I Can't Even Think Of An Appropriate Title

Holy fuck.

The past 24 hours have been an emotional bloody rollercoaster, let me tell you.

I'm going to make this as brief as I can because I am exhausted. I am exhausted from stressing, from crying and from amazing sex. Let us begin.

So I picked up an essay after class yesterday and it had such a terrible mark on it that I cancelled my study date to go home and cry over wine. Wine Time is usually 5pm. Yesterday, it was 3:30pm. No judging. It was needed. Especially since I had been texting LB on my walk back home about the possibilities of my becoming a stripper instead of studying at uni. And once I'd gotten home, I asked him to say something nice to make me feel better. He replied with;

'You are a very pretty girl with a seriously impressive drinking problem?'

I genuinely collapsed on the floor and wailed. The mix of the sudden compliment, the bad mark and the stress of worrying why I was actually at university just got to me. And I cried so hard. Whilst sober. That is such a rare occurrence, I shocked myself and my flatmate when she got home. I am not pretty whilst crying. At all. It's quite horrifying.

Anyway, Sophie and I devised a cunning plan. I would get LB round to collect his jumper. Sophie would open the door looking scary and punk and I would be in my room looking crazy fuckable. I would get him to read the gas meter (it's in a corner of my room where I am pretty sure all the world's spiders reside at some point in their lives) and then I would throw him out with his jumper and yell at him about how I deserved better.

And it nearly worked. Soph looked scary, I looked hot, the gas meter was read and then the issue arose. I didn't bank on him staying. I thought he would leave. He didn't. So I went into the kitchen where Soph and her boyfriend were and panicked. She told me to just tell him that he shouldn't dick me about any more and to get out. So I went back into my room and told him. I told him that I wasn't going to do this any more, that I deserved better and if he was never ever going to be a dick to me again, he could stay. But if he was going to fuck me about, he should leave.

He looked at me and said that, by my standards, he was probably going to be a dick to me again even if he didn't mean to. So I just looked back and said; 'Well you know where the door is' and left to go into the kitchen. Seriously, it was like something out of a film.

I went into the kitchen and stood at the door while tears starting filling my eyes. Two minutes later, I heard our door go and then the front door shut. And I broke down completely. He'd gone.



To be continued..

Ya Hunky Funk

EDIT:  I scheduled this post yesterday morning. I didn't realise I would write another post that same day. I think most of this still makes sense. Sorry not sorry. 


So I was going to write this post yesterday but, having had experience in writing whilst very hungover (hello last year's French exam), I decided to wait until I was in a sunshinier mood. Which, to an extent I am. I say to an extent because I have been awake for approximately 18 minutes after having a very stressful dream about not being able to close the shop because customers kept coming in and I couldn't get them out. There were croissants involved and I had to deduce where a soft toy elephant came from despite telling the customer over and over that we were a charity shop and I had no fucking clue. I'm getting tense just thinking about it. Although it definitely wasn't as bad as the dream I had where I discovered that my diary was actually a 2006 diary. I woke up sweating.

ANYHOODLE, I was hungover yesterday. Because Flatmate Number 1 (hereafter named FN1 because I am an original fuck) and I went out for girly drinks. Which we'd never done before so it was rather lovely. It's so nice not to get all super dressed up to go out because you're aiming to go out on the pull - also one of da clubs here doesn't let you in if you're wearing jeans. Bitch please, this is Aberdeen, you're not going to get any Chelsea types here.

Can you tell I'm in an odd mood? I'm in an odd mood.

I was round at Troy's house last night for pizza and Lord of the Rings part 2 and I'm scared he's not gotten over me. There were too many long, lingering glances when I was trying to get him to change the disc or pass me the pizza box. I definitely do not think I was encouraging it - I have been one to be a dick and encourage a boy's feelings for me* and this was most definitely not one of those times.

*Sidebar: I was/am a manipulative bumhole.

Anyway, Troy aside, FN1 and I were at the bar in the castle (it's so cool, all gothic-y and shit. We were there for Halloween and it was fabby) and had just walked out of the toilets (concealed behind a fake bookcase) when we noticed a hunky looking blonde looking our way. I have never used the word 'hunky' until FN1 and I were in our English tutorial writing notes to each other like mature students. There's a rugby player in our class called Adam and he is bloody gorgeous. One of FN1's notes to me was something along the lines of 'yaaass roll up those sleeves ya hunky fuck' which made me snort laugh so uncontrollably, I got a major death stare (*salutes* Major Death Stare) from the professor.

