Where Have I Been?!

Omg we went on holiday last month and it was the actual tits. 

We went to Turkey for a week ALL INCLUSIVE because we are FANCY FUCKS and it was the bestest. We went to mud baths and are fresh crab on a boat and saw sea turtles and rock tombs and ancient roman towns in 40'C heat and sat by the pool with beer and books and went horse riding and walked through a gorge and holy shit it was so good.

Being able to get away from work and Southampton and general worries about life was incredible. We hadn't realised how much we needed it. It also made me want to go and move abroad (lol Paris) because CLEARLY everyone is their best self when in the sun. But anyway it was fab and we're going to Budapest in September which will also be highly excellent (also almost exactly 2 years since the last time I went with Gregor... Much hilair.)

Also Ryan turned 21 in June and we went to Poole and played mini golf and went out for dinner which is what you do when you are a youth. We also learned I am terrible at golf, mini or otherwise. 

                               

                              

                              

AND YES I MADE A CAKE ALL BY MYSELF BECAUSE UP YOU RYAN I CAN DO BAKING TOO. I was so proud. It was so good. 

Also more excitement because Eskie has totally lost weight and is like a new cat. He's all springy and playful and keeps bunny hopping everywhere because he doesn't have a big wodge of fat anymore to slow him down. I mean, he's still not a model but he's not at obese death's door so there's that. 

                            

                            

                            

MY FAVOURITE PHOTOS EVER. HE IS SO UNATTRACTIVE WHEN HE SLEEPS.

I'm all excited about this month too because I'm seeing actual friends! Real life friends! They do exist! Holly's coming to stay for a night and then Chris is here for the weekend so we can go out and so socialising! I don't just have to see Ryan's face! I can see other faces! I love other faces!

Although hi, I've been going to book group like my mother. Im not even ashamed because it's so good. Except everyone just drinks tea when I really think it would be a lot better with wine but hey that's just me being an alcoholic... But fo realz I can bring out my 1 3/4 years of English literature degree knowledge and talk shit about symbolism. So there's that.

Anyway anyway anyway everything's started to go quite well. Ryan's still looking for another job but, unless we move away from here, I'll be made temporary manager in November when my current manager goes on maternity leave. So that'll look good on my newly sexed up CV that I've spent HOURS on making it look the primest. 

Yeah so, we good. We all good.

                             

In Other News

Long time no talk chickadees! Baby I'm back!

Well back for a very short time as I have the most terrible internet that keeps cutting out every 5 minutes. It's like being back in the world of dial up.

Anyhoo, what's been happening? Tell me all!

I'm in Paris. Yep, I did it, fo realz. I am honest to God living in Paris like the artsy bohemian that I truly am... I can even see the Sacre Coeur from my window. Well, not my window. The window on the stairs up to my hovel garret. I live on the 7th floor in a studio apartment. Everything is in the one room which I am almost definitely positive is illegal. My toilet is not even a foot away from my cooker. Where food is made. That I will eat. I do not want shit particles invading my food but hey! That's what you get for deciding to come live in Paris!

What's worse than a tiny room to live in? A tiny room to live in with your 6'9 boyfriend! Yep, SD (hereafter known as R because SD is no longer a thing. Sad face. I know, life moves on, it's hard. And yes, I still get a kick out of anonymity) is staying with me. For most of the time. Right now he's away on a boat somewhere and I am bored out of my tits.

But it's all good. I still love him, even though I am acutely aware of what his poo smells (and looks) like. Although who am I kidding, we crossed that bridge in about week 2 of our relationship.

Honestly, in all the excitement of coming to Paris, I'd completely forgotten I'd have to look after children.

Good God. Children.

I hate them.

I mean yeah they can be cute and whatnot and yes I have a pretty cushy deal in that I only get them 20 hours a week but oh my good lord I cannot stand them. They whine and cry and hit and I just do not have the temperament for that kind of bullshit.

But hey - I get the chance to live in Paris rent free and bill free! I even get some of my food paid for! And for minimal work! That's the dream! Right?! Right!?... Right?

Nah.

I am bored. And unsettled. And yes, also a whiny over privileged bitch no doubt.

I know, I know, I was all over leaving uni for the bright lights of the Eiffel Tower but now things have changed again. Yes, I couldn't believe I was living in Paris for the first month. But now (2 months in) I've had a change of heart.

The thing is, to my ditzy fuck of a mind, I want to settle down. I want to live with R and have somewhere we can call our own and put our stamp on. I want a big fat cat. I want to be able to make friends and just put roots down somewhere. I'm craving this so much that I'm losing sense of what this whole Paris thing was to me. Aren't I a complete twat?

On the plus side, I've found a cat cafe. Like, an actual cafe with cats in it. Real cats. I know, be still my beating heart. Fucking love cats.

Look. It's all cute and shit.

There's a cat in there. I know. Best day ever.

Clearly I have things to think about but hey, I've rediscovered my blog and will continue to write my mindless babble about meaningless things.

But not cats. Cats are far from meaningless.

But seriously, fill me in. What's been happening? Also am I being an idiot wanting to leave Paris already even though it's not that shit?

Why Right Now At University Kinda Fucking Sucks

Now I wouldn't call this drunk blogging as such... Maybe we'll just stick with tipsy. Does an entire bottle of wine and an oddly delicious mixture of tequila (obvs), peach schnapps and apple and raspberry juice count as tipsy? We'll work with what we've got.

Here's the honest to God, actual, true as fuck deal. I have literally no idea what is going on in my life right now. So I am going to ramble at you. Bear with.

So I mentioned in my last post (possibly, who can be fucked checking?) that I wasn't sure about university. I am studying English literature and it's just not right for me. To put it mildly. I cannot think the way they want me to think. To put it simply; right now, I have more of a mathematic brain than a literature brain. At this current moment in time, I am much more suited to the way of thinking that involves rights and wrongs. I am not down with theological essays debating the merits of Frankenstein.

But this never used to be the case! I was always fucking awesome at English. English was my thing. I was going to successfully move out of a small town and go to university and be the greatest thing that had ever come out of my said small town. That was what I was kinda destined to be. Ish. So maybe not the greatest thing. Just a thing that didn't stay in the small town and get pregnant by whatever small town boy I went to high school with. I mean, seriously. It is utterly ridiculous the amount of pregnancies that have occurred in my hometown at my age. About 10% of my year got pregnant at around 17. That's about 20 girls. In a town of 8,000 that's a hell of a lot. This is why I'm so pleased I got out of there.

But now I'm in Aberdeen. I'm at university like I was supposed to be. I'm halfway through my 2nd year. And it fucking sucks. Because I have lost all motivation and general interest in my course. I do not want to be at university right now.

I think of it like... You're in a job that you hate for another 2 years. And you know you can leave this job and find another one in a completely different career. You know it's not the most sensible thing to do; leave your job for another uncertain job but it's what will make you happy.

