Why I shouldn't be left alone.

I have an apparent issue with being alone for prolonged (ie. longer than two hours) periods of time.
I am an attention deficit puppy. I bark, and whine and bite the carpet until you come and pick me up. Or, in reality, I sing (loudly) and make animal noises (even louder) and poke you until you talk to me or give me attention.

I can't cope with my own company because I bore and irritate the crap out of myself, because deep down the baseline, the foundation of my personality IS boring and irritating. Alongside, of course, and obvious flare for sarcasm, brilliant wit, beauty and heaps of modesty.  Add to this an incessant need to clean and critique myself and invariably others, and you have the blueprint to me.

Which is how you come to my current situation:
Long periods of time results in the stalking of people I strongly dislike/ have done something I disapprove of- this could be anything from buying a ugly item of clothing, to turning out much better looking and successful than I have. (I should stress this staking is facebook stalking- actual stalking would involve an uneccessary expenditure of energy). The flat below think Battersea Dog and Cats home has come to visit, with Etta James and Adele, both who sound nothing like the albums, supervising, whilst practising for a concert in a time management scheme.
It involves me weeping, about my hair and it's terrible recent dye job, about my lack of common sense and the fact that I can't get off the deep sofa without rolling off and bruising myself EVERY TIME. All in a pristine Airwick scented apartment, with regimented and organised shelfs, with tins in alphabetic order.

I have been alone for 13 hours.

I have 24 hours to go.

What my first year of uni has taught me.

I've done it. I've successfully survived a year of university, and enjoyed it. Actually passing this year is neither here nor there; but we'll talk about that later.

 

I'm a much happier person than I was 12 months ago, when I stepped out of my sixth form common room for the last time, preparing for my exams, and worrying, hoping I'd do enough to secure a place at Leicester for the BA Geography course. I'm not happier because everything went smoothly, I'm

happier because what happened actually turned out for the best. I didn't get my place at Leicester, and on the 16th August, I was scared shitless. I had a coach to V Festival in 24 hours, and no certain uni place, until I rang Leicester at 2pm, for the rather un- apathetic receptionist to tell me that I'd not got a place, but they weren't sure when they would release me from the UCAS system (cheers guys for leaving me hanging).

At 5:15pm I thought I was screwed. In a way, I was. I wasn't missing V Fest for anything- I'm not a woman with a massive sense of priority. I had to find a university mad enough to take me with my (and I stress my) disappointingly mediocre grades (two B's and a grade in drama I'd much rather forget)- all 'not-so' achieved through a combination of laziness, discovery (and liking) of alcohol and socialising. Fortunately, I took a leap, and thought "you know what would be fun? moving 170 miles away to a city, somewhere I've never been, leaving what can only be described as the arse end of nowhere and smells of manure ". As you so obviously do when you've been crying all afternoon trying to turn a D into an A on the results card. One university with my course really fit that particular bill. Rang up Plymouth. Told them my grades. Said please and thank you. Must have sounded bloody desperate, because they said yes. After a near 300 mile round trip, we go to Plym for a grand total of 40 minutes, get a lucky spare place in a 6 bedroom flat of girls (admittedly never my first choice) and wait until September. All whilst dreading it, thinking I'd made the wrong decision. Was it too late to tell Alan I'd take a full time job at the Co-op!? You know what, I'd go to college, for another two years and try Leicester again. Told both of these plans to my Dad, and he just laughed and told me to go make him coffee in return for the £120 he spent in petrol, and the £300 deposit, and the other £200 on getting me stuff for uni. (Apparently Bank of Dad likes to stick to a plan) 

The first time I saw Plymouth was the day I moved in. For those of you who have never been, Plymouth is no oil painting. The Hoe and Barbican are beautiful, but you don't see that at first, and it all sort of looks a bit grubby and dingy and "oh holy shit what have i done, turn the car around, TURN THE CAR AROUND". But Dad didn't, partly because he couldn't wait to get rid of me and partly because I had so much crap in the carboot that any swift movement could cause a topple. 

