Since 2013 started, admittedly my dedication to this blog has been SLACK. But, in all honesty, it’s been a bit too much – even for me. Its been a non-stop injection of drugs, sex and sleep. Party for three days, sleep for two. That’s how we roll. The Jaunary blur started last week, when we all met up for a midweek drink and after getting smashed on the strawberry daiquiri’s with more alcohol in them than Courtney Love’s urine sample.
When we got back to our flat (that was gradually beginning to look more and more like a crack den), we decided, as you do, to snort a line of Valium – because let’s face it – who doesn’t love sniffing Valium? At which point, we hazily realise that after running out of drugs we need to go pick up more. So naturally, at 4am, we jump into my friend Darren’s car (all the while him unaware) and take the drive to the dealers. My friend don’t have insurance on the this car, so if we crash, we’re fucked. And not in the good ‘back-doors-smashed-in’ kinda way. When we get to the drug dealers, my friend decides it’s appropriate to do an Everest-sized bump of ketamine before driving back. So he’s slurring, dribbling and generally licking the windows like he belongs on the blue bus.
“Oh shit.”
So, whatever – I’m thinking we’re either gonna die in this car, or the police are gonna pull me over for letting my down syndrome brother drive. I’ll give you a brief history about my driving experience before I tell you that I took the wheel. The last time I drove a car, was FOUR years ago – and even then, I almost knocked over an old lady.
“What are you doing?! There’s a woman in the middle of the road!” My driver instructor was not only a decrepit nonce but also a total drama queen.
“Erm… I’m going around her?” As if I’m just gonna be jamming waiting for her to move. Please continue to move at a glacial pace, you know how that pleases me – Miranda Priestly, The Devil Wears Prada.
So this was on my 20th lesson and I’m still nearly mowing down pedestrians. AND Oh my God, talking of mowing down pedestrians did you here about the black tranny that got demolished by a white van in Vauxhall? Cut to paramedics peeling a bloodied lace front off the inside of the tunnel. We heard it was a mess, apparently it looked like someone had put a clown in a blender.
Whoever it was, totally unspeakable behaviour. Do you know that we had to pay for a taxi all the way to Pulse because the buses were on divert. Yeah, exactly – unspeakable!
Anyway, I don’t have a license and my driving isn’t exactly great but in desperate times I had to take the wheel. Looking back I can barely remember any of it. Accept for shoving half a dozen grams down my pants when we pulled up alongside a police car. This bitch was shook up – ’cause you know a pretty face and a tight ass like this wouldn’t survive two days in prison.


Bright Lights, Blurred City

Then after being knocked out for almost two days, and missing work (and I never miss work – mainly because I’m still professional even when I’m cunted), we decided the Valium must have been Roofies. Damn. We got drug raped and didn’t even wake up with sore bums – what a waste. So we took a bath, brushed it off, and headed out again. And like I say, we taxi’d it to XXL.
For those of you that don’t know, XXL is a night where Bears go to dance to club remixes of Kylie. It sounds totally off-base, but after six grams of mephedrone and a few shots of G – it’s totes the place to be. So we’re dancing, flirting, yadah yadah yadah – then here is the world’s tastiest bar tender all up on my iPhone wanting my number.
There must be a catch. I’m thinking. He’s tall, stacked and got a shaved head. What’s the catch? Well I’ll tell you what the fuckin’ catch is. She’s NUTS. Well not so much nuts, as doesn’t speak English. And texts me all the time. And there’s only one way to deal with intense men, even when they’re hot – and that’s to get your sass on. So he’s getting all tight-arsed cos we were supposed to meet and I didn’t text or call. So I told her up-straight:
“I fell asleep on Valium. It happens. Grow Up. Sorry if you want a boyfriend or a husband, but I’m just looking for fun. If you want more than that you needs ta get walking.”
OK, so the valium thing was a slight lie because that happened the day before, but whatever, how dare you call me when I’m asleep and then start getting all strung-up like Bree Van De Camp on her period. Nah-uh! So anyway, now he’s so putty, I could use him as hair product. *twirls little finger.

We obviously went out the consecutive night, glammed up and strutting round the dance floor with our sunglasses on (because we can). Some people probably  looked and thought, what cunts. But I think we look like Britney Spears in the ‘Piece of Me’ video – only less ketted. Then naturally we spent another two days in bed.

When Wednesday came, we were ready to go out again (*inhales on respirator). Naturally we ended up in a Soho bar, shacking out and probably making absolute (fierce) spectacles of ourselves – when who walks in? THE BARMAN. As if. Did he put a tracker on my phone when I gave him my number? *Awkward laugh. Anyway, I’m giving him full-on sass bout how he needs to mellow fucking out and I’ll meet him later in the week. *Twirls finger.
As all the bars started to close, (boring!) we found a chill out in central that unpredictably turned into a sex party. I won’t give you the ins and outs (no pun intended), but when it gets to the next morning and you’ve participated in a sisterly threesome (that’s a three way with a friend, only one where you and your sister don’t get physically intimate), seen a hermapherodite’s taped up giblets and been wocked out on the sofa – enough is a enough.

And finally, after double-fucking someone over an armchair, it’s time to call it a day. And perhaps 56 Dean Street. And then Betty Ford. When a New Year comes you’re supposed to start as you mean to go on; if that was the case – I’d probably be dead by 2014. So baring that in mind – we spent another two days in bed. *files nails.