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Scouse bird with a vodka dependency and an acute sense of social observation. Always self deprecating, always blunt. Follow me on twitter WARNING: Non-scousers may not understand language of this blog.
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Sunday, 29 January 2012


Well I knew the night was gonna be one of those ridiculous nights when I turned up at my mates new student house looking like a cross between Katy Perry and a desperate scouseswife, meanwhile they're all sitting round scruffed up to the nines looking like they'd just started a new protest Occupy the Living room. Let me make this clear, I don't hang around with students. They make me angry. But @susielovesvodka was skint and I got invited out by an old friend from work who has recently gone back to uni.

I stood hovering by the kitchen, poured myself a stiff vodka (used theirs, not wasting me handbag vodka - increase ur overdraft bums) and tried not to touch anything. They all stared at me like I was an alien from Planet Scouse.
I was also still reeling over the fact the lad I'd met out and club necked the week before had swerved me because I'm a twitter user. That's right. Because I use twitter. "I hate hashtags" was an excerpt from the text. I wasn't arsed so much about the swerving, he was easy on the eye sure, yet devoid of banter. But really??? Dumped for using twitter!

So anyway, out we went to alma de cuba, several of them couldn't get in cos they were wearing TRAINEES, not smart trainees even, battered gym trainees. I actually said 'look ur not gettin in anywhere with them on so u should just go home' Fortunately one of them did.
Managed to get into Revolution, went the toilet, came back and they're all sat down round a table (what is it with students and sitting?). This is supposed to be a 21st party. Bunch of squares. I stood looking disgusted, if I wasn't ashamed to be associated with them before then I definitely was by now. I decided to just completely ignore their existence for the rest of the night and harrass strangers instead. Mate dared me to strike up a conversation with some guy which obviously I did. I'll chew the hind legs off anyone really. Then got talking to a youngster who I thought was offering me a drink but instead was actually offering me his bag of beak. Scouser. He told me over and over again that he's loaded and plays footy, I couldn't have been less arsed. My mate came over and he starts speaking to her in an extremely convincing Polish accent, "just go with it" he whispers to me. I still don't understand why this occurred.
Accompanying my mate and this guy outside for a smoke I managed to get my heel stuck down a grid and fell over. And I mean it was really stuck! I couldnt get it out and I work out on a regular basis. The scouse phoney Polish beakhead footballer couldn't get it out. The bouncer eventually freed it but it took some doing. Meanwhile I'm just sitting on the floor unable to get up. Boss at keeping a low profile me.

Next thing I know these people who I blotted out of my night inform me we're all going to Mojo. So off we troop to stand in the cold in the queue, presumably so they can get in and sit down in a different location. Wouldn't wanna have a boring night would they?  
In we get and as soon as I'm in the door my jacket latched on to (literally my jacket got caught on him) Mr Blonde. Tall. Handsome. You know the type. First thing I noticed after his velvet coat (yeh) was his lack of scouse accent. My scouse senses were tingling. My eyes narrowed. "Where are you from??" "Guess" "Birmingham" "Cheeky cow, I'm from the Wirral!" Ahh this explained the velvet jacket. But Mr Blonde was hot, and he offered to buy me a drink. So I went with it. "Yeh ok I'll have a v.." "You're getting a whiskey" "I'd like a vod-" "Whiskey" "Oh ok then!" Clearly Mr Blonde was the dominant type. I asked him "So you on twitter?" "No" "Yeh yeh, me neither" - wasn't making that mistake again!!! Much drinking and club necking ensued. After a while I said "I'm just gonna go and find my friend" only to be informed that they'd fucked off ages ago. No big loss. Next thing I was transported to the set of Jersey Shore as he asked me "So you wanna come back to mine for a hot tub party?" It was left field. It was unexpected. It was a no I'm afraid. I'm a lady honest.

The rest of the night is a blur but I woke up next to a new bed guest. A bottle of Hellmans and half an eaten burger. My self respect all over the floor.
Thus concludes last nights adventure. See you next week for more hungover tales.

ps I also got a tweet off the guy my friend dared me to speak to. Clearly being dumped for twitter use hasn't taught me anything!!