So, we arrive at halls. Halls are great, for about 3 months, and then shit will hit the fan- you realise how much you hate other people, how much you hate single beds, how much you hate the fact that fire alarms can and will happen when you're in the shower and how much they cost. But the great thing is you share this hatred with other people, and your flat are one of the greatest bunch you will ever meet. Especially if you're all the same gender. We've had our fair share of oestrogen drama, but my girls are simply fantastic. My tragic threesome; Katie and Amanda and just the kind of people you need in life, and being all girls there isn't any of the inhibitions or smelly boy things lying around. They understand the need for Taylor Swift at 2am. They know that the magical 3-5 days of each month are a time to speak softly and bring offerings of chocolate. 

 I thought I'd find it horrific, but actually it's amazing. You won't get on with everyone, and in such an insular community such as halls, you will fall out with people, and things will get blown out of proportion. But, at a university with 30,000 students, you don't have to have those people in your life. Thats the beauty. At university, you learn that you only have to fill your life with the people you want. Obviously, I'm always going to have my friends from home- I keep them close because I love them dearly, but there are ones who get left behind, and thats okay. I've learnt this year that its okay for friendships and relationships to change, and growing apart, or moving on isn't a bad thing- it's just natural. And who's to say it's forever? The beauty of a good friend is that you can always pick up where you left off. 

Freshers week is amazing, I'm already craving next years. Go to everything you can, immerse yourself in it completely. You'll meet amazing people, and even if you only end up speaking once or twice, it's another face you can dance with in Cuba at 3am, screaming "FRESHER". I wasn't going to go to my departments induction party event. If I'm honest, the two free glasses of wine swung it for me, and was the only real reason. I knew a couple of girls from the first lecture, and hung out with them, quite awkwardly, but from that actually ended up meeting my now best friend- ironically the event was called "Make Friends For Life". How cliched... We're literally two peas in a pod, both very odd and awful at motivating each other, and really should not be put near each other when laughing, but totally inseparable (quite literally, we have a joint name and everything). 

 Apart from Steve, I haven't really clicked with that many people on my course, but next Freshers (I'm changing my degree) I know that as someone a bit wiser, I can really have the confidence to just be friendly and stuck in, and go to such events, even if they do sound on the face on it, a tad dire. 

Another thing about this year is the course, obviously. It's the mean reason to go to university- not the partying, drinking and 3 year sabbatical from normal working life. I'm lucky that Plymouth is a 'relaxed' enough uni environment for me to really learn that Geography just isn't my discipline. I'm changing to English, and the staff have been so helpful. I gave it a go, but it enabled me to actually realise what I want to perhaps to with my life. 

Money, doesn't however hard you wish, doesn't grow on trees. I've had one 1am phone call when I checked my HSBC bank balance and realised I may starve to the parents, and Dad was cross (but only because he had to get out of bed for his iPad). Parents are there to help, and if they're like mine, will more often than not pay to keep you away- Mum even stating that £200 monthly in my bank account was saving them 'thousands'

on the food bill. Cheers Mum. 

I'm not sure why I feel obliged to write this little blog, but I just want people who, just like me a year ago, thinking that everything is going to go tits up, it won't. University is what YOU make of it. You create the experience. If you want to slack, you'll achieve nothing. If you think you're not going to make friends, you will. There is always at least one person who you'll click with. Go out of your comfort zone, try something new. If you don't really drink, at least go out with you flat once, just to show willing; you don't have to change who you are, you just have to be accessible. I was never the confident out going type with new people- seven years in the same school with the same group of fantastic friends, in a small community meant that I didn't have to meet new people. I've always been myself, and people accept me for it; and considering how odd and weird and very tragic I am, thats a mean feat. 

So, if you are reading this, have a fucking blast. Freshers is one of the most amazing years, and you'll learn so much about life, and yourself. 

Enjoy,

Samm. 

Why girls shouldn't drink

I drink. I drink a lot. Far more than the government, doctors, even alcoholics recommend. I drink for pleasure, I drink socially, I drink for banter. (I also drink to avoid deadlines- once turning a civilised meal at a friends 70 year old landlords house into a shotparty). 

 Wine, cider, tequila, stale alcopops... You name it, I most likely will give it a go. 

