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.

How-to-test-if-Youre-drunk-meme-cat-kitty-kitten

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.

what-the-fuck-is-this

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.

😉

Just call me Jones…

…Bridget Jones, that is.

You know the scene in The Edge of Reason where Bridget attends Mr Darcey’s law council dinner in scary knickers and bad hair, insults everyone by calling them “balding upper-middle-class twits” and gets the quiz answer completely wrong?

Well extend that over a four hour period and throw in the fact that I am not a romanticised fictional character but in fact a real life person and you’ve basically got the evening I just had.

In a bid to be “proactive” and to “take part” *bleugh*, I attended a film society meeting this afternoon in a lovely little tea shop where I learnt about aperture and ISO and low key lighting…all very serious business.

Getting there I had my brolly blow inside out and rip and so I was subsequently drenched in torrential rain. I arrived looking like a drowned rat and spent the remainder of the evening cold and moist with hair that could pass for a Halloween wig.

Despite my appearance, I was then invited along to a screen talk on ‘A Dangerous Method’…you know, the film about Freud and Jung with Keira Knightly as Sabina Spielrein and….well…the infamous spanking scene.

Seems lovely you say…

Well yes it was, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt more out of place in my life.

I went with three other people I’d never met before, all of whom turned out to be studying film and so we’re wonderfully cultured and having conversations about filmmakers, directors and critical film theory.

My equivalent to the “lucky star” moment, and in fact my only contribution to the conversation was: (talking about Cate Blanchett) “I thought she was good in Elizabeth”.

*Slow clap*

While they were smoking cigarettes and discussing the cinematography of  ‘Sans Soleil’ I was waddling along trying desperately to remember any kind of half decent film I’d seen in the last five years and not to blurt out that my favourite director is, in fact, Richard Curtis and ‘Love Actually’ or perhaps ‘About time’ may just be my favourite film.

How anyone can be so painfully uncool is beyond me.

Oh and did I mention, as I walked back with everyone to the wrong side of campus, I had the good fortune to be able to top off the night with my first trudge up bloody Cardiac Hill…which I didn’t even realise was Cardiac Hill until I got to the top and wondered why I was dripping with sweat and having a mini coronary.

I think it would be safer for me to avoid all social interaction in the future…

P.S. Yes, I have heard the terrible news about the new Bridget Jones book…I haven’t even read it yet and I’m already in mourning!

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*