Whose house? Muummmm's house.

Moving house is stressful people!

Packing, boxing, lifting... arguing with the removal guy because he believes you have too many magazines for him to carry down the stairs, then fending off the removal guy in his skeezy van on the ride across town while he leers at you and asks you whether you are a model.

F-balls... and I have to do this again in 2 months time.

I'm currently chilling at my mum's house until I move into my very OWN apartment.  Mum's does have its benefits (aside from the financial):

50 inch flat screen TV (all the better to watch James Cook & Sam and Dean Winchester on), home cooked meals (who wants skinny arms anyway?) and of course using my sister's bedroom as my own personal walk in closet because she will never know, being at university in the south of England and all.


Currently sitting on my temporary bed with conditioner in my hair and shower cap on - it's at these moments I do wish I had a webcam, I look ridiculous and would be more than happy to share my unsexiness in all its glory- later I will pumice my feet while watching Saturday night TV...

I can do this at mum's house and incur no judgment.

MM x

Saturday night...

Year of the 'we' continued: 1st date of the year

I cannot remember the last time I laughed so hard -all-night-long.

Cute - check.

Funny - check.

General hawwtness - check. 

I'm doing my best not to sabotage this... so um,

:-*

MM x


P.S: All I want to do is talllkkk about it...

LFW: Day one

I wasn't going to go, I really wasn't.  Because I'm sick... and not a very gung-ho sick person.

I should have followed my instincts and got back into bed, especially when I hit the pavement and one of my shoes was making that 'tac tac tac' I need to be re-heeled noises.

Somerset house was cold - I was fluey.  Not a righteous combination... and after missing all the morning shows (due to achey-boneage  and runny nose troubles) I met up with possibly the most glamorous sidekick/ photographer ever and we queued for the Bora Aksu show.

And we queued...

And we queued until an adorned PR strolled past and told us in her sing-song voice that the show had already started and they were not letting anybody else in*.

F*ckballs.

Totally put out by this I put the rest of my tickets on layaway I went and had coffee and cheese sandwiches at Cafe Nero down the street.

So out of 6 shows I had booked in today I went to 0.

The only fun thing about today was getting home and eating chicken wings while watching America's next top model and hearing one of the contestants declining a nude photo-shoot by saying:

'I can't get naked like that, its not lady like...especially not when there are going to be guys down there all in my private party - this is for my husband'.

It tickled me.

Anywho, some cool pictures of today to follow. Tomorrow 5 more shows and lashings of exhibitions, I will do better.

Loveness.

MM x

*really, thanks for that.

'Cookie here is a criminal, but we forgive him'

The thing about the flu is, when it gets you it really gets you. 

aches

fever 

sneezing and vitamin C

So far I have spent the day lying in bed doing nothing but watching catch up TV online, sneezing and being mildly irritating on twitter... also have spent a lot of the day screwing because I cannot have a bar of chocolate. 

What did I have today that I love? 

Skins.

In the wider scheme of things it is absolute nonsensical program - No one at 17 takes as many drugs, smokes as many cigarettes and comes out alive at the age of 19 - forget club 27.  Yet is nice to know somewhere out there in fantasy land world people are more screwed up than I am.

MM x

Why are you showing me pictures of sh*t I can't eat?

Today = first day of lent, therefore = first day of Marlboro rage.

No sugar based treats for 40 days and 40 nights... apparently there is a world outside Kit Kats and fruit pastels???

I'm currently in bed with the flu, eating an apple and NOT enjoying it.

MM x

Because tonight Matthew I'm over sharing...

I was convinced I had Valentines day locked because after a couple of years apart an ex boyfriend WHO I REALLY LIKED!!  Got in contact.


This made me happy. :-)


...and after a week of textual nonsense I believed he had grown up and had rid himself of his bad habits.


This was until I got the

What are you doing tonight?

booty call text.


(URGH. F"$%R^*&ghknp!!! ) like, really-really?