I have noticed an slight issue however. Every time I drink, I do very stupid things and make a massive prat of myself. Perhaps a small bug on the window shield of life, but walking into Spar at 5:30am, having a conversation involving bacon I'd much rather forget, has been a low of recent times. Repeatedly skanking to the Abba medley on a dead dance floor was another strong moment, as was ACCIDENTALLY (and I stress accidentally) kicking a dwarf in the face one fateful Oceana night. 

I get into states like this, and much worse situations, which I feel for the sake of my already shattered dignity remain quiet, because I go to the place of no return. Cloud cuckoo land, the point of no return- the kingdom of wasted. This is because, and excuse my general blanket statements, I am a woman. I try and keep up with my male counterparts, and drink what they can. Apparently, evidently, I can't. I'm not exactly small- Kate Moss I am not- but apparently alcohol tears shit up in the general brain department, and gone are the ability to regain dignity, flow of thought, and often consciousness, way before my male friends are ready to call it a night. 

So maybe it is just me. Maybe I am just a recipe for disaster- only exemplified when I add alcohol. But this is me, and I'm perfect and blameless, and in no way prepared to ever take responsibilities for my actions. I'm therefore creating the theory that woman possess a department in the brain which fizzles out when alcohol is absorbed. It's called the general acceptable behaviour department, and it can also fizzle when hormones are added- obviously can't be blamed for our shitty moods when we have PMT/ we have no chocolate/ Topshop hasn't got the dress in the right size. 

This department would normally stop us from dancing like a dick, saying things we don't mean, spending £35 in a bar, crying hysterically after the 8th jäger bomb FOR NO REASON, and making general bad decisions. 

In full knowledge of my latest scientific discovery, I can now make a prat of myself in peace, knowing full well it's not my fault, and it is completely out of my hands, and enjoy being young, letting the cards fall where they may. Even if that is on your arse, outside a club, looking like Alice Cooper and renouncing all men. 

Samm. xx

Girls, translated.

This is a small list of things girls say, to give the male population a small chance of surviving until pensionable age. It's applicable to your wife, girlfriend, friend, sister, daughter, neighbour. It's my way of apologising for being utterly guilty of everything about to be mentioned.

“Oh my god it was so funny”- I'm now going to tell a story you must pretend to be vaguely interested in.

“Don't you agree?”- You haven't been listening. I know that. You know that. Do not abort mission. Simply agree.

“She's ugly”- I know she makes me look like the back end of a bus but if I can't look like her than you cannot look at her/ talk about her/ acknowledge her exsistence.

“I'm fine”- This can of worms requires another blog post completely. However, it can normally be judged my body reaction. If said with tears- run. If said with a snap- get the hell out. If said with a shrug and a head turn- leave. If said in a nonchalant manner you may be okay. May.

“I'm on a diet”- Tell me I'm beautiful before I stuff myself senseless with cake in private and eat a soggy lettuce leaf in front of everyone else.

“I'm ugly”- Tell me I'm beautiful before I go take 10,000 pictures of myself, Tyra Banks style, smize et all.

“ I'm going to be single forever because no-one will ever love me because I'm too self involved and have a love for cats and cake that can never match the love a man can give me”.- (This may be something I only say. Regularly.)

“I never cry”- I'm a crazy emotional bitch.

“It was just so unfair”- The aforementioned actions were totally justifiable but my hormones and presence of a uterus do not allow me to see sense in a rational manner and therefore I will rant and rave for the next few hours.

“I can handle my drink”- One lambrini, two lambrini, FLOOR.

“You're funny.”- I want you. Now.

“I'm not into fashion”- The current styles make my bum look the size of a small continent.

“Yeah! *massive eyes and smile* I love that band”- I have never heard of that band in my life but I want to appear cool and would like you to buy me dinner and love me.

“How do I look?”- I know I look great, I've just spent 2 hours getting ready. I want a full debrief on how fantastic I look and NOTHING LESS.

“You look fine”- You didn't pay enough attention to my outfit and therefore I refuse to inform you of the jam stain on your shirt.

“No, I'm full!”- I'm going to go away and eat a tube of Pringles and Nutella from the jar, but I don't wish to appear a fat slob to you just yet.

“It didn't cost much”- I can't afford to eat for the next two weeks.

