That’s Stella

I am a terrible blogger. The past few weeks have been action packed. There’s been lots of goss and stories to tell but so very little time to divulge.

Most recently I had a week of birthday celebrations.

I kicked off celebrations a week before my birthday by having dinner and drinks at my favourite pub - The Flying Scotsman. Things started out fairly civilised and lovely, till one of my boy friends from work arrived and insisted on doing this. I swear, my hands were tied and I had to oblige! Four Jagers and plenty of beers later, well, I was a little chipper, carefree and had developed two left feet I had to deal with.

Hot Rocker showed up unexpectedly which was a wicked surprise. Chris still hasn’t spilled the beans to me that he and Hot Rocker are leaving the country and I thought my birthday night might be the time he break the news, but it’s pretty hard to break the news when he doesn’t show up! Bastard!

So of course my dreams of hooking up with Chris for old times sake on my birthday (and for THE final time before he skips the country) was shattered, but it didn’t spoil my night. The later it got, my friends started dropping like flies and by midnight there was only me and four of my boy friends including my Jager buddy. By the time we stumbled to Luxe Bar to have some Lychee Loves and Gin and Tonics, I was well and truly sloshed.

Tofer took a pill and went missing. We were quite concerned and searched Luxe and the shrubery opposite Luxe Bar fearing he had either gotton himself into a fight and landed in the gutter or mistook the leafy shrubs for his duvet. But we had no luck.

We ended our night at Englishs pad in Northbridge where he fed us olive tepenades, pumpkin dips, basil pesto, chicken and champagne pate, brie and blue cheese on melba toast at 4 in the morning.

Tofer did show up 2 days later but all he remembers was pashing some random girl and waking up in his bed.