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. 

Mortal.

A term that may mean different things to many of you. Up north, here in that somewhat forgotten land, where it rains almost on a loop and if there's three consecutive days that you don't have to wear a jacket, it's considered a heatwave. Well, up here, it means this. The following:

"To be extremely intoxicated, under the influence of alcohol."

Drunk, pissed, smashed, tipsy, wasted, ruined, wrecked, buckled, fucked, inebriated, tanked-up, sloshed, plastered, shit-faced, trashed, hammered, bladdered, blottoed, rat-arsed, trollied. Plain old drunk.

Whatever. We call it mortal. Getting so comfortably spaced out on a nice amount of alcohol that the edges of everything go fuzzy and fluffy and your speech slurs and your eyelids begin to weigh a tonne. You sit down and suddenly become all too aware of your legs feeling like jelly. Your movements seem to lag behind. Your mouth isn't functioning the way it should be. Words become harder to form, reactions slow and judgements are skewed. Tequila seems like a good idea. Singing at the top of your lungs really, REALLY badly seems like an even better idea. You suddenly latch on to strangers and loudly proclaim your immediate attachment to them. Awkward. Sometimes, it's horrific, it ends badly with lost property, lots of retching, no money and a stinking post-alcohol hangover. While other times, it's amazing. The photos and video document the constant hilarity of the nigt before. An empty purse and a sore head are a small price to pay for the blurred happy memories of 12 hours earlier. Your feet hurt from dancing too much and your throat is sore from singing to Mr Brightside at two am. 

Everyone experiences both kinds of drunk. Both kinds of mortal. But I'm varying towards the latter lately. Uni is done with. It's time to let my hair down, watch the sambuca get poured and get totally and utterly, and completely celebratorily MORTAL. 

So long 2013, it's been nice knowing you.

So, people, this is it. It's 50 minutes into New Year's Eve. This time in 24 hours, it will be a new year. Celebrations will be underway. Auld lang syne will have been sung by thousands in unison. Champagne bought in crates. Balloons, fireworks and any other celebratory stuff people buy in the run up to a new year. Excitement is building! I'm making plans, painting my nails and generally just anticipating what will undoubtedly be a really fab send-off. 

It's funny, celebrating the end of one year and at the same time, the arrival of another. Only a minute separates the two, and yet in those sixty seconds, we all expect big changes. In that small amount of time, we enforce goals, resolutions and cement changes that we naively, or optimisticly expect to carry out and fulfil said targets in only 365 days. Silly really. Yet we all buy into it, the facade, the illusion, the concept that with a new year comes new possibilities. In one respect, it does. In another, it kind of frustrates me. I'm all for new years resolutions that people are actually capable of fulfilling, but those irritating people who take to social media outlets and drone on about "new year new me". Well frankly, they can do one, because you can change any time, or more likely, change gradually. It doesn't happen overnight, nor does it happen in the space of the countdown timer. 

I love new year, no matter how I spend it. Then again, it's no secret that now I go out for new year, it's even better. Throwing silly amounts of money at the barman in exchange for something lethal that will make you hate yourself in the morning. Hysterical laughing, singing and generally just being surrounded by faces you know and love. Being outrageous and nostalgic and happy and drunk all in once place, and it's just sort of brilliant. Every year, I big it up, and every year, it falls short, at my feet. This year, I'm absolutely positive, will surpass expectations. The end of this year, I think, is something worth celebrating like hell about. It's been rough, for some, very rough for others. There seems to be a cloud of negativity shrouding 2013 and it's complete existence, but by the looks of it, we'll rise from the ash in 2014. The verdict is good, everyone seems optimistic, plus, thank god, it's not snowing yet. *touch wood* 

Whatever 2014 brings, I'm ready. I'm hoping it's one of the best yet. I haven't got many concrete plans, but that's okay, it's not even January 1st yet, so you could say, I've got a bit of time left. There are things I want to do, see and achieve. Places I want to visit. Things I want to experience and people I want to share it with. Let the countdown begin. I'll be ending the year in the way I started it, surrounded by friends, shotting tequila, totally and utterly intoxicated, and absolutely in love with my life. HERE GOES. For the people I lost this year, I'll never forget you, and the ones I gained, hold on tight, 'cause you aren't going anywhere. So long 2013, I guess it's been nice knowing you. x

<3

Bank Holiday banter.

No matter what you're drinking, raise your glass.

It's well known, I consider drinking one of my hobbies. Yes. Seriously. My little 5"2 self always fancies having a couple of drinks. Translation: getting absolutely, painfully, stupidly, hysterically, blind drunk. It's not advisable, but hey, I've got a reason this time. If you haven't guessed, or known already, it is officially BHW or in English, Bank Holiday Weekend. One of my favourite times of year. There's been far too many bank holidays for my liver to handle or my body to cope with this year, but I have to give credit where it's due. Silly as it sounds, but my local watering holes have actually served other purposes, minus exchanging my crumpled notes for poisonous, amazing liquids.


Yes, I spend a great deal of my time between one or two pubs in particular. Anyone who knows me is now thinking of the names in their heads. I'm a local. A regular. The bouncers know my name. It's serious. But for me, it's a lot more than that. Since turning the legal age of 18, but especially the big 1-9, these places have been significant for me. If those walls could talk, the stories they'd whisper would probably ruin my life, but that's another story. These places have witnessed friendships broken and made, relationships starting and ferociously ending and drunken antics in full-swing. They've seen me at my best, looking sober, happy, and other times, in tears, in pieces. They've heard some home truths and some of the biggest lies I've ever told. They've glimpsed at stolen kisses, raging fights and full-blown arguments, and not judged. There's been tequila and sambuca and jagerbombs and lots and lots of vodka flowing. The discovery of Desperados, "two for £5, thank you very much." Pints of absolutely anything, pitchers of whatever we could lay our hands on, absolutely anything that provides for partying fuel. Our poisons, our refreshments, our liquid energy. The good times, the bad times, and the downright unspeakable times. I've had some brilliant laughs there, occasional heartache and made far too many legal mistakes.

