One thing I hate is bitchiness. If I've got something to say to someone, I'll say it. No holding back, no trying to make it sound nice, if you're a bitch to me I'll say exactly what I think of you. There are so many people out there who need to learn a lesson on Growing Up.
I'm opinionated, I'm slightly bossy and diva-ish at times, I know how I deserve to be treated and won't accept anything less, but most importantly I'm a nice person. I'll never dislike someone for no reason at all, I always try and see the best in people and will go out of my way to make the people I care about happy.
But pretty much all the way through life, through school, college, work, uni, I've had to put up with pathetic bitchy little girls who decide not to like me for no reason at all (other than them being jealous for some reason).
In school, I was never popular, and I was never the prettiest, but girls would just look at me and decide to hate me. I got excluded for punching a bully and busting her nose after she'd slapped me across the face, I used to have to have a pass to let me leave school early cos they'd follow me home, I'd be taken out of class and put into isolation for 'my own safety', and I was nicknamed 'fat back' (even though at the time I was a size 6 and weighed only 6 stone). It was like I was being punished just for being a decent person. For years and years this bothered me, and I think 'what have I done wrong?'. Only recently I've come to terms with the fact that it's them with the problem not me. I see them now, walking around with greasy hair, wearing filthy joggers, hanging round in bus stations with teenagers at the age of 20, pushing round their illegitimate children in Argos strollers; being a walking breathing version of The Jeremy Kyle Show. And I think now, yeah if I was them I'd be jealous of me too. I'd be jealous of anyone who actually spent their time in school getting an education instead of trying to make life hell for other people because I wasn't satisfied with my own sad little life.
One of the most inspirational things I ever read was in an interview with Kate Winslet. She was constantly bullied at school about her appearance and her weight, and after she won an Oscar for 'Titanic' she approached her school bully who was working in Boots, and said 'thank you, thanks for making me so determined to prove you all wrong'. And look at her now compared to them, it just goes to show you.
And here is an inspirational song too for people who've ever been made to feel like shit by people who weren't even worthy to be around you:
I always seem to have issues with girls regarding my relationships too. The guys I tend to go for always seem to have psycho ex-girlfriends or obsessive admirers. Now I'm not a jealous person, I just have a short temper and will get extremely annoyed and defensive at stupid whore-ish girls who will throw themselves at other people's boyfriends. Now I'm not saying it's always the girl's fault, because if a guy cheats then he's just as much to blame than the girl he did it with, but girls always seem to attack each other and the guys get away with murder, when in theory they're the ones who should be hated.
Like at the minute, I've just had to block two facebook accounts and a twitter belonging to some deranged little school girl. It was the typical story of boy meets girl, boy gets drunk and mistakenly snogs obsessed cow, boy and girl fall out, girl writes blog about boy, boy and girl make up, obsessed cow won't back off, boy and girl become official, obsessed cow is still hanging around, boy and girl break up, obsessed cow 'likes' that he is single, girl calls obsessed cow a fat whore :)
...And then obsessed cow goes even more crazy bitch and spams me with messages saying that me and my trashy make-up, huge forehead and fake tits should fuck off back to Primark. And I have the personality of a fish apparently.
I'm sorry you can't afford to buy Benefit make up like I do, yes I have quite a big forehead, hence why I always have a fringe, and if my boobs were fake I'd have gone a lot bigger than this. Also, the only things I've ever bought from Primark are pyjamas and sunglasses (I always sit on them and break them), and if I had the personality of a fish nobody would be reading this right now....
I'm not a girl to mess with, and I'm especially not a girl who's guy should be messed with either.
I'm going on a girly holiday in July and can't wait. Except one of the girls there hates me for absolutely no reason at all. She's been friends with my friends slightly longer than I have, and it is nothing but jealousy. Jealous that her friends like me and she doesn't, jealous that I'm fun and not a grumpy cow like she is. And I have always always been nothing less than lovely to her, when I met her I could just tell she didn't like me so I would go out of my way to be extra nice to her, literally try anything to make her like me. And now I think, why did I even bother? I don't want someone like her to like me anyway, she's clearly got a lot of issues. And she refused to drop out of this holiday even though she's evidently not wanted on it, and had to invite herself on it in the first place, and if she hated me that much surely the last thing she'd wanna do is spend a week in close proximity with me? I love my friends and always try and make it so it's not awkward for them, like if she makes a nasty comment I'll ignore it (which is extremely difficult for someone as opinionated as me to do) but I've actually had enough. One nasty comment on this holiday and she'll have a pina colada in the face and a suitcase full of suncream.
So, if people hate you cos you're pretty, or hate you because you're too nice, don't let it bother you, you're better than them and always will be. And always, always stand up for what you believe in, even if other people might disagree. And never apologise for something that makes you happy, that's like saying sorry for being yourself.
The point of this blog entry?
Jealousy won't get you anything that you've lost.
Thursday 14 April 2011
Tuesday 15 March 2011
I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love with a strict machine...(No, there isn't an app for that).
I've not been able to blog for a while due to a variety of reasons, well two actually; 1) I've had a ridiculous amount of uni work to get through and 2) I was without internet access for a while. And this made me realise just how much we rely on Technology.
These past few weeks I have had stress after stress, over deadlines, over pressure and over my fucking laptop. I have a very strong and heated love/hate relationship with my laptop. It was nearly 4 years ago when I saw a picture of it in a catalogue and it was love at first sight....bright pink, widescreen, white keys. So when I received it as a present after passing my GCSEs I was really happy.
And it worked fine for many years, and then last year the problems seemed to start. I moved to halls of residence in London and for the first time ever, had my own internet access. I was never lucky enough to grow up with it at home so I was pretty happy about it. Although my bank balance didn't appreciate my new found love for internet shopping (I'm such a sucker for eBay) and my laptop didn't appreciate my new susceptibility to viruses. I spent a night pulling my hair out in frustration and contemplating throwing it out of my 11th floor window.
My laptop being a dickhead doesn't seem that much of a problem considering I have a blackberry. But it is a blackberry which insists on freezing 3 times a day requiring a reboot each time. And rebooting a blackberry takes about as long as it would to carve yourself a new phone out of wood using nothing but a spoon.
Mobile phones rule our lives enormously. I remember when I got my first ever mobile when I was in year 7 and it was the size of an average house brick with an aerial reaching as high as Jupiter. But then I got my Nokia 3310, oh yes, THE phone of the time. If you weren't playing Snake then you were nobody.
I'm also shamelessly addicted to facebook. Even when I'm on holiday I'm feeding euros into the computers in shabby internet cafes just because I feel like I'm out of sync with the entire world if I can't check my news feed or inform all of my 'friends' that something is pissing me off. Being away from facebook is like being in Siberia - cold, lonely and boring.
Mark Zuckerberg was mentioned in one of my lecture's recently, in a sun-shines-out-of-his-arse kind of way and I guess facebook is a good thing. You can use it to find people who were nasty to you at school and seek pleasure from the fact that they've gotten really fat, you can upload albums after albums of drunken pictures so it becomes a flick book for perverts, and let's be honest, most of us use it just because we're nosey.
There are things about it which I dislike though.
Like, firstly, soppy pathetic loved-up couples. If you are truly in love you don't need to write it on every status to show it, if you loved each other that much then you'd be spending more time having fun together than you would be telling facebook how much you love 'snuggless mwah mwah' with your 'baby'. Real love should be louder than words. And I'm not just being cynical because I'm single and miserable, I am actually single for a reason.
