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!

https://i0.wp.com/upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/7d/UoEx_Forum.JPG

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 ;).

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!

Freshers Flu 2.0…

I was doing so, so well.

Everyone around me was dropping like flies but I was dodging those germs like a ninja in a laser maze.

*Does Kung Fu Panda pose*

I wasn’t ill for the whole of freshers week…or the week after that…or the week after that…

Until the dreaded superbug emerged: FRESHERS FLU 2.0.

No one is safe.

I’m convinced that the air in every lecture hall I’ve walked into this week has been 99.9% airborne virus and 1% oxygen.

I am now sick with fresher’s flu’s uglier, more contagious cousin, which apparently can’t be cured with antibiotics.

And apparently also impairs what was left of my GCSE maths skills.

When I went to the doctors he told me that I needed to get lots of rest and not overexert myself.

YEAH BECAUSE I’VE TOTALLY BEEN RUNNING AROUND AND IGNORING MY EXTREME LETHARGY, HACKING COUGH, SENSITIVITY TO LIGHT AND NOISE, ACHING MUSCLES AND GENERAL SENSE OF CORPSE-NESS.

When I asked my best friend who’s currently in medical school to cure me…she said she’s not qualified.

WHAT! YOU’RE BECOMING A DOCTOR!

I have a bit of a confession to make…

I’m one of the super annoying people who kind of wants the world to start revolving around them when they’re ill.

If you couldn’t already tell that…from the shouty capitals..

All activities must be suspended in favour of showering me with pity and get well soon soup!

…yup.

Sorry.

I may as well just walk around wearing this:

Patient : Tell me doctor, is this flu serious?
Doctor : Well I wouldn’t advise you to start watching any serials on TV.

I’ve watched all two-and-a-bit series of New girl over the last few days. I was going to start on Breaking Bad but I don’t think my brain fog will allow me to extend myself to such a mentally stimulating activity.

Valentines Day seems a more viable alternative..

…or maybe just Shrek.

Oh god, I’m starting to go cross eyed.

This post was supposed to be funny, this has very quickly descended into a insight into my flu-riddled brain. I’m so gonna regret posting this when I’m better.

*MUST SALVAGE POST*

Here have some e-cards…

Ha ha..

..this is funny…

Right?!

RIGHT?!

*Passes out*.

How To: Procrastinate

It turns out that the year above us said that they’d like more assessment in their yearly review…

…bastards.

Guess who already has a essay that counts towards their yearly grade?

Guess who has to submit that essay by 10am tomorrow morning?

Guess who’s writing this post to avoid finishing said essay?

I’ll give you a clue, the answer’s me.

If you asked me what is the one single thing I am best at in the world, my answer would be procrastination.

I honestly do have some kind of deep rooted fear of deadlines. I get so worked up and anxious that I feel sick and literally can’t do any work. I hate tests more than anything. Once the deadline has passed, I’m quite happy to tap away and finish the work…

In fact I’ve just started reading the Odyssey two weeks after it was set…it’s quite good actually…

…I told you I was nuts.

My fear of deadlines is so bad that I literally revised the night before every one of my GCSEs, AS levels and A levels…my English Lit A level I revised for on the day of the exam!

I think I may have found a solution to my predicament…LIE.

I need people to legitimately convince me that my deadlines are a week earlier than they actually are, so that after I’ve had a mild heart attack trying to finish the work 2 minutes before the deadline, I can heave a sigh of relief and finesse it over the next seven days…

I know, I know, I’m far to clever, I’d see straight through the lies.

*Cough*

I also have a strong aversion to re-reading anything that I write. You’d literally have to handcuff me to a chair and put me in a headlock to force me to re-read this post before I publish it…or any of my essays…

Please don’t read too closely…there will be spelling mistakes.

As the sensai of procrastination, I thought I’d give you a few examples of how to procrastinate…

These are just what I’ve done today:

  • Buy strawberry laces, plait them then eat them.
  • Give yourself a strawberry laces mustache.
  • Practice speaking in an Australian and American accent.
  • Make tea.
  • Play The Sims Freeplay.
  • Watch New Girl or [insert any other humorous 20 minute American sitcom here].
  • Make oatmeal cookies.
  • Blog.
  • Snapchat your best friend.
  • Make tacos.
  • Eat tacos.
  • Spin around on chair.
  • Read books other than your set texts.

Well now you know what my day consisted of…what have you been up to?

Procrastination suggestions below please.

Oh and here’s my favourite YouTube video on procrastination, just to, you know fuck up your life even more…

Vintage danisnotonfire.

He he.

I’m a klutz…

Oh god, I looked up the word klutz to make sure I spelt it right  before writing this post and now its morphed into gibberish.  Go on, repeat it like 10 or 20 times and see what happens….

Anyway on to today’s topic, which is essentially a rant about how completely ditzy and stupid I am.

Now it’s not like I just woke up today and suddenly realised it; I’ve had 19 years of being completely clumsy and uncoordinated…what prompted me to write this post is something that happened the other day…

…I was walking back from my English lecture, quite happily chatting away to my flatmate, when all of a sudden…

*KAZAM*

…guys…

I SLIPPED ON A FUCKING BANANA PEEL!

…STRAIGHT ONTO MY ARSE.

…IN PUBLIC.

This is the kind of that would only ever happen to me…it’s not even supposed to happen in real life! It’s a comedic device used in old black and white films!

If there’s a door I will walk into it, if there’s wet paint I’ll touch it, if there’s a staircase I’ll fall up it (yes I broke my wrist falling up the bloody stairs).

Never, I repeat NEVER ask me to hold anything of any kind of value.

When I was younger my mum had to put huge orange stickers on the french doors because I’d literally run into them every day and smash my head.

Someone bubble wrap me, quick, before I do any more damage.

P.S. It’s become a running joke in my flat that if anything awful is going to happen, it will happen to me. I am the unluckiest person on the planet. In fact I think they should add “doing a Laura” to the dictionary…well if twerk can make it in there…

P.P.S. Bollocks, literally just as I finished typing the first post script I just tipped a bottle of water over my folder…le sigh…

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*