Sunday, March 02, 2008

Je suis malade.

Okay guys, we've got a bit of a Code Red situation on our hands here. I'll start from the beginning. A good place to start.

So someone decided it'd be a good idea to celebrate an upcoming anniversary of my birth with everyone I work with in my home town. I won't lie. I was sceptical. I've not been there very long and I have a bit of a reputation as
a drunk
a bitch
and a bitch that hates everyone.
Obviously, it's all true so I'm not overly bothered but I put forward the argument that if I hate everyone why would I want to sit and look at their faces. I was promised a lot of alcohol. I was sold.

As a bit of background the last time I went out with these people I got horrifically drunk and fell over. Obviously I can't fall over out of nowhere. What actually happened was I jumped on a guy I work with pretending we were in Dirty Dancing. However, when he attempted to put me down I wasn't having any of it so I ended up on my back (insert own joke here, I'm far too weary) with a big bruise. I have absolutely no memory of this. It is pieced together from various accounts.

So off we go in to town to drink a lot of alcohol on Friday. That mission was accomplished. However, I was reminded of why I hate my home town so much. Having decided that a pair of fluorescent pink tights would set off my leopard print shoe boots very nicely I wander in to the ladies in the pub. A girl promptly marches over to me and grabs me by the arm and holds it very tightly and says,

"I'd just like to say, I think you're so brave"

I know. What a fucking slut. Now, remember, I don't put my brain in action before my mouth so the first thing that comes out of my mouth (as opposed to, Thank you, which is what I think she was expecting) is,

"I've not got cancer"

She was so stunned all she could do was walk away. Ha. I win.

Anyway, having ingested 3 mojitos, 3 blue lagoons, 100 million double gins and 3000 sambukas I decide it is time to go on to the dive I hate to frequent which plays indie/rock music (the best of a bad bunch). However, I decide that everyone I work with won't like it so I turn on them and abuse them. Some choice things I said (apparently) were,

"Fuck off. Fuck right off" - to anyone that attempted to talk to me

and "Oh fuck off Chotain you fucking tool" - when Chotain nicely tried to tell me that my top was coming down and to save my modesty maybe I should pull it up. 

However, first prize for me most definitely was being told the next morning that for absolutely no reason at all I fell over. Flat on my back. Had I not had a pretty dress on and been lying in a street I wouldn't have looked out of place in a pilates class. Fuck.

I really can't tell you much more but the next day I woke up to find various FB messages on my wall. One of which written by a total mentalist (no, he really is) at 4am rambling about how cool and alternative I am. It has since disappeared. He obviously got up, slightly more sober and realised what a twat he is. 

Vowing never to drink again I then accidentally found myself in a pub in London at 6pm on Saturday. It was an accident. 

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