the prettiest star

Laugh now, but one day we'll be in charge.

Thursday, March 31

Is my body too bootylicious?

I feel I should offer some kind of explanation for my previous post. The singing and that.

I was at the gym last night. I like the gym I go to now. They have a mainly male team of fitness instructors/personal trainers/whatever fit men and I fancy them all. The gym has a glass wall which looks onto the swimming pool, which is normally full of uninteresting people, but as I walked into the gym yesterday there was an aquafit session going on. Led by a male instructor. In shorts and he was all wet and yummy. Like a fool I stopped and stared. Another fit man instructor walked past and smiled and said hello. I didn't hear. He had to shake me out of my stupor. Very embarassing. It didn't make me feel any better when he told me that said wet instructor in shorts was single.

I spent the rest of my workout burning with shame.

To make matters worse, as I was leaving the gym, the instructor that embarassed me (we'll call him meanie instructor to avoid confusion and the other one is wet shorts instructor) said that the spinning class were going for a curry and did I want to come to seduce wet shorts instructor? Much to my own suprise, said yes.

So, we are sitting in this curry house, me, a load of super fit spinning people and various instructors. Mean instructor is talking to me. The man is gorgeous, he's just all dark with blue eyes and this body....Mmmm. I get a chance to talk to wet shorts as well, who is also gorgeous, but blond, and I briefly consider a job in fitness. Then the curry house bloke brings this karioke machine, which is odd. Maybe karioke in a chinese, but not an indian. Do you see where this is going?

So a load of pissed people start singing the usual- 'I will survive', 'my way', 'God save the queen' and all that. Mean instructor says 'Come on, lets sing!'. Now I can't sing, really, I'm not afraid to admit that. I cannot sing and I wil not sing in public. Meanie doesn't understand. I tell him I will dance, act, perform magic, hell I'd even rap for him, but singing?

He understands, and then feels it is necessary for him to sing to me. He sings 'Bootylicious', which is not only a girls song, it is a song that I LOVE and now he's ruining it by shaking his (well toned, fit, yummy) booty at me. One by one, everyone puts their food down and observes that yes, he is in fact singing to me and, oh look! He's doing a... what's that? Oh a lap dance! He's singing 'Is my body too bootylicous for you babe?' to me and trying to shag my leg! It feels SO wrong!

So I am, once again in my life, burning with shame. What have I done to make this stupid, yet gorgeous man sing and dance for me? He doesn't stop there. Wet shorts gets up and together they sing an array of Robbie Williams songs.

So at the end of the evening, I'm a little bemused, not only did I find myself out with a gang of fit men, one 'performed' (I think that is the only suitable word) for me and, well, what a random night.

Wednesday, March 30

Oh the humiliation...

What makes someone to sing to me in public?

Is it insanity, drunkeness, love, what? Really?

Tuesday, March 29

My body's determination for me to never have sex again.

There are some people that seem to go through life faultlessly, everything runs smooth for them, no glitches. Then there are people like me whose life is really just lots of embarassing situations and misunderstandings. I'm not talking about the big stuff, I mean the way that life runs from day to day. Sometimes I wonder about the stuff that goes on with me, and really, you couldn't make it up. Last night was one of those times.

My body gave up on me in spectacular fashion.

Or I should say my face.

I am the kind of person whose skin tends to be fairly normal. I clean it and moisturise it every morning and night, I always take my make-up off before bed and occasionally treat it to a facial. I keep it happy. And what do I get in return? I had some kind of skin crisis yesterday.

I woke up yesterday morning and my infected eye looked kinda red and swollen, but that wasn't a big deal, that can be sorted with make-up. But my face! I washed it and it kinda went all flaky, so I spent all day drinking water and plumping it with my Mum's Creme de la Mer. Didn't work. My skin just turned red, blotchy and really sensitive. I was supposed to be going to the pub with my friends (including hot kisser James) and I started to panic. The one time I find a nice guy and my face falls apart. Cool.

I tried putting my foundation on. Now I previously thought that Mac can solve anything, but no. I tried to rub it in and my skin just went horrible, I looked like I had scales. I started to cry. Eventually I was saved by Clarin's Beauty Flash Balm (good stuff) and my make-up went on fine. I looked I had put it on with a trowel, but no-one seemed to notice.

Why would my face do this to me? Honestly, there is always something. It might seem trivial to some people, but really did I have to rebuild my facial structure with clown make-up yesterday?

I know everyone is talking about dating and stuff right now, but what's the point of even trying when a simple act like putting your make-up can't be done?

It's like my body has a vendetta against me. NO! I will not be going on any dates, I will not have sex for the third fucking time this year. NO! I will not go out and enjoy myself, no way. NO! Don't even think about hot kisses against walls. Instead my eye will look like a grape, I will have to hold my face together with my Mum's collection of anti-aging creams, and meanwhile my body will do the one last crime against me- it will forget how to have sex.

Monday, March 28

Dinner with the mafia and the hottest kiss EVER.

Yesterday was Easter, right? Personally I'm not so big on Easter, when I was a kid it was all about the chocolate and these days it's about Easter weekend and how many all-dayers I can fit into it. Reading other people's blogs, Easter seems to be taken a lot more seriously in America than it is here. People in the UK have no sense of family at all.

So yesterday I went out for a pub lunch with my Mum, my brother, my Mum's friend, my Mum's boyfriend and his family. It started off okay, my Mum got into a bit of a mardy about me drinking- in her eyes I haven't turned 18 yet, I am a mere 12 in her eyes I think.

Me and my brother refer to Mum's boyfriend's Dad as The Godfather. He is the dodgiest man in Europe. He is very rich through some very ellusive 'business' and frightens the crap out of me. I'm convinced he's in the mafia.

My Mum is a person who has obviously never had a shitty job in a restaurant or a shop. Her manner towards waitresses is actually painful to watch. I always go with her to order food at the bar because she is so horrible. So yesterday the waitress comes over and first asks The Boyfriend what he wishes to eat. My Mum answers for him- what is she, his mother?

'Can you do him a green salad?'
'Yeah with lettuce and that?'
'Yes but he will only eat green food today'
'Right, any dressing?'
'Can you do an olive oil and balsamic vinegar dressing?'
'Erm we don't have that, see we do pub lunches, it's only what we have on the menu, we have salad cream'
'Salad cream is mayonaise for poor people'
'Well I'm sorry, but like I said we're only a small pub'
'Do you have any sardines in a tin?'
'I did mention that it's only really what's on the menu'

See what I have to deal with? This went on and on, she requested camenbert cheese, rocket, caviar and all manner of foods that you just don't get in pubs. I thought the waitress was going to cy, I felt so bad for her.

The Godfather smoked so many Marlboro Reds that I have an eye infection today from sitting next to him. He kept blowing smoke in my face and my left eye is completely red and swollen today. What a twat.

So after all that I went on a double date with James, and my friend who's going out with his brother. It was so nice, I got quite drunk on wine but I could talk to him forever and once again there was the hottest kiss I think I've ever had in my life. He pushed me up against the wall outside the pub, and just, wow. It made my legs go all weak and it was just amazing. I have never been kissed like that before.

Sunday, March 27

About Friday night.

The time- 6pm Saturday
The place- my bed

My phone is ringing, I pick up:

Me: Yes?
Rach: Oh my god you're still in bed?
Me: Noooooo....
Rach: You lazy bitch! Were you out last night?
Me: Yeahhhh
Rach: Did you go to Quilted Llama?
Me: Yeah we went round all the Lace Market bars.
Rach: So it was you then.
Me: Huh?
Rach: My friends saw you practically shagging some guy on the stairs in Quilted Llama, said it looked like you.
(silence)
Rach: And I said 'Oh thats the girl I'm living with next year'.
(silence)
Rach: Did you sleep with him?
Me: NO! He was a hot kisser though, mmm he was nice Rach.
Rach: You musta been so pissed.
Me: I drank a child's paddling pool's worth of booze. We had fishbowls.
Rach: Was it James, I take it you were kissing him?
Me: Yeah it was hot, he's yum.
Rach: So what else hapenned?
Me: Theo got arrested for pissing on council property, I was loving the old school.... sorry Rach I'm just so hungover.
Rach: What you doing later?
Me: Oh I'm going to the pub....
Rach: You gonna see him again?
Me: Yeah he's been texting me and we're going out this week. Like grown ups!
Rach: Oh cool!
Me: Yeah.... okay I need sleep Rach.....

