ARGH

I should not be allowed to leave the house. EVER.

Furthermore, I REALLY should not be allowed to interact socially with anyone other than my boyfriend. That way mortification lies.

SO.

I collapsed and passed out outside Tottenham Court Road station yesterday night. Surrounded by concerned/amused people who thought I was too wasted to stand at 10pm on a Wednesday.

Oh yes. How marvellously fucking embarrassing.

SIGH

I’ll start at the beginning,

A friend’s birthday rolls around, and not only have I not seen her in about a year... I haven’t seen her since I started losing weight and gaining crazy. We had a very love/hate relationship – on my part mostly. I mean, she IS lovely, and she DOES mean well and we’ve been friends for years, but that doesn’t mean that sometimes I don’t fantasise about grabbing her by her pretty platinum blonde hair and ruining her pretty perfect face with my knee.

Ahem.

I’m so fucking bitter. But I’m oddly okay with it. Accepting my flaws and all that, I’m a pretty jealous and bitter person sometimes. And for the whole time we’ve known each other, she’s been prettier than me, thinner than me and more outgoing than me. And everything anyone has ever done and mentioned to her, chances are she did it first. And so much better. But simultaneously I love her to bits. I made her a card I drew myself and everything.

Hmm... It’s very oxymoronic in a manner that exists only in female friendships, I imagine. As a guy, it seems so much simpler - they’re either cool, or a bit of a wank. Every so often I hate having female friends; I’m such a fucking man so much of the time. Too forthright. Too insensitive. Not enough of a lady. Pfft. But, I digress.

I arrived at the pub, she stood to give me a hug and... well, so much for her miraculous ability to eat whatever she wants and not gain a pound. The pounds found her.

And I positively GLOWED with happiness

The evening actually got better from there. There was talking, laughing the dodging of probing enquiries about my personal life like a conversational ninja. It was great! And over and over in my head; ‘she’s gained weight’, ‘I’m thinner than her!’ It made me feel amazing.

Fast forward about an hour, we’re on the tube to the next bar and I am feeling a bit... dodgy. The single measure of vodka I had in my ONLY alcoholic drink is swirling around nauseatingly in my stomach, the laxatives I took earlier are rumbling around in my digestive tract and the lack of food (Obviously, so my stomach would be lovely and flat that night) with the heat of the tube carriage is making me VERY lightheaded and dizzy. But I convince myself it’ll be fine. I’ll tell myself feel better in the fresh air and after I find a toilet.

On the escalator, after two flights of stairs, and I’m fairly certain I’m about to throw up ALL over my concerned boyfriend and the three people standing behind him. I’m sure I look as gormless as they come as the world tilts and spins sickeningly around me, but at that point I’m basically past caring. The people of our group in front of me on the escalator get off and mill around behind the ticket barriers, waiting to be told which way to go – and as there are quite a few, the polite thing to do would be to gesture that the way I had headed was the right one. But I am too unsteady on my feet to be well-mannered as well as about to vomit and/or shit myself – I brush past them, stumble through the ticket barriers and stagger up another three flights of stairs towards the cool breeze I can feel so tantalisingly close to my sweaty face.

At street level the cool night air is not the sweet relief I imagined it would be. I think I was vaguely upright and conscious for about four seconds before the world tilted particularly violently, twirling on its axis, I lost the ability to keep my feet under me no matter how hard I tried and hit the pavement on my arse. Fucking hard.

Embarrassment would have bloomed on my face immediately, but I was preoccupied with all semi-unconsciousness and my mouth that wouldn’t respond properly as I tried to speak. I’m sure every weak excuse I tried to explain away my sudden collapse with was slurred horribly.

Superbly convincing, I imagine.

And obviously at the first social event I‘ve dared attend after the Barbecue Fiasco too. Fabulous. Completely appropriate when I haven’t seen these people in about a year. Not that there really is a social event at which complete collapse is appropriate. But this MAY have successfully convinced me to never leave the house again.

Soon, I’ll try some damage control maybe. Any ideas of excuses for my sudden collapse?



As for my unveiling...

POW. Me in all my glory;

One my boyfriend took at the park yesterday. I’m probably trying to be cute, or something.

And another when he caught me giving a skinny girl a sideways look of jealousy. Though oddly, it does look like I'm smiling. I wasn't. But my tattoo IS in this one, so I guess it stays up.

That’s all for now, really. I would have posted yesterday but I was cowering in burning shame

Ta ta, lovelies