Growing up amongst Disney films and music written by sad men with guitars has made me a bit of a romantic. But I won't settle for less than perfect. Some people just cannot be alone so they'll go out with pretty much anyone just to fill some gap in their life because they can't bear to be alone. Now, I'm not like that. I do prefer to be in a relationship rather than be single but I'm very selective about who I'm in them with, which is why I've been single for so long and all of my 'relationships' have been quite short-lived, because I'm stupidly picky.
I can be seeing a perfectly 'nice' guy and be content with it, but if there's no passion then I may as well be going out with a hot water bottle. You can cuddle it, it keeps you warm but you don't really need it and wouldn't really miss it if wasn't around. I go for 'that feeling' over everything else every single time. And I wouldn't want to miss out on the perfect guy for me, Mr Right, who could crash into my life at any time because I'm too busy watching Eastenders with Mr Right Now.
Another thing I hate about facebook is people with ridiculous display names. Your name on facebook should be your real name, not some stupid persona you've decided to come up with. Like those people who put something that they like as their middle name. For example, Laura 'luvsdavodka' Smith or Tim 'LUFC' Jones. As me and my friends have pointed out before my facebook display name isn't Rachael 'lovescock&moaning' Taberner is it? And the worst culprits are those who graduate from uni and add the BSc or the BA to the end of their name. Fair enough if you're signing your name on a business document but on facebook? It doesn't make you appear any more intelligent as people can still see your gramatically incorrect statuses and your ability to fall for scams such as 'Blah blah has viewed my profile 300 times this week, omg, find out who is stalking your profile before it's too late'. I shall congratulate you in advance on winning the Nigerian lottery and receiving a huge inheritance from your long-lost Uncle Egowba. Morons.
Of course the internet is a wonderful thing in the majority of cases, but there is just so much hate escalated around it. What did people do before the internet? Attach a message to a pigeon telling their ex-boyfriend to fuck off? Or put a message in a bottle to point out that someone looks fat in that dress?
The internet can also be dangerous. Every single time I'm ill, I google my symptoms and become convinced that I'm dying. I once accidentally wore a ripped contact lens, had a huge swollen red eye after an hour and obviously had to take it out. And I decided to google how long it would be before I could wear my lenses again rather than bothering my optician with a question like that. But google told me that I now definitely had a corneal ulcer and would be blind in 24 hours and dead in 48. Gulp.
A lot of modern technology is revolutionary, but some are just pretty pointless. Take Kindles for example. One of my favourite things about reading a book is the book smell. The smell of new paper, or if it's a library book, then the smell of fusty old paper. But either way I love the book smell. If I get a Kindle how am I supposed to smell my books? The only thing that will happen is that my eyes will bleed and explode from reading off a blindingly bright light so much. And the iPad is pretty shit too, it is just an iPod touch for fat people (or cats).
Sometimes technology can take important sentimental things away from us, and transform them into some electrical abstract format that can be seen or heard but can't be touched or appreciated as much as it should be. Maybe I'm old fashioned but I like to have a photograph that you can hold in your hand, and music that comes in a case with booklets and artwork, not just an artist and title on my itunes playlist.
These past few weeks I have had stress after stress, over deadlines, over pressure and over my fucking laptop. I have a very strong and heated love/hate relationship with my laptop. It was nearly 4 years ago when I saw a picture of it in a catalogue and it was love at first sight....bright pink, widescreen, white keys. So when I received it as a present after passing my GCSEs I was really happy.
And it worked fine for many years, and then last year the problems seemed to start. I moved to halls of residence in London and for the first time ever, had my own internet access. I was never lucky enough to grow up with it at home so I was pretty happy about it. Although my bank balance didn't appreciate my new found love for internet shopping (I'm such a sucker for eBay) and my laptop didn't appreciate my new susceptibility to viruses. I spent a night pulling my hair out in frustration and contemplating throwing it out of my 11th floor window.
My laptop being a dickhead doesn't seem that much of a problem considering I have a blackberry. But it is a blackberry which insists on freezing 3 times a day requiring a reboot each time. And rebooting a blackberry takes about as long as it would to carve yourself a new phone out of wood using nothing but a spoon.
Mobile phones rule our lives enormously. I remember when I got my first ever mobile when I was in year 7 and it was the size of an average house brick with an aerial reaching as high as Jupiter. But then I got my Nokia 3310, oh yes, THE phone of the time. If you weren't playing Snake then you were nobody.
I'm also shamelessly addicted to facebook. Even when I'm on holiday I'm feeding euros into the computers in shabby internet cafes just because I feel like I'm out of sync with the entire world if I can't check my news feed or inform all of my 'friends' that something is pissing me off. Being away from facebook is like being in Siberia - cold, lonely and boring.
Mark Zuckerberg was mentioned in one of my lecture's recently, in a sun-shines-out-of-his-arse kind of way and I guess facebook is a good thing. You can use it to find people who were nasty to you at school and seek pleasure from the fact that they've gotten really fat, you can upload albums after albums of drunken pictures so it becomes a flick book for perverts, and let's be honest, most of us use it just because we're nosey.
There are things about it which I dislike though.
Like, firstly, soppy pathetic loved-up couples. If you are truly in love you don't need to write it on every status to show it, if you loved each other that much then you'd be spending more time having fun together than you would be telling facebook how much you love 'snuggless mwah mwah' with your 'baby'. Real love should be louder than words. And I'm not just being cynical because I'm single and miserable, I am actually single for a reason.
Growing up amongst Disney films and music written by sad men with guitars has made me a bit of a romantic. But I won't settle for less than perfect. Some people just cannot be alone so they'll go out with pretty much anyone just to fill some gap in their life because they can't bear to be alone. Now, I'm not like that. I do prefer to be in a relationship rather than be single but I'm very selective about who I'm in them with, which is why I've been single for so long and all of my 'relationships' have been quite short-lived, because I'm stupidly picky.
I can be seeing a perfectly 'nice' guy and be content with it, but if there's no passion then I may as well be going out with a hot water bottle. You can cuddle it, it keeps you warm but you don't really need it and wouldn't really miss it if wasn't around. I go for 'that feeling' over everything else every single time. And I wouldn't want to miss out on the perfect guy for me, Mr Right, who could crash into my life at any time because I'm too busy watching Eastenders with Mr Right Now.
Another thing I hate about facebook is people with ridiculous display names. Your name on facebook should be your real name, not some stupid persona you've decided to come up with. Like those people who put something that they like as their middle name. For example, Laura 'luvsdavodka' Smith or Tim 'LUFC' Jones. As me and my friends have pointed out before my facebook display name isn't Rachael 'lovescock&moaning' Taberner is it? And the worst culprits are those who graduate from uni and add the BSc or the BA to the end of their name. Fair enough if you're signing your name on a business document but on facebook? It doesn't make you appear any more intelligent as people can still see your gramatically incorrect statuses and your ability to fall for scams such as 'Blah blah has viewed my profile 300 times this week, omg, find out who is stalking your profile before it's too late'. I shall congratulate you in advance on winning the Nigerian lottery and receiving a huge inheritance from your long-lost Uncle Egowba. Morons.
Of course the internet is a wonderful thing in the majority of cases, but there is just so much hate escalated around it. What did people do before the internet? Attach a message to a pigeon telling their ex-boyfriend to fuck off? Or put a message in a bottle to point out that someone looks fat in that dress?
The internet can also be dangerous. Every single time I'm ill, I google my symptoms and become convinced that I'm dying. I once accidentally wore a ripped contact lens, had a huge swollen red eye after an hour and obviously had to take it out. And I decided to google how long it would be before I could wear my lenses again rather than bothering my optician with a question like that. But google told me that I now definitely had a corneal ulcer and would be blind in 24 hours and dead in 48. Gulp.
