Out on the Push…

Now you may have heard the turn of phrase “out on the pull” but sometimes when your milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, you kind of don’t want it to…

Bridget Jones

Being at university has been my first “proper” taste of the clubbing lifestyle, and can I just say, I’ve had my arse grabbed more in these last two weeks than I have in my entire life…but I digress…

As you may have picked up on my previous posts I’m a little more traditional *cough* boring *cough* when it comes to meeting guys, and I’d much rather meet them in a daytime setting and be able to have a proper conversation with them…mainly so I can find out sooner rather than later if they’re a complete weirdo, axe murderer or rapist.

Take for example the guy I met last night. Tall, good looking, third year, bad/awkward dancer…always a bad sign.

I danced with him because my flatmate was getting off with his friend. He asked me if I wanted to make out with him. I said no. He kept asking me whether I was sure I didn’t want to go and sit down. I said no. He asked me again. I finally relented.

We sat down and proceeded to have the most awkward shouty conversation (clubs aren’t meant for talking, I couldn’t hear a bloody word he was saying…*smile and wave boys smile and wave*). He told me he was a geography student and then proceeded to ask me a tonne of questions about the exact location of my halls.

*RUN AWAY* *RUN AWAY*

Now it probably was just the fact that he was into mapping, because we’d both made it extremely clear that nothing was going to happen but I still felt like something was off…

…who the hell wants to sit down and have a stilted conversation with a stranger at a club?

Not me…I’ll be the one breaking it down on the dance floor…

*Shakes it like Beyonce*

*Slut drops*

*Re-dislocates knee*

One Lovely Blog Award…

onelovelyblogaward-1[1]

I’ve only been on WordPress for about three days but…turns out I’ve won an award!

…Kinda.

First of all I’d like to thank my parents for…you know….having me, my Nan’s cat Patches for being my earliest life companion, my primary school teachers for teaching me how to write…

…I jest…

But I would seriously like to thank the lovely Zooey from StudentZooey who apparently actually reads what I post and has an amazing blog so go on over and check her out. I’ll wait….

….done? No?

How about now…?

No? Now…?

Finally! Jesus, I haven’t got all day.

Oh god I really need to stop being so sarcastic, I’m really quite lovely in real life I promise.

According to this tag I now have to post seven facts about me; if you don’t fancy reading, feel free to use the right hand section of your track pad. Here we go *deep breath*…

  1. I am currently at university studying English and Classics with Spanish, though I’m not 100% sure I’m on the right course. Eventually I want to go on and work in the media.
  2. I’m trypanophobic, which basically means I have a fear of needles. Not copying you Zooey I swear… *crickets*. Before writing this post I honestly thought the word for fear of needles was hippophobia….and that’s exactly what I told them at the blood drive stall at my freshers fair the other day…idiot.
  3. I was a competitive street dancer for three years; my team won three local, two regional and three national titles and on the last national title got a bid to the USASF worlds.
  4. I am 5’1″. Yes you read that right. The best things come in small packages.
  5. I love to sing. I can’t, but I love doing it.
  6. I have a younger brother called James who’s a pre-professional footballer.
  7. I’m extremely impulsive but at the same time find it really hard to make decisions, even on the smallest of things.

Well wasn’t that not very interesting.

This is the hardest part for me because as I said I haven’t been on WordPress for very long at all and so I haven’t had a chance to properly scope blogs; but here’s seven that I’ve stumbled across and really enjoyed reading:

Diary of a Maths Student

Ravishing Rambles

Chris Bawler

Joanna Loves

Live Laugh Love Travel

Spices and Spatulas

And I Love Cabaret

Next up: the rules

  1. Add the “One Lovely Blog Award” image to your post
  2. Share seven things about you
  3. Pass the award on to seven nominees
  4. Thank the person who nominated you
  5. Inform the nominees by posting on their blogs

Thank you and goodnight…err morning…

On Wednesdays we wear pink….

Believe it or not, I’ve done a lot more this week than just poison myself with toxic substances…

A large majority of my time has been taken up by joining societies, which basically involves being pounced on by third years until you cave and pay thirty quid to join their Where’s Wally hide and seek club (exists)….