I cried non stop for about 3 hours tonight as I was stressing like I have never stressed before over university and my future. My mother wants me to stay on and do one more year so I can come out with a degree. It makes sense. That is the sensible thing to do. Nowadays, employers look for degrees, regardless of what they're in. But the idea of even one more year at university terrifies me. Right now, I hate university. I have absolutely no interest in staying but I thought that yes, the sensible thing to do would be to continue on and do my 3rd year.

But I cannot bear that thought right now. I honestly cannot bear the thought of even staying on an extra week. I do not want to stay at something that makes me unhappy. I feel I am young enough (and able enough) to make the decision to not continue something that makes me unhappy. And I honestly am unhappy. I am not the type of person to get stressed about something. But I have been so unbelievably stressed these past few weeks that I don't know how much longer I can handle it for.

If you asked me honestly where I'd like to be right now, I would tell you: Paris. Paris is where I would like to be right now. I have been to Paris once and I fell in love with it. I could see myself living there. My friends could see me living there. And hopefully my family could see me living there too. I would love to have a tiny garret apartment up by the Moulin Rouge. I would love to be able to take picnics by the Eiffel Tower. I would love to wander through the antique markets and stop off to see the view at the Sacre Coeur. I feel that Paris is kind of a part of me. Is that very weird and white girl of me? I don't think so. I think it feels like home.

So I would, quite frankly, like nothing more than to leave university right now. To work in Aberdeen for a year and a half and save up some money. To become... I don't know... An au pair in Paris. Yes, these are very romantic dreams at the moment. I know I haven't yet thought through the logistics. But if it's something that would make me happy, then isn't it worth it?

And Mum, I know it's not the sensible thing to do. But if I have to stay another year at university, I think I will go utterly insane. I will lose what little sense of self I have left. I always told you to let me make my own mistakes and I am very much aware that this could be a huge mistake. But I am sensible. And I could deal with the consequences. And right now, I would much prefer to be happy than crying my eyes out alone at the kitchen table.

Also, SD? He is perfect. He has been perfect. He is just... I don't even know. He's the real deal. I can envision a proper, legitimate future with this man. I could honestly, at some point in the very near future, be in love with this man. Right now, he is keeping me sane. I have never felt like this before but it feels so right and natural. And he will be back onshore in approximately 24 hours. I cannot fucking wait.

What do you think? Do you think I should be sensible? Or should I think that life is fucking short and I should damn well live it? Or am I being a complete idiot in every single way? I need your help... Please help.

Unnecessary Life Catch Up

What up fuckers! I am in a surprisingly good mood. It finally feels like Friday (I know it is Friday but sometimes Fridays don't even feel like Fridays and I'm pretty sure Wednesday went on for about three days). I have done the grand total of absolutely fuck all this week. As ever. In fact, the only reason I might go to my Literature class today is if Sophie wakes up in time to dye my hair.

I am hormonal and full of the worst cold in the world possibly ever. I'm pretty sure I have sneezed roughly six million times this morning alone. My body is showing the signs of my hormonal stress eating but I have decided I do not give a flying fuck. I can work on my thighs when the rest of my life gets its shit together. Also I read this which was linked from Hey Natalie Jean (possibly one of my favourite blogs in the entire universe and I wish I had an effortlessly cool Brooklyn apartment, adorable kid and manly ginger husband) and it made me feel better about my Australia-sized thighs.

I've been spending my days having Grey's Anatomy marathons. And updating SD on what's been happening in said marathons. Not that he's ever asked or is interested at all. But since I appear to be having a bit of a moment about gorgeous, rugged ginger army doctors... He has to as well. Right?

Ugh. Just look at that manly gingerness. JUST LOOK.

Speaking of SD, I know you're dying to know what's been happening... 

I decided to not be a dick. I stopped texting TBB and instead drank wine and tequila last night (not mixed together; even I'd draw the line somewhere) and messaged SD. TBB was just a minor panic moment and I'm over it now. Someone else will just have to appreciate his teddy bear-ness because I have a very tall navigation officer that I would like to hang onto thank you very much.

We still haven't found a flat yet. Not SD and I. Calm your pants. I know no one really puts up flats six months in advance but I always have high hopes every time I go online to look. I'd just feel so much more secure if we had one, you know? Sophie and I are getting really excited though. Sophie's very much looking forward to the prospect of having a double bed. I am very much looking forward to having a garden gnome by the front door. We were in Morrisons yesterday and there were gnomes for sale because Spring and shit and I really want one. I said I'd get Sophie one for her birthday in March. Like a joint birthday present... That I would slowly commandeer. And they're hilarious. You can get some right fucking dumb ones. I love them.

I want one like that. I'd call him Ivan. In a past life, he would have been a gymnast

.I'm working this weekend as usual and then it's back to uni... And essay writing week is starting. God, the fucking horror. I am so bored of uni. And my course. I mean, you take an English Literature course because you like reading and then you realise that you've actually got to analyse why Shakespeare mentioned a crow in Act 2 Scene 3 of Macbeth and then a dove two pages later and if this has significance in that one tiny line in Scene 6 and does it have an impact on the world as we know it. My mind just doesn't work like that! I just think, like.. No. No it fucking doesn't. He probably just wanted to talk about the birds because it was relevant to whatever the fuck he was thinking. I hate Shakespeare.

I would like nothing more than to just be lying on a beach somewhere warm right now. Preferably somewhere in Greece. Maybe with the cast of Mamma Mia! performing off in the distance. Or just Colin Firth. I bloody love Colin Firth.

I shall repeat: I bloody love Colin Firth.

Also when looking at gnomes online (don't you start judgey judging - I have no shame), I came across this. This person knows what the fuck is up. I only wish I'd thought of it first.

Have a good weekend, losers.

Teddy Bear Bartenders

Sophie and I went out last night to Blues Jam. It's a really chill night at our friend's bar (that's right fuckers, I know someone who owns a bar) and it's always good to go for a few drinks and eventual drunken dancing. There also happens to be a really cute bartender there. Did I fool you? Did you think for just one second that this post might not be about men? Have you learned nothing?

The cute bartender also happens to own the bar. You know, they co-own it. And good lord, he is so my type. I mean, he's tall (6'3"), he's slightly bearded (usually I just go for stubble but now it's Winter, I feel like beards look more cosy. Just me?) and is all cuddly looking and teddy bear-like. I've always thought he was cute and Sophie apparently knew this. That, or she just knows me too well.

Basically, Sophie and Gav (the non bartender who owns the bar) were playing matchmaker. Gav had very casually said to me that Teddy Bear Bartender had been single for a few months and that we would get on well together. He then gave me 10 seconds to go over and talk to him or Gav himself would pull out a How I Met Your Mother; 'haaaaave you met Nancy?'

I protested greatly that I wouldn't know what to say or do - when I get nervous or excited, I don't know what to do with my hands and so end up swinging them about screaming 'I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MY HANDS'. God, I'm a catch.

