Wednesday Paradise

Lately, and by lately I obviously mean the last 4 months, I've been acting like a bit of a 93 year old woman. I have, not in this order: started a blog about cats (, but I don't want to talk about it), started drinking vodka and lime cordial with tepid water at home by myself (as  I can't be arsed to fill up the fridge water bottle), started watching Beverly Hills 90210 (not even the slightly cooler teen version where they're all hot and anorexic), and grown out my undercut (twice). Subsequently, on Wednesday Lolly hauled my arse out of bed and made me put on clothes that actually fit me and weren't from the men's department of Woolworths. Hateful as I am towards Lolly on most days, even though she is my best friend, I am pretty grateful that she got me out of my apartment, from which you can hear african drums until 9pm due to the Nigerians who refuse to go the fuck home at sunset. 

After sitting at the DAF Fashion Show and screaming inappropriate things at Daniel M as he walked the runway, we went to Stag's Head for Paradise. By this point the two Daniels and I were so high that we had lost any formal grasp of the English language, and when people started to notice that we were failing at forming complete sentences, we kind of just huddled together smiling like idiots. This is why buying drugs off the street is reserved only for desperate teenagers and desperate drug addicts. I have, at one point, been both, and will tell you honestly to buy your drugs from someone who didn't come to this country on a floating door.

 Fun first night out NOT as a 93-year old woman. 


Photos: Paul Ward.


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