Saturday, March 26

Let the beat hit em....

Okay, I wanted to write a post about how cool last night was, and I wanted to comment on everyone elses blogs, but frankly I'm so fucked that my fingers and eyes, okay every part of me has stopped working.

I have to say this though- I've only read Amber Lynns blog today (I'd link, but that would involve effort...) and it's really fun go read it. Also, AL if you're reading, what was your last comment on my blog all about?

It's 930pm and I've only just got out of bed. I'm going to fry the contents of my fridge, cover it in cheese, eat it and go back to bed with a large cup of tea.

Tomorrow I will come back and write something useful. It involves the hottest kiss of my life, my friend being arrested, and a fishbowl.

(By the way, I'd completely forgotten how much I LOVE Lisa Lisa until last night. Old school rules!!!!)

Friday, March 25

So, are you a fittie or a weirdo?

Wow, I just read Blue 944's post, and it relates perfectly to what I was planning to write about today.

He has these photos of what he thinks people really look like, and I find it so interesting. Does everyone do this? Personally I haven't given it much thought, but now I imagine everyone to be either fitties or weirdos. Imagine if everyone met up for a drink, it would be so cool to guess who's who. I think it would be the trippiest thing to find out what everyone looks like. Hmmm.

People always assume British people have these amazing accents, all posh and refined. This is not true. A tiny proportion of people that live near London speak like this. The rest of us have mouths like fishwives, especially me. I say this because yesterday I went into the gym and my instructor came over, all smiley and started to talk about my programme. I chipped in and he was all 'Oh so you're from here then'. I replied 'Yes I grew up here this is my home town, I lived here for 18 years but now I'm mainly in Leeds'. He seemed appalled at my accent, and kept going on about how he expected me to talk like my Mum. Very odd.

As a child I was aware that I didn't look quite like the other kids, I had a long, weird name that no one else had, I was a little darker and my Mum spoke another language. Certain people always seem a little bemused when they see me and I come out with my Nottinghamshire accent. But I don't get it. We shouldn't live in a world where everyone should speak like everyone expects them to. Britain is really multicultural, and I'm continually confused by it.

Another thing that gets me is when people assume your tastes by what you look like. I've mentioned before that I love music and know loads about it. Take me into any club and I'll sing along to every song they play. Yet I meet people who will challange this. They'll ask me questions about bands and songs, and it bugs me. If I go into Rock City on alternative night I'll be bound to get some grebby 15 yr old come up to me and be all like 'So you like RHCP then?' and when I say 'Yes I've seen them live twice' I get a million questions, like I have to prove my credibility. I hate it so much. Everyone judges on appearance, we can't help it, but theres judging, and there's being mean.

Really, do I need to have blonde hair and pale skin to call myself English? And do I need to change what I wear so I fit into every single club I go into?

Thursday, March 24

So it really was 'the feelings'!!

Oh god, last night was so us being 15 again, it was quite scary. It was so pretty and sunny yesterday that we started our little party at 5pm in the garden. Jax had the best news- apparantly James asked her to make sure I was coming out on Friday, and Jax (the fool) told him he was in there if he has some handcuffs to which he apparantly raised his eyebrows in an approving manner. So I spent 2 hours getting information out of her. I found out the following: he is basically the male version of me. In every way. So there was 'the feelings' and I am SO looking forward to Friday night!

So I won't say too much about last night, but I will say this:

Between 3 of us, in 2 hours we consumed-
2 18" pizzas
20 potato waffles
10 potato smiley faces
2 chocolate cakes
50 mini chocolate bars
4 bottles of white wine
15 bacardi breezers
a small bottle of malibu rum

Then the party started, during the course of the party, the following happened:
(in no particular order)
I dropped my camera in the toilet
2 films of 'The Swayze' were watched and enjoyed
My friends brother stole my hotpants and wore them with relative ease for an hour
We went into the woods to 'find' Robin Hood
We smoked so much that today I cannot locate my vocal chords
There was a dance out Bassment Jaxx's new song 'Oh My Gosh' during which my friend threw up for the third time this week.

Ok, other news. First, Joe is back! Joy!

Second, Lunatic, it depends where you live on how much a flight costs to England, but you're always welcome round mine!

Third, Dan, I too will be in Notts this weekend. On Friday I'll be in
Rock City, I'll be the girl having a dance out with all the olds, and on Sat I'll be in The Waterfront, probably trying not to fall in the trent .

Fourth, I cannot get on to Martini Love's comments, why?

Tuesday, March 22

Holy crap! I think I found a man!

Today I had a screaming tantrum at the computer (I'm still a teenager, by 9 months, I can still get away with it...) and my brother agreed that in the interests of the family, the computer, and my mental health, we should connect my laptop to our internet. I'm much calmer now, using something which appears to have a working modem, doesn't turn off at random intervals and doesn't pain me in the head.

So I'm kinda in two minds about being back home, on the negative side, my family is intensely irritating, and they have no technology in the country, but I've had so much fun being at home.

Monday night was pub quiz night (I am the pub quiz queen, but more about that later). So I went with Jax and Jamie to meet our friends at the pub. We started out in The Crown, which is a horrid skank pub, but with the cheapest drinks any of have ever found. So after 8 doubles, we're well on our way, and then Jax's boyf comes in. He has his brother with him, and I've met him before, he was in the year above me at school, but suddenly he's looking a whole lot fitter and I get 'the feelings'.

And so, we move on to The Rodney for the pub quiz. So, my 'queen' status. You know how, when you're a kid, and you think you're parents know everything, ever? and then at some point you realise that your Dad, doesn't, in fact know everything? Well, I haven't reached that point yet, and it's not because I'm incredibly simple, it's because my Dad knows everything. EVERYTHING. So basically, he has been transferring his knowledge to me over the years, and now I am the pub quiz queen.

So on Monday, we won the pub quiz, and I get talking to James, (Jax's boyf's brother). Turns out he's moving up to be a policeman in Leeds this summer. My reaction? 'Holy shit! With the uniform? and the handcuffs?'. And he didn't look frightened, he smiled! So I was beginning to think, hmmm, is he man enough for me? So we carry on talking, and I appear to be making him laugh (I'm hoping it's my cutting remarks and wit, not my drunkeness) and me Jax are laughing about how skank I tend to be to boyfs, and again, he smiles, no fear.


Then the final test. The landlord decides to have a lock-in (we ended up staying until 3) so everyone does their party trick. Mine, as mentioned in my 100 things, is my obscenely long tongue. Turns out he has one too. Meant to be, hmmm?

So outside, it all becomes very Sweet Valley High, and he offers me his jacket, and we chat even more, and I feel about 15 years old. There's a party tomorrow night and he might be there, and a night out to Notts on Friday that I know he's coming to, so...

I never get 'the feelings' for anyone these days, and I really hope it was 'the feelings' and not 'the drunkeness'.

And if it doesn't work out, according to Bran, I should be shagging Lunatic.....

Sunday, March 20

I'm moving to India tomorrow. To get married. To a woman. So no, I don't want to dance.

Yesterday Wales won the rugby (I'm half Welsh remember) so my Dad insisted I come to his local to celebrate with the rest of my family. I brought Rachel, as my Dad's family scare me. They're all blond and pregnant and think I'm odd for being foreign and educated. I don't talk about my Dad much. People always say 'I know your Mum's mad and that, but what's your Dad like?' and I always reply the same thing 'My Dad named me after a member of the Rolling Stones and is onto his third wife'. Really, that's all they need to know.

So we got there and my scary Welsh Grandad had come too. He scares me cuz he calls everyone 'boyo', which is a Welsh term of endearment for males, but he feels the need to use it for everyone. So I go in and he's like 'V! Boyo! Are you still doing that education thing? Look, our Tamara's got her third now and she's only 17, you not sprogged up yet?' We didn't stay long.