But Gav had reached the end of his 10 second countdown so he dragged me over to the bar and got Teddy Bear Bartender's attention. With a quick 'haaaave you met Nancy?' he then ran off chuckling to himself. And then I was LEFT all ALONE with Teddy Bear Bartender and I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MY HANDS. But we kinda started talking (well, shouting over the blues music in the background) and it was all fine. When I left to go home, I gave him a piece of paper with my number on it - I've never done that before, it was all very exciting.

And I got a text from him this afternoon. Which was also all very exciting. And we've been texting a bit but I just have no idea what to say to him... I don't think 'I think you're really kinda hot and I would really love to sleep with you in all your teddy bear-ness and beardyness pleasethankyouverymuchso' is really acceptable.

Ho hum, we'll see. Although, as my mother reminded me on the phone this morning, I am not going to 'lose' SD. I need to hang on to him (her words). Which I do, he's nice and makes me feel happy. And he really does look all manly and rugged in his recent snapchats. But, I mean, I've not made myself exclusive to him. He's offshore right now. What else am I supposed to do...

I don't foresee great things with TBB (yaaaasss more abbreviated codenames) but I'd be quite disappointed if I didn't sleep with him. I mean, seriously. I think he's bloody gorgeous. In a cuddly beardy way. Which is the best way.

Colds 'n' Shit

So I've just been knocked out for the past week with tonsillitis and a god awful cold. This has not been the best start to the year. But it's February now! Happy February, fuckers. I don't know if I like February more or less than January. With January, you've got the start of a new year - New Year New You and all that bollocks - and you're still cosied up in the warmth from Christmas. But, for me anyway, by the time the arse end of the month drags itself round, you're just begging for Spring. February is just a step towards Spring. I mean, I walked home from work yesterday and it was light! What is this madness.

But I'm getting better now and with the days slowly getting lighter, it's put a bit of a spring in my step. Not literally. That seems like exercise. I'm currently sitting in my very nice and tidy room (we had a flat inspection yesterday - all various forms of candles and oil burners were hastily stuffed into a suitcase) and drinking tea. Tea just makes everything better. Oh, and Joni Mitchell's playing. Joni Mitchell makes things better too.

I know you're all waiting with baited breath to hear about Slains Dinosaur (SD for short - you know I love my abbreviations almost as much as I love my codenames) and I shall not disappoint.

You guys, I think this could be something.

Now, I don't want to get all overexcited or anything. I mean, I'm just judging this on last weekend. You know we met up on Saturday and he stayed over. But he asked me out for a drink on Sunday which I accepted... Until I realised I'd 'accidentally' just gotten into my pjs and wound up sitting in bed watching Pretty Woman. So, I texted him to say sorry but I'd have to pass on the drink because Pretty Woman and bed beats going out in the Aberdonian weather any day. I also texted him to tell him how much I was craving pizza. Ten minutes later, he phoned me; 'Madame I am outside your flat with pizza, would you care to let me in?'

I MEAN!!!!! Can we just...???!!!!

And may I just clarify that it was PROPER pizza. Not just a Morrisons frozen job. A PROPER REAL HOT TAKEOUT PIZZA. WITH ALL THE CHEESE. God, cheese. Cheese completes me. Actually food in general completes me. My list of important things in life would go:

• Food
•  
•  
•  
•  
• 
  
•  
•  
• Everything Else

I've completely forgotten what I was talking about now. Something about... Oh! Yes. So he came round with that god of a pizza on Sunday night. And we talked for hours. Legit proper actual hours. And he stayed over. And then had to leave at 5am. And then I gave him tonsillitis... What can I say, I like sharing.

So we were both knocked out with tonsillitis. However, he had to work every day doing boat related things whereas I could just lie in bed and look pathetic. Then he had to go offshore on Wednesday because of oil n stuff. We've been texting every day. And had an argument over snapchat. I've never quite understood snapchat. But ever since receiving a drawing of a submarine on fire from SD, I think I can kinda get behind it. Although he was a dick about it and started sending me photos of actual submarines. I am scared of submarines. As you do. It's not the idea of being in a submarine - I think I could do that. No it's like, imagine you were just calmly sitting in your little boat or canoe and then ALL OF A SUDDEN A SUBMARINE STARTS RISING OUT OF THE WATER AND IT'S ALL SLOW AND MENACING AND THE WATER'S FALLING OFF THE BACK OF IT AND... Nope. Nope nope nope. Thank you but nope.

Ahem. Yes, he sent me photos of submarines so I threatened to sell his £300 watch that he'd left here. As you do. He's just texted me to say he'll be back onshore on Sunday.

I'm kinda looking forward to seeing him.

Dad Dancing

Well this is unexpected. I was planning on writing another post about the arseholes of the male species as per usual, but I think this one's going to be slightly different. See, I met up with Slains Dinosaur last night. He'd finally come onshore having been on a ship for the past two weeks. And I'd reluctantly agreed to meet up with him. I say reluctantly because it seemed like so much effort when I could have easily just stayed on my sofa watching Grey's Anatomy all night. But we'd been planning this for quite a while. When I say 'this', I mean sex. We were pretty much just going to meet up for sex. Because I'm a classy fuck.

So I met him and two of his shipmates at Vodka Rev. He said he'd meet me at the bar. I walked in and spotted him straight away. I mean, he's 6'9. Six feet and nine inches. A full nine inches taller than me. That's pretty fucking tall. But he was really sweet. It wasn't even awkward which I thought it might have been considering I'd only met him once. But we were chatting about stuff and his Romanian friend was dancing and it was all very nice and relaxed. Then we went to da club. As the youths say.

And in the line for da club, there were two guys in front of us. Slains Dinosaur and I were just happily chatting away when we hear them yell, 'Hey it's Crouch, it's Peter Crouch!' and laugh manically. They actually got a picture with him. Because he was tall. Not because he looked anything like Peter Crouch. The poor man, at least 5 people made a height comment that night. He must get so sick of it. Also for those uneducated in British football, this is Peter Crouch:

All I know about him is that he's tall and married to the blonde one who won Strictly Come Dancing once and is always on the front of trashy magazines. Also, on closer Wikipedia-ing, Peter Crouch is only 6'8. Just saying...

Anyway, we got into da club and went upstairs to where the cheesy music plays. Because obviously. Why would you want to listen to that godawful music played nowadays? After tequila shots, we went onto the dance floor. I think to best describe our dancing is to imagine middle aged parents dancing at a wedding after a few champagnes. It was really something. And you know what, dad-dancing at da club is incredible. It's one of the few times I've actually not given a fuck about what people think - and not just because I was drunk.

We left after an hour or so because, as per usual, I wanted food. We stopped off at McDonalds and then walked back home. I'd also like to point out that he paid for everything. I didn't have to get my purse out for the entire night. I feel like this is unusual nowadays - a man paying. It was quite a nice change.