So now I would like to publicly let him know in the most composed way possible - this behavior is wholly inappropriate and I shan't be sharing my booty with you ever again. 

Moron. 

[edit] I totally caved.

MM x 

So instead I have spent the day getting over the mother of all hangovers. 

FYI, lock-ins are never a good idea.  Champagne & vodka, never a good combination. Also when your friend invites you behind the bar - don't start charging for free drinks and pocketing the money - to whomever it may concern, IOU £20. 

Oh the disgraceful life I lead. 

Hope you all had better days than mine. That is all.

No, not another 'Anti' Valentines Day post...

 

 

Source: (all) Fashion Gone Rogue

Contrary to the 'blah-ing' of yester year...  I'm feeling in the mood for all things valentine (perhaps this is why I'm blogging a whole lotta naked recently)...

Anywho, to speak of it yet would be to jinx it...  

:-*

Just give me lacey and sexual.

Shine and love x

MM x


twitter.com/MarlboroMartini

Things that happen when I get drunk

The running man  (always and forever. Amen)

Pizza and wedges

More running man

Big macs

Falling asleep on the bus home (primrose hill) and waking up in Finsbury Park - WTF??? 

Finally making it to bed and falling asleep in one of a kind pleated dress brought from NYC that cannot be ironed (is now crinkled to shitsville), leather jacket, Max Mara coat & full face of make-up. 

Not being able to open my left eye for a full 20 mins the next morning. 

Why does being drunk equate to eating as much food as I am able to get my hands on? I may have to change my name to Marlboro 'Muffin top' Martini aka human dustbin. Yummers.

Another interesting thing that happened last night when I got drunk was bumping into an ex who was obviously on a date. I decided it would be a good idea to go over and say hello.

I was that drunk.

More proof?

When my friend escorted me away from the awkwardness, I grabbed a random guy's sunglasses (hello 2am in a bar in London?! Fail) put them on, then kind of jumped on his back and spread my arms pretending I was an aeroplane.

There are pictures.


I acknowledge this is inappropriate behaviour for a human being - yet I am still secretly kind of proud of myself.

Blah.

MM x

Digital love.

Online dating.

How do you say that without losing all cred? You can't.  Which is why after a full week of editing, I'm still hesitant to publish this post.

OK so hear me out.  I have not began to make shiny love in the online space, this is not one of those stories.

It’s almost one of those stories.

Actually, more like a cautionary tale…like, ummm.  Just keep reading.

The idea was put into my head after a several conversations with annoyingly loved up friends that went like this.

Friend: You want a fancy man, why don’t you try on-line dating?

Me: Because online dating is for weirdo’s who light matches and flick them at unsuspecting passers by. People who are too socially inept to meet people in the real world. 

No matter how many times friends try and pull out the 'online big-guns', I always respond with a resounding NO. don't ask me why, but online dating always equates to men who try and set fire to other people. 

Yet 'friends' always seem to think they know best.

[Another]Friend: Seriously, My friend’s, sister’s best-friend met her new fiancé online – they are sooo-hooo in lurrrrve

When people over emphasize it is a clear indication that they have no idea what they are talking about.  Proof:

Friend: like really, he is taking her to Fiji next week – they are totally getting married. Really.

When they have said this all I can think is - I bet he has a cape, can lift a tow truck with one arm and save a baby from a burning building at the same time.  Oh and I bet he walks around in big red pants.  I want to say this every-time, but instead I stuck with the simple

Me: Umm nah.

So how did I find myself browsing a certain online dating site?

I could tell you that I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.  I would be lying.

The truth is a friend who was already online told asked me to help her 'shop for men'.  I love to shop.  when someone pushes the shop element of anything I will buy into it. If someone shouted randomly who wants to shop for Oompa  Loompas I would shout 'ME, ME ME' credit card waving my raised arm while my other hand shields my crotch like the annoying wee-wee girl you were inevitably sat next too all the time in school assembly. Even with NO money the will to have said 'item' is usually enough, I tend to stare at the store owner until they give me what I want. Or call the police.

