Friday, 11 December 2009

Shampoo Called Revenge

I'm not one to hold a grudge, if someone wrongs me, as in the case of most of my ex boyfreiends, I normally hate them for a whilse, cry and drink lots of rose winr before generally moving on and not giving them another thought.

It has come to my attention however that some people just can't do that; justice has to be done and the only way for justice is revenge. Listening to my friends, revenge is best served on a silver platter with a carving knife.

Although I myself am not completely innocent when it comes to getting even; I'm often reminded of a drunken rampage when I found out my boyfriend was cheating on me (much worse than me cheating on him in Cape Town, but that's a different story) and shouting, 'I'm going to put cockroaches throught his letterbox.' Not only that but I did also leave his front door open in the hope his three shitty smelling dogs would fuck off and rehome themselves, they didn't.

I've heard lots of revenge stories, some funny, others dam right crewl, like the lad who taped him and his boyfriend at it, only to send it to his wife, his kids must have been messed up for life. My favourate revenge story once again comes from another trolley dolly friend; infact I think he should be given an award for creativity. Whilst his fella was playing away from home he got a shampoo bottle, emptied half the contents and filled it up with a well known brand of hair removal gel. You can imagine the result after a few wash and goes.

Before any of you get carried away I must warn you that I don't condone this behaviour, however, if you do take part in a little revenge message us the story as we could do with a laugh.

Now before I pack my bag and jet off towards another glamourous destination I must give a special mention to the Chinese pensioner who was arrested last week for dancing on her husband's grave and singing,' Who's sorry now.'

Wednesday, 9 December 2009

Last Orders

I admit I'm a self confessed binge drinker who deos not know when to stop until I fall down. I can not begin to tell you how many times I've had trouble trying to piece together the night before.

It's quite common for me to have text messages the following day from people I have given my number to, insisting that they bring their friends to stay at mine the following weekend for drinks and snacks, hence my mobile number changing so many times.

Like me I'm guessing you've uttered those famous words 'I'm never drinking again,' only to do it all again the following weekend. I've even heard shocking stories that people go out and have one night stands and regret it the following morning, this has never happened to me, I'm grateful for what I get.

I know I'm not the only one who has promised to detox and never followed the idea through, however, I am now one week into an alcohol free detox and I can now tell you why we never go through with our idea of a healthy lifestyle; because it's shit, mind numbingly boring and there is nothing to talk about the next day.

I muyst admit the detox is not by choice, it has been forced upon me by the goverment of Jeddah's decision to run a dry state. Maybe they should sample a Jack Daniels or two, maybe then be more forgiving to the man who stole a pack of Durex instead of chopping his hands off, maybe even if they had three or four they'd give him a blow job and pay for his taxi home.

Seven days is the longest I've gone without alcohol since I was 18, I've already checked the alcohol volume on my Jean Paul Gautier and sent my room mate out for shot glasses. I can not tell you how much I long to go out and spend money I haven't got on over priced Vodka and Redbull and wake up the following day in a pool of my own vomit.

The rest of the crew have even started to make stories up about me as they have nothing else to talk about. So far this week I've given head to a camel, shagged a desert rat and been gang raped by a family of Geckos. I think that sort of slander is much more dangerous than getting drunk and pissing into previously mentioned turban, don't you?

Saturday, 5 December 2009

Wasn't It A Lovely Day The Day We Went To Mecca.

For those of you who do not know me allow me to introduce myself; I'm a 24 year old single poof from Manchester with a liking of cheap wine (one has to become accustomed during the recession,) and music by the Sugababes. Now in light of this little information I have given you, you can imagine my absolute horror when I was sent to work in deepest darkest Africa with my job as a trolley dolly, (I do believe you Americans call us flight attendants.)

Given the contract to work for Ethiopian Airlines flying Muslims on there pilgrimage to perform the Hajj, I found myself residing in a little war torn country called T'Chad. Now if like me you've never heard of this country before and you ever get a chance to go, don't. There is a reason you've not heard of it; it is the arse end of the world. Here the words Ipod, Jean Paul Gautier and Gay Bar have never been muttered, with the latter phrase more than likely to result in a stoning in a country where a little bit of man on man thrusting is still illegal. And as my friends are well aware of an internet connection is about as common as finding the Pope in your local gay bar sipping a Gin 'n' Tonic, the best I got was when I climbed a tree and pointed my iPhone towards a passing satellite and hoped for the best.

Now as you can imagine, working for an African airline the aircraft wasn't exactly modern, in fact I'm positive you could see the marks on it from where it had been dug up from the desert after it had been shot down during the First World War. I truly believe you could hear the big bird crying out for retirement as she struggled on every take off. She really was held together by sticky tape and the grace of God.

Not all was bad over in the Sahara, we had a lovely time in many a room party. In fact with the crew mostly gay it was just like being in a local bar, I liked to call my room Club Blanche. Lots of drunken antics took place and I'd love to be able to tell you them only I was that pissed I can't remember, however, there is photographic evidence of me dancing around a some lovely shiny leggings, pixie boots, sparkly top, red lipstick and sporting the latest winter range of Abiyas whilst singing 'I am what I am.' Feel free to go and view them for yourselves over on my face book page.

Now I'd love to be able to stay and chat but I'm being shipped over to Jeddah very soon for five weeks. I will try my best to behave but I think it's for the best if you keep on checking CNN to see if I've had my hands chopped off in Chop Chop square after I've exposed myself to a passing Arab King whilst pissing into a turban. Now don't forget to click on the follow link on the left side of the page and enter your email address for updates, you can now also follow me on twitter and don't forget to keep checking back at Handbags'n'Botox at