Choosing which society to be a part of, however, is actually a lot more complicated that you might first imagine…

*Pulls down rolling blackboard, points wooden stick*

Now you may think I’m leaning too far towards the stereotype, but it is true that in choosing which societies to be a part of, you’re essentially choosing the type of people you want to be friends with for the next three years…

Do you want to be in with the jocks who have crazy society nights where they do horrific things like drinking sick (seriously this happened), do you want to be a “media type”, an academic, a fashionista, a musician….?

So far I’ve joined the newspaper, radio and TV stations, the fitness club, the meditation society and the film society. I almost joined the cheerleading club…its so fun and the outfits were so cute but as much as I love it, my debit card refuses to co-operate…

In actual fact, one of the main campus banks went totally bankrupt this past weekend from all the withdrawals…I swear it wasn’t all me!

Feel free to judge my selection…

P.S. I totally had the Spice Girls Who Do You Think You Are? on a loop in my head while writing this post…please blast and awkward-dance accordingly…

P.P.S. If I haven’t already mentioned…societies are bloody expensive! I don’t think I can bear to even look at my overdraft right now…

Oh to be a student…

Quarter life crisis…..

Why do these things always have to happen to me…

Of the 4000 odd new undergraduate students this year, why do I seem to be the only one who doesn’t know what the hell they want to do with their life.

Okay so I’ll back track a little…

I originally applied to university to study English and history…

On a whim I decided to change to English and classics,

Whilst sitting in my English lecture, I was overcome by an overwhelming sense of “I wish I was studying history”.

Like out of the blue…

…and I suddenly realised that this may have been the reason something hasn’t quite felt right since I got here…

Turns out history is full…

I’m going to go cry in a corner somewhere…

#freshersweekfail

I am a disgusting cliche of a human being.

I’m sorry, I tried guys, I really did.

Remember in my ‘starting uni post’ when I said that everyone around me was on a mission to get as drunk an uninhibited as possible, and it was kind of freaking me out? I’d been teetotal and didn’t want to get crazy drunk but it just felt so awkward being completely sober…

I started on the alcohol…

…le sigh…

At 2:03 on Saturday morning I was met by two lovely paramedics who poked and prodded me with various instruments as I threw up the contents of my stomach (which at this point there was none) into my ASDA smart price mixing bowl.

I woke up at 5 am lying on my dorm room floor…apparently my one male flat mate had to actually carry me there.

*Now I’m lying on the cold hard ground *goat* *goat* trouble! trouble trouble*

No?

Fine…

The next day I found out that I’d actually blacked out. Like there is a half an hour period of my life I actually can’t remember…the rest I remember a bit too acutely….don’t ask…

One thing I do remember is the paramedics talking about the unpredictability of alcohol…I didn’t drink any more than I did on my birthday night, yet I wound up with a 0.34% alcohol level and being violently sick.

The recovery the last few days has almost been worse…
As hilarious as this is looking back (I totally won the gold medal amongst my flat mates for the first – and biggest – drunk fail) if any of you reading this are going off to freshers and are not acclimatised to drinking, please take care.
Your esophagus will thank you, I promise…
*drinks orange juice*
P.S. Who in God’s name invented Jaegermeister? One evil son of a bitch…

P.P.S. I also wound up with a bruised ribcage…apparently an occupational hazard of throwing up over the kitchen sink for 3 hours (not exaggerating)

P.P.P.S. (Once again is this even a thing?) My flatmates are saints. End of.

The Curse of Shaun T’s Insanity…

I’ve been hexed.

I’ll be the first to admit I’m not really “in to” exercise – you only get an arse like this from sitting on it – but believe it or not I used to dance…

…competitively.

Yep.

I stopped before my last year of school because of my A Levels and not being able to have the time off to go to competitions, and instead taught and choreographed at my local youth stage school. Aside from that I’ve done no exercise at all for the past 12 months.

On a day to day basis, I could pass as the human embodiment of a sloth, but when it comes to getting fit I’m an all in kind of person. It’s a side effect of being on top form for the first 16 years of your life.

So of course I chose Insanity, which if you didn’t know is a hardcore exercise DVD which features Shaun T, a renowned fitness trainer.

I have never made it past the first 2 weeks.

The first time I started getting insanely (he he) lethargic and ended up in bed for 10 days with flu.