I've just read back and noticed how awful my writing is. I am so not with it today. I'll go back and edit all the utterly terrible sentences at some point.

He had to get up at 6am to go back to his ship. We woke up at his alarm. And he had been holding me the entire night. I had my head on his chest and his arms were around me. I have honestly never had that with a guy before. Not straight away. It was so nice. And he kissed me as he was leaving and tucked the duvet up around me. I think I'm still a bit in shock about how nice it was.

And he wasn't nice like, too nice. Not like Troy. But he was nice and not a complete arsewank. Ugh I don't know, it was all just so unexpected. I had such low expectations for the night. And it went so well. He asked me out for a drink tonight.

This feels weird. But good weird. You know?

Being A Sentimental Fuck (Bear With)

It's the last day of 2014 and it's a bit weird. I feel like so much has happened this year but it's all gone by in a blur. So I thought I'd get all sentimental and look back at all the shit that's gone down.

In list form (bloody love lists):

• 1 blog started
• 1 flat acquired
• 2 cardboard men purchased and standing in aforementioned flat's kitchen
• 4 men (debatable) slept with
• 1 boyfriend had
• 1 boyfriend lost
• 3 trips abroad
• 3 different hair colours worn
• 1 university year over
• 1 university year started
• 1 job lost
• 1 job gained

There's actually a few things I'd like to look at in a bit more depth (my blog, my rules).

This whole year has been a year of trying to find myself. I know, I'm as grossed out by that as you probably are. It's very Eat Pray Love of me and for that I apologise. But I started this blog with the intention of sorting some things out in my mind. I thought that, if I put them down into words (which is what I do best), then I could clear out a bit of space in my head. And you know what? It's really helped. 

It's helped me be truthful about how I feel about the men flitting about my year:

I had the rose coloured glasses snatched off my face by TGI in May. And I'm quite proud to say that, after a minor fallback in September, I have not seen him since nor have I had the desire to see him. He was good for me at the time and I don't mind that what happened... Happened. And despite everything, he is a genuinely decent guy at heart. I just hope he starts to show that sooner rather than later.

Around the same time, I started an actual relationship with Troy. I had a legitimate boyfriend for about 2 months... And I realised that I wasn't cut out for it at the moment. At least not with a man I had zero sexual attraction for. But bless him, he remained sweet to me until the very end. Even after I was a world class dick to him. Troy is a lovely, lovely man and I really hope he finds someone who will appreciate that a whole lot more than I did. That was not a good moment - realising just how much of a manipulative arsewank I was. 

Sidebar: Isn't 'arsewank' the greatest? My gorgeous girlyfriends and I think we made it up last night. I feel we should be knighted or something for our contribution to humankind.

Then, we reach LB. Are you tired of hearing about him yet? To be quite honest, I'm a little bit tired of writing about him. He broke my heart when I never wanted anything to do with him. I suppose sometimes you just can't control who your heart decides to fall for. As gross as that sounds, I do kinda get what they talk about in the books and the films. Heartbreak - in my case, coming from something unrequited - is shit. But in a way, I'm pleased it happened. Just like I'm pleased TGI happened and, to a lesser extent, Troy. It showed me that I actually could feel something for someone. Something I had, quite honestly, dismissed as gross and stupid. But hey, here's to a 2015 with (little to) no mention of LB.

And finally, someone that I am not pleased happened. My 'fairytale' with Tall Australian/South African. Let's just move on from that. Quite frankly, my lower body does not want to remember that.

But you all know about that. You've read about my man dilemmas and have been very helpful and kind about it. I mean, fuck, I never thought I'd have even one reader! So - only because I'm feeling all sentimental - I want to say thank you. Thank you for listening and being there for me - even from computers from miles and miles away - because the comments you leave really cheer me up. They honestly do.

So here's to 2015. Happy New Year you gorgeous fucks xoxo

Part Deux - Slightly Drunk And Way Too Emotional

So he left. And I cried. I wailed like a baby and could not stop. Once I'd calmed down enough to stop wailing (but still crying) I made myself a drink and decided to go to the beach once I'd finished it. You know I bloody love the beach. So I told Sophie and her boyfriend where I was going and set off.

And as soon as I was out the house, I texted LB.

Because I had thought of something. I had a proposition for him. I thought maybe, we could just forget about the feelings and just be casual fuck buddies. Right? Makes sense, right? (Now is not the time to tell me that makes no sense at all). Because I am slightly drunk. As the title so rightly says. Don't worry, am trying very very hard to spellcheck errything. Bloody hate misspelled words.

Okay so he replied to this text being all intrigued and shit. So I decided to go round there. I mean, I texted him first to say I was coming round. I don't just turn up a people's doors.

But here's the part I am most ashamed of.

Troy lives a street away from me. Would that be a block away in USA terms? I've never understood that. Can someone enlighten me? So he lives a street away. On the way to the beach. So I, for some reason, thought that phoning him on the way to the beach would be an excellent idea. He said he was around so I stopped off at his,

Long story short: I kissed him. And he didn't kiss back.

Because he is a decent human being. He knows not to take advantage of someone - especially when they are drunk and considering he still likes me... And he didn't kiss me back. And I felt so embarrassed. So embarrassed.

EDIT: This post has taken me 3 days to write. So much has been going on over the past few days. So much. It is now Friday morning, I am no longer drunk.

So yes, I kissed Troy. And then I left to go to LB's.

I got round there and asked him straight out what the deal was. He said that, again, he liked me enough for a relationship but would be gone by June. I assured him I didn't want relationships because they are scarypants so he was perfectly safe there. Then we had crazy hot sex and I left the next morning. And I mean crazy hot. Bloody hell.

And I was fine with it. Despite the fact I had told him to leave - a fact he was very impressed with - and then immediately went round to his which basically almost put me back to square one. But I was totally fine with it. I had gotten all the feelings part out the way and we were just going to continue having occasional crazy hot sex.

Then I had a pregnancy scare.

Chyeah. That's a thing. That happened.

Just to clear things up now - I am not pregnant. Nor do I intend to be for quite some time. But when you're a girl, you know when something's not right. I had been so over-emotional the past few weeks and my skin was going crazy and I'd been eating everything in existence. Things that don't normally happen were happening. So yes, I freaked out. And I got drunk. Obviously.

And I happened to text LB. Telling him I might be pregnant. I know, I know. Possibly one of the most idiotic things I could have done. But I have no idea how to tell you how I was feeling then. I felt lost. So, so lost and confused about everything that was happening in my life. Not just men (as much as this blog likes to make it look the opposite, I do actually have other things going on in my life that don't have penises) but everything.