I digress.

This friend - nymph-like blonde actress- wanted me to help pick out a suitable date since her LA actor boyfriend moved back to LA.

At first I made the squinty-eyed face, I was too afraid to look directly at the screen expecting to see misshapen men who looked like they would howl they are exposed to too much sunlight. So I was surprised/ relieved to find that all the main components were there.

1 pair of eyes – check

1 nose – check

1 mouth – check.

Between this point and actually selecting guys that were to go in her 'shopping basket' I became addicted (some were sooo pretty- I like pretty), so much so when said friend suggested that I get my own profile, I had one set-up quicker than you could say '£30 quid subscription and profile pic'. I'd even thought of a online dating name pseudonym -  ‘Marlboro’ cunningly disguised as 'Marl-85’. 

This is when the story gets ouchy - an hour in.

Ouch number one:

Accidentally eyeballing the profile of a guy I once dated at uni - tall, blonde, captain of the football team tried-to-hook-up-with-my-best-friend-while-we-were-still-dating guy.

Yikes.

As soon as I realized who it was I clicked off.

DID YOU KNOW WHEN YOU CLICK ONTO THEIR PROFILE THEY CAN SEE YOU?

I didn't.

Him being dim, starting 'chatting' to me (like I would want to speak to him???? 7 years on and I'm still clutching onto that grudge like there is no tomorrow).

I won't even go into the details of the conversation.  Just know that it was awkward. After a about 2 mins I got very frustrated with social niceties and just asked outright if he had 'gotten fat and unattractive? Is that why he grooming people online?'

This is where the conversation ended.

In the meantime I had ouch number two awaiting me in my inbox.

An email which read:

'Hey little Marl... Long time, no speak.'

An email from an ex love interest - actor, complete with personality disorder & drug addiction - who called me 'little'.  

I ignored it.  Then I hid my profile. THEN I DELETED MY PROFILE.

I have come to the following conclusion, online dating websites are not full of weirdo's per say - they are just a place where the men you have shoved out of your life have gone to die.   They are not so much full of men who start fires as opposed to men who should be set a-light.

The year of the 'we' was threatening to get the better of me but in my 'search' (which took 2 hours and left me £30 out of pocket) I have discovered this:

It is better to feel the fabric before committing to purchase - this can only be done in the real world. Seeing the wrong the fabric coming gives you time to run in the other direction, especially if its one you had worn before and remember how much you hated it the first time.


Men on-line are there for a reason.  Women online are just misguided (and snowed in). Naturally.

Wow, it feels so good to finally get that off my chest.


MM x

*and before you say it, I've had the 'you don't need to go online for love' (confused face) I have had this conversation 1,000,000 times since with many of my friends. I also had one who just screamed NOOOOOOOOOO and hit me over the head with her clutch.

Things that make me go 'OMG I'm so over this'

I tried to start this year on a positive note and for the most part I have been happy in my 60% off shopping bubble... but then there is something about this week (and we are only on tuesday I'd like to add) that is bringing out the less chipper side of my personality.

OK so I'm not chipper, but it works better than 'less than impressed but mildly amused - side of my personality' in a sentence.

Perhaps its because it is currently minus 4 degrees in London

Perhaps because I walked to work froze my nose and ears gave my self a headache.

Perhaps because on route a dog in the park wanted to make sweet doggy love to my fur coat.

Perhaps its because when I got into work the lift was not working  (despite being upgraded for a month before christmas) so I had to walk the three flights up to my floor.

Perhaps because all day because of a burst pipe I could smell the toilets (two floors!?) down from my desk and/ or  because the central heating seems to be focusing all its efforts on giving my sinuses an undeserved workout and making me sweat through my tee-shirt/ jumper/ two pairs of tights, socks and maxi skirt.