A lot of modern technology is revolutionary, but some are just pretty pointless. Take Kindles for example. One of my favourite things about reading a book is the book smell. The smell of new paper, or if it's a library book, then the smell of fusty old paper. But either way I love the book smell. If I get a Kindle how am I supposed to smell my books? The only thing that will happen is that my eyes will bleed and explode from reading off a blindingly bright light so much. And the iPad is pretty shit too, it is just an iPod touch for fat people (or cats).
Sometimes technology can take important sentimental things away from us, and transform them into some electrical abstract format that can be seen or heard but can't be touched or appreciated as much as it should be. Maybe I'm old fashioned but I like to have a photograph that you can hold in your hand, and music that comes in a case with booklets and artwork, not just an artist and title on my itunes playlist.
Thursday 10 February 2011
A picture speaks a thousand words. (Ooh watch me now!).
So, as I've mentioned recently, I turn 20 in May. To me this feels very very old. It only feels like two minutes ago that I was 15, it really is scary how fast time seems to go as you get older, when you're younger you always seem to think that you'll live forever. Today's topic is - Age.
I think it's kind of scary how much I've changed over the years. My Nannan still refuses to believe that I'm nearly 20, she laughs when I tell her because she's so convinced that I'm joking. So with this blog, I thought I'd take a trip down memory lane, and also contemplate how much the future still has to hold.
And here is me as a toddler. According to my mum, in this picture I'm dancing around the garden to 'Do you love me'. I remember I actually used to love that song, I used to be in fits of laughter at the mashed potato reference in the lyrics. No idea at all why. But up until last year I wouldn't even dance in a nightclub. I also used to adore that Minnie Mouse outfit, even though now on later reflections, I do look like I'm wearing pyjamas. Nice.
So, fast-forward 10 years and here we are on my 16th birthday. Gone are the days of happy, smiley photos, and here I am, looking like I'm observing an execution, when in fact I am actually enjoying my birthday gathering. And it seems quite strange actually, that appearance wise, nothing has changed that much. I have (Lily Allen was big at the time) the bowl fringe yet again and awful clothes. Bright pink jeans? What was I thinking?! I grew through childhood and early teens trying to fit in. I wore a Reebok hoody throughout year 7 just so I'd fit in with the chavs at school and they wouldn't pick on me. It didn't work... they still grew to hate me. But when I got to around 14 I wanted to be different, the last thing I wanted was to look like everyone else.
School was all about popularity, but those so-called 'popular' people from my year at school are all now either on the dole, stuck in dead-end jobs, or parents to several illegitimate children. It kinda makes me proud in a way that as I grew up I decided against conforming, I thought, hang on, I actually do have a brain and I'm gonna use it. It seems through my life I've always been popular with boys but girls seem to take one look at me and decide they hate me. It's slightly improved as I've gotten older and I have close girl friends, but I still get girls always taking an instant dislike me, and I honestly have no idea why. I always got told 'it's because they're jealous' and in theory they probably are, but there's really not all that much to be jealous of. I'm an average girl with average grades who wears very good make-up, and if the time is taken to know me, I am also a very nice person (if I'm not tired, hungry or hormonal).
Now skip forward another 2 years and here I am at my 18th birthday party with my friend Oli. And notice the big cheesy grin. It wasn't even forced, I was genuinely happy and content. Being away from the social pressures of school, starting college and meeting some, what I believe are, friends for life, really does change a lot of things. Even if I was so drunk this night that i walked out of the toilet with my dress tucked into my Bridget Jones knickers, and pulled, and had the embarrassment of flashing my big 'sexy' pants to a guy, it was fun.
And here I am at Baker Street Station, London in October 2009, waiting for the tube to go to my Fresher's Ball at Pacha. I'd been living in London for around 3 weeks when this photo was taken and it really was the experience of my life. Even though uni life at Westminster didn't work out for me, I have no regrets that I did it. London is just the most amazing city, I miss it so much at times, but in comparison to how much I missed my family and friends while I was there it doesn't win. I've not been back since I left last May but I know I need to, though I am partly scared that I won't wanna come home again if I go back. But I met some amazing people in this amazing city, and going to see them is on the list of my priorities.
Although the Fresher's Ball itself wasn't brilliant, the highlight of the night was seeing Mutya who used to be in the Sugababes (she was my first celebrity spotting in London, let me off), and I got followed around all night by a 'grinding dancefloor guy', and an Archers and Lemonade cost £8(!), this photo pinpoints a very happy moment of my life.
This trip of nostalgia has opened my eyes to a lot of things, and that's to not care what you look like or what other people think. The most important thing is to just care about what the people you actually give a shit about think, and just focus on enjoying the moment. Life really is too short.
Awful tragedies happen every single day, to people younger than myself, and it really could be any of us, so just make the most of what you've got. In the words of the great prophet Gary Barlow, things can only get better.
And to end... I can mash potato!
I think it's kind of scary how much I've changed over the years. My Nannan still refuses to believe that I'm nearly 20, she laughs when I tell her because she's so convinced that I'm joking. So with this blog, I thought I'd take a trip down memory lane, and also contemplate how much the future still has to hold.
So this is me as a baby, around 18 months old I think. I mean, come on, how attractive is that face I'm pulling? I am genuinely surprised that I never won any beautiful baby competitions. At least back then I wasn't conscious of how I looked for the photograph, I just wanted to pull a stupid face and hold my hairbrush evidently. Sometimes I think it would be good to be that carefree again but when you're a baby you can shit yourself in public and no one bats an eyelid, so there's my point proven.
And here I am aged 6. This was definitely the start of the bowl fringe days. When I'm a parent I am gonna make sure that my children have nice, unridiculous hair and a decent fashion sense, my Mum however obviously used to dress me up and laugh at me. This is also a rare photo in which I'm smiling. When I got older I became more and more self-conscious of my, what I call, 'ventriloquist-dummy chin'. When I smile my chin forms two lines at either side, making it look like someone could just attach a stick to it, pull it, and I'll be their puppet. I'm also not keen on my teeth, because I think when I smile and bare my teeth I look creepy like a Chucky doll. So my recent photos tend to be me either pouting or looking mardy, even if I'm actually having the time of the life.
School was all about popularity, but those so-called 'popular' people from my year at school are all now either on the dole, stuck in dead-end jobs, or parents to several illegitimate children. It kinda makes me proud in a way that as I grew up I decided against conforming, I thought, hang on, I actually do have a brain and I'm gonna use it. It seems through my life I've always been popular with boys but girls seem to take one look at me and decide they hate me. It's slightly improved as I've gotten older and I have close girl friends, but I still get girls always taking an instant dislike me, and I honestly have no idea why. I always got told 'it's because they're jealous' and in theory they probably are, but there's really not all that much to be jealous of. I'm an average girl with average grades who wears very good make-up, and if the time is taken to know me, I am also a very nice person (if I'm not tired, hungry or hormonal).
Although the Fresher's Ball itself wasn't brilliant, the highlight of the night was seeing Mutya who used to be in the Sugababes (she was my first celebrity spotting in London, let me off), and I got followed around all night by a 'grinding dancefloor guy', and an Archers and Lemonade cost £8(!), this photo pinpoints a very happy moment of my life.
This trip of nostalgia has opened my eyes to a lot of things, and that's to not care what you look like or what other people think. The most important thing is to just care about what the people you actually give a shit about think, and just focus on enjoying the moment. Life really is too short.
