Forever the party animal.

                

I don't want to miss a single second of it. A breath, a smile, a grin or grimace. A tear resentfully shed. A punch-up, a drunken night, a brawl, a conversation, an inside joke. I have the ultimate bad habit. I have the Fear Of Missing Out. Symptoms of which include; not being able to say the word "no" forcefully or meaningfully, declining any social arrangements that will cost you money you simply don't have, or turning down an invitation just because you can't bare to miss out on the excitement. 

I hate it. I HATE staying in when all my friends are at the pub drinking vodka. I HATE having to decline invitations to things I really want to go to. I HATE the feeling of regret when everyone you know goes out/makes plans/does something without you, and spends a considerable, somewhat obscene, and not to mention, insensitive amounts of time talking and reminiscing about it. 

This is why I have no self control. I would rather I didn't get invited somewhere than knowing I'd have to decline the invite altogether. I need to work on that. I keep choosing tequila over essays and sambuca over studying. Uh-oh. 

Hectic holidays.

So, it's Friday morning. My mind is working in a stressy overdrive mode. And I'm neglecting any form of writing whatsoever lately. Wrapped up in too much sleep, the rubbish british summer, and my lovely boyfriend, writing has just been pushed back underneath everything. Oh, and to tell the truth, I'm a bit uninspired. I'm stuck with regards to writing. And now, holiday planning is running wild. Me and seven others, my family, are jetting off to menorca on Saturday afternoon, (yes, as in tomorrow afternoon.) Note these things:

1. We aren't packed.

2. We have no holiday money

3. The holiday docs for our details are somewhat vague. 

That's a stressy start. I have a lot to do, and no time at all to do it in. My alarm is set for 7.30am, and I've got a list in my 'Notes' of things I must achieve tomorrow. All of which, I intend to have finished by early afternoon, for then, I have something vital to do. Oh yes, SOPPY ALERT...I'm off to see my boyfriend before we part for a week. Oh, and I'm telling myself I won't get all emotional and cry. (WHO AM I KIDDING?) 

Take a breath, Eleanor, god. Holidays aren't supposed to be THIS stressful. Jeeeeeez. 

Remember remember the 5th of November.

It's that time of year again. The nights are drawing in slowly, you can see your breath in the air and everyone knows someone who can tell you how many days, hours, minutes, seconds and breaths it is until Christmas. It's no secret, I kind of hate this time of year. Minus Christmas, obviously. But the cold, dark nights, the need to wear four layers to leave the house or risk a limb falling off in the northern arctic conditions. So, tonight is the anniversary of the day the infamous Guy Fawkes plotted to blow up the Houses of Parliament in a scheme we know now as The gunpowder plot. He's didnt succeed and somehow we're supposed to celebrate that by setting off tonnes of fireworks eccellerating into the sky and throwing 'guy' dummies onto raging bonfires. Isn't tradition funny? 

Well, today looks miserable through my eyes. Dull rainy day, puddles ruining my beloved Uggs and my already questionable morning hair. I've been up at six and already am commuting to uni for a 9am poetry lecture. Frankly I'd rather stick pins firmly into my eyes than attend. I'm counting down the hours until the clock strikes half 12 and I get to jump back on a bus, and crawl lazily back into the snugness of my bed. Wishful thinking ey? Oh, and someone's paper in front of me tells me today also, for some, is a particularly exciting day. Let's hope there's no one stabbed today in exchange for the last copy of Call of Duty: ghosts, like the last major xbox game release. Madness. Well, I hope you all have a good bonfire night, whatever you happen to be doing; whether it be celebrating it in a traditional way, ignoring it completely, or doing something a bit more to your taste. As of now, 07:56am, I have no plans, but I'm not too fussed about that. Can always take advantage of a neighbour spending about eighty quid on rockets and Catherine wheels from an upstairs window. Hibernation might start soon. Unless someone can give me a really good reason to get out of bed on a morning. 

All Hallows' Eve.

It's here, finally. Well, in just over an hour anyway. One of the most widely celebrated, yet not-totally-religious festivals in the northern hemisphere. Hallowe'en, as it is originally punctuated, is a festival to, supposedly, celebrate those who are no longer living, as well as those who died in vain; the martyrs of our time. Some people say it has Christian or Pagan roots, although this is open to intepretation. All Hallows' Eve/Halloween/the day of the dead, whatever you call it or have come to know it as, in this day and age, here, in England, in 2013, we have a modern tradition of our own. Usually, children dress up in "spooky" costumes and head to parties to take part in apple bobbing, carving pumpkins and general ghost-hunting pursuits. However, I don't know when this came about, but now, it's kind of fashionable for adults to do it too. Except, the parties with creepy fruit punches and spiders webs are replaced with vodka and other hard liquor. The trick-or-treating aspect replaced by partying in bars and clubs. The funny, cute and softly-scary outfits made for the youngsters take a dramatic turn when you hit the big 1-8 destination of adulthood. Halloween is a whole other kettle of fish (or cauldron of apples) when you reach a certain age. The masks/outfits go from scary to macabre, funny to ironic, cute to slutty, faster than you can say "Trick-or-treat." The cleverer your outfit is, the shorter your skirt is, or the more dead you look, the higher your Halloween credentials are. Everyone who's anyone wants to go out for Halloween, I've found. 

As a rookie to this, I'm a bit unprepared. I've never, as an adult and moreover, as a uni student, been out in town in full-on Halloween fancy dress. I've always wanted to, but for some unexplainable reason, I never have. I've been out in fancy dress before, sure, but not with the same hype surrounding it. So at 20 years old, I'm ready (and very excited) to be doing it tomorrow for Halloween for the very first time since I went to discos and parties when I was about nine or ten. It will certainly be an experience, surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands of uni students all sporting their best Halloween face paints, SCREAM masks and costumes maxed out with wasted, misunderstood irony. This is what I love and yet hate about going to uni locally, in Newcastle. It's party central. Every single night. But, especially on occasions. Tomorrow night, there will be queues everywhere for miles. Hundreds of girls freezing their arses off in too-short tutus and lots of eyeliner, while zombie-clad lads stare on in a mixture of amazement and disbelief. Then again, wouldn't change it for the world. And in good spirits, and fishnet tights, I'm ready to embrace a new tradition! So, best get my pirate outfit at the ready, rip my fishnets and white-out my face. Get ribbons for my buckaneer jacket, sort my garter and make sure the black lippy is always at hand for a touch-up as and when. Just stayin' I've got a feeling tomorrow will be kind of amazing, and also, as it should be, pretty fucking scary. 

Masks, face paints, stockings, leotards, wigs, eye patches, onesies, whatever.. At the ready. ALL HALLOWS EVE IS READY AND WAITING GUYS. Hope you don't scare too easily. 

Kisses. 

-A 

 

(I couldn't resist. If you get this ref. let me know!!!)