About Time…

 

Among slugs, seeds and Steve Buscemi one thing I have also always been scared of is change. I know the best of us struggle to adjust to life progressing but it seems for years I have been terrified of changes so much so I have avoided making any.  My motto seems to be ‘I’ll do it tomorrow’ and I don’t need to tell you that tomorrow almost never shows up. It really is about time I grew the fuck up.

movieactors.com Steve Buscemi

The first step was moving to Southampton which is a pretty big deal for the girl who is so easily attached to things, she got emotional when Woolworths closed down. And although Birmingham and Southampton aren’t worlds apart being down south has changed my life completely. I live with a boy. I now wake up at eight am without having to set an alarm. The friendship group I had when I left is different to the one I have now. I am studying at Uni and I am actually doing pretty well at it and I will be taking on an internship for a whole six weeks in London which is a huge shocker considering I have an innate fear of the place. So yes I can say the move from home to elsewhere has reshaped my future entirely. However I am still trying to shake the feeling of frustration I have been hurling at myself for leaving it all so long. All of my friends have been to Uni and back, have settled into jobs with amazing prospects and some are living in their own homes.  Whilst all of this was happening I was jumping from one dead end job to another and spending the little money I did earn on cider and chips.

soultsretailview.co.uk Woolworths

It’s not like I wanted to spend the rest of life having avoiding responsibility, achievements or worth-while experiences.  I was just too scared to grow up, be an adult and do what I always had wanted to do. I knew when I finished school that I wanted to go University. At that time I even knew that if I were to study further my choice would be Journalism. So I am unsure as to why I spent years working in retail and customer service- often for people that fail to give a fuck about anyone but themselves. I would go out to the same club, every week. Whilst there I would drink the same cheap alcohol that tasted like de-icer. I would find myself dancing to the same old set list, surrounded by people in dire need of scrub. The morning after I would proceed to wake up lying next to the remains of a doner,, mayo and mint sauce plastered across my face and twenty minutes to get to work. During these years I didn’t manage to save one solitary penny and yet, I have absolutely nothing to show for all the money I earned. I still can’t drive, I have barely been to a festival, I haven’t been on holiday aboard for seven years let alone travelled, I haven’t saved to buy my own home and as I have previously mentioned I am just starting Uni years after most of my friends have long finished it. In fact the most I did do during this period was take the odd trip to Manchester to get even more smash arsed than usual.

ASIB Blogspot.com Kebab

So yes, I am proud of the move and I am even happier that I finally realised it was time for change. I have survived my first year in a new city and that is an achievement in itself for someone who gets around less than Truman Burbank. However that isn’t going to be enough to quell the quarter life crisis I appear to be having. I am more determined than ever to do more and I have promised myself I will cut back on the alcohol and spend more of my money on trips away and days out rather than on the house white down the local. It will be hard to change these old habits but it’s something I have to do. I think my organs will second this and lowering my chances of developing Alex Ferguson’s complexion will be welcome too. My plan is to have had at least two holidays/breaks, be learning how to drive and be on the way to saving for a mortgage post Uni by the end of next year. I am aware this is pretty ambitious for a student whose cupboards are an advertisement for Asda’s Smart Price but if I were to calculate all the money I have spent on the off licence’s’ finest over the years I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. I just hope I manage it. No mayo, less red meat and rationed White Lighting doesn’t sound too complex in theory but judging by my past it could be quite the challenge.

my.spill Truman Show; Truman Burbank

 

For a long time I have put all of these plans off purely because I have been too scared to make changes- fearing things will never be how they used to; when in reality they weren’t ever that great in the first place. Willing people and places to remain the same forever is an altogether impossible and incredibly pointless task. I feel rather embarrassed that all of my energy was spent trying to convince myself I can be 18 forever when 18 for me meant drinking until you  no longer cared or actually knew how old you are. And so, I am here… For years I have been putting plans on hold always believing I can do it all tomorrow. However only in recent years  have I realised that even at the age of twenty three it is impossible to guarantee those tomorrows. We really should be doing it now.

 

YOURFRIENDSHOUSE.COM

Got my first published piece on yourfriendshouse.com which is an Australian website focused on youth culture and music.