Awful tragedies happen every single day, to people younger than myself, and it really could be any of us, so just make the most of what you've got. In the words of the great prophet Gary Barlow, things can only get better.
And to end... I can mash potato!
Wednesday 9 February 2011
Roses are red, violets are blue...Fuck you whore. (Men are like bogeys, I never seem to pick a winner).
So today's date is the 9th of February which means the worst day of the year is looming....Yes, Valentine's Day.
It has recently come to my attention that I am nearly 20 years old and I have never had what you would call a serious, functional, normal relationship. It either ends around the 1-month stage, or is a crazy fucked-up version of a 'relationship'.
I seem to get questioned a lot by various people about why I don't have a boyfriend or why I have no luck with men, and I never really know what to say about it. So, I've sat and thought long and hard about why I can't seem to be able to do the normal relationship thing, and the obvious conclusion was that there's something wrong with me. Then I thought hang on a minute, no, I'm lovely. I have to live with me every single day so I know for a fact that I'm perfectly lovely and nothing short of a perfect girlfriend to be honest. The problem is the men I'm attracted to, I'm like a magnet for arseholes and weirdos. During these nosey and often patronising conversations I also came to the scary conclusion that I'm ready to settle down. Don't worry, I'm not talking marriage, kids, mortgage, I'm talking a nice boyfriend. A boyfriend with prospects of being a future-husband, Dilf, and boring car owner. I've been there, done everything and got all of the T-Shirts.
The weird thing is, because I've had a quite a few boyfriends and can be a bit of a flirt, whenever I meet someone they always become paranoid that I'm gonna cheat on them. I've never cheated on anyone. I've had it done to me a lot of times but that's a different story. But, basically, my theory is, a person is more likely to cheat if they've not had a lot of boyfriends and girlfriends before because they think they're missing out on something. And because I know what is out there (a lot of knobheads), if I meet a nice guy then I know there's definitely nobody better who's gonna come along, and I'm really not missing out on anything.
I don't really go on nights out that much and the thought of going out every single week like a lot of people do just scares me. I am officially old. Unfortunately though this prevents me from 'pulling'. Though the only men I meet in nightclubs are drunken, creepy, verging on rapists kinda guys. I find it hard to meet guys at uni because to be quite frank, I always look like shit at uni. Waking up at 6am and attempting to do my make-up on the train isn't the best look for me. And I've tried meeting guys through facebook, they're either not as fit in real-life as they are in their pictures, they turn out to be really short or have a girly voice, or just plain weirdos.
I've always thought to myself 'Rachael, it's ok to be fussy, you're 19 years old, you're funny, you're intelligent and drunk people mistake you for Pixie Lott', but Valentine's Day is always the day where I wish I'd make an exception.
As soon as I walk into Tesco it hits me, an overwhelming sense of nausea as I see the cards, teddies, chocolates, flowers, balloons and wine. The tag line should be 'Valentine's Day - The one day of the year invented to make single people feel like absolute shit'.
I've only actually not been for single for one Valentine's, and that was with the 'most serious relationship' guy. We hadn't been together for very long at the time but this defies the point of what he gave me. I decided to treat him (and myself) to a night of pro-evo, a takeaway, Ben & Jerry's, WKD (yes I went out with a guy who drank alcopops, don't judge) and very skimpy underwear.
He gave me a huge Me to You card, it was lovely :) apart from the fact that inside the first line said - 'ToAmy Rachael'. Humph. His excuse was that he'd left his ex-girlfriend to be with me a few weeks before and he'd already bought and written inside the card which had cost him the huge amount of £4.50, and to add insult to injury, was my present. He had very kindly sellotaped a Cherry Chapstick inside of the card because, and to quote, 'last time I kissed you I noticed your lips were a bit chapped so I thought I'd get you a thoughtful present'. You couldn't make it up could you?
I also received a present and card off a different guy a year or two later, which was quite sweet. A card with my name spelt wrong and a cuddly gorilla holding a rose. Except the guy in question was someone I'd broken up with a few weeks before because he was still shamelessly obsessed with his ex-girlfriend. So...the gorilla became a cat toy.
Valentine's day itself is just a pointless cliche. But if you spent it like I did last year sat in Pizza Hut (I love Pizza Hut, take note guys) in central London, listening to 'All by myself' and staring at rainy Baker Street like I was in a crap Hugh Grant film then it does kind of hit a nerve.
I also think I'm mentally scarred for life from a primary school incident. I was in year 3, and I was 7. My mum had bought me a card making kit from Avon and I got to work making a valentine's card for the boy in my class that I liked. I thought he was cute because he had big ears like a monkey. I spent a total of 3 hours making this card. It had hand-drawn hearts, crepe paper, feathers, glitter and diamante. And I even put a drumstick lolly inside of it, I was so proud, even signed it 'guess who'. I slipped it into the drawer of the boy in question and waited for him to find it. He had no idea who it was from, up until break time when my 'friend' told him it was from me and I had to endure the humiliation of him going 'eurrrgggghhhh!', pulling it out of his bag and ripping into tiny pieces in front of me. Aaron Taylor, if you're reading this, you owe me shitloads of glitter and glue you heartless prick.
So, as you've probably gathered, I am definitely not a big fan of Valentine's day. But that's not to say that I'm not quite upset at the fact that yet again I'm gonna be spending it alone.
If there's any of you out there that have never seen '500 Days of Summer' then your homework for today is to watch it. That film pretty much sums up my big 'relationship' except I'm Tom and my ex is Summer. And one of my favourite scenes from the film is the one involving the first part of the title of this blog. Enjoy.
So I am now about to venture to Tesco as I need supplies of cat food, ice cream and batteries for my vibrators so wish me luck as I try not to vomit all over the Valentine's displays.
It has recently come to my attention that I am nearly 20 years old and I have never had what you would call a serious, functional, normal relationship. It either ends around the 1-month stage, or is a crazy fucked-up version of a 'relationship'.
I seem to get questioned a lot by various people about why I don't have a boyfriend or why I have no luck with men, and I never really know what to say about it. So, I've sat and thought long and hard about why I can't seem to be able to do the normal relationship thing, and the obvious conclusion was that there's something wrong with me. Then I thought hang on a minute, no, I'm lovely. I have to live with me every single day so I know for a fact that I'm perfectly lovely and nothing short of a perfect girlfriend to be honest. The problem is the men I'm attracted to, I'm like a magnet for arseholes and weirdos. During these nosey and often patronising conversations I also came to the scary conclusion that I'm ready to settle down. Don't worry, I'm not talking marriage, kids, mortgage, I'm talking a nice boyfriend. A boyfriend with prospects of being a future-husband, Dilf, and boring car owner. I've been there, done everything and got all of the T-Shirts.
The weird thing is, because I've had a quite a few boyfriends and can be a bit of a flirt, whenever I meet someone they always become paranoid that I'm gonna cheat on them. I've never cheated on anyone. I've had it done to me a lot of times but that's a different story. But, basically, my theory is, a person is more likely to cheat if they've not had a lot of boyfriends and girlfriends before because they think they're missing out on something. And because I know what is out there (a lot of knobheads), if I meet a nice guy then I know there's definitely nobody better who's gonna come along, and I'm really not missing out on anything.
I don't really go on nights out that much and the thought of going out every single week like a lot of people do just scares me. I am officially old. Unfortunately though this prevents me from 'pulling'. Though the only men I meet in nightclubs are drunken, creepy, verging on rapists kinda guys. I find it hard to meet guys at uni because to be quite frank, I always look like shit at uni. Waking up at 6am and attempting to do my make-up on the train isn't the best look for me. And I've tried meeting guys through facebook, they're either not as fit in real-life as they are in their pictures, they turn out to be really short or have a girly voice, or just plain weirdos.