Or maybe because the lady at EAT in Selfridges gave me attitude at lunch and put my cupcake in the box upside down on purpose. The winter makes everyone grumpy, go figure.


I hear tomorrow is a snowday...


...I'm crawling back into bed with marshmellows hot chocolate and SATC and not re-emerging until summer.

MM x

No longer in fashion...

... The single girl is dead -

Well according to the Sunday times style anyway.

It appears as though it is no longer possible to be 'cool' and to be single.  According to the Times, the sexy singleton will be left in the nougties along with 'boho' (yes ladies of primrose hill, get a clue and put your shoes back on) and studs (well one can only hope).  2010 - 20 will be the decade of the 'we'.


I don't normally read the times, especially on a sunday, and after reading the article written by Shane Watson I now know why - because articles about anything other than next seasons 'it' shoe or interviews with Jamie Doran bum me out. Terribly.

This article's statement puts me in a real tizzle.  I am (as many of us) of the SATC generation.  The most important things to me for the last 5-6 years have been smoking, shoes, cocktails - well in my case beer - and men who only exist on the peripheral. Guys you date so you have someone to laugh about when you go for cocktails - or beer - with your single but dating friends. 

Smoking is now banned (apparently it's bad for your health,  SATC has ended-with all girls 'in a relationship' (I hear a rumour that in SATC 2 film Samantha gets married too!?) and the recession has put cocktails into the 'unnecessary expense' category which means like starbucks £3 coffees - no one is drinking them anymore.

You know what all of my friends are doing now? Buying vegetables with their other halfs. 

Vegetables, like really.

It happened slowly at first, but it has become clear I am the only single left in the village - the only one clinging to the SATC glory days when the single girl reigned. My housemate's birthday dinner 2 weeks ago, I was the only single in the room, (room/ village -I'm a londoner, there is not much difference in my understanding of villages and rooms of people - scale and size only make sense to me in reference to dress sizes and diamonds in jewelery. This is not the time to pull me up on such issues).

I want to fight this; every part of me wants to devise ways of getting my recently hooked up friends back in the 'right' side of a relationship. However I realise that there are certain things boy toys do for my friends that I would absolutely not, so I have decided that 2010 will be the year of the 'we' for me too (I decided the 2009 would be the year of the 'we' for me but then with only 2 days left I better roll it over to give myself a bit of time to meet the 'he' to complete my 'we'). 

This means in 2010 that I actually have to date normal men, no men with substance abuse problems (I do go on about this but seriously- it has been one of those years where every man I dated came complete with an addiction to a class A drug), no men who have hair longer than mine, no men named 'Wolf' and no men who ride motorbikes and do 'stuff' all day (although if Justin Bobby asks I'm sayin' yes).


Basically no men that I actually find attractive.

Great. I cannot wait.

Thanks Shane Watson. Thanks a lot.

MM x

If he refers to his man parts as his 'pipi' this is not a good sign...

and other things 2009 has taught me.

If I were to write a letter to myself at the beginning of the year to warn myself about 2009 it would read like this:

Dear Marlboro,

If you had any sense you would listen to what I have to tell you, but you are a stubborn shopaholic who 'knows best' so you probably won't. Despite this I am going to impart my wise words on you anyway - some things about 2009 that you should be aware of:

You will cut your hair into a page boy crop only to wish you had longer hair. You will despise your 'courage' for getting the chop and each and every one of your friends who encouraged you to 'go for it'.  As if that was not enough hate, your neck will be very annoyed at you as now it is cold.All.The.Time.

It does not take 5 months to grow your hair back to its original length despite how supernatural you believe your follicles to be.

Regardless of what your hairdresser tells you, you do not need a trim every 6 weeks.  Don't let that scissor wielding fiend near your tresses- how will it grow if she is cutting it all the time?  It will only end in tears.

