this months Glamour). Heck yes if I could work it I would too. We ALL would. I think the key is making a valid attempt to not over do it (VERY IMPORTANT) and let’s also try to avoid the crack whore look, but that is a different story. Or is it? Smirk. I crack my busy shiz up. Whaaaa. Ha.

Ahhhhhh. Well there you go then, got that off my chest. Sigh.

I’m off . . . Dizzy Gillespie gots me on the move again.

Friday morning at the mag. Being the only woman in the office today is both entertaining and odd. No Kathy to defend the female ‘quo’, and the level of humor too has changed. Yesterday the highlight being that of fluffy puppies and their daily adventure.

As I have found myself unmotivated ALL week, again this morning, I welcome myself to the office by checking my email, facebook, the superficial, d-listed, and schuss.net. Flipping through pictures of Madonna’s world tour, Amy Winehouse still on the crack and all the other gossip from the night before, I chuckle while debating how much weave BritBrit has these days and why Paris looks 40. And, my eyes feast on the new Guitar Hero World Tour commercial as I have a good laugh knowing Heidi isn’t the only one who does the ‘Risky Business’ guitar in hand and plays ‘Back to the Future’ style on her back while scoochin’ across the floor, blowing a killer wicked riff.

Heidi being the woman I credit to declaring ‘tight short and shiny’ to be the epitome of whorish on that Project Runway biznass I so love, and being the very same lady who so often dotes this very thing. Ah well, as a Victoria’s Secret model she has a duty to look sluttish in lace and sequins.

It’s true, she is cracking me up like fig on toast. Like stink on rice. Like chickens with their egg, like Whinehouse and her inflamed nostrils. Like Tara and her melting stomach. Ok you get the idea. That Crazy Heidi and the man that sleeps with Crazy Heidi.

The Way I Feel.

Many words to say today but I have been most pleasingly distracted by memories of the Birmingham band that had my bro and I singing, our lips pursed, in lyrics of an uncontrollable craze. I contemplate my weekend with this summation: Uh huh huh, come on baby, let me hear you say . . .

Reviewing my top ten luscious men and feeling bad there was no love for the ‘Marky’. So this blog shall be only about him now. Mark Mark Mark. All Mark all the time. No more shoes or fashion blah blah blah. just Mark. He’s dreamy. And I will call him Marky! Cuz that’s just what he is. I shall forever remember him as the hot Calvin Klein underwear model that posed with my favoritest Kate Moss.

Good morning my readers.

I spent the evening wrapped up in yet another late night of restless sleep and good laughs with Kendra, Bridget and Holly. Earlier in my Tuesday evening, I found time with a good friend over dinner and a movie. Good company, good conversation; I realize this is what true friendship feels like. I am thankful for those in my life who seem to celebrate that which I am and bring joy to my freedom of expression of my individual personality. The acceptance of my own self, flaws and all. I can’t help but smile for the first time, in SOMETIME, knowing I am worth smiling about.

Yet, as I lay awake at night laughing at Blonde Ambitions, and Platinum Fantasies I sigh what can only feel like a strong exhale of aloneness. In this fall evening, as the chill is slowly increasing, extra layers added to my bedding, a quiet overwhelms me as I ponder my current state of mind. I tell myself to take pride in my individuality, to take ownership. To have pride in my achievements. In myself. To feel strong, to feel happy, despite if surrounded by friends or alone. Why do I feel content only when in the company of good friends?

Many life lessons yet to learn, youth still is mine . . .

Competent, Achieved, Wise, Experienced, Wordly . . . introduced in laughs with a new younger friend, as how I might describe my persona . . . I stop. Do I have to feel joking when I admit to feeling pleased with my life thus far and, well . . . competent. Achieved. Many years yet to come to reach for higher achievement, this is true. But I debate if there is harm in feeling achieved to-date and, dare I say . . . content.

Perhaps the best way for me to know true contentment is to continue to look to the value in those true friendships. To be thankful for the achievements I have thus far. To look within myself and be able to smile. To never feel alone knowing there are millions of other people in the world feeling the same thing I feel at any given moment. Then I have to stop and think and KNOW . . . We never really are alone.