Christmastime, Mistletoe and Jäeger…

That’s the lyrics, right?

Good old Cliff, the cheeky minx.

And so this post (more than) officially concludes my first term at uni…I clearly have an A* in timekeeping, I actually came home on the 12th.

*Slow clap*

We most definitely ended the year on a bang.

All of my flatmates and I headed to our local-est of local haunts and had the weirdest night ever….we’re convinced we all fell into some kind of Alice in Wonderland rabbit hole.

Think ecstasy without the…err ecstasy.

In my case, after one too many Jäegerbombs (bought by a very nice guy at the bar…did drunk Laura stay and thank him? Nope…she drank two, handed the rest to her friends and strutted off into a door..yes, into #nailedit….I digress) I decided to go for an “epic” adventure.

Aka I tottered off alone to a bench outside our flat to “get some air”.

Seems I have a little bit of a penchant for the outdoors when I’m tipsy (pissed)…I once made my flatmate lap a very drunk me around our uni accommodation eight times because I was “enjoying the breeze”.

There are no words.

(Thanks babe.)

Whilst there a very *handsy* arse decides to try and hit on me…I shoved him off, got up to leave and fell smack bang onto my chin.

It was the heels.

I swear.

It wasn’t.

I lied.

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It hurt.

And I didn’t get a kiss under the mistletoe.

Turns out I then decided this was a reasonable enough trigger to get home and full on ugly cry, only to find most of my other female flatmates in tears too.

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No one will ever truly know what went down that night.

Oh, hang on…

…maybe it was just that creepy bartender…

…you know…

…the one pouring our drinks.

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All in all we had a great last night out though, and a great term. I miss them all already!

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And so, in the words of my spirit animal, Bridget Jones…

December 16th, year-end summary:

Prison stays, none.
Alcohol poisonings, two.
Lesbian kisses (don’t ask), three (minds OUT of gutters).
Pounds lost, minus one (okay minus seven).
Boyfriends lost but then regained following major diplomatic incident, none #forveralone.
Marriage proposals, see above.
Boys kissed, you guys are such pervs, honestly.
New friends made, six (I hope).

An excellent year’s progress.

Overpacked and Underpaid has most definitely not cocked things up for the very last time.

Pinkie promise.

😉

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*

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*

The Hangover Part IV…

I have to say, I think last night was was the worst nights out I’ve had so far at uni.

Having not been out out for three weeks (flu, home, sleep), I’ve literally been chomping at the bit for a good evening of partying; but far be it for me to have a decent clubbing experience…

Oh no, I can’t be a normal person and get completely trollied, have a bit of a boogie with a hot guy, snog a stranger and stagger home with my flatmates.

Instead last night turned out to be some sad low-budget parody of The Hangover.

And you want to know the worst part of it all?

I WAS DOUG.

I’ll start form the beginning…

I did a bit of pre-drinking with the girls and then we headed out to our Wednesday night haunt where, as per usual, we had to wait in a “queue” for half an hour before we even got to the door.

I am too short for this shit.

Do you know how painful it is being mosh pitted against metal railings by drunk rugby and football guys when you’re 5’1?

I’ll tell you…

…VERY.

When we finally made it to the entrance, we were given a tag and told to come back half an hour later when our colour was called…

..really?

NO.

So instead we MI5’d it into the club and managed to procure a different colour tag that would get us in earlier.

At half eleven, after an hour of sitting at a bench covered with spilled beer, we were finally allowed into the R&B room where I danced with one of my friends for a bit…

…until she stared getting off with a random guy and my third wheeling got to a stage of painful awkwardness.

So then I Marco’s Polo’d it and found my two other friends outside where I stayed and chatted, until I was dragged back in for some more dancing.

Queue EVEN MORE AWKWARD THIRD WHEELING while the same friend got off with one of the guys in her seminar group dressed as a Mexican (who later turned out to be a creepy dick).

At this stage I somehow managed to make friends with a guy called Will who told me I was stunning but he had a girlfriend (bullshit but…LIFE, WHY?) and a girl called Sophie,  and danced with them while my flatmate played tonsil hockey.

We then dispersed and I buggered off to try and find everyone, sans phone, thanks T-Mobile for your wonderful signal coverage…best UK network my arse.

I can’t even remember how long this lasted until I finally got pissed off and decided to leave.

When I got back I had a load of texts and missed calls from my other two friends who it turns out were wandering around on their own looking for eachother as well.

NONE of them pulled…

…Guys, THE END IS NIGH.

So now I sit, hanging without a cause.

Admittedly when I woke up on my mattress it wasn’t on a roof…and my only souvenirs of the night were my (accidentally) stolen entry tags rather than a small child or a tiger…

And to think I’m meant to be showing my Essex friend how to party wop-a-uni-style (geddit, Gangnam Style? Haha..ha ha..ha…ha?) this weekend.

So far all I’ve got is get drunk and wander around on your own like a twat.

Eggy bread and aspirin is happening…right now.

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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*