COME ON, feet. Jeez.

UM GUYS STOP PRESSURING ME TO WRITE THINGS.

 

But okay.

 

Do you want to hear about my fourteen champagne glasses? Six have family crests. Two are from the Czech Republic.

 

That’s all. Stuff isn’t so bad. I had to walk to uni in order to have clean clothes. I don’t understand this system. Stuff is maybe pretty good.

 

If you’re wondering: I still hate my flatmates.

Nobody Writes Them Like They Used To

So it may as well be me!

Ahah so I have this BFF. It’s pretty nice.

Good Day Sunshine

This winter has been full of lovely days.

They’d be lovelier, though, if you’d stop calling me a whore.

Falling, Falling, Falling, Falling

Oh wowsers.
I like keeping secrets, it’s kind of why I drive people crazy.
I also like to think “ooh what would happen if I told this person the one thing I think I shouldn’t tell them?”
One example of this was on Tuesday night when I said “Hey Tom! I Made Out With Your Best Friend” and he said “HAHAHHAHHHAHAHA I will laugh at him when I see him”.

There are more examples. These do not include a certain English Boy. But he is probably the most awkward thing to say so I maybe won’t.
DEAR LIZZIE. STOP GETTING DRUNK AND TELLING PEOPLE YOUR SECRETS PLEASE. THANKS LOVE SUBCONSCIOUS LIZZIE.

This Is A Good Time To Start Dancing To That Song, Man

Today is a nice day since it’s the day that sees all the departing flatmates actually depart.

This is a nice day for me because the horrible girl I live with has finally decided she’s too good for me and little Timmy. We replaced her days before she left by unplugging her television and placing it neatly on the floor. She was surprised, mostly because she hadn’t told us she was leaving. Everyone else did, though.

Today also meant that my BAD CRUSH was leaving from his convenient home a few doors down. Just like the word ‘bad’ implies I should be more glad. I am not supposed to even be his friend, haha, since he’s horrible and has done horrible things (to other people). Needless to say, Timmy is very disappointed.

He’s always super nice to me, though! In fact, he and I had a lovely chat before he catches his silly little jet plane back to Manchester. I haven’t really seen him for a few weeks, and the last time I’d said goodbye was a little more awkward than nice.
SO I just think it was really nice, because he came and we chatted, and then he left to get his bags and stuff and I thought he was gone.
THEN he came back and he hugged me goodbye and I said “I’ll call you when I accidentally find myself in Manchester” because he promised to take me to nice music and he said “yeah I’ll be disappointed if you don’t” and really, I don’t care if he was lying.
He also says ate funny.

So, bye. I just think it was a bit nice.

Picking Up Pennies With My Cold Cold Hands

Abby is right. She said “I feel so sorry for those poor boys”.
Poor boys is about right. Poor boys is right because I’m pretty keen to leave everything to them and then have the nerve to shrug it off when it’s just not quite right.
I think we’re simply a pair of commitmentphobes who really want nothing more than blind guessing. Say one concrete thing and I’m stuck like a deer in headlights before walking away without a word.
At least we’ve found each other and form some kind of couple in paired gatherings. We’re pretty much dating each other as much as we’d date anyone else out loud.

I got Sarah Blasko’s new album today, which actually came out today, without realising it. I clicked onto a site that I had free credits for so they’d stop sending me more and more emails. It’s okay. She’s always nice in winter, maybe. I recognise the second song and I can’t figure how. I haven’t listened to triple J in forever. I guess it’s on an ad somewhere.

I have been making extreme efforts to sleep in. I have to stay up until 3am, but I can manage 10am some mornings, now.

I’m a funny little critter sometimes.

Gotta Keep The Devil Way Down In The Hole

Funny day!

I am being blamed as a disease carrier.
Big Hels is getting married, but I get to make the invitations.
Tom called me and he wasn’t drunk. We’re going to Harry Potter.
Alisha is back. She is going to talk to Peter Pan. BAHAHA.

Oh, You Girls Will Never Know

BC BC BC BC BC BC BC eek.
I’d say that’s a pretty accurate summary.

I met Rob’s girlfriend (again) and she is lovely. I told her she would be invited back to the chicken and everyone laughed.
I looked at the dipping sauce, scoffed and said “I could make that”.

Apparently, I’m hilarious. I have so many stories, and they just keep coming! Haha.
I got the ‘wow, Lizzie, you either are tightly wound, or you go all out’ and stuff and I was like ‘yeahhh maybe you don’t see me that often’.