So me and Rach went into the city, around 9pm as she felt like a bmw hunt and I'm her pulling partner, so off we went. We started off in Dogma which is always full of rich city men, so I was happy to get drinks bought for me, but Rach was sulking so we ended up in Faces which is always full of bmws.

It was in Faces last night that I totally lost all faith in men. I wasn't particularly drunk last night, but I was having a really good time catching up with Rach, and wasn't really in the mood for pulling. Faces plays wicked music on a Saturday though, so we just wanted to dance. Then this guy taps me on my arm and starts to talk to me. I am confused. Obvioulsy no-one has ever explained the rules of pulling to him:

1. If you are a fat, ugly, pissed up balding troll, do not attempt to talk to girls half your age who are obviously not on the pull for a fat, ugly, pissed up balding troll.
2. Don't make a move unless someone is clearly interested in you. ie, if they have made no attempt at eye contact and keep telling you to piss off, they probably aren't interested.
3. If a girl throws a drink in your face, she doesn't want your phone number.
4. Do not return later in the night asking said girl if you can be her friend, she has plenty of friends already, and has no room in her life for a crack-flashing troll in Burberry.
5. Don't go on to complain that all 'half blacks are the same'. Firstly, this girl is not 'half black', secondly, the pc term these days is 'bi-racial'-, and thirdly, Rach's bmw heard that and he's going to fuck you up outside.

Similarly, Rach pulls a fittie bmw and I'm left talking to his moronic wing man. He too, needs the rules of pulling explained to him:

1. If a girl pretends to be Spanish to avoid speaking to you, it's not a good sign.
2. If she keeps saying 'adios' and motioning towards the bar, also not a good sign.
3. If she tells you she's moving to India tomorrow, to get married, to a woman, do not attempt to blockade her into a corner of the dancefloor- It's just NOT MEANT TO BE.
4. Don't spend the rest of your night shaking your ass to attract her attention.
5. If you are foolish enough to ask for her number, when she replies 'It's in the phone book', and you realise she hasn't even told you her name, just go home. Do not, repeat DO NOT chase her car down the road yelling 'Quiero saber tu nombre!!!!'

I've said it before, but really, seriously, where have all the good men gone?

I have been to Nottingham, Leeds, Manchester, Newcastle, London, Liverpool, Bristol and have found none. Is there some secret place where they all go? Have I done something really bad?

Saturday, March 19

From the ghetto of Leeds to ....the ghettos of a small town in rural England?!

So last night was the first night everyone was back from Uni, and as usual we all went to our small-town local. We started off having such a fun night, I was out with 3 really good friends, and there were loads of people from our year there as well. There were a number of traumatising incidents- ex boyfs feeling the need to talk to me, Jake (sauna boy) feeling the need to smaile and say hi, Amy (slut in the year above me) feeling the need to tell eveyone she's going to be a page 3 girl. I got so pissed there was no need to ex text- the pub contained all my ex boyfs, free for me to harrass them all.

So the town where I live is really middle class, lots of rich parents with too much money, and as a result, loads of kids are on drugs. They did a survey in yr 10 at school, and 90% of students had done weed at some point, by yr 13, 30% had done class A drugs (this is very high for a non- inner city school). So quite a few people were pilled-up, but we are used to this. It's quite funny really, you walk in and everyone's drinking from water bottles. If you didn't notice their eyes are purple, you'd think the young people of this town are not drunken, drugged up fools.

So about 10:30 these police come into the pub. We expected them to just check everyone's ID, which is what they normally do, as probably half the people in the pub are under 18, but they have police dogs, so we're like 'what the.....'. I mean really, we're in Sherwood Forest, not the Bronx. So everyone gets IDd and checked for drugs, then a guy in my year, Ben gets caught trying to escape. They get there guns out (yes GUNS) and pin him to the floor and arrest him and all his friends. Turns out they had a whole ton of drugs on them. So everone kinda leaves early, little bit confused. Then, outside the pub, this souped- up Peugeot 206 flys by, and I know that's my mate Dave's car. Then a police car flys by, with sirens and that. And they block him off- Starsky and Hutch style. We really had nothing to say by this point and decide to just continue drinking at my house, the conversation in the car went something like this:

(2 mins of silence)
Jax- They drugs-busted the Rodney.
(30 secs of silence)
Jax- Guys! They had a drugs bust IN OUR LOCAL.
Ali- They arrested Ben.... V he's your ex.
Sophia- Yeah V, you're hard core now.
V- Soph your ex got chased by a bloody police car!
Jax- You don't get it, we live in the countryside!
Ali- I was aware of that, idiot. Will they come back tomorrow you think?
V- Does this make me and Soph bad people?
Jax- Do we dare go out in Nottingham now?
Sophia- God can there be more drugs in Nottingham than there are here?
Ali- Not even Colombia has more Coke than here.
V- Really, am I a ho for having a gangster ex?
(30 secs of silence)
Jax- God they drugs-busted the Rodney...
(everyone nods in acknowledgement)
Soph- why am I sat on a wine bottle?

So I take back everything I said about small towns, maybe they aren't so boring....

On a another note, I couldn't get to the gym today, cuz some moron left his cow in the road, causing a traffic queue for a mile. Who forgets a cow?

Friday, March 18

I miss the city.

Since I got back to Notts yesterday, I've been appalled at the total lack of technological advancements here. We live next to Sherwood Forest, the same one that Robin Hood lived in, and you would think we living in Robin Hood time. First, we have only just got broadband, and yet the computer is still ridiculously slow. Screaming and shouting at it to 'come the fuck on!!' hasn't helped. The very thought of commenting on everyone's blogs is quite frightening, as would take me all day. However, my laptop has wireless connection, so as soon as I buy the thing (my brother knows what it is) that makes it work I'll be sorted.

I went into the city today, as the trees and stuff were beginning to piss me off. It was so nice to hear people talking in my accent and really cool to go on the tram again (do they have trams anywhere outside England?). It was actually warm today, I'd also forgotten how much warmer it is down here, and the guys are so much fitter as well. Anyway, I sorted out my job and I start on Monday, as a Grown Up.

One thing I totally forgot about home was that everyone here knows each other. Every car I pass, someone waves at me, in most shops I went in today, I knew someone. It's a little scary how small town it is. I was in the gym last night, looking nasty and muffin top-esque in my too-small bikini in the sauna. Three guys I went to school with were in there and it was awful. I was too scared to get up and leave, because the true extent of my tiny bikini would be visible from behind. That was just too horrible to contemplate.... So I had to stay in the sauna for 30 minutes, I almost died.

I'm going to the ultimate small town get together now, the pub. I fully expect to have to hide behind my drink at every ex I see, I must also try not to laugh at all the 16 yr olds trying to get served and I really must not hit on my brother's friends. God, I miss the city.

Wednesday, March 16

No-one puts Baby in the corner.

I love Wednesdays, they're my off from uni (okay so I take most days off, but Weds is day off sans guilt). Every Wednesday I do absolutely f-a. I piss about on the internet, read magazines and watch DVDs. Tonight's theme for DVDs is 80s/dancing. So I just watched Dirty Dancing and had to post about my bad and wrong love of The Swayze. What is it about men with fit arms that can dance? Every time I watch DD I feel so wrong for perving on The Swayze. He's old enough to be my Dad, but those arms!

For a long time I've lusted after a guy who can dance, and have been unable to find one. Is that what it is about The Swayze? The dancing? I don't fancy him as much in Ghost, or Point Break, so I'm guessing it's the combination of fit arms and dancing. Does anyone else fancy The Swayze in DD or is it just my wrong and twisted mind?

We need a bloggers ball for defs now. That way I can sift through the crap and find the good dancers! Are Americans good dancers?

4 weeks.

I'm going home tomorrow for the Easter holidays. I just realised it will be the longest time I've spent at home since July, and I'm starting to panic. 4 weeks. Will I be able to handle my mother for 4 weeks? I think not. Prior to July, we had a somewhat tumultuous relationship, and me not being in the house seemed to remedy that. Okay, so I'll be working, and out with my friends, I may even venture to see my Dad, but I'll still be stuck in the house for 4 weeks, and not even the thought of my holiday makes me feel better.