You are five foot ten in height,therefore you will not last an hour in 6 inch heels be they Marni's, Giuseppe Zanotti or Prada. You will live in your Bally brogues and you will love living in your Bally brogues.  Save yourself the cash.

You will spend the entire year wishing the color out of your wardrobe because 'black is so Givenchy' only to reach the end of the year wishing that you JUST HAD SOMETHING THAT WAS ORANGE and go nuts with the credit card. Again save yourself the cash.


True blood will take over your life, and you will finally see the ugliness of that program 'ugly Betty'.

You will face relationship karma this year:

Remember the New Yorker who flew to Paris to take you to dinner when you lived there? Remember when you moved back to London and you decided (after he took you on a very impressively expensive date and drove you back home in his fancy car) to not call him again no explanation? Because of your crappy attitude 2009 will only bring you men with ridiculous substance abuse problems, ginger hair and men who cannot afford their own socks.

Men who are 'artists' are hot, but within reason.  When they are artists and 35, still in school and excited about getting their student loan so they no longer have to deliver bread in the morning- call it a day.

The only person you fall in love with this year is Justin Bobby from The City, and even then you go off him because he cuts his hair, and refuses to come out of the TV and live with you no matter how many times you ask him. Good luck with that.

Your Max Mara beige wool/ cashmere coat will be the best purchase you make this year - you will want to sleep in this coat.  Don't, really don't.

MAC will discontinue your favorite lipstick - that's right fool, 'odyessy' will be gone... stop reading this and GO STOCK UP, GO NOW.

You will fall flat on your face at Palais de Tokyo in Paris, in front of Justice, Yuksek and the dude from Metronomy you will end up in hospital. 2ce. Remember what I said about those 6 inchers and if nothing else take THAT on board.

At the end of 2009 you will only be capable of writing in lists.

Your blog will bring you 171 new friends, your trip to NYC will introduce you to even more and the year will be an incredibly shiny one (despite your idiocy regarding your credit card and hair).

It will snow this Christmas.

Smile

MM x

Too much work messes with the mind: Email conversations du jour

From: Nicola 6

To: Marlboro

I had a nightmare yesterday that a fat man tried to mount me, followed by another nightmare involving one of my old school friends coming to my bday effectively cracked out and in tears. 

No job is worth this level of madness. Think I’ll invest in rescue remedy at lunchtime. 

From: Marlboro

To: Nicola 6

I know this was not meant to be funny but I am close to tears!

I had a dream, I had some work to do with the team but this psycho guy kept on coming over to kill them off.  Then he trapped us on the edge of a mountain and said ‘ find me in the park tomorrow – I’ll empty a woman’s face’ and then disappeared.

I am not making this up, I literally remembered because of you. 

Make my rescue remedy a double.

From: Nicola 6

To: Marlboro

You can have the bottle. You.Need.The.Bottle.

It's 8.55pm and I am still at work, my eyes are teary because don't think I will make it home in time to see TrueBlood.  

I also think my Jedi mind powers are failing me because no matter how I try and use them on my boss, the work keeps pouring in.

Can't complain though, Paris on sunday - yay me...

*sob* 

Marlboro Martini x x  

Marboro On: I cannot be trusted

...to keep my promises and update as I say that I will and I make no apology for that, because being untrustworthy is part of my charm.

It appears as though in the run up to 2010 my weeks are beginning to run in themes, perhaps in some weird way the universe is trying bring some amusement into my final few months of 2009 and *whispers* and as a 25 year old. 

Last week there was definately 'a shiny sleep and pie'  theme. I was eating, sleeping and dreaming in steak and cheese and spinach and ricotta fillings...the theme was goooooood, (don't get me started you know it only leads to belly rubbing).

Next week I suspect will be Frenchie week, I already have lined up a French cinema date and am organising a French themed dinner party as a birthday treat for a friend. I'm cooking, it won't be that much of a treat.

