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.

I am a Detective

Hey there


We went out last night. God it was an abusive night. My freind Sam came down, and he got abused as the only boy out with us. My house mate hid his car keys in the oven this morning. It didn't confuse him much, he just looked like he wanted to throw up as he tried to think.






We got nicely drunk on some Lambrini; which as you all probably know is dirty.


The second part of abuse came in the queue. We had some pushers. Some posh bastards who thought they could muscle in because they were born with silver spoons in thier mouths and sticks up thier arses. Abby called them 'cock sucking motherfuckers'. I'm not joking.


The third portion of abuse came because we were dancing near some proper geeky guys for a laugh. And Abby asked them if they 'liked girls'. Thier answer was that they did, but they 'didn't like to pay for them'. Abby's answer to THAT, was a swift one to the face.



The fourth came because we stole some flowers, and a passer by said 'why have you ruined those flowers?'. The reply 'why have you ruined your hair'. We were probably asking for it really.



Sam eventually came home, fell up the stairs, and scared the life out of me.



My two funny things this blog. One isn't that funny. Someone has mashed up Michael Jackson and Patrick Swayze to come up with a track called 'Beat the Wind'. Laugh if you want, its okay.


http://hypem.com/track/907066/



Second funny thing, I was walking past my local fish and chip shop the other day, and I noticed a poster for a missing cat in it's window. This missing cat had a fantastically ironic name. Wait for it..




















Scampi.


You don't believe me do you? I knew you wouldn't. It's fine, I brought proof:

There you have it sports fans. I'm pretty sure I know where the cat is. Lathered in salt and vinger and being eaten by the Lincoln equivalent of Jack and Vera Duckworth.

I'm off to spend my day, parked on the sofa, dying quietly, pretending I'm a detective by playing Sleuth online, and eating frazzles.

Peace x

That Game

Hello!

So, we're all moved into our new house in Lincoln, me and my three lovely housemates. Last night we had some wine and lasange and watched Ace Ventura and Dumb and Dumber (you guessed it, Jim Carey marathon).
One of the magical things about being at University is the games you invent to pass the time. Now, last year, when I was in halls, I WAS the game. My two male housemates made thier way through the first year barricading me in my room with chairs, putting leaves through my window to make 'a garden' and putting my game boy in the fridge to convince me I was going loopy. Oddly enough I still love those boys.

The game we've come up with is thus: we stick a condom on the fridge, and the first housemate to use it in sexual activity wins. The losers have to do a forfeit, which will probably end up being expensive and humiliating on my part. Me and one of my housemates also play another game, which has both made us cry with laughter and realise that we are probably pretty bad people at times.

Me and the housemate in question are both from the same place, and hang out at home, and mutually know a boy who happens to be unfortunate looking (however the thinks otherwise) and have invented a game revolving around this person. For the sake of identity, we'll call him James. The game is 'James Or..', in which me and my housemate present eachother with scenarios. For example, one went:

'James or Chlamidia?'
'...Chlamidia... you can get rid of that.. can't really get rid of James'

I know, its pretty terrible to say the least. We've come up with all sorts of agonizing scenarios. James or David Dickinson (Dickinson triumphed), James or Josef Fritzl, etc.

Trust me, its amusing when you're as sick as us and spend time treating yourself to crutons and flavoured lipgloss.

Tommorow we're going to head off to the Fresher's Fayre to steal many a wooden spatula and tinned foodstuffs.

I know, the stereotypical student lives. Viva la Cuppa Soup.

x