Here is the link http://yourfriendshouse.com/2013/not-so-fresher/

The other articles are hilarious, so it is worth a look round as the site is a good’en.

yourfriendshouse.com

My Circular Column- ‘Not so Fresh-er’

I am older than my years. On the outside I may look like any other student. However I have a secret – there is nothing I like more than a quiet night in with my Desperate Housewives box set, a small glass of white and a XL Meatball Feast pizza complete with hotdog stuffed crust. Yes it is true, as my fellow students are crawling back to halls with kebab meat in their hair. I am tucked up safely and soundly with my boyfriend in the flat we share. Before you shed a tear for me I must let you know…

Three years ago, I was the girl who pissed the taxi driver off by demanding ‘TUNES!’ on the way to and from the club. I was the girl my friends hid the cards from when I asked to play Ring of Fire. Three years ago, this girl would be waiting for the first bus home with my last £2 in one hand and a bacon and egg Mcmuffin in the other after staying out until 7am. Today, I am the girl who wakes up at 7am to put a wash on, complete University work and prepare a home-made breakfast. How things have changed.

Now, this may be hard to believe but I do actually leave the house and on occasion I do still go to clubs; I just do it a lot less now and my world no longer revolves around Friday and Saturday nights. You may wonder, what happened? But I guess I just grew up.  Ever since my 21^st Birthday, I kid you not; I have been victim to the most disgusting hangovers. I mean the kinds of hangovers that last longer than 24 hours and make you want to eat all the carbohydrates you own. Not only that, but it is all pretty boring for me now. There are only a limited amount of times you can dance to Destiny’s Child, fully believing you ARE Beyoncé, until you realise… you actually aren’t.

I am aware my life sounds pretty sad these days. And I do admit I feel quite lost at University. My nights used to consist of a trip to the local with the lad and our friends. However here at University, if you aren’t dressing up as a Smurf for a night out or spending your loan on 79p vodkas that taste like petrol it can seem like you don’t exist. I understand. If I’d come to University straight from college I would definitely have had a pint of wine to hand as soon as I could hear my parent’s’ car driving away. For any 18 year old University must literally be the best thing imaginable. It is an exciting new place, a different city, which means lots of new friends; friends who live with you. Their one desire is to get as drunk as you plan to. 

The assumption seems to be that if you don’t go out to return in the early hours or are not keen to spend your Sundays dry heaving – you have to be boring. This caused me to ask a few questions of myself during the first few weeks here.  Should I be drinking more? Am I boring? Should I stop filling my face with Pizza Go Go’s finest, get off my arse and go out?

So, when my beautiful friend came to visit, that is exactly what we did. Because of how I had been feeling I felt obliged to show her what Southern nightlife has to offer. We arrived at the venue and paid £7 to be granted entry by a slimy bouncer. After dragging ourselves across a beer soaked floor that seemed determined to swallow us we managed to get to the bar and treat ourselves to two cider and blacks that left us little change from £10 and a strange taste in the back of our throats. We proceeded upstairs to find a crowd of people who were definitely trying and failing to look enthusiastic about the night’s entertainment; an MC with a name his Mother certainly didn’t christen him with and delusions of grandeur to accompany it.  We spent the next few hours bobbing our heads relentlessly to music that physically hurts to listen to. We tried to ignore those posing for Facebook photos with the intent of looking as miserable as possible because that is how it is done these days. Posing as if your dog has just died is the cool kid’s’ way. We even forced down more of those cider and blacks…When eventually my friend uttered the words I had longed to hear. “I am hungry; shall we go and get a pizza?”

I could have kissed her, I refrained of course but I really could have. Twenty minutes later we had two chicken burgers with cheese, no salad, two bags of chips and an XL Mexican Hothead- extra pepperoni. Ten minutes after this we found ourselves on my door step, giggling with greasy faces despite being locked out of my flat. Whilst waiting for my boyfriend to return from his night out we considered using my 5’2 self as a battering ram and played with the idea of putting a brick through the window. Sitting in the cold, on a damp doorstep we were a sorry sight. At one point we were even offered change from a passer-by. All until my saviour came to the rescue- the boy who lives in the flat below. He was evidently horrified by the two Brummies, cackling with Southern Fried faces who had greeted him at the front door, but still he let us in.

We sat down on the settee, put on a DVD, poured what was left of the alcohol we had left behind earlier and stuffed ourselves with even more pizza. My girls night out had turned in to my box set, wine and pizza routine. It was the most fun we had all night. I just needed someone to remind me that I wasn’t the most boring person on the planet and that if I liked spending the majority of my nights suffering from meat sweats  I shouldn’t feel inadequate for that. There is no such thing as your average. Some of us like to stay in and eat pizza, some of us like to go home wearing it.