I've always thought to myself 'Rachael, it's ok to be fussy, you're 19 years old, you're funny, you're intelligent and drunk people mistake you for Pixie Lott', but Valentine's Day is always the day where I wish I'd make an exception.
As soon as I walk into Tesco it hits me, an overwhelming sense of nausea as I see the cards, teddies, chocolates, flowers, balloons and wine. The tag line should be 'Valentine's Day - The one day of the year invented to make single people feel like absolute shit'.
I've only actually not been for single for one Valentine's, and that was with the 'most serious relationship' guy. We hadn't been together for very long at the time but this defies the point of what he gave me. I decided to treat him (and myself) to a night of pro-evo, a takeaway, Ben & Jerry's, WKD (yes I went out with a guy who drank alcopops, don't judge) and very skimpy underwear.
He gave me a huge Me to You card, it was lovely :) apart from the fact that inside the first line said - 'To
I also received a present and card off a different guy a year or two later, which was quite sweet. A card with my name spelt wrong and a cuddly gorilla holding a rose. Except the guy in question was someone I'd broken up with a few weeks before because he was still shamelessly obsessed with his ex-girlfriend. So...the gorilla became a cat toy.
Valentine's day itself is just a pointless cliche. But if you spent it like I did last year sat in Pizza Hut (I love Pizza Hut, take note guys) in central London, listening to 'All by myself' and staring at rainy Baker Street like I was in a crap Hugh Grant film then it does kind of hit a nerve.
I also think I'm mentally scarred for life from a primary school incident. I was in year 3, and I was 7. My mum had bought me a card making kit from Avon and I got to work making a valentine's card for the boy in my class that I liked. I thought he was cute because he had big ears like a monkey. I spent a total of 3 hours making this card. It had hand-drawn hearts, crepe paper, feathers, glitter and diamante. And I even put a drumstick lolly inside of it, I was so proud, even signed it 'guess who'. I slipped it into the drawer of the boy in question and waited for him to find it. He had no idea who it was from, up until break time when my 'friend' told him it was from me and I had to endure the humiliation of him going 'eurrrgggghhhh!', pulling it out of his bag and ripping into tiny pieces in front of me. Aaron Taylor, if you're reading this, you owe me shitloads of glitter and glue you heartless prick.
So, as you've probably gathered, I am definitely not a big fan of Valentine's day. But that's not to say that I'm not quite upset at the fact that yet again I'm gonna be spending it alone.
If there's any of you out there that have never seen '500 Days of Summer' then your homework for today is to watch it. That film pretty much sums up my big 'relationship' except I'm Tom and my ex is Summer. And one of my favourite scenes from the film is the one involving the first part of the title of this blog. Enjoy.
So I am now about to venture to Tesco as I need supplies of cat food, ice cream and batteries for my vibrators so wish me luck as I try not to vomit all over the Valentine's displays.
Sunday 30 January 2011
Cheers to the freakin' weekend, I'll drink to that. (Tequila. Lemon. Vom).
Ok...So I am nearly 20 years old now so I've been drinking legally for almost 2 years now (and many years illegally before that). Today's topic is - Alcohol.
Even though I'm young and single (which by society's standards means I should be out every night) I only really seem to go on nights out once a month at most. This is mostly due to me being a poor student and the fact that my group of my friends I've known for a years have mixtures of commitments, so finding a night where we can all go out is usually difficult.
I feel like such a boring old woman when I say I'd find it boring to go out every week but I really would. Getting ready to go out itself is a total pain in the arse. Thanks to the invention of facebook and its tagging function, I feel like I can't wear the same outfit out more than once in the same year, which causes the same dilemma every time of 'what the fuck am I gonna wear?!'. Added to the fact that as I've gotten older I've become slightly more high-maintenance. My extensions have to be in, my false eyelashes have to be on and my nails have to be painted. I'm only fake tan away from being on Snog, Marry, Avoid according to one of my 'lovely' friends. Gone are the days of being 16 when I could go out round Pontefract on a Tuesday night in hoodies, skinny jeans and converse with no make-up apart from lots of black eyeliner (everyone had an emo phase right?).
And of course, one of the most vital parts of a night out is drinking. Now I'm not really a big drinker (again, I am aware that I'm weird). Don't get me wrong, I love getting drunk as much as the next person but only if the occasion fits. I drink lots when I go out, but I rarely drink in the house, and I never ever drink alone. I know a few people who can happily sit in the house alone and get through a bottle of whisky in a night. Sorry but what is the point? It's just a waste of money and a very pointless and worthless hangover the next morning. You can't really get drunk and then laugh at yourself falling over can you?
I remember my first ever experience of drinking alcohol like it was yesterday. I was 11 years old, in year 7 and staying over at my friend's grandma's house with her. Now my mum's really laid back but this girl's parents were very liberal to trust us with 6 Bacardi Breezers each. I think even now after 6 alcopops I'd be on the floor. So we sat and watched Popstars: The Rivals as the members of Girls Aloud got voted through (yes, that does make me feel extremely old), and slowly but surely got tipsy. It was fun until I found myself hugging the toilet for 2 hours and her Dad then picking me up and taking me home. Ooops.
I've been in a few drunken states at times, I'll admit, but now I'm older and sensible I like to be in control. There's nothing worse than being sick and falling over is there? I very often have to babysit my mum when she comes in drunk. I remember an occasion when she came in at 2am and fell up the stairs 3 times, couldn't get her dress off and when I tried to help, slapped me and called me a lesbian. Apparently you never learn...even at the age of 42.
I'm quite disappointed in myself at what a boring drunk I am, by the end of the night I'm always at the bar getting a pint of water and then hitting the takeaway to fill up on greasy food. The last time I got really drunk was months ago when I went out with my ex. Turned out the £1 jagerbombs were not a good idea. When we got in I had to watch him throw up pure jager into the sink, all over the dishes, and then stumble up the stairs while I drunkenly tried to clear up his sick before his Mum saw it. Fun times. Oh and not long after that I went out, didn't even drink that much, went to go to the toilet, in the queue, and knew I was gonna be sick. I made a mad dash for the sink closely followed by a random woman who grabbed my hair out of the way and rubbed my back whilst I threw up in a very classy fashion. You'd never see blokes doing that for each other would you?
Now the only time I really let my 'sensible, old woman' persona drop was on my first ever girls holiday to Malia last year. You've got to though haven't you?
I was the wildest I've ever been in my entire life, and to be honest, I'm proud of it :)
I actually agreed to go a foam party. Now anyone who knows me knows that is very out of character for me. I am the queen of safety, if anything has a slight risk factor I will avoid it all costs. I also despise getting wet (immature jokes expected), and my most well-known phrase is 'I won't like that'. I never try things, I just decide on the spot if I'll like them or not. Like I decided that Ginster's Fiery Cheese tortilla wraps were gonna be disgusting, and oh my god, they are orgasmic. I would recommend everyone to try one. Anyway, i used my 'I won't like it' phrase about the foam party and eventually agreed to go but said I'd stand at the side and not go in the foam. Well, erm, that kinda didn't happen.
Pre-drinks of Glenn's vodka with Fanta fruit twist in the apartment mixed with various cocktails and fishbowls along the strip had got me more than a little bit drunk.
