The Love That Dare Not Speak It's Name.

All people have a passion that that they are too embarrassed to express. A love that they are ashamed to admit for fear of laughter and derision. I too have a love that dare not speak it's name. It's not quite along the same lines as Oscar Wilde's, but I too fear that the villagers will soon be outside my house with pitch forks and torches. Or at the very least my friends and family will be there ready to slap some sense into me and perform some sort of intervention, or exorcism, should I be brave enough to admit my shame.

Ok. Deep breath. Here it is......I'm...I'm...Just say it fast Michelle. For God's sake woman, like the ripping off of a bandaid, it's less painful if done quickly. Here goes. My name....My name....

"My name is Michelle and I am addicted to America's Next Top Model!"

There I've said it. It's out. I hear the gasps, the shock, the groans of horror. People turning away in disgust. Please, please before you turn me into A Current Affair or child services, for my perversion, listen to what I have to say. I know it's wrong but I can't help myself. Let me explain my affliction.

Oh Tyra Tyra Tyra. How can you not love a show that celebrates Tyra Banks and her ongoing quest to become a drag queen? I'll give the girl an A for effort. Or her "fierceness" (pronounced fe-earceness) and combined with her finger clicks dance. She has "fe-earce" eyes, "fe-earce" hands and "fe-earce'" poses. There is nothing like watching her morph from a boring pose to her "fe-earce" pose. 12 series down the track and it still cracks me up. Any one else would be given little pills to help with that problem. And who can forget her meltdown at Tiffany in season 4. An absolute fan favourite on you tube. I love you Tyra!

The judges are fantastic. Mr and Miss J (who has more poise and femininity than half the so called models) and the variety of ex-model judges from Twiggy to Janice "Queen of Nuts" Dickinson. And we can all agree that Nigel is a bit of fine ex-model turned photographer, eye candy. It's hilarious when one of the serious industry professionals comes in to judge. The look on their faces when they are trying to be polite to one of the girls after a shocker of a picture. Or their ability to hold their tongue when Tyra starts her "fe-earce" poses. My personal favourite is the look of horror they try to suppress when they realise one of these wannabes will soon be the face of their product.

How can you not love a show where a blond model wannabe says to the camera "I have to learn not to think so much. That's my problem I over think everything". Ha. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. These chicks are hilarious. From the downright dumb, to the bitches, the nutters and the trailer trash, there's something for everyone. The makeovers are always worth watching for the complete and utter meltdown's the girls have because they get their hair cut. Hello it's season 12. Every season they cut and dye everyone's hair you can't truly be surprised. Or maybe that's why they fit so well into the brainless model stereotype. None of them seem to realise that they are getting a haircut from a guy who people wait months to see and pay $700 for such a cut. There was even a girl that left the show rather than cut their her. Drama at it's finest. Then there was the girl who didn't agree with $400 shorts and left. Again I say Hello. It's the fashion industry, you are a model wannabe, what do you truly expect? Have you not heard of Prada or Chanel? There have been so many nutters. Who can forget the infamous Jade. Now there's a girl with more than one screw loose. Then there was the girl who admitted a love of blood at her audition. You could imagine waking up in the middle of the night and seeing her just standing at the end of your bed. Scary.

You get suckered into wanting the bitchy girls to get their comeuppances. The ones who sit there and say "I am the prettiest girl here", "I have the best walk" who then get kicked off or lose the weekly challenge they thought they were guaranteed to win. Schadenfreude at it best. Has no one ever given these girls a reality check. I swear that there is a whole group of parents who are afraid to tell their kids the reality of their talent or, in this case, beauty level (see also the auditions for Idol or So You Think You Can Dance if you don't believe me). I do like that Tyra allows in "interesting" models who wouldn't normally be classed as beautiful and "plus-sized" models (though how size 10 is plus-sized I'll never know) who actually have boobs and bums, unlike their skeletal mainstream counterparts. There you go Tyra is providing a public service to show that beauty comes in all shapes and sizes and brain volumes. See there is value in the show.