I dance like I’m retarded and I like it. I get overly excited when they play the songs I like. Like Jungle Drums was a good song and they played it twice (even possibly because we actually asked nicely). Rikkkkatungatunga Rikkkkka Tunga Tung Tung.

I believe that I made friends again, but they were more creepy, and one guy stole my drink. Well, I gave one guy my drink because he got really creepy and started offering me drugs. I should stop being so liberal with high fives.

I saw two guys and I told them that they had, respectively the number one and number two tshirts that I had seen. Number two was pacman, which was pretty nice. The boy appreciated me telling him I thought so. I think.

I was standing in a bathroom line with a girl who told me ‘not to mind but [she] was dancing’ and I sympathised, because when you need the bathroom YOU NEED THE BATHROOM. I added a nutbushy kick element into her routine and she liked it. I think it helped. She then asked where I was from and I said ‘around the corner’ and then she said ‘I mean you sound American’ and I was terribly disappointed.

LITTLE STEV IS THE COOLEST KID I KNOW. He is especially cool in clubs. I don’t know how he stayed in Newcastle so long, no one appreciates him there. He gets beaten up at McDonalds. And it’s ridiculous. You should see that kid. He is amazing. He owes me a drink, but I did buy him VB hahahah and then told him I didn’t know what it was.

I saw some people from uni, but not the same number of people that I thought I’d see. It was pretty nice, still. One’s going back to Cessnock for a while, so if you’re worried that she’s stalking you, you won’t be worried for the next three weeks.

I was going to make this a short little post, except I keep having extra, disconnected thoughts that fit into a few sentences.

I HAVE SOLVED THE MYSTERY OF MY SNEAKERS BRUISES. I always wake up on Saturday, and I think ‘wow where did I get all of these bruises’. Wow, so turns out ABBY has been the culprit. She likes to pull me away from bad boys. It’s pretty nice of her, though!

I discovered that saying ‘ate’ in an English accent is HILARIOUS.

I am sometimes somewhat of a skank, but that’s okay. I’m okay with that. I have no problem with that.
Where are my Arrested Development DVDs. JEEZ.

I Can’t Wake Her Up ‘Cause She’s Already Dead

I think I got home at maybe four, which is pretty late for me. I think it is pretty late for anyone. It was pretty good.

As far as I can remember, my night in fragments:

Scrapheap Challenge with Timmy and raspberry C C Coca Cola.

Crazy walk to Kings Cross (via, of course, the train) in shoes that tap satisfyingly but also in a skirt that managed to spin around twice because I didn’t wear a belt. Jeez.

I got my giant plate of Czech cuisine but realised that a whole entire wheel of fried camembert kind of freaked me out as well as the MOUNTAINS of french (?) fries that surrounded it. I stuck to the salad because drinking makes me a little too zoned out to concentrate on food.

Apple Fairy! What a pleasant name for a drink! Even if it did have absinthe. It mostly tasted like apple juice. Deliciously dangerous.

No success in tempting Jack to stray far from Grace in the seedy night spot that is the Abercrombie.

Lining up at maybe 11.13pm and thinking ‘this is the worst line ever’ because it was but when someone from the club saw us he said “are you just girls?” and we nodded he let us into the express line (where we snuck a guy in because he said he was with us). Life would be so hard if you were a boy, sometimes.

OKAY. BEST PART. There was LOTS of the Strokes, there was lots of the Beatles, there was lots of the Beach Boys, there was lots of Michael Jackson (not a surprise) and there was LIMITED Bloc Party (WHO ARE BALLS). There was lots of perfect music. But I have forgotten.

I made a new friend. His name is Dreadlocks Guy. I introduced him around. He shook his dreadlocks in my face and gave me high fives.

This doesn’t seem right, but I think I had about six vodka raspberries. I don’t think that I drank that many (although not just because I dropped one) but adding up my loose change suggests otherwise.

I had an entire beer spilt down my back. My back was soaking, dripping with beer. I smelt like beer. I also think this was my fault because I was getting very elbowy apparently, and I managed to elbow someone in their beer holding hand. I hope they weren’t mad.

I saw Johnny English and I said “hey you look old” and he said “thanks” and kissed me on the cheek but then I didn’t see him anymore. This may be a triumph by Abby, but I am not entirely sure. I was not allowed to go there, you see?

I met a nice boy who said “I like your eyes, they’re hazel, mine are boring blue” and something else. I think I am most impressed with this since I like when people say anything about my eyes. More so because I can’t believe he could even see them in the poorly lit place we were squished into.

