Do you have a plaster?

Based on recent estimates, I now believe that I spend around 90% of my free time (and 100% of my…err….non-free time) staring at pictures of men…

Hundreds of them, all on my phone.

No…I haven’t just gotten cozy with the university rugby team, or the football team, or the lacrosse team…

Le grande sigh.

And no I haven’t (more likely) discovered Porn in Your Pocket or Porn2Go or Porns ‘R’ Us or whatever those sites are called (please tell me none of these are actually real websites)…

In actual fact my flatmates persuaded (forced me pain of death) to get Tinder.

Now I’m addicted.

In the words of Howard from Fresh Meat…I’ve already completed it once.

Yes, you heard me right…when I first got it I was so interested on flicking everyone into the no pile, I actually exhausted all the men in my area (HAHAHA….hahaha ha..ha…no…I wish).

I’ve now had to make a new profile which I shall handle with more care.

Must….resist…the….X….button…

*Hand shakes*

Don’t get me wrong, I have absolutely no intention of actually talking to these people…

In fact I was actually quite pissed off when I found out that the whole purpose of the App was for it to be a dating tool…why can’t I just stalk people in peace? In the privacy of my own home…without them knowing about it….

Plus the majority of the guys on here are absolute twats.

No offence.

But seriously.

You don’t even want to know some of the chat up lines I’ve been sent.

The only one I could give credit to so far would have to be “I wish you were my big toe”….”so I can bang you on all the furniture in my house”.

I spat out my water.

I am in no way recommending you get this App.

For the sake of your own sanity and yes, physical health (The Illest MF Alive guy popped up on screen just after I logged on for the first time…I fell off the bed in shock…you know that weird feeling people are watching you…yeah…that) DO NOT DOWNLOAD IT.

In fact, your general sense of paranoia will be permanently increased…like what if you accidentally bump into one of these people in real life….what if they recognize you from your profile…what if Facebook decides that they’re going to suddenly post everyone’s dating preferences and subsequent conversations online…

You just downloaded it didn’t you.

Naughty.

I tried.

*Surreptitiously opens App*

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The Illest MF Alive…

Oh yeah, the title of this post is totally a Kanye West reference…told you I was gangsta.

*Tumbleweed*

In all seriousness though, once again some sneaky bastard has infected me with their pathogens…I’ve only just managed to surface from the depths of my bed fort to write this.

Not only do I have a hacking cough, a fever, a sore throat and nausea, but I’m also sporting a fucking sexy nose whistle.

Thank god I’m a girl…the sheer amount of tissues overflowing my litter bin would have raised a few eyebrows by now.

Maybe I shouldn’t say “sneaky bastard” I do kind of know the reason I’m sick.

Ok fine, I know exactly why…

I went out with my friends the other day to my favourite club and had a bit of a “moment”.

There I was boogieing the night away when a cute guy came up to dance with me…

*Cue slow motion turn around, eyes meeting, seductive smile*

Pfft, yeah right.

Come on guys, this is me we’re talking about.

I, in fact, didn’t notice him and carried on dancing, flailing my arms around and by accident punched him on the nose.

TWICE.

Of course I turned around and apologised profusely, he lifted me off the ground in a hug and said it was all fine.

We danced together.

Ten minutes later, I look down and notice I have blood on my arm.

Turns out I hit him so hard he got a nosebleed.

…I’ll let that sink in for a minute…

…How much better do you feel about your life right now?

Uh huh.

Anyway he ran off to go and get cleaned up and I legged it to the bathroom and met back up with my friends, not expecting to see him again.

A little while later I turn around and there he was so we dance together for a while until the DJ says “in ten seconds I wanna see everyone jump”.

On one he picks me up in front of the whole club and kisses me.

THIS.

THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENED TO ME.

I DIED.

Then he did it again.

We sat down for a bit and exchanged numbers, and I had to resist his advances with the whole ‘wrong time of the month’ excuse, which I can inform you, is the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever had to say to another person in my entire life.

Praise the lord for vodka.

Don’t you just love mother nature?

When I got up to leave, instead of a sexy sashay away,  I managed to walk straight into a bar stool and almost stacked it in my heels…

FAIL, Laura, FAIL.

And yet for some unknown reason I arrived home to a goodnight text.

I handed to my more experienced flatmate to deal with.

Bad idea.

Rather than the mysterious allure I was going for, it resulted more in a bit too much obvious flirtation and way too many winky faces for my liking.

Then the alcohol buzz wore off and now everything is just very awkward.

In fact I walked past him on the way back from the Co-Op the other day and had to resist the urge to throw myself sideways into a hedge.

*Cringe-fest*

And I wonder why I’m still single.

Oh, did I mention he had a “cold”?

So now I’m both sick and sad.

All care packages to my bedroom please.

Stop it, minds out of gutters.

What am I going to do with you guys.

*Smh*

Having nun of it…

They’re dropping like flies…

I’ve just found out that a SECOND person from my school year has gotten engaged…at NINETEEN.

