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.