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Saturday, January 13
Champagne for my real friends.
Party's over, finally. I was not so much tired out by walking around Clarke Quay in heels and a dress trying to sell polaroid shots and party tickets, as the endless begging and message-sending I've been doing for the past week, trying to get people to come down for it.
Time to dump the fake buddy-buddy aura. *Shudders*
Still, thank you very very much to those who did come down, or at least attempted to - it was very much appreciated! I realise it wasn't exactly the most happening party of the century, but at least the tequila was worth it right? (And save a shot for me next time, please.)
I suppose having Fergie's voice incessantly pounding into your ear isn't exactly the most ideal time to be pondering about the deeper questions of life - but the boom of the bassline is surprisingly adequate for such thoughts, especially if you're particularly sober from a meagre glass of whiskey coke. So there I was, swaying my tired aching feet to the music, smiling like I actually felt the groove - and not feeling the tiniest bit satisfied. Perhaps one of the only things that made it all better is standing right next to me in that photo above [; Aww!
Yeah so, back from a party in which I had more polaroid shots then tequila ones, I'd say the night passed by in a flash, if you know what I mean. Oh ha ha.