This weeks theme was definitely 'substitute sleep for a pint' and the clue here really is in the name. Its is 7.54 am right now and up until approximately 7 hours ago, I had not had a full nights sleep for going out to work/ client meetings/ client dinners (blah) gigs, parties, cocktails more gigs (yay-but then also blah).

Invariably, I have done so much but because it is so early I cannot physically write it all out right now, I'm so tired I want to chew on my mattress once again, but with good reason.

But I will update, and be considerably better with updating from now on rather than just talking about it.

MM x x

Marlboro On: Shag, Marry, Kill

Hello my name is Marlboro Martini and I'm back blogging my sex life again.

We've all played this game right? Out of a selection of three guys 'who would you...?', and then you go on to place the guy into a catergory. The 'Kill' selection usually the least attractive of the bunch.

Shame shame.

So it's Sunday night I'm in bed, its 11pm. The previous night (and most of the day) I slept 13 solid hours straight so I'm having a hard time dropping off and as I have work the next day I am mildly irritated as well.

My phone goes off, I think it's Princess texting me AGAIN about the Chloe shoes that have not arrived for the third week in a row because of the postal strike. These text have been coming thick and fast since I got back from NYC and are usually four worders like blah. to. the. world. or something of that ilk, but as other peoples shoe pain amuses me no end (you with small feet will never undertsand), I open up the text to read it anyway- for the laughs.

But it's not her.

Instead, it's him the 'shag' guy, the architypal 'Marlboro' guy who is metaphorically speaking, the guy I have been sleeping with since the history of my adult life, the hot and stupid guy. In this particular instance the hot stupid guy is the fucking numpty neighbour.

For those of you who don't remember this story I stopped having sex with when this happened and also because his calls every other week asking if I knew where he could 'score some weed' - again, almost always on a sunday night-were not a turn on.

Hey, around? Alone...

Short, consise and... coherent. The fact that I could make sense out of what he was saying would have impressed me if I was not filled with the rage. Because every relationship I have winds up like this. The 3 word sex text and with the same old junkie/ recovering junkie/ I promise I'm no longer a junkie type.

I called Princess.

I thought he was like dead... urgh. He. makes. me. sick. WHY does he even bother? Eww. *flicks hair and pulls her 'me-no likey' squinty face, all of which I can sense even though we are talking on the phone*The fact is I get it, men like him are just like that, hot hot idiots. If you foolishly get some sort of urge to respond. Throw your phone out of the window instead.


Roll forward two days. It's Tuesday night and I'm having beers in the Lock Taven with a Guy I have been friends with since I was 21 (I'm 25, yes 25, soon to be 26 blah to the world), let's Just call him Dean, who has just moved back from Japan after working there for 2 years.

About 6 months before he left for Japan, he told me had a major crush on me and then broke up with his girlfriend.

About 4 months before he left, we ended up in bed together.

On the night in questions I was very drunk. I remember waking up at about 3am and congratulating myself on making it home and managing to get into bed without being sick (I was in such a state)...

...That was until I noticed I was not alone, to which my instinctive reaction was to scramble out out of my bed and sneak into bed with my housemate... and as if that wasn't bad enough, afterwards I proceeded to carry on the next day as if nothing had happened.

If someone had done this to me, I would have died.

Despite this, he has carried on being my friend. We have since hung out a lot, we are constantly in touch and he is probably one of the closest male friends I have.

Last night over conversations about girls he has 'Dean'-i-fied 'translation: turned crazy', (I forgot to mention he is very attractive) I realise that actually a guy this good looking and nice should be the one to shack up with, you know have sex with and marry... Then I caught the eye and proceeded to flirt with the guy wearing the ironic fedora hat, shoulder length hair, shiny dimples and sleeveless - yes sleeveless - lumberjack shirt, (clearly a substance abuser/ reformed axe murder/ incoherant irritant of my usual taste), over his shoulder.

... And here This is my point, whenever I play the game 'shag/Marry/ Kill' My answers always remain the same.

