Mind The Gap…

Can we first spare a moment of silence for the man, the legend….50 Cent. The G that got rich and didn’t die trying, and recently managed to bankrupt himself in a coke storm of (borrowed) cars, gold chains and hoes.

If theres one thing that Mr Cent has taught me, its that even if you go from rags to riches on the back of successful r&b/rap songs that fetishise childhood pastimes and birthday parties, you can loose it all in a second thanks to an un-strategically placed dick.

Best give up now then.

Speaking of bankruptcy; I have recently moved to London.

I’m starting to think that when Kate Moss said “get the London look” she was actually referring to the unwashed, unshaven, fag toting, Sainsbury’s basic beer drinking mess I’m going to become if I leave the house one more time before I move out of this bloody city.

I went to use the tube the other day from Holborn to Oxford Circus and had to hand over £2.30, my firstborn child, my university degree and the clothes off my back.

Turned out it wasn’t even working, there was a tube strike on so I walked it.

I don’t know how people do it. If I stayed any longer I’d have to start letting my London Bridge down if you know what I mean.

Hint hint, nudge nudge.

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When I first got my swanky London summer job, with its decent pay at fancy establishment, I had visions of rocking up in a bedazzled black cab in head to to Chanel a la Posh Spice.

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Instead I have been reduced to hiding out on my duvet bunker and hoping for my bank to have a computer glitch and accidentally forget to “autosave” my overdraft…like those times you spend a week of all nighters at the library and and wake up to find that your essay has disappeared in a poof of smoke.

Cash donations are welcome.

Designer shoes even more so.

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HOW DO YOU PEOPLE DO IT?

P.S. London move is (thankfully) a temporary situation. T-14 days till I move to Mississippi…posts to come.

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They see me tempin’ they hatin’…

I’ve been up all night, tryna get that rich I’ve been work, work, work, work working on my shit.

So, as it turns out, not only was I able to secure a little part time job at uni, but I’ve also been offered a Christmas temp position back at home (say what?).

Such fun!

(Not)

I hate it.

I’d envisioned spending the entirety of my Christmas holiday watching movies, seeing my friends, reading and soaking in a bubble bath.

Now I have to get up at 6am to catch a bus to the city.

The other day I was so tired I didn’t realise my watch was an hour fast so I accidentally waltzed out of the shop early, only to realise the actual time and have to awkwardly (and very stealthily I might add, I wasn’t voted most likely to work for Mi5 for nothing you know) creep back in and finish.

I ended this day spending five minutes trying to push open a pull door.

In front of a colleague.

Professionalism?

Nailed it.

It does have its perks though…

…like the other day I had a very funny conversation with an exasperated old man who was fed up following his wife around Christmas shopping.

I asked him if he was at least carrying her bags for her…his reply?

“No she likes carrying them…its a thing with you women isn’t it…the more bags you’ve got on your arms the better you feel”.

She wasn’t too impressed when she found him slacking off talking to me haha.

And…

And…

Ok I’m out of positives.

I spend the majority of my days manning the fitting rooms, which are empty 80% of the time so I’m insanely bored.

In fact I’ve been working on a little something something in my spare time.

“How to get Fired from your Retail Job” a self help book by Laura.

With highlights such as “have sex in the changing rooms” and “walk out before your shift ends”.

I’ll follow it up with the sequel “The Bus” an anecdotal book by Laura.

What was that?

You wouldn’t read either of them?

Well shit.

I guess I better stick at it then.

*Skulks off to changing rooms”

“Yanks curtains closed”

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.

😉

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*

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

Stalk Me (No, Actually)…A Day in the Life…

Well considering today is the two month anniversary of Overpacked and Underpaid, I thought that you and I would…you know…get to know eachother a little more…intimately.

Here, I found your mind, I think you dropped it in the gutter…

Boom boom!

I’ll let myself out…

Anyway all of you lovelies that actually read my posts, (and I know some of you do…you can run but you can’t hide, I have wobbly bar charts and numbers…I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE…actually I really don’t…but…err…I KNOW WHERE YOU BLOG…occasionally…when you follow me via WordPress), will know that I am studying History and English with Spanish at university, and so I thought I’d let you in on a typical day in my life…

Ooh aren’t you lucky!

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Monday 21st October 2013

Wake up at 7:30 to the unsurpassable sounds of radio Devon; listen to news of national and international importance such as “man in Devon has been going around shooting signs, to prove this, other man in Devon has been going around taking photos of said shot signs”, “outrage as lollipop man quits after being threatened with suspension for high-fiving kids rather than watching the road” and “small village interviews for a new local witch, no experience necessary” #srsbusiness.

Roll out of bed, shower and simultaneously flood and steam up bathroom, eat breakfast (cereal in a cup, stirred not shaken) and make my way up the hill for my first 9am history seminar on “the supernatural in early modern England”. Discus white witches for two hours, stare at hot history boys.

