It's My Party and I'll Cry if I Want To

Mr and Miss here,

so the Scot has arrived. He is here. In the house. Poor bastard.

He moved in to find no light in his room, a chest of drawers falling apart and the living room had been taken oven by a pair of massive speakers and some decks. In true 'organised' fashion we had decided to throw a party on the night he moved down. I would like to say that the warm welcome we gave him more than made up for this, but as he came in Mr announced he was going shopping to find a wig for his drag outfit (it was a fancy dress party) and I lay on the sofa, taking up 60% of the collective seating area moaning about having a hangover for 3 hours. Until he left to go to GAY.

Parties are stressful. You spend a shit load of money to let people come and use your house as an ashtray and your garden as a urinal. Spend most of the week before thinking you should cancel it because no one is going to turn up and then moan when they do because you only wanted a handful of close friends there and can't be bothered to entertain randoms.

But i think everyone had a good time. Loads of lads dressed as buff heroes, girls in sexy outfits. Mr and myself got it completely wrong and went as hideous mutants. Surprisingly no one wanted to pull us. Next year we shall follow the 'Mean Girls' rule of dressing like sluts and getting away with it.

Notable highlights included Batman off his tits on acid spending the evening doing the washing up and another Batman walking about in a strap on. Mr walked in on the bird from Resident Evil going down on some random girl in my bed. And the Scot almost came home to find that a cheerleader had puked all over his bed and white curtains...thankfuly Mr is nippy with a wet rag.

In the end we locked ourselves in L's bedroom lamenting about the fact we are getting old, we don't like dance music, the neighbours were probably going to sue us and we just wanted to sing a bit of Disney karaoke. Wouldn't you love to come to one of our parties?

So the Scot was greeted home by a houseful of randoms, nobody knew he lived here bless him.

But we're pretty sure they will soon. He's very very chatty and nice. However it's becoming clearly apparent that he has much more money than us and we are not going to be able to compete with his lifestyle. He wears £400 jackets from Armani...we wear £4 cagouls from Primark.

And you know we said we wanted gay...well we got GAY. One friend of ours became increasingly suspicious that we're living in the Truman Show as all he had brought with him was an expensive wardrobe, Priscilla Queen of the Desert, Queer as Folk, lube, poppers and johnnies. It's as though we had requested a gay man and they had hurriedly had to buy him props to litter about the room to make it obvious his character is a homosexual.

We don't want to be too hard on him though as he is lovely and he can't do enough to make us feel like a little family. He is a few years younger than us (and we're not that old - well physically if not mentally) and he's like a kid in a fudge shop.

Oh fuck this - we're obviously just insanely jealous that he's younger, better looking, richer, with a better social life (he's only been here 48 hours and he has more friends) and happier than we are.

We'll soon change all that!