NB.

This just in: Abby read my blog and told me that the chef I mentioned is Marco-Pierre White, and isn't even french, and is actually 'from Birmingham or somet'. She's also told me I smell slightly of garlic. I probably do. I think I woke up in a state this morning and ate some garlic bread to punish myself.

Reel Big Mess

Oh my god Hi. I haven't died, I've just been busy/too sociable/drunk/asleep for the past however long. Good news - my assignments are all in now. Bad news - I want to get wrecked all the time as a consquence of this and I'm running out of money.
I went to Rock City last night to watch Reel Big Fish; and I got so messed up I threw up twice. My friend Tristan had to clean out a wastepaper bin I hurled into, and give it back to me for round two of chunk-blowing. Its no shocker. I was swigging vodka straight back at the gig like a thirsty man. We ended up in a club that smelled a bit like cheese and sex and I got even more pissed.
The highlight was this morning when Tristan produced a bacon sandwich for me with a smiley face drawn on it in tomato sauce. Service with smile, that boy, everytime. You wouldn't get that kind of amazing shit off Marco Pierre French-Man-Dont-Give-a-Fuck-What-His-Last-Name-Is.

Last night at the gig there was a gigantic bloke in a white t-shirt skanking his tits off. He nearly killed us all (and probably himself. Dancing like that with his BMI can't be anything short of a one way ticket to a heart attack). I heard people I was out with keep shouting 'WATCH IT, WHITE T-SHIRT MAN'. He was an absolute animal. He was the happiest person at that gig. Or the one on several drugs I'm not sure which but I think they're sort of the time think.

Its been very trying today. I've been doing alot of acting without the wonderful thought process usually required so thats fucking fantastic. I got home to Lincoln and my housemate Tasha has been trying me. She nicked my chair, and bet me £50 I couldn't stay in my room for 24 hours. I could do it, I'm just choosing not to. I kicked off about her stealing my chair though. She has got no idea how against my code that is the little harlot.

I'm sat on the floor now as I'm writing this and my arse is going very numb. Which makes a change from my face or hands, as has been frequent recently. Nothing much else has actually happened here. Chelle, my housemate, got a boyfriend, and while we're all very happy for her, Tasha is miserable about being single and seemed to want to drink some Cilit Bang through a funnell for a bit.

On another note I made Abby a Mocha today, and it was bloody brilliant. I'm wasting my time here. I should actually be a barista in Italy making mocha's for a living, driving a scooter and eating expensive biscuits.

In the mean time I'm going to continue in my current line of education while venting pent up frustration by singing 'New York, New York' loudly around the house.

I need to go to bed quite badly. So I think I might. I'm supposed to be going out tommorow. You don't have much choice here.

'Are you lot going out tommorow'
'Yeah, and so are you'
'Right then'

People can be very persuasive. God only knows if I've spelt that right. I reckon they're all trying to kill me.

Stay safe. x

The Common Cold

Is ridiculous. I am so busy right now, and I've fallen ill. I am bed ridden. I am craving chicken soup. I nearly blew my own head off last night with a bowl of Vicks Vapour Rub.
I hate being ill. Its so so inconvienient.
I'll hopefully be back on form soon though. Hopefully. Provided I don't OD on Vicks and Cold and Flu tablets and send my self loopy and start talking to ants in the garden.

Love x

Why Is the Wine Always Gone?

'Why is the wine always gone? Why isn't adam levine/matthew mcconaughey/tom meighan (any of them) my boyfriend? Why do I have work to do? WHY IS THE WINE ALWAYS GONE!??!?!?!?!?'

The above is a direct quote from my best friend. She is my best friend for a reason. Aside from her uncanny likeness to me in everything from penchants in online detective games to finding the sick amusing, she states the unfortunate truth.
The wine is ALWAYS gone. It is November, it is cold, it is droll, and my workload is gigantic. Its not because I'm behind. I'm never bloody behind, I'm just sprinting to catch up with my work load, which, quite frankly, moves as quick as Linford Christie on fucking steriods.
I used to think listening to the Beach Boys would solve most of my problems, and while that still stands, there is also my terrible terrible reality. I know what you're thinking. That I'm a student that goes out and has fun and makes silly videos whilst living off Doritos. You can shove that idea directly up your arse. Honestly.

I love my friends, I love my course, but jesus christ I need some epitome of fun. My idea of fun is a large house party, at which I am wearing the best clothes, have the best hair, and am drinking gin and tonic out of a glass made from the hooves of unicorns whilst listening to pop punk.

Here's the reality. Tommorow night we're going to our freinds birthday. The theme is musicals. Instead of doing something sexy like Moulin Rouge, we're doing Annie, because we're as skint as skint voles. So, theoretically, we're dressing in rags. I have said we could suggestively rip said rags around the bresticle area, but there's no such thing as slutty orphans.