We find it even funnier now since I was saying how much of a hunky fuck he was when we were back home and, as per usual, fucked it up so ended up saying 'hunky funk'. It's funny. Come on. Funny. Hunky funk. Instead of fuck. Funny. I'm funny,

Right so Blonde Hunk at the bar. We went to get drinks and - prepare yourselves for this - I winked at him across the bar. WINKED!! I have never done such a thing in my life!! My preferred method to getting guys when I'm out is to get horrifically drunk, wear a short dress and throw myself at them before they even have time to say 'I'm gay'.

No comment.

Yes, so Blonde Hunk. After being a brazen wench, FN1 and I went to sit down. And we lost him. So after I took some hilarious snapchats on her phone whilst she went to pee (thinking back on it, the one of my boobs with '#topflatmate' written above was not my best idea) we went to the vodka bar down the road. As we sat there unashamedly not drinking vodka, he walked past us and sat down at one of the booths. Naturally we decided to move from the bar with our many drinks and sit down next to them.

Oh! Oh! I forgot to say, he saw us leaving the castle bar when he was outside smoking (bleeuurrgh) and asked us where we were going. I told him that we were going to Revolution cos one of the bartenders fancied Sophie (dropping the FN1 now, it was too robotic. Also she knows I write this, I'm sure she'll give zero fucks if I use her actual name. It just sounds less fun and MI5. Oh well). And he turned and said, 'who fancies you then' and I was all, 'I don't know, you'll have to tell me' and flounced off and it was awesome. Even if I do say so myself. Thank you, myself.

So, back to the vodka bar. We were sitting next to them and I had my back turned and was chatting to Sophie. Then he took my hand. And, there's no easy way to say this but we were, as Soph said: hand fucking. NOT WHAT YOU THINK YOU DIRTY MINDED SODS. More like playing with each other's hands. You know? And I was being super cool by still not looking at him and having a nonchalant but actually very frantic conversation with Soph about whether or not I wanted to sleep with him. I mean, I didn't. For one thing, he smoked (bleeeeeeuuuurrggghhhhh) and also I just kinda wasn't feeling it. But I would have done. I was considering it. Not only was he hunky hot but I felt it would show LB that I could get another guy and I wasn't hung up on him. LB wasn't there, by the way. This was all in my head.

Anyway, Soph convinced me that was a dumb fucking idea and we should leave. So I agreed and got up to put my coat on. She said she was going to tell him what a dick he was and I was like, fine but let me do something first. So, being the awesome fuck I am, I leant over and kissed him. Then walked off as Sophie berated him for being an arse and told him I'd only kissed him because I was vulnerable. She's the bestest.

Then we drank some more and I do not remember the rest of the night. As per usual.

I am also rather annoyed I didn't sleep with him because, from what I can recall, he was quite the hunk.

So I have successfully made a very insignificant event into a full blog post. Well done me, Thank you, me. I think I just wanted to show that I could have. I could have slept with him and therefore shown that I'm not hung up on LB and his stupid frustratingness. He's so bloody annoying and arrogant and full of himself and gives zero fucks about me.

Hey ho. I'm going to shower and listen to Joni Mitchell as I clean the flat. Sometimes I shock myself how like my mother I am becoming. But Joni Mitchell always calms you down. It's proven fact. She also makes you reconsider your entire life so I would prepare yourselves.

Was this the longest and most boring post ever? Probably. Not even sorry. My blog, my rules.

Unrelated and unnecessary Harry Potter in my posts is my new favourite thing. Even better than pugs.

So, Friday

I'm just going to put this bluntly at the very beginning of this post instead of leaving it to the end as I usually do:

I like LB.

Hands up who had already realised this before I had?

Image via harrypotter.wikia.com

So, Friday.

PIC and I went out one last time as she was leaving early on Saturday morning when I went to work (cue me turning up to work slightly drunk and somehow getting away with it). We'd decided to go out just before midnight so hurried to put on clothes that weren't pyjamas and vaguely make our hair look halfway decent before leaving.