Today I realised something awful. Rach asked me about my love life, to which I replied I think I may have forgotten how to have sex, it has been that long. This is mainly because of this virus I've had, but still. Then Rach kindly pointed out I will not pull anyone at home, because I know everyone there, and Notts men are all twats. For example, Rach's ex sent her a text today saying he wishes she was dead. The last Notts guy I went out with turned up at my end of term party and smirked at me all night.

I'm beginning to think I repell men in some way. I cannot remember the last great guy I went out with. Am I hideous? You've seen my eye, I'm not hideous am I? I tell you, if Bran holds this bloggers ball and the men are fit...

Fit!!

I miss having a TV to watch the football.
I miss watching Sweden's finest export, Freddie Ljungberg.
I miss watching him strip off at the end of the match.
Hell, I even miss Sweden. Not that I've ever been there....

Tuesday, March 15

Trust everyone, just don't trust the devil in them.

Before I start, a message for That Girl: your post has had me thinking, actual deep thinking about trust ALL DAY! I even spoke about it to my Mum for a good hour on the phone.

Ok, I'm over the NB I had yesterday, I think I actually went crazy for a bit. But I had a really long sleep and today's been great so far. I had my blood test, and it was the same bitch nurse that stabbed me last time. I got an email from my personal tutor saying there's no way I'll be kicked off the course, so that's cheered me up loads. I had my first day back at Uni today, I had a seminar, and god, it was such a waste of time. I have this tutor who is so far up his own arse he can't see us giving him evils all the time. It took all the energy I had in me to not hurl my copy of Paradise Lost in his face and yell 'Shut up you pretentious loser! Can you not see we don't understand your incessant rambling?'. I just know he spends all his free time smoking cigars and drinking black coffee with his twat friends discussing the greatness of Wordsworth over Coleridge, but really is anyone better than Milton?

Another cool thing is that I have a job, an actual Grown Up's job at that as well, just to last me the holidays. My friend Alison spent all last Christmas working with this temp company, so she sent them my CV and I will be a Grown Up, in a Grown Up suit, no less, as from Friday. It's at home, and I'll be at home for a period of more than a week for the first time since July, which is a bit of a worry, but I have a Grown Up job!!!!

That Girl wrote the most thought-provoking post today, and it got me thinking about how much we trust people. When I moved into my flat, my flatmates could have been anyone, one turned out to be a complete asshole, but seriously, I don't know who they are. Similarly, I'm going to live with two people I will have known for a mere 9 months in June. I love Rach and Ash to bits, but really, I've had this bag of pasta under my bed longer than I've known them.

I have never had a one night stand, mainly because of safety. I don't think it's safe to sleep with a stranger. Yet I would probably sleep with them some weeks later, but does this make them any less threatening? For a couple of years now, the guys I meet tend to be on nights out. Yet I go on dates, have relationships, and I don't know for sure who they are until I've met their friends, or parents, and even then, it's dubious. Yet if I meet someone through a mutual friend, I'm automatically more trusting.

You know sometimes, when you just meet someone, and you kinda click? Is there a difference there? I have always trusted my instincts, and I have had bad instincts about people, and really good instincts, all of which have worked in my favour. Some people are automatically distrusting, but this isn't completely me. As a 19 yr old female living in a city I have to have a level of distrust, as it's a dangerous place, but unless my instincts tell me otherwise, I won't decide if I trust you or not unless I know you better.

If there was a real situation where I met someone off of this blog, I cannot rule out all possibilities. As most of you aren't English, there probably wouldn't be a situation where we would meet, but really, you would know more about me than someone I just met in a bar and went out for a drink with.

Is this scarier or safer?

Monday, March 14

Breaking point.

What the fuck is up with everything today? My computer has turned all the writing in my windows into giant childrens storybook writing! And whats the deal with haloscan? Why aren't my comments showing up!? Holy fuck can nothing go right in this world?!?!

Well I broke down in the doctors, I'll be suprised if I don't get treated for mild depression. She said I should consider dropping out and re-taking the year if I have any more time off. Merde! I rang my Mum to tell her and she started to cry saying she can't afford it. I also started to cry and everyone got very emotional. I'm having another blood test tomorrow to determine what's wrong with me.

This computer is pissing me off so much! Where is Blue944 when you need him?

I'm going to have a NB if something is not done soon.

Yesterday was quite traumatic in quite a pathetic, girly way. Rach phoned me in the small hours of the morning, in tears as her bikini also no longer fits. I spent two hours telling her it's not that big a deal (I need to tell this to myself) and a further hour talking about how much men suck. It was all very Sweet Valley High. I told her all about my trip to Manchester, including the hellish car journey- I was so lost and stressed out that my friends forced me to stop for a little cry and a ciggie, I don't smoke, but god that stuff calmed me down. By the time we got there we were all pale and shaking. I think everyone has gone a bit crazy this week.

It reminded me of sixth form, where they used to make us drive to school trips (that’s how shit my school was) and they were always in the most obscure places. The driver always ended up stressed and in tears, pulled up on the motorway with a ciggie, regardless of whether they smoked or not. Once we had to make our way to Sheffield, and my friend had a bit of a NB and decided she couldn’t take any more. We had to hitch, but unfortunately ended up in Barnsley. We had all got to know Britain’s motorways very well by the time we left sixth form.

The driving isn’t what’s getting me though. Being ill for so long has been so frustrating, I've just been sitting around my flat, painting my nails, reading magazines and finding ways to avoid work. I've turned into my Dad's girlfriend. My friends are convinced I'm contagious, and so keep their distance. The only people that call me are Ali, Rach, and my Mum, who all live in Nottingham.

I was long due for some sort of NB. I'm one of those people who will be fine for months, but every now and then just go a bit crazy, I have a Bridget Jones moment, where I need to put my pyjamas on, and drink wine, and bitch with my friends about how sucky everything is. I’m seeing the doctor again today, and if they don’t find out what is wrong with me, I’m going to scream. I’ve been ill for six weeks. That’s 42 days! I have had swollen tonsils, headaches, and a complete lack of motivation and concentration for six weeks! This will be the end of me if someone doesn’t sort me out soon.

I think yesterday managed to break me.

Sunday, March 13

I need to lose the muffin top.

Is it possible to drop a dress size in 3 weeks?

Me and Rach have decided that cold shitty England and our knackered overdrafts can go to hell and we're going on holiday in three weeks. I'm really looking forward to it, we're going to get a last minute job for about £100. However, I had a mini panic attack when I tried to get in my bikini earlier and realised I am no longer a size 8 (This is UK sizes by the way). Holy crap. What I am going to do?

The normal option, my annual pre-summer gym fest, is out of the question. The last time I went to the gym, one of the highlighted, perma tanned, cockney, gay boy personal trainers told me my legs were too long for my body and that those of 'Latin origin' (his words) should just accept we aren't going to ever be skinny. I don't dare book a new programme to tone up quick in case I get that metrosexual twat telling me it can't be done.

I didn't think I'd need to start the summer tone up until May. I can't be bothered with buying another bikini, and there's none in the shops anyway. Help! I can't be the girl in the too-small bikini that people always laugh at. I'll have a muffin top! What the hell do I do to get from a size 10 to size 8 in a mere 21 days?

On a different note, today I went shopping to Manchester with Ali, and the highlight of the trip was discovering our friend now lives next to a sex shop and the only thing we bought was underwear and 50 flavoured condoms. What does this say about us?

Saturday, March 12

I live with a malaysian arsonist.

I promise, I swear down, this is the last bitch about my flatmate. But, what the hell did I do in a past life that was so bad? I am trying to have an early night, and in my innocence decide to do some washing. BIG mistake! Someone put their rubber bathmat in the dryer. Hmm, I wonder who would be thick enough to ignore a sign the size of Australia that says ‘DO NOT PLACE RUBBER OR PLASTIC IN THE DRYER’? What, in the name of all that is holy, goes on in her head?! Did she not notice the stench of burning fibres coming from the dryer? How about the smoke?

