another day another bag

Thing is, i'd rather hop into a cab on my own, pay the 20 dollar meter than to have to endure 2o mins of forced conversation and unwelcomed company. And i'd pick the 'staying home on a friday night with nothing but the telly for company' option over drinks at House@ Dempsey if the mood doesn't strike me. Would that make me seem like an anti-social snob? To some it would. I'd like to term it as 'preferring the company of one's self'.

Melissa gave me a fortune cookie on sat night. I broke it while taking a dump in the MOS bathroom stall. It read:
'A hug is a great gift.... one size fits all. '

Run and hide. That's all the advice you're getting.

The energy on sat night was over the roof! If i were a tad taller, i'd have fought my way over to the dj console to reach over and grab one of their(jono, tony or paavo) hands.

Or arms.

Or some part of their anatomy.

It didn't matter whose.

They were amazing. A&B. Got the crowd in a shuffling frenzy.

And shuffle we did. In our '4-inched suede pumps'(me!) and barefoot(mel: She was afraid to break her new pair of heels).

I left at 5, got home put on my uniform and reported straight to work. If my feet could speak i shudder at the obscenities that they'd have directed at me. It was around 4pm when i knocked off and finally had the chance to put my feet up. My clients were really sweet though. Pleasant 8 hours if sore feet weren't counted. There was even a boy of like 14-15yrs, who handed me a rose made out of Ferrero Rocher chocolate wrappers. Aww.... made me feet hurt a teeny-weeny bit less.

I hate having to work on sundays. The day of Sabbath. It should officially be crowned Hangover Sunday; the one day in the week that everyone is decreed to do nothing but lie around in a state of semi-veg and munch on fried chicken and fries.

Bought a duffel bag from Country Road to reward myself. =) =)

*ponders

rewarding myself.......For???

Hmm... either a) enduring 8 hours of work with blistered feet.

Or

b) being an ass. blatantly ignoring the fact that i had work the next morning and fighting for space on the girls podium so i could shuffle to A&B for a couple of hours in complete bliss.

Mommy's gonna be so mad. Last week i got an earful for buying a tiny 68 euro Longchamp bag. I was eyeing the Legende Maxi which would have set me back 580 euros, but mommy wouldn't hear of it.

"Why'd you need Another bag for?!!"

My mommy clearly isn't from Venus. She's from some far off planet in a completely different dimension where women own one pair of shoes and carry one bag, only replacing them once in a decade when they wear out or totally disintegrates. Whichever happens first.