It's a long way to the top if you wana Rock & Roll

So I always feel it necessary to put a few words together after a blistering event of copious intoxication. I feel I must prove that beyond the inebriation, still works the jungle of neurons and wires that is my brain.

You see, the desire to party like a rockstar, stems not only from lack of total self control, but also the deceptive abundance of attractive invites. There will forever be a reason to go out in public and pull a blundering Lindsay Lohan. If its not a birthday, or a sports gathering, it's an emotional platform on which to simply vent your destabilising internal intolerances.

Saturday evening, for example. I will refrain from using names in order to respect anonymity. It started with an intimate gathering at the local trendy bar for a friends birthday (this being my reason for choosing wine over water, ofcourse). My skin was still unbruised, my makeup on my face, and my hair an obedient straightness that would make a ghd rage with jealousy.

The night started off with a bit of harmless banter and a few warm chuckles. This was the part of the evening where we still maintained an adult level of intellect by exchanging opinions on current affairs and well written articles. After a few caramel tequilas and the first of my much regretted jagers, the discussions soon became a slurred mumble of the following recongised words: Need another drink? What time we going to Rocca? Can I borrow your lip gloss? And yeah we should totally do that tomorrow (huh, never gona happen).

Albeit the slow decline began at this enticing watering hole, the rapid increase fast accelerated once we got our stamp of shame at the entrance of Rocca bar. Just the name itself spells, your'e a dirty rockstar who's about to expose your festering layers of ultimate infamy! If I remember correctly, or incorrectly rather, I dont think I even had another drink once proceeding to the club of self- inflicted pain. The reason being, was that I thought it a much better idea to substitute a tall of glass of  poison for a smaller glass of liquid suicide. I can still taste the jagermeiser!

After countless shooters, and meaningless small talk with hovering randoms, I felt my state of consciousness begin to acknowledge the reality of absolutely no return. My shoes started to come off, along with my make- up, my hair started to weave itself into an Amy Winehouse beehive, and my dance moves resembled a swaying horses tail that bopped 2 beats behind the music. At this point I had lost the birthday girl as well as my other friends, and found myself starting to cry. Of course the reason for these squirting tears were unknown to both myself and surrounding acquaintances. But what added to the mystery of my melancholy, was my uncanny ability to cry whilst still dancing to the monotonous doef doef. As for as I was concerned, there were only tears, a little sweat, but no blood, thereby rendering the act of surrender not yet applicable.

Once I had come to the conclusion that I in fact could not find the birthday girl, who at this point was in a state of blissful trance I'm sure, god bless her relentless commitment to the disco ball! I decided It was time I hailed an unroadworthy cab and put myself to bed. The ride with the total stranger was probably my most dubious point of the evening. I remembered he smiled alot, but in a creepy way! Upon arrival at my apartment gate, I realised that I had "accidentally" spent all my green stuff. I began to search vigorously through my purse, sticking my fingers in pockets that didnt exist, splitting the cheaply sewn seams, to find still not a dime. The driver, who did not seem quite as amused by this as I was, agreed to take me back to the club to find a friend would pick up the tab. The poor nominated fella who had the honour of helping, did so at 3 x the cab bill.

When the morning came round, I greeted it eyes shut, with hate, disgust and a sand dune in my mouth. I vowed to never again accept an invitation to celebrate an event, but to in future send an intentful card and sincerest apologies for my absence in advance. The lesson learned? I await the subject of next week mondays blog ha!

So my observation is this, a rockstar does not only refer to a  musical talent. The inherent qualities of a rockstar,of which i'm still working on, prove to be a person who subjects themselves to on-going remorse through blatant intoxication, doesnt bruise or scar easily-(internally and externally), and knowing that the orignal plans for transport home will fail dismally, always leaves a little green for the cab!

Like this post if your'e a rockstar ( This is where i shrink with humiliation because people have not read this and 6 months down the line there is still no Like ha)

P.s Due to the level of ambiguity on which this night rests, some of the above is subject to questionable accuracy.