Message to CMF: I’d sleep with one eye open if I were you…

I hate my flatmate!!!

The stupidity of people worries me sometimes. I mean, everyone has their silly moments, but there are people in this world who are so stupid it puts the fear of god in me. One of these people is my flatmate CMF. After Blogger fucked up royally, I needed a drink (didn’t we all ) so me and my friends decide to make cocktails..

Upon returning to my flat, I find our sub warden mouthing off at CMF. Turns out she almost killed the people on the floor below us. She left the tap on in her room, with the plug in, and went into the kitchen. Who does this? Who would be thick enough to assume it’s okay to have running water in their room while they make a quick snack?

So, the sub informs me that he received a complaint from the flat below. The running water obviously leaked through their ceiling, not only causing damage, but it made the fire alarm go off. And the water got into the system so bad that the electrics messed up and set the ceiling on fire. ‘Oh dear’ she said to him. Oh dear indeed.

So it’s pretty bad, but she has to pay for all the damage! Finally, the gods answer my wishes for her to be skanked the way skanks everyone else every day. Oh how I laughed at her trying to tell the sub that there wasn’t much water, and how I laughed when he tried to spell her name.

If I anyone thinks I’m being a total bitch without reason, you are mistaken. I have so much reason. This is a person who thinks cooking can be done from your bedroom. I’m not quite sure where she got this novel concept from, but the amount of times I’ve walked into the kitchen to find a pan of boiled dry pasta about to explode. And to think she’s doing medicine.

I might write to the BMA and demand that she is not allowed to practise. Aren’t doctors supposed to be hygienic and healthy? Cuz they are two things that she is not. She has a certain smell about her, no one knows what it is, but it’s not a happy smell. I have never seen her clean the kitchen, in fact, on more than one occasion I’ve seen her throwing food on the floor. There are no pigeons in the flat, why is she doing this?

And the food. Ick is all I have to say. She has crammed the fridge with the poisoned orange substance that masquerades as Sunny D, along with various microwaved crap. She doesn’t own nice food. She cooks it all in the microwave (do they not use cookers in Malaysia?) and cooks it uncovered so that when she is ‘cooking’ in her room, the food gets all over the microwave. I’m convinced one day the microwave will start to eat itself. There’s enough shit inside to make about 5 curries.

Ok, I am ranting, I’m sorry. It’s just that it is 2:30 am, and someone I live with almost took the building down. My friends are too drunk and too busy laughing at her to listen. I have to vent my anger somewhere. CMF digusts me and someone’s going to hear about it.

Other business- That Girl I cannot access the comments on your blog and it is quite upsetting!
I miss Happy and Blue2.
Did anyone read my posts about my drunken antics? What did you think? Both text-ex guy and fittie James have been texting me, and I’m too scared to reply, what do I do? Also, I have two msn addresses, and James appears to have blocked me on only one, what does this mean?

Friday, March 11

I hate Blogger.

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

Whoever invented this shit was definately male. No woman would make anything so ridiculously complicated and badly behaved.

Holy shit, it worked! God, that was hard. Giving birth probably involves less stress.

Great. I can't access my comments on Blogger or Haloscan. It was too much to ask wasn't it?

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DOES NOTHING WORK???????

Don't leave a comment, and don't email me cuz hotmail will play up then. If you comment by telepathy that would be great!
Oh look, haloscan worked. But why the fuck is it all big and sitting in a really obvious way on the wrong post? Anyone know how to change this?
I can't comment on my own post, obviously no-one else can, unless you hate what I've written. Is that it? Do you hate what I write? Blogger is such a shit that I can't even put haloscan, it refuses to republish. And to make matters worse, I cannot access everyone elses comments that has haloscan- yes That Girl I'm talking to you.

Is this forever? Is this it? Is Blogger just giving up now? Or I do I just write about shit?!

The fittie, the ex, and the crazy people.

My, is blogger behaving like a petulant child! If it wasn’t for a my cool English reserve, there would have been some harsh words exchanged, but, well, teething problems, who knows…

So, I have gossip from last night, not that any of you know any of the people involved, but it’s gossip all the same. Last night was Carrie’s birthday, and it was also the end of term party for our halls. But, because I’m slowly turning into an 80 year old woman, I had a nap and when I woke up, everyone had gone so I walked up. This was a silly thing to do, the area I live in is rough, it’s a ghetto, a proper shithole. I heard on the news my area has the highest reports of crime on the country (think about it, in THE ENTIRE UK my area is the worst). My local park has the highest reporting of rape in the north, and the Yorkshire Ripper (infamous rapist and murderer) lived only 5 minutes from here. Oh yeah, and they found a leg in the woods next to my flat a few weeks ago. This is all true, you can google it and see for yourself.

So, I make it out of the ghetto alright, but then once I get into the city this crazy woman starts to talk to me. Crazy people always talk to me, why is this? They say ‘I love you, why don’t you cheer up?’. Well, I don’t think you’d be smiling if some herpes-ridden druggie accosted you in the middle of the street either.

But I digress. So I make it into the party, and it’s fun, cuz everyone knows each other, and the DJ is playing Van Halen so I’m happy. But then something happens. As I scan the room, a pair of familiar blue eyes catch mine and our mouths utter the same beautiful phrase- ‘What the fuck are you doing here?!’. I walk over with that forced smile people do that makes them look frightened. It was James. Not fittie James (we’ll get to him later), but ex James, who cheated on me, and generally acted like a complete piece. So why is he here? I ask him. What’s so wrong with Nottingham that he feels the need to come to Leeds, to a private party, and taunt me? Turns out his best friend lives downstairs.

So I wander on, undefeated, and run into Max. I love Max. He’s the poshest person I’ve ever met, and he’s on my course, and we go to the bar. This is where I run into fittie James. I think ‘Be cool’ as he walks over- (He smelt really nice, isn’t it great when guys smell nice?). And he asks where I’ve been, and I explain about the virus. And we chat, and I can’t believe I haven’t fallen over yet, or spilt my blue cocktail all over my white top. He keeps leaning in closer, and I get the feelings -you know the feelings.

I spend my night with Carrie, as it’s her birthday, and I witness very strange behaviour. First, she keeps putting her head up some guys top- what would Freud have to say about that? And we all catch her getting off with Torre, an Swedish student. We’re like- ‘Carrie? What the fuck? You’re snogging Torre?!’

Oh and I end up getting really wasted, and decide to harass this guy on my course. He keeps calling me ‘Darlin’ and ‘Sweetheart’ (he’s from London) which is intensely irritating, but he’s actually quite nice. He keeps asking ‘You’ll be in seminar next week yeah? I like sitting with you? Yeah? Yeah darlin?’.

And the night ends with fittie James. He comes up to me, puts his arm around me and whispers the following in my ear- ‘Hey, so my girlfriend's out tonight, but I can make her go home. How about it?’

I turned him down of course. But really, if it’s not one thing, it’s men behaving like prats. I bet it’s a man than runs Blogger.

Thursday, March 10

All my bad dates captured in cyberspace forever...

I needed last night! It was so much fun, and we played barrier! However, I am a little disappointed that my alcohol tolerance, that I've worked so hard on, is back to what it was when I first started drinking, but never mind. I went to the pub with Clare and Martin in the end. The entire conversation revolved around Martins friends, and the fact that both me and Clare have each dated one of his mates. He reckons that gives him 'privileges' to our friends. It does not!

And so the inevitable 'ex texting' began. This happens to many women when they are drunk. For some reason, god knows why, you think it would be a great idea to ex-text. I'm first, as I am the most drunk. My text reads- 'Yo bitch! I'm on all-dayer with M and C, just saying hi. Y ddnt u call me u flaming assrag? I'm pissed! x x x'. I don't normally talk like this. I don't even like the guy anymore. It's just seems impossible to get drunk and not harrass a guy you once dated.

So Clare joins in on the ex-text action, the guy she last dated was only after sex, and her text reads- 'In pub. Drunk. Call me. Clare.' I had to send it for her because the alcohol made her fingers stop working. By the end of the night, everyone knows each others latest secrets, and we've made plans to go out over easter. Then I am suddenly informed there's pictures of me on the internet. I'm like 'Come again?', but Clare informs me that some (evil and sadistic) website takes pictures of your nights out and posts them on the net. Worse, there are pictures of me with Martin's previously mentioned friend.