Walk back (making conscious effort not to pencil roll down hill) and whip up lunch out of remaining ingredients in fridge (eggs and…well…eggs), frantically do Spanish homework.

Head back up the bloody hill for double Spanish, spend two hours trying to stop myself doing something inappropriate/naughty out of sheer boredom (see: I’m Bored or How To: Procrastinate) as the class is a little too easy for me and I’ve done everything before.

Hot foot it over to my English lecture and search for tall friends so as not to look like a complete loner…try not to fall asleep or do any of the aforementioned inappropriate things, take lots of notes with one hand whilst simultaneously covertly stalking Facebook and Tumblr with the other.

Head back to flat, chat to flatmates and cook some dinner out of remainder of cupboard ingredients (tacos and…well…tacos).

Change into dance wear and head down to my beginners jazz class…roll around floor for an hour trying to ignore the indigestion from the food I’ve only just eaten and not poke one of my fellow dancers in the eye with my flailing hands and feet.

Head back to flat, spend evening in the kitchen with flatmates chatting and generally avoiding doing any work.

Do blogmin.

[Insert non-existent sex life here].

Sleep.

Well wasn’t that just…thrilling?

So there you have it, a day in the life of a British university student.

P.S. THANK YOU to all you lovelies who have been reading, following and commenting on my posts over the last two months I really, really appreciate it! Please keep sharing Overpacked and Underpaid with everyone you know, too many readers don’t spoil the blog ;).

I’m bored, I’m the chairman of the bored…

I had the most boring lecture in the history of all lectures today. The professor kept jumping from topic to topic and relapsing into her native language…DO I LOOK BILINGUAL TO YOU?

Oh why thank you.

(I’m not)

Does this face look bovvered about whether the Treason Act of 1351 which forbid imagining the death of the king, shagging his wife and counterfeiting the royal symbol, was breached by Sir Gawain in ‘Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’ and thus allegorically demonstrated through the drawing and quartering of the hunted animals in the woods?

Err it does actually…

…quite a bit.

IT WAS THE DELIVERY, OKAY?

It was one of those classes that was so boring it makes you want to do something naughty and completely inappropriate to claim back the hours of your life you just wasted.

I may have considered pencil rolling down the isles, wearing my notebook as a hat, jumping out of a window, laughing really loudly, belting “My Heart Will Go On” with full Leo and Kate moves and willing someone to do a really loud fart.

Not necessarily in that order.

In fact I’m currently wearing my Spanish dictionary as a cheeky chapeau…has a little bit of je ne sais quoi to it don’t you think?

What’s that?

You don’t think I should be on the fashion show committee?

*Struts off with dictio-hat*

*Hat falls off head*

*Trips over hat*

*Falls into ditch*

I’ve realised that I’ve actually been more bored than usual since I’ve been at university, which lead me to the terrifying conclusion that it’s because I’ve been doing so much I’ve consequently become less lazy.

Hold on, I thought I just saw a pig flying past my window.

I used to be able to quite happily wile my days away watching YouTube and scrolling through Twitter and Facebook, now I actually have to do stuff to keep myself occupied.

This was especially apparent last night when, out of the sheer boredom of having finished all my work (say what?), I worked out how to turn my chair into a Ramba Zamba…

…which basically consists of straddling it backward and spinning round very fast.

In fact I’m off to have a go now.

Toodaloo motherfuckers!

P.S. “Dictio-hat” is a mashup (gold stars to anyone who gets that reference).

Americanophile…

I’m not a 100% sure that this is a real word, but its on Urban Dictionary and that’s all that matters really isn’t it?

Being British is all the rage right now what with One Direction and….err…One Direction and although I’m extremely patriotic and I love my home country, I kinda have a thing for all things American.

I applied to four American colleges alongside my British ones. I love the idea of a well-rounded university experience, where extra-curriculars are just as important as academics. I love the teaching system, where it’s okay to not know exactly what you want to do, and to dabble in other subjects. I love the general grandness and beauty of the campuses…uugghhh FEELS.

Admittedly I did not put the required amount of work into my applications *couch* SATs *cough* but I still get a little stab of pain every time I think of what could have been.

Or see the Facebook photos of a girl who went to my school and is now happily settling in to NYU.

I’m not jealous.

I’M NOT!

I am.

A teensy bit.

A lot.

I can’t even pinpoint what it is exactly that draws me to it. In actual fact my trip to LA was a little disappointing…and downright terrifying at times…I’ll be writing a post about it soon…you shall see.

There’s been a few occasions at uni when I’ve walked past some US exchange students with American accents.

*Instant death*

Does anyone else have similar unaccountable, misplaced feelings about the states? I know that being an Anglophile is kind of a big thing in America but I’ve never heard of it in reverse.

I think we should call it “across the pond syndrome”.

Anyone have a spare ticket to New York?