So yes, I told him. And he freaked out. And I got mad at him. I got mad at him for freaking out because of course he would - the self absorbed fuck. So I told him that even if I was pregnant. he'd get off scot free because I would give him the chance to fuck off and have nothing to do with it. He could carry on doing his lawyerly thing and fucking about with many other girls and he wouldn't need to worry. So for once, would he be a decent man and think about how I'm feeling.

God, I am the worst when drunk.

He understandably got even madder. And came round. I wouldn't let him in the house because I was being a strong independent woman so we had a huge argument outside. I cried. I didn't (and still don't) understand what he wanted from me. He didn't have a clear point to make other than I had made him feel like shit. Poor, delicate flower. Then we went inside to bed. I was so emotionally and physically exhausted by then that he could have suggested we move to China and I would have agreed as long as there was a bed waiting for me at the other end.

And all night, he held me. He has never done that before. Ever. We have slept together (sleeping) a lot. And not once have I woken up in the night or in the morning to his arms around me. And it's not like he's just moving in the night. We never went to sleep in each other's arms. Perfect guy, huh?

But despite that, I woke up feeling that none of this was right. I kicked him out at midday. I kicked him out nearly 2 hours ago. I've blocked his number. I think I've sworn off men.

Because my friends were right. He was unhealthy for me. I had lost all sense of who I was since being with him. And, as I told him when we were arguing, I was so not in love with him. I had just put him up on a pedestal and I hadn't wanted to let him go because he was Lawyer Boy. And he had wanted me.

When he left today, it was very TGI-esque. He got dressed and I tried to just shut my eyes and go back to sleep. And he turned at the door and said 'bye'. I didn't reply. So he walked out.

'Bye'. That was it.

I'm glad. I'm glad this ended after such a short time. I mean, only 2 months isn't that bad. And now I can just do other stuff right? Other stuff...

God, I am exhausted. So, so exhausted. I want to just curl up and sleep forever. I have no emotions right now. I don't want to cry or shout. I just want to sleep.

So there we go. I wouldn't expect regular posts any time soon. I mean, I have to find another man to write about, obviously.

Now tell me, what do you think? Of this whole thing? This whole, turbulent thing? What should have I done differently (everything)?

It's a really good thing I don't have his jumper any more. It means he won't forget me all too quickly until he washes it. And I think that's fair. I think that's very fair.

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..

Undesirable No. 1

I have a confession.

I feel like shit.

Not just because I am desperately trying to stave off a cold and am popping paracetamol and vitamin C tablets like there's no tomorrow. No, I feel like shit appearance wise. Namely my face. Yeah my face sucks balls right now. Not literally. Ish.

I think I have had clear skin about twice this year. Each time lasting about a week. Then the dreaded blemishes start appearing. And I have tried everything. I've been on antibiotics, I've bought The Body Shop out of tea tree oil, I've bought La Roche Posay's super-acne-fighting-skin-saving-pixie-dust-making trio of products, I've tried crazy expensive products (sample size obvs, I am a reasonably poor student) and fuck all has worked. Fuck. All.

And it pisses me off. I don't usually wear that much make up but say on a night out, I'll shove a bunch of the stuff on. The lighting in da clubs is not the most flattering to say the least. But foundation and concealer will stick to the spots and make them even more obvious and dried out. And frankly, it just looks disgusting. 

And when you have clear skin, you feel so much more attractive. You don't really think about it when you have spot-less skin as you'll be fixating on something else wrong with you - we all do it. But once that clear skin is a distant memory, you'll wonder why you never woke up every day like, fuck yeah my face is as smooth as a baby's arse. 

Really, I feel like this:

(Any excuse for Harry Potter. Not even sorry).

Because yes, I like to look nice. Not just for myself but for other people. And sometimes, if I'm having a bad day, I appreciate a double take from a person on the street. I feel this is a tricky subject to approach but I'm just going to bosh on. My blog, my rules.

I am 6ft tall. I get looks. Usually from my face to my feet to make sure I'm not wearing heels. And I like these looks (that come from both men and women I hasten to add). Anybody would. But I hate them when I have a horrible blemished face. My self esteem (which is low at the best of times) just plummets. 

And when I do go out of a night with intentions to snare some unwitting male, I don't want to be worrying about my face scaring them off. I'd rather be worried about my dress riding up or falling off my, albeit very low, heels. Does this make sense? I don't think this makes sense.

At work on Sunday, I went without foundation or concealer and just played up my eyes to try and distract from my skin. One of my regular customers asked if there was something wrong with my face and had I been in a fight? It wasn't Tall Australian thankfully. He's a gentleman. 

Basically, what I'm saying is I just spent £50 on all natural skincare in a last ditch attempt to clean up my face. Although I did just come across this blog post from The Beauty Gypsy which I think sounds like a very scientific method and therefore must work and I should most definitely try it. Ahem:

Why sex is good for your skin. And hair. AND it’s all backed by science!

Anyway, I shall keep my spotty chin up and of course keep you updated on the progress of my skin. I know you're all dying to be kept in the loop. And you know you'll be informed if  The Beauty Gypsy's method works. If you have any tips, I would love to hear them. I am slowly going insane every time another blemish appears. Now let's go find me a Lawyer Boy...

Back To Reality Please Thank You

He's going to fuck me over.

I know it and I'm wavering.

Let's go back to my overjoyed last post.

So for Halloween, I always go slutty. I can't help it. I forget to think of a costume until a few days before and by then I have no money so I have to work with what I've got in my wardrobe and a super quick eBay order. One day I'll have planned ahead enough to go as something hilarious,

This year, I was a ringmaster - heeled boots, short shorts and black vest top already owned. Top hat and red jacket super quick eBay purchases. Cane from Flatmate's box of kinky shit. Nailed it.

Flatmate Number 1 and I went out on an impromptu bar crawl along Belmont Street and got wonderfully drunker than we meant to. We ended up at her favourite pub with all her scary-but-lovely punk friends. I had been texting LB all night (mainly about how hot I looked. I have no shame) and he eventually came to pick me up from the pub. I've phrased that wrongly. It sounded like I forced him to come get me - this was of his own accord!

So we walked back to his and the rest of the night is a bit of a blur. All I do remember is making him add me on Facebook so I could stalk his photos (he warned me that they were all just photos of him and various girls and holy fuck they were. It was ridiculous. Tiny Hippie Friend and I had a Skype stalking session last night) and also him telling me that yes, he like liked me.

I shall repeat: Him telling me that yes, he like liked me.

Cue excited last post.

Now there was no way I could misread(hear) that. Especially since he added 'but there's no point as I'm only here for another 9 months or so.' Which sounds like he was debating being in a Thing with me but realising it couldn't go long term. Right? RIGHT? Please tell me I'm not going insane. That definitely sounds like that. RIGHT??

Anyway, after a horrific walk of shame  stride of pride home (I was wearing his jumper so I didn't look like an absolute whore walking home but still managed to cheer people up with the knowledge that they weren't me. Talking to you woman in hairdressers who just stood at the window with a cup of coffee watching and laughing), I had to go to work.

