Ugh. I got home at like 7:30 AM. I just got up and it’s like 3PM.
I haven’t slept that much to be honest. I’ve slept for like an hour or two, got up, eat/drink, sleep again, wake up again, drink water, sleep again, etc. I need to go to my shrink and ask to get new prescriptions. I’m running out of supplies.
Going back to things…
Fortune Teller Fish Fiesta
You know, I think there’s something fishy going on as of late.
Yesterday was a very good example of it.
I simply didn’t have an outfit to wear and everything was just done in the last minute.
So off I went to Vuitton right at closing time (8PM) to get one of my Alzer trunks cleaned up (and get a crate replaced). Imagine going to the Vuitton store with half of the lights closed out.
And super shopper me had to buy something there. No self-control whatsoever.
I was having a bad hair day and it was fucking raining so I bought their new bandana/head silk scarf — in the denim pattern. Loves it!
Then I went to my friend Tina’s house to pick up her little present for me. I asked her to get me a very long strand of very small plastic pearls but being Tina as in Tina, which I love about her, she went over the top and gave me all these:
I literally had nothing to wear yesterday. I went out with a plain black tank top, some fitted jeans, an old Chanel denim bag (my first… and it’s not vintage yet cause I think it’s about 7 or 8 years old) and a Gucci shrug.
Armed with the new bandana and the plastic pearls, I transformed myself into a Fortune Teller.
All I needed was a crystal ball to complete my look.
After Tina’s place, I went to a bar to meet Gian and I got introduced to some of his acquaintances and friends in London who are here in town. Then we went to good ol’ Embassy and this is where my nightmare began.
I created a monster. That’s all I can say.
For the next few weeks I’m gonna stay off the booze, off the prohibited substances, off the whatever. Things are just going out of control whenever alcohol is involved. Once I take booze, I cannot get myself to stop.
I probably had more than 10 vodka red bulls ast night, consumed about 3 bottles of champagne, endless gin tonics.
God knows how I managed to walk when I got out of the club at sunrise.
Don’t get me wrong – I’m not an alcoholic. In fact, for the past few months or so, I only drink booze once a week — on Saturdays when I go out. I don’t even drink booze at home!
The next time I go out, I’ll just have either orange juice, evian or coke.
I literally lose track of everything that comes out of my mouth when I’m ABSOLUTELY drunk. It’s not even funny.
I don’t even know how or what to feel right now – shame, embarassment, humiliation, anger, etc. I’m still numb with it all. Ugh!
To those of you (you know who you are) who I got in contact with, at the club, on the streets, on the phone/cell/net a few hours ago during my little drunk spectacle, can I have a request?
Can we pretend nothing happened?
Can we pretend we didn’t talk?
Can we pretend you didn’t hear from me?
You know, erase, erase, erase. Purge, purge, purge. Wave the magic wand and off you go to Neverland Ranch.
We never talked. I didn’t say anything. You haven’t heard from me, I didn’t hear anything from you.
Chances are, I don’t even know what I was talking about or who I’ve spoken to.
(Actually, I do…. but UGH. I don’t want to think about it.)
Purge, purge, purge.
(yes, that’s an old Chanel denim bag right there)
Anyway. I have diarrhea from all that booze I had yesterday and all that food I had today from lunch.
Diarrhea = Dehydration; Dehydration = Weight Loss.
Weight Loss = Fabulous.
I think I’m gonna go to the cinema later tonight. Watch some film. I don’t know.
My head is still spinning from yesterday’s drink drank drunk drunkard drama.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
People from Oslo, Norway, people from Frankfurt, Germany, people from Glebe in New South Wales, Australia, people from Vancouver, BC, Canada.
Big shout out, lip-glossed airkisses galore to Tammi, Tina and Jasmyne. Bryanboy loves you, you and you.
As I’ve said before, Bryanboy really loves American Express. You should have one of their cards in your wallet. Like I do.
Enough Tara Reid talk. That bimbo probably has stretch marks on THAT inflatable flotation device on her chest I refuse to acknowledge her existence.
I need to take a poo now. As I’ve said, diarrhea galore.
You know how to contact me. email@example.com.