The second time my stomach started hurting. I thought it was from the exercise…

…I had my appendix out a week later.

The third time I got shin splints in both legs and irritated my eight times dislocated patella so much I could barely walk.

I think it’s a sign. My life is destined to be me sitting on the internet and eating crisps.

Maybe I shouldn’t have signed up for those university cheerleading sessions…

P.S. It was the before and after pictures that sucked me in…apparently you have to exercise for 2 months for those…no chance. I’m more of a *does exercise* *sleeps* *wakes up* *am I thin yet?* kinda gal.

Overpacked is jam packed…

Into a mini…

…with all her university stuff…

So I probably should have posted this before the “I’m at uni” post but you know #YOLO and all that…

Turns out actually getting to uni was going to be much harder than I originally thought.

I packed everything into boxes and suitcases and put them out into the hall ready to be put into the car and it was only then I realised I deserved to have my own segment on “Hoarders”.

I just have so much stuff.

My mum came home from work and blew her top when she saw how much we had to fit in the car, but that only fueled the burning fire in my stomach…I was determined that I’d fit it all in…mainly so she wouldn’t be right…*cough cough*

It was like a giant game of Tetris where I packed each box in with scientific precision based on volume and weight…

Yeah right…actually turns out that I’ve inherited a particularly potent version of the “bunger” gene, which runs through the female line of my family. (See below)

bunger1 [bun-ger] adjective, verb: to bung
Person with uncanny ability to shove lots of crap into a small space where it otherwise wouldn’t fit
Origin:
1830–2013;  origin uncertain

I managed to “bung” my entire life, plus kitchen essentials, into the back seat and boot of an ’03 Mini Cooper.

Like a boss.

Seriously though, I don’t think I’ve ever been so uncomfortable, it was the longest six hours of my life.

I’m still in the process of regaining sensation in my butt.

I’m at university…

I was absolutely bloody convinced I was not going to get into university this year. I’d filled my mum in with plans A, B, C, D, E and F and I’d prepared a note on my iPad with all the possible clearing vacancies and numbers.

Turns out I did get in.

Now I’m at university, like actually full on moved in at uni.

First impressions?

Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.

I feel like I’ve been whipped up in a tornado and dropped into an Oz where people say “man” unironically like 70s hippies, have feminist debates over the dinner table, drink excessively (and I mean excessively) and have sex…like a lot…and publicly.

I’m guessing that my friendship group really was quite tame at secondary school as I never really felt particularly conservative until now. Especially as the people I’m living with are proper party animals.

My nineteenth birthday night consisted of mixer-less pre-drinks, dancing at clubs with themes of blackout, foam, cheesy music and UV, respectively, more alcohol, and carrying my flat mate home.

…Oh and feeling like shit the next morning.

Cohabitation…

So to (sort of) round off all of my Spain posts (now I’ve said this there will probably be ten more for me to write in the future), here is perhaps the most important of them all…

To summarise: living with strangers sucks.

Now if you have a job, just take 30 seconds to imagine what it would be like to live with your boss. If you’re at school, make that your head teacher.

Are you suitably disturbed? 

Well this is essentially the job description of the au pair. To live in a confined space with the people who are paying you.

Add to this the fact that it may be your first time getting on a plane alone, going to another country alone and living without your family and you have the recipe for disaster.

You may think “isn’t it easier going to live with a family, wouldn’t that sort of break you in to the idea of moving out?”

The answer for me was a resounding no!

I honestly felt as though I was Alice and I had just fallen down the rabbit hole. I began to exist in this weird limbo state where my own life was suspended and I was very literally living in someone else’s life  for someone else. My contact with my family was completely severed (internet access was few and far between at the start and phone calls costed a bomb) and I had to somehow insert myself into the jigsaw puzzle that was the life someone I’d never met had created for themselves.

*Testing, testing, are you still with me?*

Now I don’t know if this was just my experience or my personality but I found slotting into someone else’s life to be extremely difficult. As there was often at least one of the parents and multiple family members at home while I was watching the kids (I think I met at least 15 other people, and yet wasn’t warned or properly introduced to any of them), I felt like an unnecessary addition, and felt at times that I just wanted to step back and give them time as a family when that wasn’t what I was being paid to do.