And so we arrived at the foam party and guess who ran straight to the front? Yes, moi. And after a few minutes I got the mindset of 'my dress is wet, I might as well take it off' so I turned my boobtube dress into what I can only describe as a belt. Pants were out and baps were out. I was rolling round in the foam topless, letting random guys drag me by the ankles along the floor not giving a shit about broken glass or anything. My friends were like 'yeah Rachael's definitely pissed cos for the first time ever she's not bothered about health & safety'. I'm still slightly shocked at my behaviour from that night, bearing in mind that I'm the girl who up until just over a year ago was too self-conscious to even dance on a night out, but there's nothing fun about being shy is there?
All the way through school and college I worried that I didn't talk enough, now I'm at uni I worry that I talk too much. I just think life's too short to give a shit what other people think, it's always the things you don't do that you regret. Like until recently I'd never dare make the first move with a guy, I worried that I'd come across as desperate, or even worse, get rejected. If I like someone now I tell them, I mean what's the worse that could happen? And if they're not interested then sod them, there's always someone out there that is.
And the same goes for drinking, yes hangovers and excessive drinking are not clever, but learning to become a confident version of yourself through alcohol and being able to stay the same when you're the sober is the best thing I've ever done.
Even though I'm young and single (which by society's standards means I should be out every night) I only really seem to go on nights out once a month at most. This is mostly due to me being a poor student and the fact that my group of my friends I've known for a years have mixtures of commitments, so finding a night where we can all go out is usually difficult.
I feel like such a boring old woman when I say I'd find it boring to go out every week but I really would. Getting ready to go out itself is a total pain in the arse. Thanks to the invention of facebook and its tagging function, I feel like I can't wear the same outfit out more than once in the same year, which causes the same dilemma every time of 'what the fuck am I gonna wear?!'. Added to the fact that as I've gotten older I've become slightly more high-maintenance. My extensions have to be in, my false eyelashes have to be on and my nails have to be painted. I'm only fake tan away from being on Snog, Marry, Avoid according to one of my 'lovely' friends. Gone are the days of being 16 when I could go out round Pontefract on a Tuesday night in hoodies, skinny jeans and converse with no make-up apart from lots of black eyeliner (everyone had an emo phase right?).
And of course, one of the most vital parts of a night out is drinking. Now I'm not really a big drinker (again, I am aware that I'm weird). Don't get me wrong, I love getting drunk as much as the next person but only if the occasion fits. I drink lots when I go out, but I rarely drink in the house, and I never ever drink alone. I know a few people who can happily sit in the house alone and get through a bottle of whisky in a night. Sorry but what is the point? It's just a waste of money and a very pointless and worthless hangover the next morning. You can't really get drunk and then laugh at yourself falling over can you?
I remember my first ever experience of drinking alcohol like it was yesterday. I was 11 years old, in year 7 and staying over at my friend's grandma's house with her. Now my mum's really laid back but this girl's parents were very liberal to trust us with 6 Bacardi Breezers each. I think even now after 6 alcopops I'd be on the floor. So we sat and watched Popstars: The Rivals as the members of Girls Aloud got voted through (yes, that does make me feel extremely old), and slowly but surely got tipsy. It was fun until I found myself hugging the toilet for 2 hours and her Dad then picking me up and taking me home. Ooops.
I've been in a few drunken states at times, I'll admit, but now I'm older and sensible I like to be in control. There's nothing worse than being sick and falling over is there? I very often have to babysit my mum when she comes in drunk. I remember an occasion when she came in at 2am and fell up the stairs 3 times, couldn't get her dress off and when I tried to help, slapped me and called me a lesbian. Apparently you never learn...even at the age of 42.
I'm quite disappointed in myself at what a boring drunk I am, by the end of the night I'm always at the bar getting a pint of water and then hitting the takeaway to fill up on greasy food. The last time I got really drunk was months ago when I went out with my ex. Turned out the £1 jagerbombs were not a good idea. When we got in I had to watch him throw up pure jager into the sink, all over the dishes, and then stumble up the stairs while I drunkenly tried to clear up his sick before his Mum saw it. Fun times. Oh and not long after that I went out, didn't even drink that much, went to go to the toilet, in the queue, and knew I was gonna be sick. I made a mad dash for the sink closely followed by a random woman who grabbed my hair out of the way and rubbed my back whilst I threw up in a very classy fashion. You'd never see blokes doing that for each other would you?
Now the only time I really let my 'sensible, old woman' persona drop was on my first ever girls holiday to Malia last year. You've got to though haven't you?
I was the wildest I've ever been in my entire life, and to be honest, I'm proud of it :)
I actually agreed to go a foam party. Now anyone who knows me knows that is very out of character for me. I am the queen of safety, if anything has a slight risk factor I will avoid it all costs. I also despise getting wet (immature jokes expected), and my most well-known phrase is 'I won't like that'. I never try things, I just decide on the spot if I'll like them or not. Like I decided that Ginster's Fiery Cheese tortilla wraps were gonna be disgusting, and oh my god, they are orgasmic. I would recommend everyone to try one. Anyway, i used my 'I won't like it' phrase about the foam party and eventually agreed to go but said I'd stand at the side and not go in the foam. Well, erm, that kinda didn't happen.
Pre-drinks of Glenn's vodka with Fanta fruit twist in the apartment mixed with various cocktails and fishbowls along the strip had got me more than a little bit drunk.
And so we arrived at the foam party and guess who ran straight to the front? Yes, moi. And after a few minutes I got the mindset of 'my dress is wet, I might as well take it off' so I turned my boobtube dress into what I can only describe as a belt. Pants were out and baps were out. I was rolling round in the foam topless, letting random guys drag me by the ankles along the floor not giving a shit about broken glass or anything. My friends were like 'yeah Rachael's definitely pissed cos for the first time ever she's not bothered about health & safety'. I'm still slightly shocked at my behaviour from that night, bearing in mind that I'm the girl who up until just over a year ago was too self-conscious to even dance on a night out, but there's nothing fun about being shy is there?
All the way through school and college I worried that I didn't talk enough, now I'm at uni I worry that I talk too much. I just think life's too short to give a shit what other people think, it's always the things you don't do that you regret. Like until recently I'd never dare make the first move with a guy, I worried that I'd come across as desperate, or even worse, get rejected. If I like someone now I tell them, I mean what's the worse that could happen? And if they're not interested then sod them, there's always someone out there that is.
And the same goes for drinking, yes hangovers and excessive drinking are not clever, but learning to become a confident version of yourself through alcohol and being able to stay the same when you're the sober is the best thing I've ever done.
Thursday 20 January 2011
We don't need no education. (I got the power...point slides).
Well, as you know, I am a student so it only seems fitting that my next topic should be university.
I currently attend Leeds Trinity University College, and I am studying for a BSc in Forensic Psychology, and from what I've gathered so far, it's not bad. In fact, it's brilliant if you compare it to my last university. Yes, I have been to two different universities and due to dropping out of the first shambles of an education establishment, I am currently retaking my first year.
Now my old uni was quite a well-known, even prestigious, central London university. On paper and in the prospectus it was brilliant, but in reality it was a big bag of shite. The entry grades for my course were BBB, I got BBBB. Now I know that these grades of mine are pretty average and not exactly Oxbridge standard, but I worked my little arse off for them and I'm proud of that. So when I got to said university and discovered that only about 5% of the people on my course had actually achieved the required grades, I was a little bit disappointed. Some people had even been accepted with as low as CDD. I'm sorry but what is the point of even setting entry requirements if you're just gonna let anyone in?!