So I rush home, and we get straight on my laptop, I'm almost in tears by this point. So this 'website' does indeed have pictures of me. We go through all the archives and theres loads! However, I'm thrilled to discover that many contain my friends looking unfortunately like this. But I am horrified to discover many, many, of my exs/dates are there as well! I actually can't believe that they're all there. On one website. They are old-boyfriend photos you can't rip up as they are captured in cyberspace forever!

So I'm debating putting them up here, as they are hilarious, but I look wasted, and I don't want anyone to see me wasted. But I feel you should feel my pain by seeing just how many exs they could get on one website. Its scary. And my friends look like Courtney Love!

Oh, and I found one of fittie James, except he doesn't look so fit in the photo. And he found me playing barrier (see below) and I was drunk. It was only 8pm. So I think I've blown my chances there...

Barrier

barrier
barrier,
This is Barrier....

Wednesday, March 9

I'm getting pissed!!

Ok, I have just arranged an all-dayer with my friend Clare. For those of you not in the know, an all-dayer begins when our local opens and ends when you fall over doing karaoke (My karaoke song, by the way, is '9 to 5' by Dolly Parton. I harbour a secret love for Dolly). Clare is planning to get wasted by 6, and we're starting at 2. Four hours is a very short space of time in which to get wasted.

I 'fessed up that I haven't been drunk for some weeks now, and apparantly this is completely unaccpetable, so we are getting wasted to celebrate my virus (don't ask). We've decided to bring back all the old drinking games- barrier, hedge hopping, steal-a-sign, and the infamous 'what is the most random object you can find in 5 mins?'. Last time in played these games was in freshers week and I got arrested, but that's a story for another day.

So me, Clare, and god knows who else, are getting hammered tonight. So I apologise in advance for any criminal damage to your blog and any offence I might cause. I like to piss off my friends on msn when I'm drunk, so you can be sure I'll be about. In return I'll take lots of funny pics and post them later. K?

Bad dates- part 2- The Gangster

My friend Rach has a theory that there is nothing that cannot be cured by a B.M.W (are we all clear what that stands for? Its not a car...) and a night of booty shaking at rehab/media (depends which city I'm in). Personally, I don't think this is the case, but one night I was bit down so Rach packed me off to Rehab. I should point out here that many a scary man has been pulled in Rehab before, by all of us. Rehab is the local dancehall/hip hop club, and it's ok, quite posh really, but Rach fancies the DJ so we have to go quite a lot.

So on this particular night I decide to drive, so I park my car down some dodgy back alley, as usual, and head on up with Rach. Actually, one good thing bout Rehab is that most guys in there are wicked dancers. So we're dancing away, and this one guy gives me a look. It's so dark in there, so I can't see him, but I think he's nice (this always gets me in trouble!) so I smile.

Later on, we leave, and as we go this car pulls and I see Rach perk up as the guys inside offer opportunities for B.M.W related fun. So the guy driving was the one checking me out and he asks my number, and he's cute so I give it him, and Rach gives his friends (yes friends plural, not a typo) her number. The conversation here is interesting. He tells me his name 'Darnell' he says, and I'm like 'Oh Donnell, as in Donnell Jones? I love that song he does...' and he's like 'DARNELL thicko!'. And I get the message.

This is some weeks after I was traumatised by Little Man, so I figured one little date wouldn't hurt (I had not learnt my lesson at all...) So we organise a double date with Rach and one of his mates. However he turns up, sans his mate and insists on coming up to my flat. I was a little wary of how he dressed. He was blinged up to the max, even gold teeth. So he comes into my kitchen and the following conversation ensues:

Gangster- So this is a nice place you got.
V- Yeah, but rent is a lot.
G- So how much is that telly worth then?
V-Well that belongs to L....
G- Oh wicked right. So like, you go to Rehab much?
V- Yeah, Rach loves it.
G- Yeah I seen ya around.
V- Oh dear, so did you find your way here okay?
G- Yeah it's not far.
V- Where is it you live?
G- Roundhay.

(Roundhay is a proper ghetto. Where I live is pretty rough, but Roundhay is nasty...)

V- Roundhay? Past Meanwood?
G- Yeah, you know it?
V- No. So you live with your family?
G- Yeah my mum and my brothers and sisters.
V- Sweet, how many have you got?
G- Oh I dunno really, around 15, know what I mean?
V- Not really.

Later on we go into my room and I discover the following information: he has 'Thug life' tattooed 2pac style across his stomach, along with other assorted tattoos. He does 'Oh, you know' for a living' and the conversation then goes onto how much he loves weed.

So I manage to get him to piss off, finally. I don't have plans to become his ho, or anyone's ho for that matter. Rach practically fell out of her door when I came back. 'Did you shag him?' she asks. 'No', I reply, 'He's a fucking gangster Rach, he has gold teeth for christs sake!'. 'Not even a snog?'. She is angry at me for wasting perfectly good B.M.W. And yeah, he was fit, but he accessorised better than me, and came from Roundhay-gangster capital!

He kept ringing me and texting me, saying he wanted to 'Show me his skills' (which means only one thing in UK) and Rach ended up having ALL his friends. However, I cannot date a self-proclaimed pimp who wants a piece, with the option of sharing me with his friends.

And thus ends the tale of The Gangster!

Tuesday, March 8

Bad dates- part 1- Little Man

My worst date ever, by a long way, was Little Man.

The day I met him, my friend had just come up to see me and we were having a great time round all the bars in the city. It was inbetween Christmas and New Year, and I was working, and so wasn't at home, I was still in my flat. We went into a cocktail bar I know well from many stage society socials, called Mononi.

So, we go into the bar and the barman starts chatting me up. We seem to have a lot in common, his parents are from Spain, and his hometown is very near mine. So we order drinks and food, and he keeps talking to me. I'm thinking, he's ok, could be cute, but I figured I'd keep talking. (I should point out I had been drinking all day). So he tells me his shift finishes soon, and I point out I'm here with my friend, but he sits with us anyway. At this point alarm bells should have been ringing, as he tells me he likes house music. It gets worse. He tells me he wishes my friend would go away. By this point I was so drunk I couldn't hear. So somehow, he gets my number off my phone while I'm in the toilet.

Yes I know you'll be thinking I'm insane, but when you're that drunk, you just don't care. So Little Man attempts to invite himself on our night out, and I'm like NO. So I tell him we can meet up the next day before I start work (why did I do this? Why?).

So the next day I wake up with a cracking hangover. Me and my friend having spent that night getting wasted on cocktails. I get a text on my phone, informing me I am to meet this guy at 12 for lunch. My friend can't remember what he looks like, neither can I but we figure I should go anyway. Foolish girls that we are...

So, I arrive outside Wokmania to meet him. I'm early, so I hang around. Then I spot this kid in front of me and I think he might be lost so I ask if he's okay. The kid replies 'V?'. Yes he was tiny. I am only 5'3" so normally I don't struggle to find a man tall enough, but I can see over his head and I'm wearing flats. I cannot escape so I just find a smile in me and just go with it.

We get inside Wokmania and I can't help but notice he's kinda chubby and SO SMALL. It dawns on me that at no point the night before had either of us been standing at the same time. And I was wankered. So this date is truly awful. He's rude to the waitress, and he informs me he wishes to buy a pair of cowboy boots. With heels. I begin to panic, I get that sick feeling in my stomach, so I figure I have to escape. So I 'suddenly' remember I have to start work early.

He walks me to work, and I really cannot get over how mini he is. Outside work he asks 'So do I get a kiss then' I reply 'No!' and run away, literally. Now you would hope that would be the last of him, but there is a funny twist to this story.

