Dear Diary,
I woke up today in my pink canopy bed in my Fifth Avenue penthouse with Chantelle on one side of the bed and Olivia B on the floor, who had fallen off the king-sized whilst sleeping. All I see around me are 3 empty bottles of champagne, a broken YSL foundation bottle and a stench of weed from across the room by the windowsill. What I seem to remember from last night is us all deciding it was a great idea to wear a pink, purple and blue bob wigs and the most enormous Gucci sunglasses we could find in my drawers. Then we caught a taxi (ahem, what is with me and public transportation?) to some new bar that was opening up downtown. To make a long story short, while I was oh-so gracefully dancing on the counter top, I slipped and FLASHED EVERYONE! It was nearly as bad as the time I had to wear one of the sweaty old uniform jumpers from the lost and found box at school when I mine "mysteriously" disappeared whilst walking to the campus near Bergdorf's. Anyway, I just so happened to make the front cover of every trashy tabloid in town. Which isn't the WORST thing, I mean, I have a good rack if I do say so myself! You'd have to be VERY lucky to see them! But my parents are totally gonna flip when they see this! Is it possible to buy every single issue of a magazine from every newstand in the city? Anyway, enough about my boobs. I'm pretty sure one of us ending up puking into our wigs by the end of the night. Then we ended up throwing them into the lake past Central Park. Now they're all roaming around the city somewhere, probably keeping a family of pigeons very warm in their nest. I have to go get dressed and possibly go for a 8 day cleansing detox somewhere in the Mediterranean until this story dies down. I'll update you soon!
Xoxo, B 💖. |
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