“Oh! I didn't get your message earlier, sorry for the late reply!”- I totally got your message. I spent one hour re-reading it, two and a half deciphering it (because 'What's the weather like?' has a thousand and one different meanings y'know) half an hour writing a really witty reply, realising my witty reply was needy and desperate and just gave up completely and cried.

“I watch sports occasionally”- I have about as much interest in watching sports as I do spooning my own eyes out.

“My hobbies? You know, reading, listening music, yoga, the usual!”- I read Glamour magazine and listen to Coldplay sing sad songs at me. I don't have any hobbies. Actually, I do. If you count googling Ryan Reynolds topless as a competitive sport then count me in.

“I don't actually like wine”- Said NO WOMAN. EVER.

“I love receiving flowers”- I'm not actually sure what to do with them once you hand them over, and they will die in two days, but thank you for the lovely gesture.

“Sorry, it's my hormones/time of the month/PMT”- I'm going to use this opportunity to be vile as hell, and you will be okay with it, and no, I'm probably not that sorry.

“She's my best friend, almost a sister”- But I will moan about her to you on a semi-regular basis.

I hope this sort of helps.

 

Samm. xx

The things-to-do-before-I'm-20-and-a-grown-up-and-thus-need to-prepare-list.

It was my birthday on Sunday (much cake eating doth occurred, as only expected) and I've reached the grand old age of 19. Before I started to make my pensions plans and funeral arrangements, I spent the early hours of Monday morning making a list of things I wanted to achieve before I'm considered -gulp- a proper grown up (see camomile tea). Some of them are the usual cliched bull, but the majority are the little things in life that make up the bigger picture, and let us know that we've grown up a little bit. I'm also working on the logic that if I spend a year pretending to be a grown up, and can agree that it's completely wrong for me and continue to be the immature prat that I know and love. To remind myself of this, I've made a chart, and every time I do something, I don't simply tick,  I give myself a really shiny gold star.

I've not put them all down on here, for two very simple reasons. I first being that I don't want to bore you to a slow, painful death; and the second being that some of them being revealed would lead me to die a slow, painful, embarrassment induced death.

So here goes. Wish me luck. (Red means it has already been achieved!)