Some weeks later me and my friend Sophie are chatting on msn. The conversation was so funny that we saved it, so for your entertainment I will copy it here if my computer will let me...

sophiaaaa says: i met a guy called j___ on thirsday night
V says: i went on a date with a guy called j___!!!!! is he really small?
sophiaaaa says: YES!!!!
sophiaaaa says: oh my god!!!
V says: omg the same 1!!!!!!
V says: from derby?
sophiaaaa says: there cant be more than one j___!
sophiaaaa says: actually i dont know where he was from
sophiaaaa says: could quite poss have been derby tho
V says: was he dark haired with a little beard
sophiaaaa says: yeeeeah
V says: noooooooooooo
sophiaaaa says: does biology second year?
V says: ESCAPE NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
sophiaaaa says: LOL!!!!!!!!!!!
sophiaaaa says: oh my god is it def the same one???????
V says: hes the infamous little man
sophiaaaa says: lol
sophiaaaa says: he wore like a red beany hat?
V says:yesssssssssss
V says: hes the scariest thing, plz dnt eva talk 2 him
sophiaaaa says: really? i thiuhgt he seemed so nice!!!
sophiaaaa says: he was a really good pull tho!
V says: how so?
V says: did u kiss him???!??!?!?!?!
sophiaaaa says: YES!!!!!!!
sophiaaaa says: I was sooo drunk
V says: NO!!
sophiaaaa says: I WOKE UP WITH A LOVE BITE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So, he texts me like a month later, asking if he can see me again, and I text on on Sophie's phone, saying 'NO!!! u r small, please find someone your own size. ie, not me or sophie!'

Thus ends the tale of Little Man.

Where have all the good men gone?

I just posted my words here, so now you will hopefuly understand me.

I feel awful today, I just woke up from a 13 hr sleep. Virus is back with a vengance. Also, was meant to go on date with the jew tonight, but when I check my phone is there a text? an answerphone message? Hell no! He obviously doesn't give a toss (literally) whether I live or die. I'm in bed, feeling like I've just been knocked out and he can't even be arsed to send me a bloody text to ask of I'm okay. He's a total asshat. To make the situation worse, as I was checking my phone, that bloody song 'I need a hero' came on (I had my mp3 player on random). I was going to have a Bridget Jones moment, you know, the opening credits of the film, where she's pissed, in her pyjamas, singing to 'All By Myself'.

Unfortunately I don't have any alcohol, and I don't think my flatmates would appreciate me whimpering 'Where have all the good men gone?'. But seriously, where the fuck are they? There are 40, 000 students in this uni, so without all the women, old people, idiots, and ugly people, I figure that leaves me about 10,000 men. There's nothing wrong with me so why can't I pull?

Actually, I need to rephrase that. Anyone can pull. There's always a steady supply of wholy unsuitable men who seem to think it's perfectly acceptable for them to attempt to pull fit girls. (This is how I managed to get on a date with a little man and gangster, if you want to hear more about them let me know). But my point is, of all the potential 12,000 men, surely I can get one of them? I'm so fucked off! If I can't pull men now, what will it be like when I'm older? I'm going to turn into Bridget Jones.

I'm starting to think I am hideous and completely undateable. I must have an undateable chromosone.

Monday, March 7

Where is the summer?

I keep getting asked what the hell I'm on about all the time so I'm going to start a list of English words on my other blog later on so you will all know how to use words like tosser and mardy. (Dan I expect you to know what those mean!) It would appear we are not speaking the same language at all, so let me know when you don't understand a word and I will explain.

This weekend was quite nice really, home better than usual. The tv broke, and I almost started to cry, but we sorted it and I got to do a bit of mtv catch up. I went to see my best friend last night. She's a bit temperamental, she is very into her boyfriend, but we always just pick up where we left off and that's what I love about her. We had a notorious holiday when we were 17, our first holiday without parents, and that's what we were talking about last night. Her boyfriend says he'll dump her if she comes away with me and Rach this summer, (this should give you some indication of what we are like on holiday), but we're planning on going around Europe and she really wants to come. It was so nice to see her again. We're going to Manchester next Sunday to look at her uni accomodation, and I plan to get her in lots of trouble...

My mum and her boyfriend were talking about their wills last night, was a bit weird. Boyfriend told me he's leaving all his money to his daughter, and, get this, his toy rabbit. Not only does the man have stuffed toys, he intends to leave them money. I have nothing else to say about that.

Despite it being mother's day yesterday, I receieved the following: £20 petrol money, £20'treat' money (which will unfortunately have to go on food), and for my computer: a memory stick, and a tiny mouse (freebies from Mum's company) and a multi way socket adaptor meaning I will never again go abroad and have bad hair from lack of a hair dryer!

I'm quite shocked at the weather today. It's dead cold, but really sunny so you could pretend it's summer if you didn't go outside. I was in the car this morning and that song off The OC came on the radio and I got all happy, and then foolishly opened the window and got a harsh reminder that I am not, in fact, in California, I am in Yorkshire. Possibly the most un-hot and unglamourous place in the world, (apart from Scotland, which is The Worst Place Ever). Where is the summer? I know it's only March but it's pissing cold and I'm sick of it. I kept telling my Mum it would be a great idea to go see The Boyfriend's family on Spain this easter, for a freebie holiday. But she's not keen. They're complete nutcases, and even my Mum's freaked by them. So if anyone lives somewhere hot, preferably with a beach, and would like to give me a freebie holiday, get in touch!

Sunday, March 6

Home.

How annoying is everyone else that drives? I went home on the M1 instead of the A1 last night, and I was shocked by the amount of tossers on the road. Like people who have really nice fast cars, who choose to drive at silly mph. It's wasted on them! My car has a tiny engine, and yet it'll easy do 100, but I overtook so many big cars that were just getting in everyones way. I hate it.

One good point, however, was last night's radio. Hallam fm had the best songs, they played a load from Dirty Dancing, then The Killers, then Madonna, then Chic, then Beyonce, and loads more, it was dead good. I'm all the other drivers were laughing at me trying to dance in my car.

What else? I've eaten so much food, I think my Mum's quite shocked. She buys dead nice food though, from Sainsburys, like smoked salmon, and muffins, and smoothies. Haven't seen much of the boyfriend, but I got here late last night so I imagine he'll make an apperance later on.

Am really hating this computer. All the colours look different. The pink on my blog looks horrible, bit too orangey, and everyone else's blog looks yucky as well. Hate the keyboard, cuz I'm used to my laptop this is dead noisy and clumsy. The computer broke and managed to delete all my links on my blog and stuff so had to mess around with that, very annoying. Does nothing work outside cities?

I'm going to my local with my mate for a drink later. This is the worst part about being home, cuz everyone's in there being bitchy about exam results, or about how there are two types of people- those who have been to India and those who haven't. Someone actually said that to me at Christmas-it's scary how pretentious some gap year students are. Then there's the inevitable hiding behind your drink to avoid ex boyfs.

God, I've not been home for 12 hours and I'm already bitching, and The Boyfriend isn't even awake yet! I need to do catch up on mtv, so will be back with stories about Bollywood's next big thing tonight.

Saturday, March 5

Merde!

Things I don't want to experience before 8am:
1. The evil in the kitchen making a fry-up in his boxers. He doesn't seem to have washed recently, I'm suprised L doesn't have fleas/herpes/rabies from sleeping with him.
2. CMF rapping to Snoop Dogg. Remember, she doesn't speak English. It sounds like a toothless Snoop has a mouthful of bees.
3. This picture in my magazine. In my magazine, the picture showed the dress had, ahem, opened up somewhat so we could all see her vagina. How nice. But, I mean, really? Do I need to see the intimate workings of her reproductive system before I've eaten my cereal? Does this woman not own a pair of pants?
I cannot decide which of these three things is the most repulsive. What a skankfest.

I'm going home later, as it's Mother's Day on Sunday (and I need a good meal) so I will have lots of dirt on the Boyfriend, who no doubt will have found new and innovative ways to annoy me. I bet he's waiting with a new batch of bollywood films and some catchy new dance moves.

Joe and Pete saved me from the cheerleaders last night. 'Bring It On' is waiting forlornly on my desk for another lonely Friday night. My friend at home tells me she has her copy of Crossroads back from her sister, and do I want to come over and watch it? What could be better than watching Britney 'act' her way through this piece of pure girly trash. I can't wait.

Friday, March 4

Your last chance to save me from cheerleader hell...