Have sex with the constantly broke substance abusing, oaf with the sexy face, 2 syllable sentences and very simple conversation.

Marry the constantly broke substance abusing, oaf with the sexy face, 2 syllable sentences and very simple conversation.

Then kill the constantly broke substance abusing, oaf with the sexy face, 2 syllable sentences and very simple conversation...

... and make the nice guy sleep on the couch at all times...

Great. Roll on spinsterdom

MM x x x x x

Marlboro On: Home sweet home...

Back.

Tired.

Need shower.

Need to book teeth cleaning with denist.

Need to book hairdressers appointment.

Need to take 'once was milk, now is cheese' thing out of the fridge and to the shoot.

Need to sleep.

Need to post travel Pics.

NYC. WOW.

NYC Shiny.


MM x

Marlboro On: Final day in NYC

I'm being a true tourist, going to see the Lady Liberty, walk the Brooklyn Bridge drink $5 shakes and eat hotdogs a la Uma from Pulp Fiction (was that even based in NYC?). 

I am buying everyone I know $3 I love NYC tees. lovely.

Oh, I'm also bringing back 6lbs of extra ass to London town- burrito, pasta, burgers and fries will do that to some people...

EDIT*

... and my new Ray Ban clubmasters, the new love of my life.

MM x  

Marlboro On: This is a private party, do not pass go

Remember in the last post I did how I said I was a bad blogger?

It goes beyond that.

I HAVE attended some spectacular events here in NYC and I HAVE taken pictures... Good pictures, great pictures in fact...

I also forgot to bring my uploader cable with me, so I can't actually upload my photies to the blog.

Marlboro Martini; do. not. collect. $200. do. not. pass. go.

Last night was the final night of Fashion Week in NYC and after hitting the meatpacking district and going for another few drinks on the lower east side we headed to a bar located at the Jane hotel on a very cute DJ's recommendation.  This bar being described as 'THE place to be seen' sounded the total opposite of  the kind of place I would be interested in going to had I been on home turf, but wanting to be a true NYC mutherfudger I was more than enthusiastic about going there.  As we turned the corner I sensed the vibe was quite intense as there were guys managing taxis arriving up the street (think orange coats and wavy light thingies like those people that help land a plane at the airport) to control the hoards of people arriving.  

We -myself and the 3 other sexuals with me- got in the 'line' and queued for like 15mins (we were specifically warned not to do this by the DJ, instead we were told to march straight to the front and demand to be let in... Hello? Me Englishhhh, yeah, we just don't have it in us to do that) and when we finally reach the front, the 'guestlist bitch' tells us that this is a private party before looking us up and down and telling us to step out of the line. 

I repeat telling to step out of line.  No room for conversation or negotiation as she was already verbally castrating the group of people behind us with the exact same sentence.

 

This is has never happened to me before. I did not know what to do with myself. 

Sheer frustration made me want to punch her in the face.

This is perhaps the universe was indirectly telling me to party less and blog more...*

MM x 

*In which case it needed to try harder as I was still drinking $5 cocktails at 3am this morning.

Marlboro On: NYC

After 2 nights of awakeness due to pure excitement, I'm off to the city that never sleeps.

I have involuntarily packed a pair of shoes for each day. I don't even have clothes just Zanotti, Prada, Marni madness for my feet... not a stitch to wear.

It's fine, I don't care really...its about time the naked cowboy had some company in Time Square.

I would take pics of the shoe collection raping my luggage however I'm too busy necking Rosé wine and eating my 85p chicken sarnie from Tescos.

Oh yeah and I will be bringing the glamour to fashion weekas well...

See you in NYC x x x x x

MMX

Marlboro On: Things that make you go oooouch

Seeing -£XXXX In front of every bank account statement.

Time for someone to begin looking for a second job me thinks? Or perhaps Time for someone to consider killing themselves...

Hmm.

MMx