I constantly felt awkward and like I was walking on eggshells. Especially as the family talked to eachother in rapidfire Spanish over the dinner table, which for the life of me I couldn’t quite decipher, so I was left to sit in silence and wait for them to finish every night.

I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I didn’t feel entirely welcomed, or necessary. There were so many people buzzing around I felt like I was constantly being scrutinised, either for doing too much or too little.

As they provided all of my meals, I felt like I didn’t want to be even more of a burden on them and so when they offered to buy me extras I chose to decline and instead go out and by my own things. I think in this way my independence worked against me.

I also think that coming after a time when emotions and stress were already running high (A Levels) it was too much of a stark contrast, especially as there was literally nothing to do in the places I was staying. With a rigid routine in place for the kids, it became very slow and monotonous after a few weeks, and I really felt my depression and anxiety creep back in.

On a less philosophical note it was also very awkward to be walked in on in my underwear (old house…no locks…).

Would I do it again?

I wouldn’t write it off, I know that every experience is extremely different. I would, however, choose to be nearer a city or somewhere where there was much more going on. I would also ask the host family to help me make some connections with other au pairs in the area or people my own age…being with kids who can’t talk and foreign adults can be extremely isolating.

Well this post has turned out to be quite deep *puts on scuba diving mask*…maybe I should have taken philosophy at uni…

Please let me know if I have just gone absolutely nuts.

Right, I’m off to go watch some YouTube videos of cats…must regain equilibrium…

P.S. If your brain is all confuddled from this post I refer you to both confused.com to unconfuse you and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQbH3fyGerE&list=FLIbZHbmV9jfdJE_bJaiiSKA&index=18 for the lols…

Unpacked and over ‘ere…

And so finally my homecoming post arrives. It’s only two (okay three) weeks late…did I mention I was a horrific procrastinator?

You might have read my blog post “Dropping Dollar Bill$” when I talked about booking my ticket home, well I actually arrived back in the UK on the 9th of August.

A little part of me did hope for a “Love Actually” style airport reunion. I’d run off the plane to some uplifting, inspirational music (don’t you think that life in general would be much better if we had our own life soundtrack…just think of riding the school bus to Pirates of the Caribbean..da da dum dum da da dum dum da da dum dum da da do do… No? Just me then…), then I’d gracefully leap into my mum’s arms and she would proceed to swing me around, sob and rejoice at my return.

Actually make that quite a big part of me…

As per usual, the reality did not live up to the creative expanses of my mind. We landed on time at Gatwick airport, only to be told that one of the steps were broken and that we’d have to remain on the plane until they could ferry another set over. Cue bitching about the general quality of EasyJet airlines, and the air stewardesses trying to both placate and defend. I did not partake. I flew with Ryanair on the way out and it was relief enough not to hear the *we’ve arrived on time* horns at twelve o’clock at night.

An hour later when we were released from custody, I picked up my bags from the bag drop and had to face the reality of carrying my 17 kilo suitcase and 10 kilo hand luggage round the bloody airport by myself (it should be illegal for airports to have stairs, surely). Once I’d made it out of the maze of passport control desks and travelators, I met my mum and her boyfriend at the lobby where she gave me a big hug, then we walked to the car and I ate a cheese and tomato sandwich.

Well that was riveting…

Anyway here is the exciting part, where we find out whether my blog really does live up to its namesake…

I packed….

26 Tops (assorted)
8 Dresses
8 Pairs of shorts
2 Skirts
5 Pairs of leggings
3 Pairs of trousers
1 Pair of joggers
3 Jumpers
2 Cardigans
1 Swimming costume
1 Tankini
4 Bikinis
1 Pair of swim shorts
2 Beach coverups
2 Towels
8 Pairs of socks
8 Bras
27 Pairs of knickers
1 Pair of running shoes
1 Pair of tennis shoes
1 Pair of flip flops
1 Pair of pumps
2 Pairs of sandals
1  Leather jacket
1 Sunhat
2 Pairs of sunglasses
Toiletries and makeup

I think the answer is yes…

Though I did fit it all into a 15 kilo luggage allowance (10 kilo hand luggage) *pats self on back*.

P.S. I think its quite clear now where I over-did it *cough* tops *cough*, I swear it didn’t seem like that much while I was actually packing…