I am bored verging on suicidal. It is friday night and am I on a hot date? No. Am I getting on with work? No. Have my friends come round with chicken soup to make me feel better? Hell no. I have spent today doing f.a. I think it may be time for a film, my friend brought me Bring It On 1 and 2 and I almost wept with joy, pure cheerleading trash to provide hours of entertainment.

Oh, I've totally jumped on the bandwagon of lists, it's the last link, so go and find out all about me, especially Joe who knows nothing at all. God I'm so bored! Anyone wanna help me pass the time before I succumb to Kirsten Dunst and friends?

my eye

Thanks Elle!
So here is the scary eye. Do I look too shiny.....?

Giant eye, anyone??

I should not be allowed to own a webcam. I was messing around with Rach on msn last night, we were taking photos of really obscure stuff. I accidently put a giant picture of my eye as my desktop background and then frightened myself when I closed all my windows. I would put it on here but god knows how, I've got that hello thing but it never lets me log in. If anyone wants to experience my steely glaze and other random objects in my room, let me know and I could email it to you. Is that weird? I think it is. I shouldn't offer randoms photos of my eye, what am I thinking?! Perhaps I should email it to Lydia of purple (who I will mention in every blog!)Should I email her a pic of my underwear drawer and ask her to save me by sending some apple-catchers? That is quite odd. Okay I'm going to stop now.

What else? I appear to be spreading my filthy interpretation of the English language all over America, it's really weird. I have brought you 'fittie', and on Branshine's blog (I've linked her somewhere down there, go say hi) I brought great excitement by using the word 'tosser', a word which I have used for many years now to describe my brother, my Dad and other males who like to cause me grief.

Speaking of tossers, the Jew (you can read about him in earlier posts, I can't be arsed to link them all) has been fervently texting, date on Monday night he thinks. I'm quite looking forward to it, have not spoken properly to anyone for days cuz I've got the lergy, and he's quite yum. Although he can be a bit of a knobsack at times (there's another new word for you...).

I'm experiencing extreme disdain towards CMF who will not stop with the early morning gangsta rap! I made some bread last night and I could see her eyeing it up, thinking what she could eat it with. She would not leave the kitchen, so I couldn't hide it and ended up keeping it in my room.

I don't really have a lot to say today, am feeling a bit meurgh. I can hear the rain/snow/shit outside and it is not a happy sound. Ick. Have been amusing myself with googling Mr GB (see below) and fiddling about with my template (did you notice?). Okay, I'll be back later when I something useful to say.

Thursday, March 3

And this is what I mean by fit...

Hey! Gael Garcia Bernal, so, er.... hows it going?
Hmmm, thats not the greatest pic of you, is it? Doesn't really show how cute you are, not that I'm looking at your face there to be honest....
This ones better. Can I call you Gael?

Now you are all sorts of fine and if there is any sense of right in this world I should be Mrs GB. We're so alike, I'm also Latin American, and we can pretend my British father doesn't exist if you like. My Mum would be chuffed if I married a fellow Latino. I've inherited her body, if you know what I mean and I think you do. I can shake it with the best of them down at the local dancehall club. No? Well, you're an actor and I've been in a few school plays. I've got all your films. Even the one where you're dressed as a woman and the one where you have sex with a guy.

Well I'll leave you to think about it, I can always hang with
Lydia of Purple if you don't wanna make Latin babies with me. Ok then, thanks for your time. Kisses......

Holy shit.

So I can't sleep tonight, so after a couple of episodes of SATC I have a little nosy on the internet. I have a flick through the archives of Sprit Fingers and come across this post. I am intrigued and go on the website they are talking about. Literally, words failed me. I really, really, don't want to be offensive or mean, but, holy shit!

Go on the bits to do with
underwear, swimwear, headwear, who they are, and generally have a look around.

Then weep. How dare you wear knickers that do not cover your knees? or, heaven forbid, a thong?! Go and marry a nice moustache wielding, tank top- wearing 'Godly young man' immediately! For the love of God, why wouldn't you want to dress like the family in Little Women? And for the guys out there, how about a lovely 'modest' girl who's never seen a razor (or a mirror) and probably rolls her own tampons? No?

'The purpose of headcovering is two fold. First and foremost it symbolises that the wife or daughter is in submission to and under the authority of her husband or father.'

Hello? Feminism happened! Did my ancestors burn their bras for this? It makes me want to run outside in my bikini, go to the church of disco and rejoice with a pina colada in one hand and a bad boy in the other. I have nothing against religion, or 'modesty', but, seriously, what is going on here?!

Wednesday, March 2

Rent, school, and the evil in my kitchen.

Today is a really good day for me. I finally handed in the stupid essay I've been going on about, and I went to get my exam results. I've actually passed the year so far, which is cool cuz last semester was solely dedicated to fun. Also, my rent seems to have paid itself, as over £1000 has gone out of my account, at least I hope it's rent. If not then I'll have sell something, (my car? my guitar? a kidney!?) there's no other way. The man about the job hasn't called like he said he would, so that has caused minor panic, but I'm happy as long as the rent is paid.

I have two more essays to hand in this week, such a nightmare. I miss school. At school we could take our books into exams and we could write entire essays in them if we wanted to. We used to read half a book per term, in class, lest our poor little brains would suffer from being strained.

There was the scariest man in my kitchen today, one of L's leftovers. I was drinking my tea and he stared at me the entire time. He reminded me of the dementors in Harry Potter. I ventured into conversation with him and found out he does 'oh you know' for a living and he has 'about 3' kids. So L enters the kitchen and informs me that 'Gaz' will be staying for a few days, do I mind? Do I mind that a man who looks like he sets fire to small animals for a living with be living within 5 metres of my room? He looks like herpes! You could catch VD just looking at him. I don't want evil in my kitchen! Ick. So already he has felt the need to leave his shit all over the flat. I found used chocolate body paint in the fridge. Nice. I'm just glad we don't have to share bathrooms.

Now, everyone go say hi to Pete and Sam, they are very nice people and if I lived anywhere near them I would take them out for a mojito and buy them a small monkey in appreciation of their ability to make me happy today.

PS. Can someone not English tell me if describing somone as 'fit' means the same to you as it does to me?

Tuesday, March 1

In my head I'm still 15.

I phoned the doctor this morning for the result of my stabbing (I still have the bruises) and apparantly I don't have glandular fever, which is good but I still have the biggest mfing pair of tonsils so they said they had a cancellation but I had to get there asap. I got ready dead quick, no make-up and skanky clothes. So doc tells me I have a no-name viral infection, and the only cure is rest. So I walked back to my flat and I saw James the fittie, who is the one guy I've said if nothing happens by the end of the year I'm just gonna jump on him cuz he is a fittie of extreme proportions.

Every time I see him I look a total state and today was no exception. The trouble is, he lives in my building and he always catches me running late for my lectures. He likes to point out that I've only mascared one eye, or that I'm still wearing my flip-flops (yes that has actually happened). My trouble is that I cannot dress myself when I'm tired. I often look at myself hours later and wonder what the hell I was thinking. James has seen me twice looking normal. One time I was parking my car and he smirked at my pathetic attempts at parallel parking. The other time was on a night out and I ran up to him smiling, as if to say 'Look! I've mascared both eyes! And I'm wearing nice clothes! Look at me!'.

What it is about fit guys that bring out the worst in me? I had the biggest crush on a guy at school and anytime he came near me I'd fall over or spill something. When I was working as a lifeguard last summer I fancied all the other guys and as a result acted completely dumb all the time. Why can't I be cool and glamourous? This is why I'm single, I'm sure. It's because in my head I'm still 15. Deep down all I want is a night in with my friends watching cheerleading movies, eating ice cream and cookie and discussing what 3rd base feels like. In fact, to be honest with you I don't think it's really clicked with me yet that I'm at university, it feels like one big long sleepover, or a holiday.

Anyway, I need advice. I couldn't quite bring myself to ask this doctor if it's okay to drink or kiss now I don't have glandular fever. I dunno if that applies to viruses as well. Anybody know? I'd ask my mother but she thinks little enough of me as it is...