Despite this, I truly think there probably isn't a time that I'm happier than when I'm all glammed up, heels in tow, crisp £20 notes stowed-away in my purse, fresh from the cashpoint just ten minutes previously. A drink in my hand, meeting my friends at the bar. A catch-up, a social gathering, a few laughs, or a total binge. Whatever the occasion, we're there. This weekend, will be bank holiday. I've never missed going out on a bank hol since I turned eighteen, and I'm not about to now, even if I have to be up early on Monday morning. (reason: I'm going to Leeds.) I'm excited, and happy, and actually starting to think my life is surrounded by positivity.

I'm not saying I only have a good time when I'm drunk, because that's really daft. I'm just saying, alcohol may be the foundation of some of my greatest friendships ever. For example, as I'm writing this, my friend Sarah and I are contemplating sobriety until Sunday. We wonder, via text, whether we can stay teetotal for necessity, rather than preference. So I'm ready to go crazy, have the time of my life and languish in knowing that this Sunday will be the last of the year. I'm slightly saddened by this. Bank Holidays bring everyone at home together. We usually all flock back from uni, everyone urgently attempts to get time off work, and all other non-alcohol-fuelled plans are abandoned. This is a time to celebrate everything that's good in our lives, and forget, even just for one night, what isn't going so well. In my book it is, anyway.

So, cheers everyone! I hope you all have an amazing weekend. I hope you're all happy and drunk and smiling on Sunday. I know I will be. Surrounded by some of my favourite people, there's nothing better. I'll know then, with a drink in my grasp, that at least for then, V-O-D-K-A really does spell happiness.  Not for what it is, but for what it represents.

Dedication #2: Steph.

Right, I've been meaning to do another dedication for weeks, and never got round to it. I really probably should have a million and one other things to do right now, like revision for my last exam on Monday, but that will have to be done at a more motivated time. For now, my dedication is as follows. I hope she reads this, considering we've just been talking about my blogging habits over piping hot Starbucks.

Stephanie, or more so, Steph. One of my best friends. One of the craziest, funniest people I've had the pleasure of getting to know over the last few years. It's one of those weird situations. We went to school together for years, and always spoke, but it was like, as soon as we got into Sixth Form, we immediately clicked. I found myself thinking 'how the hell have I not been friends with this girl before now?' It's hard to explain. So, if a picture speaks a thousand words, here's a summary:

It's like there are no words to describe how much this girl means to me. She's painfully hilarious (we laugh for hours on end!) about anything and everything. There's nothing I can't tell her, and I like to think that the feeling is mutual. We've been through a lot together, from two years of mind-numbingly difficult A-levels, including our very weird Pyschology lessons, to receiving our exam results and finding out we both were destined for the same place. I know what you're thinking, stardom, obviously? Perhaps one day, rather the same Uni. Northumbria, to specify. Perhaps the lesser known of the two universities in our home town in Newcastle, but certainly that does not mean it's in any way less eventful, in fact, I think we certainly show everyone how to enjoy themselves.

I've had the funniest time lately, since starting uni. I trust Steph with my life, and I know I can say anything and everything to her, and she can do the same to me, (and has on a few very necessary occasions!) She's definitely what you'd call my drinking partner, and I'm always telling people exactly that. We get drunk together, we shop together and we never ever stop talking. In the past six months or so, we've been to pub crawls, countless parties (including a fancy dress foam party, pictured above) celebrated birthdays, holidays, exams, results, or just partied because it was Friday night. She's the kind of person I can talk with for hours on end, and we never ever run out of things to say. But even if we did, what would it matter? The one I immediately look for, ring or text when a particular favourite song comes on, when I spot a certain someone in a crowd of people, or just when I have some seriously juicy gossip to share. She's amazing, and I don't tell her enough how much I love her. She's been with me through a lot, and I know I can count on her. The girl who I know can ring me up for a quick chat or a three hour update on the latest things happening in our lives. She knows everything, and I trust her with every word I say.

                                                             "Trebles anyone?!"
                                                       

Also, I must say, at times she must have the patience of a saint. As anyone who knows me well, knows I have a tendency to get drunk and make a fool of myself, well, although this is fine, Steph's the one always there, to make sure I don't ring the one person I shouldn't, waste all my money on sambuca and get me home in one piece. I thank her for that often, because everyone knows it's necessary from time to time. The girl who honestly doesn't believe in herself enough, and she seriously should. She's amazing and lovely, and it's about time she realised the extent of it. I'd be lost without her, so much so, we're jetting off to Ibiza in the summer together, for a fabulous time, I'm sure. Steph's also kind of a genius. She'll laugh when she reads this, because she's quite modest, and god knows why, because there's no need to be sometimes! Pursuing a degree in Human Biosciences (yes, oh my god) genius. Not only is she studying something scientific, she's also pretty damn good at it, and that's not what many people can say.

So, Steph, if you're reading this, then I hope you're smiling. You're fab. I wouldn't change you, and you're not losing me any time in the near (or far) future, just to instruct you of such. (I know you'll probably be laughing!) There's so much more I'd say, but it all depends who's reading this. Steph will understand the references more than most. We're very alike. In more ways than one. She copes with my drunken antics, and I'd do the same for her. And she, somewhat astonishingly, hasn't slapped me, when my increasingly foul mouth runs away with itself. Dilemma hour seems to be a regular thing between us, and I'm so looking forward to spending the summer with her (and others) and having what will, hopefully, be the time of our lives.

Because let's be honest, we always do.