No Jungle Drums. Sad day. I yelled it at the DJ a whole bunch, even. He was wearing headphones, though.

Now it is almost 3pm and I have slept all day and I am still even kind of drunk now. I regret nothing except maybe not removing my make up the night before, which I am told is a sin.

x

You’re My Pride And Joy Etcetera

I’m going overseas in a few days and it will be kind of fun but kind of a drag because I really would rather not spend time in confined spaces with my step dad, but YOU KNOW it’s going to be all kind of okay. So says Oprah, right?
Love Oprah.

I have been sitting in sunshine reading. I have been watching my cat chase crickets. I have been sneaking my dog into my bed because man, she is warm. I haven’t done anything except cook and laze around but in the nice way. I don’t have a car so I am stuck home until someone decides to drive me somewhere. That’s okay. I’m sure y’all totes love reading about the mediocre time that I am spending in Black Hill. This kind of blissful ignorance in the face of the passage of time is what you get when you have no exams.

I had the weirdest dream last night. When I was half awake, but still kind of conscious in my dream at the same time, I was convinced that all my subconscious actions were perfectly understandable. I am pretty sure that when I woke up, though, that they were not. I do not do that thing. It kind of irks me still. I have nothing against people who DO DO that kind of thing. But I do not. I am pretty sure.

So my name is Elizabeth, right? It’s just like Margaret (but much less lame) in the sense that it has so many different derivatives that it’s kind of interesting to consider the different things people use to refer to me. Big Hels named me after her best friend Liz (who is some kind of super brain surgeon and has made it hard for me to live up to my namesake) and I saw a photo of me as a newborn with the caption that said “Baby Liz”.
That’s not that weird, except that for as long as I can remember she has always said that Liz was the name of an old lady and wasn’t half so nice as Lizzie. It was to the point where Tom and Jimbo used to call me Liz as an insult (among other things, like Fat Boy and 99). She still refuses to call me anything else. Except she did say that she wishes she’d called me Lilli or Lizi (which she insists is European).
I used to hate being called Elizabeth and would refuse to answer to it when I was in Primary School and Middle School.
Then in high school, I swear I must have read Northanger Abbey for the first time because year nine saw me writing Elizabeth on top of all my worksheets. I just didn’t like the way Lizzie kind of rhymes with my last name. Or the initials LM. I’m ridiculous.
Anyway, so the people that call me Lizzie are really my female friends from school, my brothers, my parents and their friends and a select couple of guys. Most of my school friends that were guys used to call me Liz, even the ones I used to be pretty close with like Llama Jack and stuff. I think it’s just some kind of thing boys do.
Since I really mostly tell people that my name is Elizabeth now, most people at Uni call me Elizabeth or Liz (since that’s got the least syllables, I guess) and I don’t mind. I kind of like it.
There are one or two of my friends who call me Liz, Lizzie or Elizabeth depending on the situation. The most hilarious of these is Awesome Matt McKee because in general, he is utterly ridiculous. He’s a good kid.
A few boys call me Elizabeth as a joke, but come on, it makes me sound so fancy. My favourite is when I have a nice English boy saying “Hello Elizabeth” because that’s maybe the fanciest I have ever felt in my life.
Ray Ray calls me Li Li because of a brilliantly drunken week we spent in a caravan park at the end of school. We were so awesome at Singstar that I lost my voice.
Sometimes I even get called Kate, but you’d have to be in a pretty tight circle to know how adorable that is.

I know this seems boring, but I like to think about it. I can kind of divide people into categories based on what they think of me as. It’s kind of nicely weird.
People always ask me what I want them to call me, but to be honest, I’m more fascinated by the names they choose for themselves. Categories are pretty fun sometimes.

Anyway, I went out with my Ray Ray on a Friday night and almost got dragged to the blistering pimple of a night club that is Fannys.
I was pretty nonchalant the entire time because the music was really terrible, and not even tacky terrible. Just actually terrible. I was standing near the bar waiting for this other girl that was really kind of drunk and stuff and was nowhere to be found when some guy said “Do you want a drink?” and I said “Sorry no” because I thought I was in line accidentally. Until ten minutes later when I realised that I was about 2 metres away from the bar. That was kind of sad, he was kind of cute.
I am hopelessly oblivious to life, I think.
I should try and pay more attention.
It does demonstrate, however, that I’m not entirely a pariah. So, yay?