London…

As I type this I’m sat on a train at Paddington station, soon to be headed back to uni.

image

I’m already missing home.

I won’t lie, I’ve considered chaining myself to the gates and refusing to go…or just hurling myself out the window with my suitcase and three bags…

…it’s all good I’ll hitch a cow back to Essex.

Out of all the places I’ve visited in the world, I still think London is my favourite…I’m almost regretting my decision to refuse to go to uni there…almost.

So jealous of all you London students, you have the world at your feet!

Actually, don’t worry I just remembered how much I spent on that bloody disgusting Pret sandwich on Friday.

All in all this week has been very strange. It’s finally sunk in that for the next three years I will be calling two places “home” and I’ll have two families to go back to, which means that I will be in a perpetual state of homesickness.

*Mindfuck*

Oh an did I mention that I may possibly be moving to America next year?

Yeah, so that happened.

Turns out I have the opportunity to go and study at the wonderful college of William and Mary in Virginia. Everyone I’ve spoken to says I have to go….so I’m going…

…all I’ve got to do is write a stunning application, get two great academic references and total 65% in my first year.

*Bangs head against pull out tray*

I only spent three months of my life and £500 applying to American universities already.

S.O.S.

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Nineteen…

It’s happening….the teenagepocalypse.

I woke up the other day and realised that I have ONE more year of my entire life left as a teenager. One more year until I have no excuse not to be an independent, fully functional, self-sustaining adult.

I have exactly 330 days to do the stupidest shit possible before I turn 20 and I can no longer get away with it.

I CANT HANDLE THE PRESSURE!

To plunge me even further into crisis, I woke up the other day to the news that a girl in my year at school has just gotten engaged.

What?

WHAT?

I don’t even have a boyfriend.

…Or a job…

OR ANY FUCKING MONEY.

What is my life?

Quick someone send me a university bucket list…

…and a life coach…

…and some vodka.

*Curls up in foetal position*

*Cries*

P.S. Am I really the only one who doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing with their life? Help me feel better, tell me about your life crisis in the comments below!

The only way is Essex…

I’m home!

I’m in complete bliss…I’ve seen my family, I’ve had a three hour soak in an actual bath, I’ve been cooked food and bought clothes and spent the entire morning curled up by the fire doing some reading.

What’s that? You want me to address the elephant in the room? AKA the title of this post?

Yes, believe it or not, I hail from the great and infamous county that is ESSEX.

I can honestly tell you though, the reality of Essex is a lot different to what you see on TV…

Do the OAPs at my bus stop wear Ugg boots, leggings and tracksuits?

Yes.

Have I ever owned a pink velour tracksuit, a Paul’s Boutique handbag, fake eyelashes and glitter heels?

Yes.

Despite the stereotypes…and I’m sorry be the one to tell you this…but in actual fact the majority of Essex is countryside. You’re more likely to bump into a loose cow than Amy Childs or Mark Wright (sadly), and yes, this has actually happened to me before; two cows escaped from the pen on the hill and were mooching about on the main road…THIS ISN’T INDIA. I’ve also been stuck on a train on my birthday that was held up by an AWOL ‘orse…oh to be in the country.

My hometown is surrounded by fields; we have one supermarket, a few restaurants, a marina and a farm and that’s about it. I associate home more with open fields, long walks by the river and the smell of horse manure than fake tan, fake tits and hair extensions.

Disappointed?

I thought so…

The people at uni sadly don’t seem to be as educated on the geographical reality of my home county…

I’ve had numerous reactions to telling people where I’m from, from the ever-so-lovely “that’s a shame” to “how comes you don’t have an accent?” to being given ‘the eye’ because they automatically assume I’m easy.

Le sigh.

Trust me I’ve heard all the jokes.

In fact I’ll just write some now to save you the trouble:

Q. What do Essex girls use for protection during sex?
A. Bus Shelters.

Q. Why does an Essex girl wear knickers?
A. To keep her ankles warm.

Q. What’s the difference between an Essex girl and an ironing board?
A. Occasionally you have trouble getting the legs apart on an ironingboard.

Q. Why are Essex girls only allowed 30 minute lunch breaks?
A. It takes too long to retrain them if they take an hour.

Q. How do you make an Essex girl laugh on a Saturday?
A. Tell her a joke on a Wednesday.

ARE YOU SATISFIED?

