Chelsea girls

One of the things I love about my otherwise despised edification (and indoctrination as a lower middle class child thrust into the hands of pompous, self-important, self-indulgent upper middle class snobs) was that in both primary and secondary school, I was allowed to play amongst the rich kids, which, in turn, meant getting invited to their very large and luxurious family homes. Now, I'm no sucker for wealth. Money doesn't interest me - people with money, however, do; and I find it interesting how almost every wealthy kid I know is the absolute embodiment of the poor little rich girl. Spoilt, parentally neglected, and indubitably messed up.

Rebecca was one of these types, born and bred. She could have been the re-incarnation of Edie Sedgwick - bulimic, self-involved, yet enigmatic - except more Jewish, and a pathological liar to boot (NB: although it's well documented that Sedgwick herself was known to lie and wildly exaggerate). Daddy issues? Check. Attention complex? Check. Ticking time bomb for self-destructive cataclysm? Check. I could name a few others like her, although perhaps not such severe cases, as it would be both ignorant and insulting for me to imply that all rich kids are vulgarly spoilt sociopaths who are prone to eating disorders and addiction. Many are quite the opposite.

Bash is someone who's utterly refuted this stereotype despite the fact that she could quite easily have become a Rebecca. She couch-surfs between the two homes of her divorced parents, both of whom are arguably as emotionally (and physically) absent as Rebecca's were. Her mother is a refined, French ice-queen who keeps maids and secretly binges on parma ham despite her self-proclaimed vegetarianism. Her father is a re-married Lebanese-American with truckloads of money and a penchant for spasmodically leaving the country on business. But, she lumps it. She could have quite easily have developed an E.D. (mother with body issues; comforted with food instead of love as a child; a messy adolescence that included divorce and a brother who went off the rails; etc.). She could quite easily have become an addict, too, but while she knows how to enjoy a drink (and the occasional bong) she also knows when to stop, and in addition, makes a point to stop others when she feels they're getting too crazy. She's like, perfectly formed in some ways, but then you look at her situation and her family and how she's grown up, and in realising just how messed up she could have grown up to be, you gain even more respect for the fact that she's so mellow, and positively un-sociopathic.

The point of this discussion was to lead up to the fact that I will be spending this evening in her father's Chelsea mansion, which, of course, is currently empty, and I plan on getting absolutely wasted there. Alfie and Tina are coming too. I wonder what will go down. Admittedly, the sociopath in me rubs her hands together in morbid glee at what could pan out. The human in me is scared shitless.

142.6 this morning, urgh. Tomorrow afternoon I have an appointment at the hospital, so they can outline all the precautions I need to take in the week leading up to my op ie. what I can and can't eat, smoke and drink. Fun times. I wanted to drop like 10 lbs before the surgery but that quite clearly isn't going to happen, so I'm setting my sights on the 130s in general. However, you can bank on the fact that I will be quite thin come September, after surviving on mush for two weeks. Tonsillectomy chic. Watch this space.