The next day, he came round.

I'd asked him - being of 6'7" height - to come and take down my fairy lights because I couldn't reach. I mean, I technically could reach considering I was the one to put them up but it was a bit of a stretch... Anyway he got them down in 2 minutes whereas it would've taken me at least 20.

And he stayed till morning. And we talked. Whilst being sober. A bit of an unusual experience for me but there you go, first time for everything.

And I've realised that he is a bit of a dick.

And will therefore fuck me over.

Because despite the whole 'like liking' incident, I am very much certain that there will be another girl that he has given that impression to. And another on top of that. Not literally on top. Unless he was in some sort of threesome and told them both at the same time. Which is poor taste if you ask me.

He said his friend had described him as 'a posh cunt but a nice guy' and I can see that. He is extremely arrogant. He knows exactly what he's doing. He is well aware of the effect he has.

And there was a point when I could have genuinely stopped this. If I had asked him to leave at that moment, I could have been done with all of this. Yes, I would have been a bit miserable for a few days and 'what iffed' for a while but I would eventually have been done with him and moved on.

But of course I didn't do that.

I would like to point out that I didn't do that knowing full well what the consequences would be. This 'thing' would continue for a while longer - maybe until the end of the year - and all of a sudden he'd have a girlfriend or he'd just stop talking to me or he would do something that would leave me heartbroken and feeling like a first class twat.

So why did I do this? Is it because I didn't learn from TGI? Is it because I am seeing him through rose coloured glasses? Am I being a compete idiot again?

No.

TGI was a different type of dick. He didn't pretend. He didn't pretend that our 'thing' was anything special, that I was anything special. He didn't give me any bullshit and it was my fault that I got too reliant on him.

LB is the worst kind of dick. He will make you feel special and like you are the only one. He will make you feel this whilst practically admitting to your face that you are not the only one and in fact he will probably be going home to fuck his flatmate or one of the many other girls in his Facebook pictures.

Am I being a compete idiot again? Yes. But an idiot who is the worst kind of idiot. And idiot who knows exactly what she's getting into and how it will end. A self destructive idiot. But I'm glad I've realised this. It won't make it any easier or any less painful when the time comes but hopefully I can put on a brave face on the outside so he won't know he's hurt me.

I realise how unbelievably ridiculous this sounds. You're preparing yourself for the inevitable end and heartbreak? Why even bother?

That's what I don't know. I don't know why I'm bothering.

Does anyone know? Has this happened before to anyone? Is the overwhelming majority in the favour that I should stop this right now and get my head on straight?

I genuinely do need your help.

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.

Manly Men & Delicate Fairies

Have you ever wondered when you're going to achieve your peak hotness? You see all these TV shows about 17/18 year olds played by 25 year old actors. And they all look crazy hot and you're like, what the dick?

Case in point:

Elena in The Vampire Diaries is supposed to be my age. I can assure you I look as much like that as a I do a potato. I probably look more like the potato to be honest. And guys get it so much better than us. I was discussing this with Troy in Budapest and we thought I'd hit my peak hotness at about 26 and it'd last maybe until 29 if I was lucky. Whereas he, as a fairly average looking man at the moment, would reach his peak hotness at 35 and it would continue for the next 20 years. By which time I would look like a raisin. It was a good conversation.

Speaking of people being older and better looking than me...

I have LB news. I have so much LB news. Some minor but still confusing TGI news but we all know how irrelevant that is.

So it was my birthday on Thursday. Officially in my last year of my teens. Which is about bloody time because I am so sick of being a teenager. My gorgeous friend from Edinburgh - one of my bestest partners in crime - came to stay for a few days and I took her out to see the cray cray nightlife in the 'Deen.

We got all dressed up in dem short dresses and went with my flatmate to one of the pre-drink bars for cocktails. PIC (Partner In Crime) got chatted up by a random New Zealander which we were all very impressed by as that has never happened to one of us before. Making out with people in clubs is not the same.

PIC and I went to one of the clubs as we had taken many tequila shots and were therefore drunk enough for clubs. My flatmate went to be with her scary punk friends with all the piercings. She quite rightly hates clubs. Anyhoo, PIC and I were in the queue when it hit midnight and turned into my birthday. We were incredibly excited about this so got more tequila as soon as we got in. Obviously. Then we hit the dancefloor where I showed off my Shakira moves. Again, obviously.

Then a medical emergency occurred as someone dropped a bottle or a glass on PIC's foot which caused general bleeding and grossness. Being the super friend that I am, I did not freak out at said bleeding and grossness and took her to the skanky first aid room to get multitudes of plasters.

Then we decided she was fine and we should go dance again. Which is where LB comes in. 

I heard a deep manly man voice behind me saying 'happy birthday' and when I turned round, there he was. Looking tall and just ugh. Manly.

WAIT. TYPING BREAK. I'VE JUST REMEMBERED I HAVE WINE GUMS IN THE CUPBOARD. I MUST EAT THEM. BRB. 

Update: I have now eaten practically all the food in my house in under 10 minutes.

So yes, LB. I am afraid to say, I do not recall what happened in da club but I doubt it was very exciting because very soon, the lights were up at PIC and I were leaving. As we got outside, who should accost her but Very Forward New Zealander! VFNZ engaged her in conversation - very persistent conversation - and LB magically appeared in front of me.

So we kissed and shit and were generally, even if I do say so myself, pretty damn cute. Then I realised that PIC was being an ultimate wingwoman by having VFNZ's tongue shoved down her throat. To be fair, it was my birthday so I deserved some LB time... But not that much so we shoved VFNZ away and buggered off home.

And LB followed us. HE stalked ME. I know right. Isn't this a plot twist. Not a fucking exciting one, I know but we work with what we can. PIC and I ignored him as we walked back until we got to the end of my road and he had to walk past. So I left PIC with her bleeding foot in order to run after him in my bare feet and tell him off for stalking. Also, when we kissed, I had to stand right on my tiptoes. I have never felt so delicate and girly and fairy-like in all my days.

Once PIC and I got home, I proper medical-like bandaged up her foot with bandages and shit. And we went to bed. She fell asleep quite quickly but I stayed up to text LB. He was very jealous that there was someone other than him in my bed, to say the least.

So this sounds all fine and dandy does it not? Indeed it does. LB is into me - at the very least in the physically way if not the 'ooh, do I like like her?' way. 

And then Friday happened. Oh yes, Friday happened.

So what do you think of LB? Think he's my Prince Charming? (6'7", just sayin')

Jazz and Liquor: Roxie's Downfall

I may or may not have been watching Chicago recently. Bloody love that film. Also I am ferociously back on the coffee. I tried so hard, I really did but I just cannot give up that which is so very dear to me and crucial for my brain to work and my eyes to open fully. However, I have done marvellously with the alcohol ban. Or, 'limitation'. I have the teeniest glass of wine in front of me from a bottle that I started almost a week ago.

