Money ain’t a ‘ting’ when ya’ll getting ratchet yo!

I’m being responsible and giving up 3 day drug-benders while I’m at Uni. And, unfortunately, have turned into a lush in the process. *rolls eyes. If don’t want to make a complete spectacle of yourself, then these are the tips I’ve learned you should avoid.

Tip 1: Lose your bag (obviously)

So, obviously, I did it twice. Once, was a bag with a friends hoodie in, bad. Second, with lots of uni books in, very bad. But if you’re gonna be truly ratchet, you can’t actually be sober enough to hold up your own head, let alone a bag with a shit load of books in.
As if that wasn’t quite scatty enough, two days later I receive an email from my lecturer, that she’d forwarded from somebody named Oscar. The email states that my study papers were found “strewn across the road”. What I’m assuming happened is that somebody stole my bag while I was asleep on the bus (another lesson on not drinking while extremely tired), opened the bag to find… books. And not being able to read, just threw them on road. Dick.

Tip 2: Get well lairy

I was drunk, but my friend was drunk. And I’m talking throwing abuse at strangers and getting thrown out of Burger King drunk. Not even a McDonalds… Burger King. Allow – you can’t pull that shit in classy restaurants. If the bouncers at BK won’t let him back in, neither will the club. So I’m doing the good deed and putting him in a taxi, holding my gilét over my head while it’s pissing down with rain, when these two skets in skin-tight whatever animal print attempt to jump in the next cab.

“Sorry, there’s a taxi queue…”
“Yeah we’ve been waiting.”
“Not in the queue you haven’t….”
*Two girls physically get in the taxi.
Obviously, I’m in shock. So I yank the taxi door open, and get in.
Me: “Yeah mate we’re going to Brixton.”
Sket #1: “What are you doing? Get out.”
Me: “No girl. If you want this taxi, then you’re going to Brixton.”
*Two skets get out.
That’s how you do it, bitch.
It was a bit like this…

)

“I’m Gilémina SlayHer (new alter ego), I don’t get wet, I don’t get wet.” Although I didn’t slam those bitches hands in the door. C’mon I’m not heartless, how they gonna give hand-jobs to hench bouncers in exchange for £5 entry to Zoo Bar if I break their knuckles?

So, anyway…
*Hands driver £20.
“Can you take him to Brixton please?”
“Nah mate, I ain’t taking him, he’s too drunk.”
“Okay, that’s fine. Pause. What’s your registration number please?”
“What? Mate he’s gonna fall asleep.”
“Yeah that’s fine, what’s your registration?”
“Mate, he ain’t got no money…”
*Hands driver £20, for the second time.
“Are you gonna take him, or do I need to get out and write down your registration?”
*Starts engine.
That’s how you do it, bitch.

Tip 3: Throw your knickers away, along with your morals.

This tip, isn’t so much I’ve learned from myself, but rather a few friends. We’ve all ditched our unhealthy lifestyles for gym sessions, and have definitely noticed that our sex drives have gone a little cray.
“Now I know why Muscle Marys are after sex all the time”, as one my friends simply puts it. Add to that anything with a percentage or that comes in a baggie and it tends to send behaviour a little out of character.
This type of behaviour includes; getting so drunk at a free bar you pay extortionate amounts in taxi fares to travel to Blackheath for a Grindr shag; shamelessly dragging your man out of a club and down an alleyway before pulling his cock out; flirting (and blowing) boys that were once friends and have now ended up in your bed. And finally it includes sending cock pics to your mate (that has a boyfriend) on Grindr and almost meeting up with him for NSA. Dignity, decency, decorum – BYE!

So beware, better bodies and boozy behaviour can turn your normally level head into a ratchet wench. Eeek!

Tip 4: Make yourself as unattractive as possible

So last weekend, fortunately, wasn’t as drunk as the one before. But no lies, if you’re sent to Heaven to write a review, you know you gotta be drunk for that shit. Leona Lewis and her wilting personality are dry enough, let alone the latest reject from the X Factor. So naturally, we got licked up. And while in the smoking area, I’m looking at this boy, and he winks at me with some kind of familiarity. Where do I know this gawwwjus young man from?
OMG, he’s coming over.
You alright?” As if the 4 bottles of rosé had given me confidence to start conversations with boys.
“Yeah, you? Do you remember talking to me last week at the bus stop?”
Oh My God. AS IF. I’m having this flashback of talking to a really hot boy at the bus stop, and then suddenly realising that I was stuffing my face with a Big Mac. Then throwing the Big Mac on the floor, and trying to redeem myself before asking for his number. Luckily, he got on the bus before I had the chance to embarrass myself further.
“I was really drunk, but yeah I do…”
“Yeah you were really drunk. You had burger all over your face.”

I’ve never actually been so embarrassed in my life. “Scarlet” doesn’t even begin to cover it. Can’t believe I just got regurgitated-fail-shamed by a complete stranger! ‘Regurgitated Fail Shame’ is when you experience a true FAIL, in this case, me attempting to chat a boy up while I’ve got mayonnaise in my hair and lettuce hanging out my lips like Janet Street Porter chewing on a bale of hay. The ‘shame’ is the scarlet feeling you experience as the shame occurs. Then when some bitch brings it up in a conversation, just as you’d repressed the memory, the fail shame is regurgitated = Regurgitated Fail Shame. And when a fit lad mentions how you were so cunted on rosé that you turned yourself into a human cheeseburger while waiting for the 176, that’s definitely it.
BUT, needless to say, he was still talking to me. Ergo, I’m obviously still not THAT bad looking with a gherkin stuck to my forehead and slurring bare shit. Then again, he was talking to a much fitter boy, 5 minutes later in the Departure Lounge. He was so hot, the boys were like eskimos huddling towards a radiator, so I was probably lucky enough to slur a load of crap at him in the first place.
Ah well, I already have two men in my life: Ernest and Julio Gallo.

Tip 5: Spend money like your wallets bottomless

We do our best to spend less money by pre-drinking, but we just end up leaving the house already drunk and therefore spending twice as much. And why do we always think that shots are a good idea?! They’re not. They never were. Who invented them? I want to write a complaint letter. But it’s not just the bar tab that takes up the money, spending £30 a day on food is unacceptable. That’s £210 in a week, and I don’t even pay for the food that’s in my house.
I work out like a bitch so can eat what I want, but that’s not the point. I’m creating a petition to close down McDonalds on Charing Cross road, it always seems like a good idea at 5am, but at 5.15am when you’ve given yourself a beef facial in front of London’s hottest new boy – the only thing you’re swallowing, is embarrassment.
And beer goggles aren’t just for boys and food. Have you ever gone shopping the next day while you’re still a bit tipsy? It’s like being a magpie in a piggy bank. You want it all.

It’s safe to say, the ‘ratchet’ phase has been, seen, conquered – and now I’m dashing it out. Fuck, I’m gonna be boring soon.