I can't wait for Christmas Break, simply because it means I won't have to look at Land Law for a while. I'll find a solution to this horrid boredom, even if it means making orange squash with vodka in it and cartwheeling up to the bloody cathedral.

In other news, my housemate Natasha literally is the worst Countdown contestant in history.

The anagram was

'PETDRAGON'

Tasha's response to this was 'Well thats easy. Pet dragon'. I have never laughed so hard. Not since my friend Amy got chopsticks stuck up her nose in a chinese buffet.

Oh, hold on, aforementioned best friend has just come in with a proposal:

'Hello'
'Hello'
'We're going to get drunk'
'And how are we doing that?'
'We're going to get a bottle of one quid cider and down it while spinning round in the garden'
'Right..'


Its tuesday tommorow. 9am start. Hurrar. There's no use in complainin' when you got a job to do. I think thats how the lyric goes. And we've got cider gardening to do.

Keep as fresh as the salmon the counter in Morrisons.
xxxx

"Sort Your Life Out, Levi"

One of my freinds actually said that to me today. I get where he's coming from. I mean, I've been doing so well, doing all my work and what not. Last night though, I got absolutely destroyed and have spent my day lolling around on the sofa, watching Sally Jessy Raphael, eating Rustler's burgers and putting off tidying my room to look for my I-Pod, which to my disgust has disappeared.

Its terrible, because we have these awful healthy neighbours. I saw one of them take some flour of their cupboards. What in the name of Curly Watts do they need flour for? Do they bake? I bet they bake oatcakes that have 1 calorie in them, and make your metabolism super fast, which they eat before they jog to trampolining.

I've not even had a shower, so the tattoo I drew on myself when I was dressed as a pirate last night is still on my inner wrist. I look like a crackhead. A crackhead in baggy pajama's sporting a terrible haircut.
I do intend on sorting my life out, and tidying my room, and maybe even showering... after I've watched more pointless T.V.
'Don't Tell The Bride' should be sufficiently depressing.


x

My Body Is A Temple

No matter how run down, or crumbling it may be, it most definitely is. My Uni house is also my castle. I am the temple within the castle. This is the view I've been taking on not allowing boys to use me. One boy in particular has been getting under my skin this week, and I've decided to firmly banish him, as I'm pretty sure I know what his game is.
Men think they're so clever and inconspicuous, when in reality they're about as inconspicuous as genital herpes. Glamourous comparison, I know.

I'm the wrong girl to pick to try and use. I'm unforgiveably sharp with it, terribly suspicious, very cynical, and a complete pessimist. Its a no hoper from day one, basically. I figure it out and bag it off.

SPEAKING OF TRUE LOVE (har har) I'm at a wedding tommorow. Big congratulations to Sharon and John :)

This is unfortunately only a quick blog, because my parents are picking me up from Uni today to take me home and take me out for some Thai food on the seafront. Good times.
How lovely to be in a nice, safe, secure environment when Fresher's hath ravaged my body so. That said, however, my parents do drink a hell of alot of wine :(

Peace x

The Dawning of the Freshers

Here it comes, the inevitable tide of colds, hangovers, and embarrassing memories. Freshers week. For those of you who don't know what Freshers Week involves at University, which I think will be a highly minute number, Freshers Week is a week of constant drinking and partying and general horseplay, before the classes start. Pretty much every Uni has one, apart from about, like, three, and they're all probably in the highlands or in underground caves where real people don't live.

I'm a bit annoyed at myself coz I misjudged Freshers and thought it started LAST week, but it doesn't. So I've probably wasted alot of money living here before Freshers that could and should have been used ON freshers. No point crying over spilt milk, though, so grind down, get on with it, buy the nastiest alcohol based product available and get pissed all week for forty quid.

You're probably thinking this: 'Well don't go out then. Save your money, and avoid general illness'.

The answer to that is 'Don't be so ridiculous'

If you miss your uni's freshers, you might as well go and set up your room in the library, eat fair trade nuts for breakfast, lunch and dinner and become universitally (see what I did there?) known as an inbred social recluse. That's not a bloody exaggeration either. To be fair, though, I've got to leave on Thursday to go to my best Friend's mum's wedding, so I'm missing a little bit of Fresher's week. Its probably for the best. I can't count the amount of days I was ill last year.

In other news, I've dyed my hair red. Twice for maximum effect, actually. What with me having very dark hair, I needed two dyes so I didn't look merely like someone was shining a red light on my hair. Here's a drunk picture of me and Tasha so you get the idea

Excuse the flower in my hair, I stole it from a nice flower trough near the Brayford walking back from a takeaway.

Here cometh Freshers, to strip you of your money, health, and dignity.

Unfortunately, we wouldn't have it any other way.