Put a group of immature, narcissistic girls in a house together, add an ultra-conservative religious girl, a lesbian, a party girl and a transsexual and let the television gold begin. I know it's scripted and edited and the girls are probably, hopefully, not as dumb or morally bankrupt as they appear on the show, but I don't care. Who cares that none of the winners have become the next big thing in the modeling industry. Are we really expecting to find a Gisele Bundchen or Cindy Crawford on this show? It's reality TV at it's finest. It's brain dead. It's shocking. It's morally repugnant on a number of levels. It's hilarious and I love it. It's suckered me in. Who wants to watch cortically stimulating TV like the West Wing or Damages when you can watch two stick thin trashy model wannabes nearly get into a scrag fight whilst wearing designer evening wear? It's pure gold!

Maybe this is where my supermodel delusions stem from. Pick me Tyra. Pick me. I may be 36 with a post-two kids body, complete with sagy butt, pancake boobs and stretch marks, but I'm "Fe-earce" too! Finger click, finger click.

Everyone has a secret shameful love, some gem of television programing that we can't admit to adoring. Those of you who love Bold and the Beautiful, or Big Brother, or Test Cricket, or secretly lust after Huey from Huey's Cooking Adventures, you know who you are.

It's time to come clean. Say it loud and say it proud. "My name is (insert own name here) and I am addicted to completely mindless and crap TV".

There don't you feel better now?

Cheers
Michelle:)

My Life as Heidi Klum's Double.

No. No. I'm not Heidi Klum but I can understand your confusion. The likeness is remarkable. Ha! "I don't think so Tim".

Why must people constantly say to me "But you look so well" or my fave "I thought you'd look sicker". What the....!! How am I supposed to respond to that? Apparently I don't look sick enough for some people.

Some days I feel like I should wrap my arms in bandages or grab a cane to walk with. Then I'd look "sick".

I may look like Heidi Klum on the outside, but on the inside I'm holding it together with gaffer tape, hope and a prayer, and the gaffer tape is losing its glue. Where's MacGyver when you need him? I'm sure he'd be able to shore me up with a piece of old chewing gum, a band aid and a paper clip.

What people don't seem to realise is that many chronic illnesses, like Bob, are primarily invisible. No one sees the internal crap that goes on. Just cause my super model good looks are showing doesn't mean I'm not feeling like death warmed up on the inside. If I was a house my innards wouldn't even be classed as a renovators delight. When I'm standing talking to you at the shopping centre a whole different dialogue going on inside:

"Ok I have about 5 more minutes before I'm going to have to leave. Damn my legs are starting to get shakey. Tense my calf muscles. Tense. Release. Tense. Release. Damn there go my hands. Pins and Needles. What? Oh yeah, I hear that Jenny's mum was going to the concert. Pump my hands. Pump my hands. Oh crap nausea starting. Swallow it down, swallow it down. Tense. Release. Tense release. Ok where's the closest stacking stool to sit down on? Ok, just over there. Tense. Release. Pump. Pump. Damn, dizziness starting. Focus Michelle, focus. What did she say? Damn, keep talking, keep talking. Any words will do. Nod meaningfully. Ok nausea rising, this isn't looking good. Yep. We will be going to the concert. Ok legs hold out just a little bit longer, just a couple more minutes, you can do it. Concentrate Michelle. Damn it concentrate. Getting shakey, crap vision going, wind in the ears. Crap. Pump. Pump. Tense. Release. Tense. Release. Uh Oh. She's looking at me meaningfully waiting for an answer. Damn what were we talking about. Penguins? No. Basketball. May be. Hmmmm. Concert that's right. Ok. Ok. Need to ask her about the.... what's the word? The stuff, the what you wear, the, the, the.....costumes! Ah ha success! Stacking stool 10 steps away. Start stealthly moving toward stool. Tense. Release. Tense......

No one sees the amount of strength, will power and plain old prayer that is required to stand for five minutes chatting about the school concert.

And when you are having a shocker of day you are hardly out and about showing off you pasty faced exhaustion. If you can't stand you can't do your "So You Think You Can Dance' moves at a night club. Duh! Maybe I should start taking photos of my super bad days. Then when the next well meaning person says "You're looking well Heidi. You must be getting better" I can show them my portfolio of pasty chic pictures to prove I'm still sick. Just ask my Husband. He can tell you it's true he's seen me at my worst. Apparently I look like "a bag of shit tied in the middle" some days; and who says the romance fades. Luv you too honey.

Illness isn't always visible people. It's tough looking like a super model some days.

Cheers

Heidi.
Oops that's right Michelle, my name is Michelle. Say it 20 times my name is Michelle, My name is Michelle.......... I am not a super model, I am not a super model...... :)