1. She takes 4 times as long to get ready
2. And gets way more attention than you upon arrival
3. Her professional makeup artist leaves you to do your own makeup, and then looks pityingly at you as you're about to leave and says, sadly, "oh honey. I wish I could have done your makeup too"
4. Everyone gets carried away with their lipliner and apple martini's, and forgets about what time you are supposed to be leaving. When reminded, their rejoinder is, "it's better to turn up late, than turn up ugly"
5. And nobody can argue with a Drag Queen on THAT
Whilst I'm in a list-type mood, here's the main differences between a Christmas party at the BBC and a Christmas party in the fitness industry:
1. Instead of taking Class A's, half the party are on steroids or pre-workout
2. There are no directors hoping to persuade an intoxicated executive producer to give them a Block on their new period drama
3. But there ARE lots of group fit instructors, hoping to persuade an intoxicated GFM to give them a BODYPUMP class in Studio 1
4. Everyone has coordination. You get shown up on the dance floor by all the SH'BAM and BODYJAM instructors doing their latest choreo to Iggy Azalea
5. This never happened in Letherbridge
In a fit of being New Zealand-y, I made the calamitous error of signing up to our work touch rugby team. WHY? I hear you cry! Well, I don't know to be honest; except that at the time the email came round the season seemed really far away and I was obviously in a positive, go-getter kind of mood. And last summer I frequently drove past all these rugby teams playing and they all seemed so happy and outdoorsy and I got happy-outdoorsy FOMO. Anyway, I signed up under the clear understanding that we would have lunchtime practise sessions and someone would explain the rules to me. Neither of which eventuated and thus I found myself thrust onto the pitch (field?) last week in a state of complete naivety, having YOUTUBED it 10 minutes before in desperation to find a video of some 15 year old girl in Wisconsin explaining the rules. Well, it was a complete and utter disaster. I forward passed, I couldn't catch the ball, and the captain (leader?) just kept telling me to "go wide". As in, "go wide, AWAY FROM THE BALL YOU IDIOT". It was the longest 24 minutes of my life. What made it worse was the high expectations of the boys on the team. They had told me before the game, "you're athletic, you teach GRIT, you'll probably be our secret weapon!"
Trust me, I was nobody's weapon. Well, unless you count the opposing team.
In other news, apparently New Zealand is leading the globe in chlamydia. So that's nice to hear for Christmas. I told Little Show who chipped in with, "and gonorrhea is making its way up from Hamilton". Like it's an STI that has caught the bus, and is on its way to Auckland for its hollybobs. Hurray!
On a related topic, my flatmate quizzed her male friends recently about what precipitates men to call women at 3am after a night out. Apparently it's dependent on the following 3 reasons:
1. He's drunk and therefore he thinks he looks hot. Even if he's in Pizza Planet with grease on his chin.
2. He needs to get home and can't afford a taxi.
3. He wants sex.
(The order of the above can change - depending on priority).
And here's the best news I've read all week. The next time someone posts a Selfie of their abs....
Facebook is thinking about adding a way to "dislike" posts on its site, founder Mark Zuckerberg has said.
Speaking at a Q&A session in California, he said it was one of the most requested features the social network receives from its users.
He said the site would need to find a way to make sure it did not become a way to demean people's posts.
According to Facebook's own figures, 4.5 billion "likes" are generated every day.
"One of things we've thought about for quite a while is what's the right way to make it so that people can easily express a broader range of emotions," Mark Zuckerberg told an audience at Facebook's headquarters.
OVERHEARD AT THE MILL
GROUP FITNESS INSTRUCTOR: And now it's time to put the final hammer in the coffin....
