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?

Who’s Got Eyes As Black As Tar?

Jeez, I’m peeved.
My subconscious is such a jerk!

I had a lovely lie-in this morning and I didn’t want to wake up because I was mostly consumed by dreams.
Except I did wake up and I’m still struggling through thoughts that I know I shouldn’t be having, but which seem to constantly leaving me twinging as I plod through my mundane existence.

It was a pretty good dream except that it had that Twilight guy that everyone seems to be in raptures over.
I’m not, actually, and I told him so. He still thought I was pretty awesome.
Then I have a feeling he sort of morphed into someone I used to know and someone I used to think about and someone I’d given up on slash forgotten a while ago.
So, jeez, subconscious. You can be a real jerk sometimes, eh?

My favourite kind of dream is about someone with a silly name that introduced me to some unicorns and will take me to see a giant bull made out of jellybeans and then to Liverpool and then i’ll take him to a zoo where we can see giraffes and he’ll show me his backyard because it’s full of daisies.
That dream would only get better if it actually happened.

In sadder news, I said goodbye to Sergey today for forever. I am sad. Who will teach me about gangs and drugs now?

If You Were Here Winter Wouldn’t Pass Quite So Slow

Although, that’s a lie. I’d like winter to pass as slowly as possible.
If you were here, though, it would only be a bonus.

I am so restless right now. I just want to do something, see someone, be somewhere except in my room, in my head because it’s just getting stagnant.

I can’t concentrate on anything worthwhile, and I was sad because my flatmate just didn’t come home for hours. This isn’t that lonelygirl2314 of me, because he walked in the door, said “I’ve got a HUGE EXCITING STORY TO TELL YOU” but then he left. I guess it’s still kind of sad.

The story wasn’t even that interesting.

ANYWAY what I want to say is, um, someone come and play with me I AM DYING A LITTLE BIT ON THE INSIDE.
Oh my gosh but wow really I am such a complainer.
Really, I just wish it was Friday, you know? I plan on being kind of dizzzzy by about 4pm. An utter, intoxicated delight by about 6. Exxxcited?

I’m going to Vietnam in less than two weeks. I’m so worried that all my favourite things will get stolen. Also, that it will be consistently above 34 degrees and stormy. Fun days!
No, but really I’m kind of excited, a little bit.

I’m going to go home soon. I am going to sleep in Tom’s bed. My cat and my dog both sleep there too, from what I’ve heard. I’m pretty keen to go home, maybe.
Also, I don’t have my own bed.