I just got back from a 3-day music festival in Scotland and the number one thing I’ve learned about myself is- I am quite comfortable being filthy. I accumulated dirt in crevices on my face I didn’t know existed (in conclusion-I need botox) and peed in places I’m not proud to admit.
Taking all those two things into consideration, I think would be a kick ass cave woman. Well, as long as I had fire to make a tea before bed. And a blow-up mattress. And wet wipes. And a mirror. And makeup. Okay, so maybe cave woman is an exaggeration. The modern Jane to a Tarzan is more accurate. I’d sit in our suped-up tree house watching Big Brother on our flat-screen while he hunts and gathers, then I’d make a nice dinner before Dexter came on, then finish the day with a proper ravaging. Yap. I could do that.
Sorry, I have a bad habit of getting off topic, which of course is- How much dirt does it take to contract hepatitis?
If you’ve ever been to an overnight festival, or even just an outdoor concert that got real sweaty, you’ll understand that accepting your a disgusting bag of germs is a necessary part to having a good time. But there is a line. And when you cross that line, you get hepatitis.
Did I mention the line is made out of feces?
When the public hand sanitizer ran out, our hope was lost. After my friend sat on the ground more than once, I got a strangers beer thrown into my eyeball, and my other mate got pee poured on her arm, we were forced to come to terms with the fact that we now have the Pamela Anderson disease. Let’s just hope huge boobs is a side effect.
Oh, and if you were wondering- I did in fact get *high* up on some guy’s shoulders during Snoop Dog/Lion. And. It. Was. Epic.
I’m not sure if you’ve ever seen a super white elf-like lady who looks like a 13-year-old from behind rapping lyrics to every snoop dog song while throwing out gang signs like she was from Harlem. But I have. Because I am her. I don’t know what got into me, let’s just call it gin and juice (9 parts gin, 1 part orange drink). About half way through, I noticed a girl with a kick ass afro who was not even moving, so I yelled “revoking your blackness”. And it was done. Not the first time either. My former Ethiopian coworker had never seen Half Baked. Revoked. She is now white.
If I wasn’t so obsessed with pretending to be Colombian to get away with sporadic bursts of crazy, I would say; what ethnicity you were born as absolutely does not determine who you are as a person. But then again, I wouldn’t want to piss off Julie Chen.
I want to thank everyone for the amazing amazing response my book is getting! You guys are awesome! It feels so surreal and I am truly overwhelmed with happiness and gratitude. This bow is for you.
You can buy my new book- Axing My Exes- at http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1489586849
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