I used to get emails from people saying that they loved being able to come home from work and switch off with a delicious cup of tea and some tales from The Dirthouse.
Now that I'm a full-time working girl I know exactly what they mean. I know what hard working people expect when they come home and unleash their boobies from their bras. They're thinking Come on HOB I've been taking messages and changing bin liners all day, entertain me!
Well all you demanding bastards be entertained by this! I've slipped from Bourke St to struggle street in recent weeks after entering the world of 'the salary' aka full-time work.
I've had absolutely no time lately to think about my problems and compile them into humorous, whimsical sentences.
As a matter of fact Mr R called me at the airport last week just as he got back from Costa Rica and my response to his seductive "Hey gorgeous, long time no speak" was a very unromantic "Oi yeah do u know a number for a good, cheap...its got to be cheap office cleaner in the Surry Hills area? about 100 square meters."
It's official these days I can't tell the difference between a customer service representative and my mother. If you can make me money we can have coffee. More on my new job as PR girl for a fabulous lingerie company later!
For now lets entertain us both with photos from my birthday last weekend!
*Warning the following captions may be short, crude and sound as though they have been written by a 11 year old boy with no comprehension of the English language. My eighth cup of coffee for the day is beginning to wear off.
Yay special balloons, good. roses.
Ms P made my entire b-day week with this incredible drawing of my room! Isn't she a cutie for including the Bourke St sign and making me look really skinny!
For my birthday I also got one, two, three...four, five...
....six, seven, eight...nine, ten...one hundred and eighty two seamen...
And one creepy yet unbelievably lovably high school friend...
Friday night the Noosa Queens collaborated with the Dirthouse Queens to go fishing for sailors. But this was not before we took some super hot selfies.
Cute!
Pretty!
Hmmm?
To be honest the night wasn't the same after a woman in the bottle shop told us that sailors had the highest rate of STI in the world.
But you can't catch herpes from talking right?
Or rubbing each others inner thighs?
I remained relatively sober throughout the night because there was no way I was going to be hung over for my birthday party.
Now thats a night I won't be forgetting any time soon!
TBC...
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