And speaking of alcohol, we may now commence our forage into Certain Times Drinking Alcohol Has Dicked Up Errything.

I do not like to blame myself for anything. Even if something is blatantly my fault, I will do my very best to blame it on some inanimate object. In this case: a bottle of wine. And vodka. And a little bit of tequila.

So after my slightly surreal night with LB, I went home fully planning to remain tres cool and nonchalant. I would not text him or message him on the Facebooks oh no, I would remain cool and dignified and have him be the one to get in touch with me.

But how do people do that?!!

It's bloody impossible! How the flying dick are you supposed to keep away from your phone and not check it every 2 minutes and gradually get angrier and more worried as time goes on and there is no new message (apart from that one from your mother that you CANNOT DEAL WITH RIGHT NOW BECAUSE THERE ARE ITEMS OF MUCH MORE IMPORT GOING ON IN LIFE THAN TRYING TO REMEMBER HOW OLD MY COUSINS ARE). I am not a patient person. In fact I would describe myself as rather impatient.

So of course, I texted him first.

And of course I was ever so slightly very tipsy when I did so.

And of course I texted him relentlessly. Every night. With wine.

And what I don't realise when I have consumed a certain amount of alcohol is how much of a dick I am when I have consumed a certain amount of alcohol. They were the worst texts. They were needy yet angry and just plain childish.

And why did I do this? Why, even though I would refuse to come out from under the covers and show the world my face just in case I bumped into him on my way to uni or work, would I then sit down with wine that very night and start the whole bloody thing again?

Well I worked out - after I sent a particularly awful, embarrassing text that made me delete the entire thread and his number from my phone - that it wasn't because I like liked him. It was because he interested me. There was something about him that caught my eye because I wasn't expecting it. I wanted to get to know him more. I wanted to see if we could get along for longer than 2 hours in the morning. If he really did have my sense of humour, if he really was as genuine as I thought, if he really did have the personality I had seen in him.

Because when you think about it, he was just a hook up in a club. He was just a hook up that had extended into nearly a month rather than just that night. And the men I have gone home with after meeting in a club (only two, quit your judgey pants) were not ones that I would have been particularly enamoured with or intrigued into finding more about them. They were just hook ups. I was lonely. C'est la vie.

So can you understand this frustration of mine? Because, thanks to alcohol, I have come across as a ridiculous, needy, annoying girl who sounds more like she like likes him than just wanting to get to know him. And you might think, come on that's not that bad. Surely you can fix it when you're sober?

That's what I thought when I got a text from him last night - after having silence for 4 days.

He asked me how my tests went. The medical ones I had done last week, that is. Now remember I had deleted his number but still knew it was him as there was one last conversation still in the thread. My flatmate and I thought it would be hilarious to reply with 'who is this?' to show him how little he really meant to me. After exchanging a couple more messages, he eventually realised that I had deleted his number which was awkward. I then relented and told him I was drunk when I did that and would allow him back in my phone if he was nice to me. He then said, (and I quote verbatim from my phone) 'I don't think that's a good idea, drunk you clearly isn't happy with me'.

I replied but haven't heard back from him since. And I am so mad at myself. Because I had the chance to have a sober conversation with him that he had initiated and seemed genuinely concerned about my health. But did I do the mature thing? Of course not. Because I am an idiot. An utter idiot.


Sorry, that was quite a lot to take in, wasn't it? I got a bit frustrated hence the lack of swearing and load of details. Don't fret, I shall no doubt regain my strength and hilarity (ha) for another post. At the moment, I am just weary. Not just tired but mentally and physically weary. I feel like I'm heading for one of those weeks that you just don't want to get out of bed and face the day every morning. It's going to be a bit of an effort.

I apologise my lovelies, I do.

Is this just me? Does anyone else do this with alcohol? And also fuck things up when sober?

Stars and Shit

I am currently sitting in my kitchen with decaffeinated tea and toast and trying my very hardest to avoid looking at the massive pile of books waiting to be read for uni. Every time I catch sight of them out of the corner of my eye, there is an overwhelming sense of guilt because they look so lovely and intellectual - Shakespeare, a Latin dictionary, Homer and Aristophanes - and I feel that I should become that person who reads all the course books and is therefore filled with aaaall knowledge and shit.

But nah.

Also note DECAF tea. This is a travesty. I was told by my GP that I have to severely limit my intake of alcohol and caffeine. I didn't even tell him about the 3/4 bottles of wine a week. He just knew. What a dick.

Anyhoo, I'm really just procrastinating telling you what a bumblefuck I am.

So in my last post, I said I went back to LB's but nothing occurred of the bed gymnastics variety. WELL. A few days later, I got a message from him asking me out for a drink. I nearly fell off my dragon. (In this scenario in my mind, I was on Facebook whilst sitting atop my pet dragon awaiting the signal to go into battle. I get very bored sometimes). 

But the thing was, I was meeting my beloved father (of the parental variety; not the religious) for dinner the day before and that always makes me sad/angry for the next few days. And sure enough, after meeting said father, I felt like poo. And I messaged LB to tell him so and therefore I would have to cancel.

Then I drank a bottle of wine and went to the beach at 11pm. I don't know if any of you know Aberdeen but it's right on the North East coast of Scotland so when you go to the beach you just see this expanse of sea which is interjected with the occasional oil rig or huuuge boat. At night, it's amazing. All the boats are lit up in the distance and the black sea is reflected in the darkness of the sky. But the best thing about going there on a clear night is the stars. Although not as obvious as if you were in the countryside, they still shine brightly and are really just gorgeous. Bloody love stars, me.

Anyway, I texted LB and asked him if he wanted to come to the beach because there were stars and shit. 

He was very reluctant to leave his warm flat and after about half an hour, I agreed that I would come to his instead of him coming to the beach. What a boring fuck he is. No sense of adventure or stars.

So I turned up at his flat at about half past 12. And we were both really tired so went to bed. Well fuck me sideways and call me Wendy. That man knows how to do the sex.

Holy fuck on a stick. I was very impressed.

But that's not even the most important bit. The most important bit was the next morning. We woke up at about 8am and talked for about 2 hours. Not proper talking, like, bed banter. But I made him laugh - a sort of sleepy smile and laugh into the pillow - and honestly, it was just perfect.

I should add that he is 22. I am 18. I can't remember if I mentioned that. So I was apparently the youngest girl he's been with. And was the same age as his sister. Which freaked him out a bit therefore I enjoyed mentioning as many times as possible that he was in bed with an 18 year old. I mean, 19 in like 2 weeks so it's not that bad...

And really, it felt like I was the young, adventurous, free spirited one. Which is a weird thing to think of just from a 2 hour conversation but I mean, you could obviously tell the age difference. But not in a bad way. I didn't think.

Then I left and went to work.

And THEN...

I fucked it all up. 