Also, the uni was big, unfriendly and impersonal. Reception staff were rude at best, lecturers cared more about money and reputation than the students, and my lectures were taught in a shabby room that contained just rows of tatty chairs with no tables, meaning that you had to balance your notes on your leg, in a listed building on one of London's most iconic streets, and was constantly having construction work done on it so lectures and seminars were constantly interrupted by the sound of banging and drilling. When I'm paying over £3k a year to be at a 'top' university I would at least expect a table to lean on.
Now as I was living 200 miles away from home I stayed in halls of residence. These again were located in the heart of the capital, and cost me £148 a week for a room that resembled a shoebox with an 'en-suite' bathroom (it was a toilet and a shower in a cupboard) and a kitchen/dining room shared with 5 other people. Now I met one of my flatmates within the first few hours of moving in and stayed friends with her for the rest of the time I was there, but I just wish I could say the same for the rest.
I made friends with another girl that lived there too but she moved out and left university after a few months (not that I can blame her, to be honest I wish I'd gotten out sooner), but the 3 guys I lived with can only be described as arseholes.
On the first day I met two of them. Let's call them Country Boy and Apu (namely so for his Indian accent very similar to that of The Simpsons' character). My first impression was that Country Boy was a nice guy. I'd only met Apu briefly as he was going for dinner at The Ritz with his parents. Yeah, exactly.
The next day Cliche Indie Guy moved in. My first thought was 'wow, he is fit'. That night was the halls welcome drinks in the SU and after way too much alcohol we ended up in bed together. Bad, bad idea. This 'arrangement' carried on for a few weeks until I found myself doing his washing and cooking his meals. Hence him soon afterwards saying that he felt like we were an old married couple.
In order to be civil though, I accepted the invite to go to a random house party with Cliche and Country. It ended with Cliche pulling a Swedish prostitute, me swigging straight vodka stolen from a stranger's fridge, being the 'crying girl at the party' in an upstairs bedroom whilst a couple shagged on the bed and a beardy man gave me a tissue (for my tears of course) and leered at my breasts, me drunkenly screaming at Cliche and telling him exactly what I thought of him (which was that he was a spoilt little rich boy who thinks he can treat people like shit, and I hope he'd caught HIV off that little Swede whore), and then me stumbling into a cab at 2am and not being able to remember my own address. And the next morning, when I emptied my handbag, I discovered that I had also stolen some fridge magnets which spelt out the word 'poo'.
But anyway, me and Cliche, and Country for that matter (the two of them had some gay bromance going on), never really saw eye to eye again for the rest of the year. I clearly had feelings for the prick and seeing him bringing different girls back every night didn't exactly makes things easier for the first few months. In fact, by the time it had gotten to the last term, I'd made several complaints about him to halls management as he'd always 'coincidently' decide to have a party in our kitchen the night before every single deadline of mine. And if I politely asked him to turn the music down I'd get the reply of 'suck my cock'. Nice.
And Apu...Don't even get me started on Apu. In the first week in halls my iphone got stolen. I'd only had it 5 months as it was a birthday present, and I absolutely loved that phone. The sat-nav on it was getting me around London and my whole life was on that phone, my numbers, my photos, my music. So...I'm in the kitchen with my flatmates and I leave my phone on the kitchen table whilst I pop into Cliche's room for 10 minutes. I then return to the kitchen to find that the door to our flat is propped open, our kitchen is full of randomers and my phone is nowhere to be seen. Now, it was Apu who had opened the door and had invited all of these strangers into our flat, so it was his fault that my phone had got stolen, and that it wasn't covered by insurance because the door was open, so therefore it was his responsibility to buy me a new phone. He insisted that he couldn't afford to replace it but he gambled away £550 at the casino the following night.
Now, imagine being 200 miles away from home, your first experience of being completely alone, and your phone, your only primary contact to your family and friends, being taken away. It was heartbreaking.
Don't get me wrong, I did have some amazing times in London. I met some lovely people and made some great friends, and I love that city so much. But the university itself, a place where lecturers take a month to respond to an e-mail and still don't know your name after 6 months, ruined my experience, along with with my wanker flatmates.
As much as I miss London, I'm a strong believer in fate, that things, no matter how shitty they are, happen for a reason. And I think I've done the right thing moving back home and going to Trinity, but I am glad that I got the independence and experience of living in the best city in the world.
At the end of the day, whichever uni you go to, whether the lecturers give a shit or not, if you get tables to lean on or not, they're all a huge rip off. I didn't expect to be paying over £3k a year to watch someone prance around reading off of a powerpoint presentation. I'll be honest, I did expect more for my money. But I suppose you have to make the best of what you've got right?
At times I get severely stressed about my workload and just think that I'm not cut out for uni at all. But then again I think, why let it get me down? I'd rather come out with a 2:1 at the end of it and have had a good time, rather than get a first and have had no life at all.
Because really, what good is it being clever if you don't know how to handle your Jagerbombs?!
I currently attend Leeds Trinity University College, and I am studying for a BSc in Forensic Psychology, and from what I've gathered so far, it's not bad. In fact, it's brilliant if you compare it to my last university. Yes, I have been to two different universities and due to dropping out of the first shambles of an education establishment, I am currently retaking my first year.
Now my old uni was quite a well-known, even prestigious, central London university. On paper and in the prospectus it was brilliant, but in reality it was a big bag of shite. The entry grades for my course were BBB, I got BBBB. Now I know that these grades of mine are pretty average and not exactly Oxbridge standard, but I worked my little arse off for them and I'm proud of that. So when I got to said university and discovered that only about 5% of the people on my course had actually achieved the required grades, I was a little bit disappointed. Some people had even been accepted with as low as CDD. I'm sorry but what is the point of even setting entry requirements if you're just gonna let anyone in?!
Also, the uni was big, unfriendly and impersonal. Reception staff were rude at best, lecturers cared more about money and reputation than the students, and my lectures were taught in a shabby room that contained just rows of tatty chairs with no tables, meaning that you had to balance your notes on your leg, in a listed building on one of London's most iconic streets, and was constantly having construction work done on it so lectures and seminars were constantly interrupted by the sound of banging and drilling. When I'm paying over £3k a year to be at a 'top' university I would at least expect a table to lean on.
Now as I was living 200 miles away from home I stayed in halls of residence. These again were located in the heart of the capital, and cost me £148 a week for a room that resembled a shoebox with an 'en-suite' bathroom (it was a toilet and a shower in a cupboard) and a kitchen/dining room shared with 5 other people. Now I met one of my flatmates within the first few hours of moving in and stayed friends with her for the rest of the time I was there, but I just wish I could say the same for the rest.
I made friends with another girl that lived there too but she moved out and left university after a few months (not that I can blame her, to be honest I wish I'd gotten out sooner), but the 3 guys I lived with can only be described as arseholes.
On the first day I met two of them. Let's call them Country Boy and Apu (namely so for his Indian accent very similar to that of The Simpsons' character). My first impression was that Country Boy was a nice guy. I'd only met Apu briefly as he was going for dinner at The Ritz with his parents. Yeah, exactly.
The next day Cliche Indie Guy moved in. My first thought was 'wow, he is fit'. That night was the halls welcome drinks in the SU and after way too much alcohol we ended up in bed together. Bad, bad idea. This 'arrangement' carried on for a few weeks until I found myself doing his washing and cooking his meals. Hence him soon afterwards saying that he felt like we were an old married couple.
In order to be civil though, I accepted the invite to go to a random house party with Cliche and Country. It ended with Cliche pulling a Swedish prostitute, me swigging straight vodka stolen from a stranger's fridge, being the 'crying girl at the party' in an upstairs bedroom whilst a couple shagged on the bed and a beardy man gave me a tissue (for my tears of course) and leered at my breasts, me drunkenly screaming at Cliche and telling him exactly what I thought of him (which was that he was a spoilt little rich boy who thinks he can treat people like shit, and I hope he'd caught HIV off that little Swede whore), and then me stumbling into a cab at 2am and not being able to remember my own address. And the next morning, when I emptied my handbag, I discovered that I had also stolen some fridge magnets which spelt out the word 'poo'.