• Move into the apartment (yes, I know I know it's going to happen but it's an easy gold star.)
• Cook (not burn) a real lovely man for someone (preferably of the male variety)
• Lose a dress size.
• Man up and get the tattoo I've designed. (It's only a little thing, but very special.)
• Know vaguely where my life is going.
• Attend a wedding as a grown-up.(And ultimately realise why I'm so not into the whole wedding chabang.)
• Be taken out for dinner and NOT cause embarrasment to self/partner/other diners.
• Do something spontaneous, for no-one but myself.
• Make the kitkat lasange. Be proud of such heavenly being.
• Be brave and enter my poetry in a competition.
• Own a posh lingerie set, like a proper lady. (Note to self: black pants and bra do not count as 'matching')
• Try skateboarding (not exactly grown up, just want to do it before aforementioned pension plans)
• Get a proper haircut.
• Set paper lanterns off again. This time not screaming that we'll burn the villiage down, and causing much distress and alarm.
• Have a BBQ and drinks on the beach.
• Make some more art.
• Understand and appreciate politics, like a grown up, as opposed to moulding my opinions on my peers, parents and the pretty leaflets they send you.
• Understand what the economy is and how to know when it's good or bad.
• Drink wine for pleasure. Maybe not down the whole bottle for pre-drinks Samm, maybe have a glass of wine over sophisticated conversation. (More of an excuse to drink wine, really.)
• Watch Pulp Fiction.
• To how to use the weights at the gym correctly, as opposed to looking at them with real confusion and fear.
• Achieve and perfect the perfect signiture.
• Try camomile tea, and enjoy.
• Vote in an election and know why.
• Buy Chanel No. 5 (because it smells pretty, and I need an excuse to buy expensive perfume.)
• Write out a cheque.
• Make a standing order.
• Pay a ultility bill.
• Achieve some progression with my driving. (I've failed the test 5 times. It's getting ridiculous.)
• Try every flavour of everything in Costa. (Thanks Bank of Ma + Pa for monthly Costa cards!)
• Make a grown-up purchase.
• Start saving for the amazing venture that will be Singapore 2014.
• Use an intelligent/motivational quote in a piece of conversation.
• Have a debate with Steve, and actually understand what he's saying.
• Do something I'm really afraid of. (Being in the same room as a spider for more than 5 minutes does count.)
• Attend a formal event, and wear the approproate attire.
• Go for a 24 hour period without snorting.
• Spontaneous travel.
• Attend a concert for a piece of music I wouldn't usually listen to.
• Have a housewife/lady day (clean, bake, make myself look pretty.)
• Not to be known as the 'Meme girl' around campus (cheers Steve...)
• Play a sport and WIN.
• Out drink Alan. (more excuse for drink.)
• Recieve and send a lovely letter (nice paper et al.)
• Hand in work before deadline day.
• Party until light in Plymouth.
• Have breakfast with someone I've just met. (N.B- 4 :30am chicken burger counts.)
• Own a piece of jewellery that I always keep close.
• Own a piece of clothing from every brand I like.
• Have a grown up interview outfit. (Trouser suit? -gasp-)
• Sell a piece of artwork/ art/ writing that I have created. (anything above 20p counts)
• Improve my smile.
• Improve my laugh. (Dear lord please let this happen. ASAP.)
• Have a cray house party.
• Watch a Disney film without moaning and groaning.
• Spend the whole weekend in PJ's. (I want to be able to have justification for my blatent laziness.)
• Go see a piece of experimental theatre.
• Learn how to make a proper cocktail.
• Go to a restaurant and order something I wouldn't normally. (And promise to not gag and make a fuss if it should be vile.)
• Assemble a piece of furniture.
• Chat up someone in another language. (It doesn't matter if they can't speak it. I'm fluent in Sammish. Never heard of it? Oh.)
• Go to a swing dance class. (Don't ask.)
• Go to bingo. (Don't ask, again.)
• Wear high heels to an event.
• Write something for the university paper.
• Brush and style my hair everyday. (I'm starting tomorrow...)

Why do I feel this will only go tits up?

Samm. xx

things that piss me off, part 1.

It's a new year, and I thought I'd treat you all to a new blog post. Conventionally, it would be something along the lines of speaking about news year resolutions, hopes and dreams for the next 12 months, something heart warmingly optimistic.
But this is me. My only resolution is to become slighty more socially acceptable, and has been the same resolution since I was 10, and my Mum broke it too me that velcro shoes were not okay at my age.  Alas, I've decided to treat you to things that have already pissed me off, 6 days into this new year.

1) Girls moaning about their diets over facebook. I know you only do this so people will say "oh you're not fat!" or "you're perfect the way you are, ily xoxoxoxxo". no, please kindly fuck off my news feed thanks and have a cupcake. your diet will last another 3 days, and then you'll tag yourself in McDonalds.

2) Girls who make the statement "new year, new me". The one that irritates me is the "new hair, new me". I recently got a haircut myself. It doesn't mean I suddenly gain a boyfriend, become less tragic and lose 10lbs. It means, and I shit you not, that the hair on top of my head sits in a different fashion than before.

3) 14 year olds that complain about their hangover on New Years Day. And how was that one watered down WKD for you?

4) January sales. Don't get me wrong, I'm a student. I never have to think twice about getting new, cheaper clothes. But so much concentrated oestrogen in one small crowded Topshop calls for disaster. Especially when you and this really hipster girl both spot the same t-shirt for £12, and she literally snatches from your hands. Go die purple hair girl. Go die.

5) People who take down the decs before New Years Day. It's similar to someone dying, and people moving into their house on the same day. Let me mourn Christmas a little longer guys. Geesh.

6) January. January is quite an offensive month. That is all.

7) Remembering that there is life after Christmas, and by life, I mean uni. There's a mountain of neglected coursework, with my name on it. Lecturers have already started with the chirpy emails, pretending they're happy the new academic year is about to begin. Stop lying to yourself, okay? Be miserable, it's far better if we're on the same page.

I'm sure something else will offend me quite soon. I'll be sure to blog about it.

Samm. xx