if i wasn't your friend, i would probably hate you..

...and other truths about the characters you know

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Thursday, 3 June 2010


Some people are so dumb. The other night I was out with the guys and this girl asked me if we had "been to a mourning". Been to a mourning? Been where? Are we in mourning? Do we look like we are in mourning? I was wearing a shirt and tie (obviously too smart for the shit hole we were in). She then asked me if I would like to buy her a drink. I felt so embarrassed for her, I bought her two. She then attempted to lapdance one of the boys- he is gay. I cringed. hard.


I'm at Goliath's and I'm well smashed. I've had like a bottle of wine here, two bacardi breezers, four shots of sambucca and I've got some vodka in my bag. My mum always says you shouldn't mix your drinks, but I do- i like don't get hangovers do I? All the girls are here except bloody Evie-she's like scared she might bump into Brian or something. I told her, I was like "Who cares? All he's seeing is what he is missing " (but that wouldn't be true coz she's like on this downer at the mo and losing the weight has made her look like...deformed or something). So anyways, tonight is pretty packed, I think like maybe there has been like a funeral or something coz there are lyk loadsa people in suits. Maybe they have been to a mourning. Some of them are quite fit though- I see this smug-looking guy with a girl on top of his lap- must be his girlfriend. Whateva. I bend down and fiddle with the strap on my heels and I see his eyes bulge as he looks over ( still with his tongue in her mouth-oh yes!). I'll be seeing you later. I give him my filthiest wink and he smiles back and the girlfriend is till on cloud nine or whateva and doesn't even notice.

I'm not vain, I just know I'm hot. Actually, whateva, I don't even care if I am vain. Guys like me because they know what they are getting with me. I'm not lyk those gurls that wear support pants under their shortest skirt so that when you get em home a wobbly belly and muffin tops spring out. Gutt-ed honey. With me, I'm not false advertising anything- what you see if what you get. Like my arse? Pull me and the same sweet ass you're looking at now can be sitting on your face in a bit (and no extra lumps, bumps or support marks). And because there are no false pretences, the guys are not gonna be false either. They make it clear they want my legs wrapped around their head, so I play the game...

I go up to the bar and stand near a group of lads- all into their 6th pint. I don't even look at them but I know they are eyeing up my brown legs, paying particular attention to the tattoo that sneaks out from under my dress. They want to know where that leads. Better play dat game first eh boys? I know they are looking at the way I arch my back as I lean against the bar, they spot I'm not wearing a bra too. These bad boys hold themselves up, fellas. I'm looking around the bar as if I've lost someone, checking the time, my phone, time again then I'm applying lipgloss as I slowwly turn to face the guys.
"Been stood up love?" the cutest one is saying and I put my most blasé face I can imagine on and say "Yeah, looks like" They all look shocked- total dismay, agreeing with each other that the stander-upper is a dickhead. Now they're all buying me drinks, all competing for these long legs and a glimpse of the tat that slides up my thighs, and all I gotta do is look coy and give one of them a a little lapdance later on.. and shit, they are so drunk now they'll end up staggering home, alone and with a kebab.
Life is sweeet, and tonight's gonna be very cheap xxxxxxxx