But anyway, me and Cliche, and Country for that matter (the two of them had some gay bromance going on), never really saw eye to eye again for the rest of the year. I clearly had feelings for the prick and seeing him bringing different girls back every night didn't exactly makes things easier for the first few months. In fact, by the time it had gotten to the last term, I'd made several complaints about him to halls management as he'd always 'coincidently' decide to have a party in our kitchen the night before every single deadline of mine. And if I politely asked him to turn the music down I'd get the reply of 'suck my cock'. Nice.
And Apu...Don't even get me started on Apu. In the first week in halls my iphone got stolen. I'd only had it 5 months as it was a birthday present, and I absolutely loved that phone. The sat-nav on it was getting me around London and my whole life was on that phone, my numbers, my photos, my music. So...I'm in the kitchen with my flatmates and I leave my phone on the kitchen table whilst I pop into Cliche's room for 10 minutes. I then return to the kitchen to find that the door to our flat is propped open, our kitchen is full of randomers and my phone is nowhere to be seen. Now, it was Apu who had opened the door and had invited all of these strangers into our flat, so it was his fault that my phone had got stolen, and that it wasn't covered by insurance because the door was open, so therefore it was his responsibility to buy me a new phone. He insisted that he couldn't afford to replace it but he gambled away £550 at the casino the following night.
Now, imagine being 200 miles away from home, your first experience of being completely alone, and your phone, your only primary contact to your family and friends, being taken away. It was heartbreaking.
Don't get me wrong, I did have some amazing times in London. I met some lovely people and made some great friends, and I love that city so much. But the university itself, a place where lecturers take a month to respond to an e-mail and still don't know your name after 6 months, ruined my experience, along with with my wanker flatmates.
As much as I miss London, I'm a strong believer in fate, that things, no matter how shitty they are, happen for a reason. And I think I've done the right thing moving back home and going to Trinity, but I am glad that I got the independence and experience of living in the best city in the world.
At the end of the day, whichever uni you go to, whether the lecturers give a shit or not, if you get tables to lean on or not, they're all a huge rip off. I didn't expect to be paying over £3k a year to watch someone prance around reading off of a powerpoint presentation. I'll be honest, I did expect more for my money. But I suppose you have to make the best of what you've got right?
At times I get severely stressed about my workload and just think that I'm not cut out for uni at all. But then again I think, why let it get me down? I'd rather come out with a 2:1 at the end of it and have had a good time, rather than get a first and have had no life at all.
Because really, what good is it being clever if you don't know how to handle your Jagerbombs?!
Friday 14 January 2011
I've never voted tory before because I have a heart. (What a load of Eton Mess).
Now I'm the first to admit that I'm not an expert on this subject, but here it goes, Politics.
At the present we have a huge-foreheaded wanker as Prime Minister who was technically never elected. Now how is that fair? And the deputy is a cheating, spineless liar.
This is Britain. We should have a fair government, we don't though do we? It's things like these that kinda make me wish I was American. Obama is just so cool and likeable, Cameron is just so posh and punchable.
Like this morning I got rather miffed at the fact that my monthly travel pass has gone up from £62 to £67.50, yet my loan & grant which are supposed to cover these costs, has not gone up. Stupid VAT increases....and VAT itself is a stupid concept. Jaffa Cakes are exempt but tampons aren't. Because ask any girl and I'm sure they will agree that periods are a luxury.
At the time of the election I was living in London and when I saw on TV that Gordon Brown was resigning the first thing I wanted to do was jump on the tube, hang outside and just try and offer some support. I loved Gordon Brown, I miss him.
It took me a while to warm to him I admit, obviously he isn't the most charismatic of politicians, but one thing he is which most aren't is genuine. I loved that he called that old lady a bigot because she is one, I love the way he composed himself on the live election debates, I love how you felt like you had the security that he wouldn't lie to you.
And the way he was thrown out of Number 10 was just heartbreaking, seeing him, Sarah and their beautiful boys walking away hand-in-hand. I wanted to give him the biggest cuddle.
Now a few years ago I'd considered going into politics myself, and planned on studying it at A-Level, but I was told by the teacher and a few other people that I was too attractive to ever be taken seriously as an MP. Slightly unfair maybe? I'd say I'm average, I don't look in the mirror and think 'wow, you sexy bitch', but I'm blonde and have reasonably sized breasts. In politics that is bad thing, on page 3 however it's a brilliant thing.
That is what we need though, more women in government. All men are bastards so this is what happens when we have them running the country, it all goes to shit. Now women are magic, we can multi-task and make everything amazing, give us the country and I'm sure we could do the same. We need more women and more working-class MPs to get us through these difficult financial times, as I believe that the working-class appreciate the value of money a hell of a lot more.
All I can say is that I hope David Cameron realises just how much of an arse he is and calls a general eleection. And if that doesn't happen I say we all march up to Scotland and put Gordy B back in his rightful place :)
At the present we have a huge-foreheaded wanker as Prime Minister who was technically never elected. Now how is that fair? And the deputy is a cheating, spineless liar.
This is Britain. We should have a fair government, we don't though do we? It's things like these that kinda make me wish I was American. Obama is just so cool and likeable, Cameron is just so posh and punchable.
Like this morning I got rather miffed at the fact that my monthly travel pass has gone up from £62 to £67.50, yet my loan & grant which are supposed to cover these costs, has not gone up. Stupid VAT increases....and VAT itself is a stupid concept. Jaffa Cakes are exempt but tampons aren't. Because ask any girl and I'm sure they will agree that periods are a luxury.
At the time of the election I was living in London and when I saw on TV that Gordon Brown was resigning the first thing I wanted to do was jump on the tube, hang outside and just try and offer some support. I loved Gordon Brown, I miss him.
It took me a while to warm to him I admit, obviously he isn't the most charismatic of politicians, but one thing he is which most aren't is genuine. I loved that he called that old lady a bigot because she is one, I love the way he composed himself on the live election debates, I love how you felt like you had the security that he wouldn't lie to you.
And the way he was thrown out of Number 10 was just heartbreaking, seeing him, Sarah and their beautiful boys walking away hand-in-hand. I wanted to give him the biggest cuddle.
Now a few years ago I'd considered going into politics myself, and planned on studying it at A-Level, but I was told by the teacher and a few other people that I was too attractive to ever be taken seriously as an MP. Slightly unfair maybe? I'd say I'm average, I don't look in the mirror and think 'wow, you sexy bitch', but I'm blonde and have reasonably sized breasts. In politics that is bad thing, on page 3 however it's a brilliant thing.
That is what we need though, more women in government. All men are bastards so this is what happens when we have them running the country, it all goes to shit. Now women are magic, we can multi-task and make everything amazing, give us the country and I'm sure we could do the same. We need more women and more working-class MPs to get us through these difficult financial times, as I believe that the working-class appreciate the value of money a hell of a lot more.
All I can say is that I hope David Cameron realises just how much of an arse he is and calls a general eleection. And if that doesn't happen I say we all march up to Scotland and put Gordy B back in his rightful place :)
And here is a picture of the well missed man and his smile, even Obama loved the cuddly scotsman.
And here is Dave with a puppy. Like him yet? Nah...it doesn't work does it? Look at the puppy's face, even he doesn't trust him.
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