I, on the other hand, have decided to become a nun…

According to Wiki How all I need to do is be single (check), not be on my deathbed (check), lack any dependents (check) and be in good physical and financial standing (well if you ignore my overdraft and penchant for bacon sandwiches, check).

I then have to socialise with the “in group” of nuns, do research on the internet, attend a weekend at a Mother House and go through an initiation process…

…hang on a minute, this sounds suspiciously like rushing for a sorority.

Who would have thought…Wikipedia…unreliable?

Ok, so maybe I’m not going to spend the rest of my life in a convent…but you know you’ve got a problem when your fifty year old mother has a better sex life than you….

I spoke to her this morning on the phone…I was moaning about the fact I’m forever alone and she was all…

“Oh I’m so tired *yawns*, I was up all night with him”

“Oh we’re just popping over to Tenerife together for a few days to get a bit of sun”

*Throws up in plant pot*

If you can’t tell me and my best mate alcohol have been reunited over the past few days…

…well I had to do something to counteract the fact that I now own a Sainsbury’s Nectar card, spend my weeknights baking cookies and sometimes find the walk in heels to the club in town too much of an effort for it to be worth going out.

Hand me the Ovaltine and no one gets hurt.

Maybe its time to invest in that BOB.

He he.

What just happened?

If I could only use one word to sum up the past few weeks it would have to be bizarre.

To be honest, I’m surprised that I can even remember my own name…

Lets cut the crap.

*Life update klaxon*

One of my best friends from school came down from Essex for an insane night which started with a bottle of Belvedere…progressed to an out of character club snog (me), going back to another random fresher girl’s flat (it wasn’t as creepy as it sounds, she fell over in the road, we helped her up, she invited us over) and jacking a packet of smart price custard creams and a jam sandwich from the Christians (her…don’t ask)…and ended with a trip to a Catholic church (really, don’t ask).

My flatmate turned 20 so we had an amazing Mexican themed night complete with sombreros and fajitas and a whole bottle of tequila…or at least that’s what I can remember of it…turns out we went to a club afterwards…all I remember is waking up in my bed next to one of my flatmates having thrown up said bottle of alcohol and fajitas.

Note to self, medication and alcohol DO NOT mix…

I spent the majority of reading week barricaded in my room genuinely thinking I was going to die…

*Shudders*

I now have a second gold star on my flat’s chunder chart (a star being an exceptional chunder).

On that note, ever since I have been on a self imposed alcohol ban…it’s like being in the AA except I’m neither an alcoholic nor anonymous…

7 days sober…surely I deserve a prize by now?

Like maybe a bottle of champagne?

Actually scratch that…even the thought of anything stronger than orange juice sends chills down my spine…

I got the marks back for both of my first assignments (English and History). As it turns out procrastination is the key to the entirety of life, anyone that says otherwise may let themselves out…

Seriously, now.

Go.

Halloween rolled around and thanks to the general YOLO-ness and IDGAF-ness of my flat, we had no tickets to any events, and so we found ourselves queuing up for two and a half hours outside our student union club in the rain. I dressed as a flesh eating zombie and spent the whole night trying to ignore the fact that I was stone cold sober. The only guy we danced with was one who came up to us and creepily stood there “seductively” flapping the fake hand stuck to his forehead for ten minutes while we tried to escape. UV paint was blasted from canons…by the end of the evening my reflection gave me nightmares.

I somehow managed to procure my first ever job interview and then had to call to postpone it because of my flu *cough* alcohol poisoning *cough*. How I even managed to pass the online assessment is beyond me…no I can’t identify the “most likely” and “least likely” course of action if all your answers are bloody the same! It was more of a case of click one with your eyes closed and hope for the best…

I, the queen of all social awkwardness, went to a history social at a small local cocktail bar and…well…socialised. I finally managed to meet some people on my history course, all of whom were lovely and none of whom I remember their names. I have also developed a massive crush on almost every guy on my history course…and my friends said I didn’t have a “type”…

I’ve somehow found myself on the competition team for the wrong dance society, and now am going to be off to Southampton this weekend to compete. I came to practice one day to find I’d been paired up with a random guy by the captains and so I have to wake up at 4am and spend 6 hours on a coach after a late night out…

..why?

…Just why?

Bonfire night celebrations have snuck up on me and I’ve spent the last few days feeling horribly homesick…I’m almost at the point where I’m watching firework displays and bonfires on YouTube…

…ok so it’s way past that point.

I’ve even downloaded my Christmas playlist onto my iPod to console myself…

…A good old sing along to Michael Bublé’s White Christmas never fails to put me in a good mood, if you know what I mean.

No?

*Ba dooby do do do do be do, ba dooby do do do dooby do*

Don’t even try to tell my my Santa Baby dance isn’t the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen…

…I even used a tin of soup for a microphone.

Two days ago I stayed up ALL NIGHT chatting to two of my third year flat mates and then got up to go to a group meeting and dance practice the next day…

…I haven’t pulled an all-nighter since secondary school.

I didn’t choose the thug life.

The thug life chose me.

Admittedly I did sleep for 12 hours the next day…

Shhhhh