The mating call of the Essex girl

Q: What's the mating call of the Essex girl?
A: "I'm *sooo* drunk!"

Q: What is the mating call of the ugly Essex girl?
A: (Screaming) "I said: I'm drunk!"

Don't think I've been sober since about lunchtime Friday. The Christmas office party started off boringly enough with lots of blah blah blah... successful year....thanks for all the hard work... we love you (but not enough to give you a bonus)...blaaaah....

And then it gets fuzzy. Somewhere between tequila body shots and absinthe (don't know how to spell it), I lost about 9 hours. I also lost my shoes (my favourite hooker heels!), 2 packs of fags and one earring.

How about your dignity, I hear you ask? Not sure... Was suffering from major post-shitfaced-uncertainty and depression on Saturday, which called for more booze and copious amounts of crisps, and another fuzzy, boozy Saturday night and Sunday morning.

Haven't really had time yet to ponder the whole dignity thing, but I think the fact that I couldn't sleep and absolutely dreaded getting up this morning is probably an indication of my underlying mental state...

Fuck, I'm quite profound even with a 2-day hangover..

Rolled around all night, praying for either sleep or unconciousness or even for the damned boogeyman to just jump out of the closet and take me the fuck away. At least I wouldn't have to go to work then...

I eventually fell into a fitful sleep on wrinkled sheets and a damp, sweaty pillow - what felt like mere seconds before my alarm started shouting at me to get up and face the world.

There's no escaping.

Chin up, tits out. I'm an Essex girl, fuckit. It takes a lot more than this to get us down.

Usually...