As per usual. Quelle surprise. It wouldn't be me if I didn't.

Sorry, was this boring? I'm still half asleep. I just needed to get it all out of my brain. Don't worry, you can be prepared to hear about my fuck ups later.

Oh, Freshers'. You Marvellous Drunken Spectacle, You.

So. Wednesday.

My tiny friend from home was up staying for a few days so I decided to show her what a party town Aberdeen is. Where she lives is a tiny fishing town where shit does not happen. She needed to pop her shit happening cherry. God I hate that phrase.

So we got all drunk and dolled up and went out to da club along with all the Freshers. I felt so old. I mean, yes I'm only in Second Year but it means I can't be labelled as a stupid First Year any more which is rather jolly.

Anyhoo, we got to da club and were doing da dancing when who should I see but LB! Of course I didn't believe it - mainly because I had my contacts in and they don't make me much less blind than without. So we had to dance around him for a bit so I could double check. I wasn't sure until he bent down (remember - height, very much of it) and asked me if we'd met before. I obviously feigned ignorance like the smooth fuck that I am and carried on dancing,

Then thanks to Tiny Friend and her occasional accidentally-on-purpose shoves of me into his direction; we were kissing.

H O L Y    F U C K

I don't know how many of you have experienced drunken club make outs but in my experience there is either too much tongue and/or teeth or not too much tongue and weird dry humping. Gross, I know.

This was different. This was fucking incrediballs kissing.

I mean, it was like how I imagined if candyfloss could kiss. Melt in the mouth sort of stuff. Does that make sense?  I highly doubt it does. Just use your imagination.

So we made out like two kissing giraffes (heh) for he rest of the night. But did I go home with him? No I did not. Why did I not? Because Tiny Friend didn't know the city and I am like her City Mum so wasn't letting her go off wandering by herself to find my flat.

So I was like, aw well buggering hell never mind carry on as you were my lady. Because at least I had made out with LB. After all this time, it was like unfinished business being (partially) finished.

Then Tiny Friend jollied off back to the small town of boredom and I resigned myself to the fact that I would have no one to go out with for the Saturday night of Freshers'. This is not because I have no friends. It is merely because I have very few friends in the country at the moment. They've all buggered off to America and China and Sweden and Canada and shit for the year.

Glad we clarified that.

I eventually managed to persuade my punk flatmate (who is the sweetest most amazing friend ever so don't let the piercings put you off) to come out to da club with me for half an hour - she detests clubs - and then go back to her metal gig. I even paid for her entry. All I needed was someone to come with me in the queue so I didn't look lame as fuck. I'd be fine once I got in. And yes, this was mainly to see if LB would be there.

And fuck me sideways and call me Wendy - he was.

I played it very cool and danced by myself for an hour or so (I like to think I pulled it off) but then got bored so moved to the side of the dance floor. A few minutes later, he also came away from the dancing and stood texting. And - because women get shit done - I went over to him. We talked/yelled for a bit then I said I was leaving and he came with me.

We walked hand in hand along the street and talked. I can now confirm that he is 6'7". Just let that sink in. I'll say no more about it.

As we walked along, I didn't even notice we'd walked past my street and were on our way to his. Considering we hadn't even kissed that evening, I was pretty proud of myself.

And dammit - he's funny. And sweet. And I liked the fact I made him laugh. And he was kind. I have a weird heart murmur that pops up occasionally and gives me weird palpitations. It hasn't come up for a while but with my luck, I started getting palpitations while we were walking back.

It usually never lasts long but will reoccur a couple of times that same day. It's a bitch at inappropriate moments. Like this, But bless his face, he was so nice about it. Obviously didn't have a clue what to do but was nice and calm about it.

We made it back to his and he was so gentle with me when my heart fucked up again. We fell asleep in his bed at about 5am. Then I had to get up for work a few hours later.

 And no, we didn't have sex. Which means this business is still unfinished.

I apologise this post is a bit all over the shop. I've used it as a way to get all this out of my head and sorted out.

I'm trying not to get too into this. I know he probably isn't.

6'7", man. Fuckyeah.

I'M SORRY OKAY I'M SORRY JEEZ

Yes, yes, not written anything for ever, such is life, I suck, let's just move on please thank you.

Basically, the update is: I broke up with Troy and I'm over it now. Bosh. Back to cold hearted bitch. BUT AM I??????!!!!!

Mostly. Now, did I ever tell you about LB...?

I don't think I did. Well my little dandelions, allow us to go back in time to about February this year...

I had just gotten my tattoo, dyed my hair bright red and my lovely German and I had gone out to da club. She then promptly decided to ditch me and go back home as she wasn't feeling well. Should I have gone home with her being the fabulous friend that I am? Lol no. So I stayed. And I drank.

And here's what happens when I drink too much - I cry. I get crazy emotional and cry. And it's not attractive. Quite frankly it's right bloody annoying. I become a weeping, drunken pain in the respective arses of anyone I am with.

But on this occasion I was on my lonesome. Until I bumped into LB. LB stands for Lawyer Boy. He is, as you may have guessed, a male who studies law. God I'm inventive.

Now LB was tall. Taller than me and I was in heels - only about an inch and a half high but that still made me 6'1". And at that height, he still towered over me. And from what I could tell in a darkened club, he was rather not bad looking.

Fast forward an hour or so and him, his flatmate and I were walking back along the street. There hadn't been any interaction between us expect exchanging a few words but he started holding my hand as we got further down the street. I obviously got very overexcited about this. Then, as suddenly as a flasher whipping out his dick (ew. what.) I was getting bundled into a taxi by myself and taken home.

I was not impressed.

So unimpressed was I that I went straight onto Facebook and tracked him down. I won't tell you to what degree of stalking it took but to give you a hint - MI5 would be bloody lucky to get someone like me working for them. The next time I got drunk, I messaged him.

He messaged back after about a week - because obviously my message had gone into the Facebook messaging 'other' folder just reserved for creeps and stalkers - and good lord I got overexcited. Screaming and jumping about occurred. It wasn't a proud moment.

Hint: there are a lot of moments I am not proud of to follow. Sorry.

Then, after a few messages, we lost touch. As in - he stopped messaging me. Sensible enough.

I was so pissed. Because he had cursed me.

Yes, you read correctly. Cursed. Cursed in the way that no guy would come near me for about a month after I met him. Usually, I was accustomed to making out with at least one guy every time we went out to da clubs. After LB? Nope. None. It made me feel like right crap. Because I was thinking, God, is it me? Am I suddenly repellent to the male sex? Even though I have boobs?

Then I realised I was being ridiculous and the curse was broken and everything was hunkydory - I met TGI and you know the rest.

I didn't see LB again apart from a couple of times on campus - I ignored him and hoped he hadn't seen me notice him. It was so empowering, not gonna lie.

That is, until Wednesday night.

Oh yes. Freshers' Week.