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Diary of a yummy drummy: 07/01/2010

I begin 2010 as poor as a church mouse because Brooke took back the two Gs she lent me. Again. Unfortunately, this also means that my nose is so last year. I know, I know: that's a total cliché, like saying that you hate that smug psychologist who's always on The Afternoon Show. From here on in, one of my New Year's resolutions is to give up clichés. If I can't be wealthy, I'm at least going to be as witty as the hypothetical lovechild of Oscar Wilde and David Norris.

My other resolution is to clean up my soul and renounce social networking, just like Lily Allen did. It's already been seven days since I last Facebooked or Tweeted, Father. Actually, I might as well start going to Confession-- I already feel like a nun; 2010 has already been a wasteland of no invitations and zero gossip. Next thing you know, I'll be buying shoes in Ecco.

Anyway, last night I had a long bath and painted my nails. It being a Wednesday, I was aching to go on the complete tear, but I hadn't heard from anyone. I felt I deserved a night on the piss after the horrendous Christmas and New Year's I endured, with my waste-of-space brother and his annoying fiancée, not to mention my emotionally (and financially) unavailable parental unit.

Last night's scenario went something like this: Brooke arrives downstairs all dolled up. She's even wearing red lipstick and Alexander McQueen biker boots with a chiffon shift dress. She looks a bit like Alexa Chung (I don't tell her that though). I ask her where she's going and she's all: "Out with the girls."

"Why exactly wasn't I told about this?" I demand, smudging my Chanel Jade nail polish as I stick my hands down the side of the sofa to forage for loose change. "You were, but you never replied to the group invite on Facebook. Later." I'd have delivered a suitably witty riposte, but I was too distracted by my ruined nails.


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