christmas minge

At least I have never gone to the staff Christmas party, and spent the first part of the day like a true closet alcoholic, loudly commenting on how little I drink in general and especially today. By the time I'm reasonably plastered, this has changed to quiet questions to my colleagues as to whether they think I'm too drunk or not. Fully aware of my reputation as a sponge and a bit of a party girl from way back, they keep telling me, "No, not at all; have another drink." I do not disappoint.

Later, I proceed to show my undergarments to any conscious male at the bar we are now at, hoping to arouse interest, and raise more. I seem to have forgotten that I have a boyfriend of four years patiently waiting for me at his place - never mind that three short weeks later I will trade him for the one I've been having an affair with for a while now. When all my attempts to attract ANY male attention fail - the only things raised are eyebrows - I turn to my own sex, and much closer to home, in the form of a female colleague. "X, please come and sleep with me. Please, you have to sleep with me tonight. Please... I NEED to sleep with you." [ed. note: I couldn't be bothered with trying to type in manner of severe slurring. Imagine Judy Garland, pickled in vodka for a week after multiple tooth removal, and you get close.] This attempt, in full view of all remaining staff, also fails and my colleagues, feeling awkward and uncomfortable, have great trouble packing me into a taxi.

Come January, it's fairly clear I have no recollection of the events at all. Luckily for you, dear reader, every other staff member does.

At least I've never done that. And I wish I'd gone to the staff Christmas party after all.

sloppy birthday to you

At least I have never attended the 30th birthday of an old high school mate. [In order for you to understand the full story, it must be stated that my friend and I went to an all-boys school.] The celebrations must have got somewhat raucous as at one point I end in an impromptu birthday present performance for the birthday boy, also known as fellatio. Because what's to stop a nice boy giving another a fantastic blow job?

Well, there is the birthday boy's girlfriend, for one. Her partner's openness to same-sex sex acts comes as a shock as she walks in on us, but rather than ditch him, she merely bans him from ever seeing me again. Which we presume to mean that he now gets his cock sucked by other boys. Then there is my boyfriend, fast asleep in another room. We split up not long after.

At least I've never done that, but I do feel somewhat left out, as the friend who did, attended many of my birthdays in my single days and he merely bought me a drink instead.

criminal idiots, part 5478

I just love plans that haven't been thought through beyond the first step.

unwell

Although slim(y) at the moment, this actually is one of my great fears in life. To be known for nothing else but the fact I could not heave myself off the floor.

britney

May I take this moment to pay some respect to the fairy godmother of this blog, Britney Spears. The past 12+ months of her multi-car pile-up of a life have read like an endless list of posts from here. Ok, I've shaved my head under the influence, too, but the rest is beginning to be heart-breaking. The woman clearly needs help with her mental health, and those closest to her are clearly failing to see that - why is it that she's constantly seen driving around LA? Anyway, I genuinely hope help comes her way, because the alternative could be tragic.

Postscript: It's Dr Phil to the rescue. Oh my.

'i'll just QUICKLY check the cellar'

This is doing the rounds on Facebook. I want to laugh, but before I do, I'd love to know if she actually survived. Looks painful.



[Edited to add: You'll have to click on the image for the GIF to work, at least on my computer.]