When we got to da club - the same da club as on Wednesday - we went straight to the bar and got a few drinks. We were nowhere near drunk enough for da club and, as it turned out, nowhere near drunk enough to witness what we did.

Having been in da club for approximately an hour and having spotted LB a few times on the dancefloor, we went to get another drink. LB had made no forms of acknowledging my presence there but I was positive he had seen me. And then, as we were walking away from the bar, I saw him kissing another girl.

That's it.

Just kissing another girl (one who was very much shorter than him, I may add. It looked ridiculous).

And I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. I genuinely stumbled back and could not bring myself to look away. It was one of the worst feelings I have ever experienced.

I told PIC what I'd seen and we quickly left to go home. I was trying so hard to keep it together. So, so hard. I am not one for crying unless I am drunk and I can assure you, I was not drunk at this point. But I couldn't help a few tears rolling down my face as we walked down the street. Public crying, again, is not my thing.

I texted my flatmate to tell her what had happened and why we were coming home early just to prepare her for the wailing mess that she would undoubtedly be confronted with. And wailing mess I was. As soon as we got in the door, I collapsed on the floor in the hall and started properly bawling. My flatmate came out of her room in a duvet and sat on the floor next to me and hugged me as did PIC. Then my flatmate started crying about something to do with a boy just as my other flatmate came rushing through the front door and into the bathroom and started throwing up. If you think about it, we are the perfect flatmates.

Once we'd calmed down a bit - and put Flatmate Number 2 into bed with a bin - we all cosied up in my room. I had a quadruple vodka cranberry and Flatmate Number 1's man thing was round singing happy birthday to me as he put a cymbal on her head and played it in time. It was wonderful. And also the cause for the 3 hours sleep we eventually had before having to get up for work/trains.

But after the aforementioned vodka cranberry, I decided it was a bloody marvellous idea to text LB and tell him precisely what I was thinking. For once, I managed to write something eloquent yet short and to the point. It went:

'Fuck you.'

Thank you, thank you, I am a lyrical genius.

He texted back right away claiming confusion. I replied that he knew I was there so what the dick was he doing kissing someone else? In so many words. He replied to say that no, it was not his best decision and was in a way, quite glad that I had seen and had this reaction. I was very confused. Pleased that I was acting like a jealous fuck? I asked him as much and he said yes, yes that was it because otherwise he didn't know how I really felt.

If all of that looked incredibly bumblefuckish and confusing then you are experiencing just what I felt at that current moment in time. I told him as much and asked him if he wanted me to spell out how I felt. He agreed and, with as much eloquence and aloofness as before, I told him that; 'I want you to like me. That's it.'

I now realise that I should have phrased it better because his reply in the morning of; 'Sorry, I do like you. And now I feel like a cunt x' confused me even further.

Like? Like me? Or like like me?

Words are the worst.

To cut an even longer story slightly shorter, we are now pretty much back to where we were before all this. Except he knows I like him and I am none the wiser about his feelings. Which is a bit shit and frustrating to be honest. I like things to be spelled out for me. This is a bloody cryptic crossword if ever there was one. Why are there cryptic crosswords anyway? What's the point in them? How do they even work? Who even writes them?

I know that it is nicer and easier to convince myself of the romance underlying these texts - even if it arises from reading between the lines and using my imagination to an extent of which I am not proud. It is easier to see things in the daylight where the shiner parts are illuminated and the darker truth is hidden away. But one cannot help but think, as darkness closes in, that once the magic of midnight and moonlight has faded, there is left only blackness. This blackness is the truth that you do not want to face. It is the horrible feeling that truth brings that you ignore time and time again because you want the stars back and you want the daylight. And you try and convince yourself that if you wish hard enough, the darkness of truth will disappear and be transformed into the light that you so desperately wanted.

Does that make sense? Does anyone know what I am talking about? Because that is what's going round my overtired mind at the moment. I know it sounds pretentious but I cannot for the life of me think of a way to describe the feeling using normal words.

Does anyone know what I should do? What do you think of this? Does he like like me? Or does he think I am a complete idiot?

Men are a nightmare. A bloody nightmare.