As a joke I’m considering going back down south in a pink velour tracksuit, my Paul’s Boutique Barbie bag, some fake Uggs and lashings of sparkly jewellery. It would be committing social suicide; people don’t even dress up to go out clubbing at uni (pffft), but it would be so worth the looks on my flatmates’ faces.

I’m sure I could get a hold of some white stilettos.

*Rubs hands together gleefully*

He he.

P.S. My friend may be coming down from Essex to visit next week, watch this space for the mischief we get up to…

P.P.S. If you’re from another country or just have no idea what the “Essex girl” stereotype is I’m referring to go here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Essex_girl

IT’S NOT TRUE.

Swear.

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).

Give me a P, Give me an M, Give me an S…

What does it spell?

Fuck off.

Jokes.

So I was just sitting here minding my own business, doing a bit of work when all of a sudden my iPad pinged up with a notification.

“Aunt Flow is coming”

Yes, I have a bloody app for it and yes that is the default message; I’m also told when my “flowers are blooming”. Stop judging me I have a terrible memory.

So it turns out that under a drug induced haze of Lemsip (aka nectar of the Gods) which I’ve been using for my horrific bout of flu, I have been experiencing PMS without the PMS. Halle-fucking-lujah.

Well, kind of.

I was wondering why I ended up coming back from the uni shop with three chocolate bars and two packets of sweets…especially when I don’t have a sweet tooth at all.

Don’t worry I didn’t eat them.

Yet.

Having gone to an all girls school, and now living in a flat with 5 other girls you kind of figure out what to avoid and when. I feel so sorry for the two guys in our flat who have to put up with all of us at our wrong time of the month.

The problem is, I don’t even know if I am a PMS monster…

I only want to murder half the people I talk to. That’s above average right?

Oh god I’m a terrible person.

*Cries*

*Drinks more Lemsip*.

P.S. Do you have any funny PMS stories? If so leave them in the comments below. I’m a poet and I didn’t even know it.

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?

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*.

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…

Banger? I don’t even know her…

Now I don’t claim to be any kind of Jamie Oliver or Heston Blumenthal but I’m a pretty okay cook.

Today would beg to differ…

…I kinda almost set the entire flat a little bit on fire…

Fickle buggers them sausages.

There I was, quite happily grilling my bangers in the oven, turning frequently to ensure equal distribution of heat then…

*BAM*

…a bit of the oil jumped up onto the heating element  and the oven started sparking, followed by a hella tonne of smoke.

It only lasted a maximum of two seconds while I sprinted Usain Bolt style to the other side of the kitchen, wildly flapping a tea towel in one hand and snatching up tongs in the other.

I’m only slightly worried that the fire alarm didn’t go off…

Bloody good sausage sandwich though I tell you, not burnt in the slightest.

#skills

P.S. Can I have permission to be just a teensy bit proud of that pun? Just a little teeny weeny bit?

I’m an adult…

So if you read my Quarter Life Crisis post, where I had a mini mental breakdown, you’ll know that I was really hating the course that I was on an my uni wasn’t letting me transfer…

Well I’ve spent the majority of my waking hours over the past two weeks running around campus like a crazed psychopath trying to persuade *cough* beg *cough* the department to allow just one more person onto the history course.

I was getting nowhere and I eventually reached the point where I wanted to simultaneously cry, punch someone, stuff my face with chocolate and not get out of bed….so I did the thing that every intelligent, adult, independent woman would do…

…I called my mummy…

Uuughh I know, I know.

But guess who’s now going to be doing English and History with Spanish?!

*Party poppers* *Fireworks*

*Tumbleweed*

No?

Right…I’ll just be in the corner celebrating….alone…

Actually I don’t know why I’m even writing this post…after all the insane running about I’ve done, I’ve had to sit and wait for the last three days for the head of the department to come back and sign my form… only then can I ‘officially’ transfer…I’ve probably just jinxed it…

Oh jesus.

P.S. I’m really hoping I’m going to love history after all of this, keep your fingers crossed for me people! If I don’t I may as well just give up now.

P.P.S. I feel like I haven’t done one of these for ages…I’ve had anti-postsciptitis…it’s the stress…

P.P.P.S. Hello, hi, hola, how are you? Thank you to all you lovely new people who have followed/liked/commented on my blog, If you read this please leave me a comment or ask a question/request something, I love interacting with you guys!