The First Perspective

So, last night, wait for it, I.GOT.DRUNK. Now before you question my poor use of grammar and point out that I’m meant to be a ‘student’ who gets rat arsed and vomits down themselves at every opportunity, let me just point out a few things about myself.

Firstly, I’m a horrific lightweight. I’ve been known to be legless after five shots of apple sours, yep you heard right, FIVE. I’m sure it’s a record. Secondly, I happened to be a, ahem, ‘celibate tee-total’ for most of last year. It was a result of going through a bit of a ‘dark phase’; at one point in the evening you were guaranteed to find me locked in a bathroom stall crying, rocking back and forth and thinking ‘ABOUT LIFE’ and all that shizz. Now no one likes a party pooper, and I got a bit sick of worrying about my mental health every time someone cracked open a bottle of schnapps, so it goes without saying that I felt it was time to cut back on the sauce.

Then Europe happened. It was wonderfully . . . enlightening, largely thanks to a few sexy Australians who helped me get back into the swing of things. It was the complete opposite end of the spectrum, full of goats and sheep and the police and Dutch people whizzing by me as I smiled gleefully and indulged in some drug-taking under the red glow of the ‘dam. It was general good times.

But yeah, I’ve mellowed back down now, my mum thanks God. I don’t drink a lot, because I’m just not one of those students. I’ve probably been out drinking half a dozen times this term, which is sad in every sense of the word, mainly because I have a cupboard full of pretty dresses I’ve never worn that will never see the light of fluro inside some of Derby’s questionable clubs, and it’s just such a shame.

So back to last night. It was our Creative Writing Christmas party and we all got a bit festive. I decided to actually begin to drink my Viennese bottle of absinthe, instead of having it look pretty on my shelf. (Absinthe. You can tell it was a bad idea before I begin really).
We began conversing to some of the boys in the year below (no cradle snatching remarks either, I’ve not done that in years) and my friend Calum had a bit of a crush on one of them; a couple of months ago we all went on a day trip to London and Calum couldn’t stop staring at the back of this tall, dark, grungy, lip-pierced guy’s head during the bus journey down, trying to establish how ‘hot he actually was’. He wasn’t really my type but I could see the attraction.

I should probably explain Calum. He’s my New Gay Best Friend and is the loveliest thing I’ve met in a long time. He’s beautiful and most people definitely ‘would’. I even had a conversation with our lecturer Moy about him and she was very complementary, with a glass of wine in her hand and a twinkle in her eye as she gazed at him from across the room. So yeah, he does it for men, women, young and old.

But Calum’s got a long term boyfriend, Lee, so he’s largely off limits. Oh, and he’s gay, so most of us repulse him because we have those disgusting weird things, you know, vaginas. But despite me having a vagina he tells me I’m beautiful every time he sees me and often says he wants to have sex with me, just to see what it would be like. This led to me having a pretty terrifying nightmare the night before last in which we were doing said act. Then he stopped, looked at me naked and said “this is too weird”, and left Dream Me rather mortified, and quite rightly - no one likes to be ditched mid-coit’, but when real-life me remembered I spent several minutes laughing about it in the shower because It Will Never Happen. Not someone leaving me mid-sesh, the Calum thing. Don’t get me wrong either, I don’t fancy him, I admire his beauty. Oh, and I have really fucking weird dreams, but that’s another blog all together.

So a big group of us, including our lecturers Simon and Moy, went to ‘Blue Note’, a club I’ve not frequented before. It didn’t have the overpowering stench of vomit that hits you as soon as you walk through the door, so it already had a one up on Zanzibar. It looked like it was going to be a good night.

Now I’d been talking to lip piercing guy, ‘Calder’, which I believed was a nickname to investigate further. Calum had been watching with a cheeky grin because he’s smashed, then comes along and does a bit of flirting too. We then establish that Calder is bisexual, and as Calum and Lee have this trusting relationship where kissing is OK they then proceed to pull in front of me. I didn’t know where to look, what to do, whether I liked it or not, but I stood and watched anyway. Did I explain about the absinthe? I eventually shook myself out of it and was just about to exit quick-sharpish so they could continue when he starts giving me the come on and let him kiss me. I forgot about Calum, I’m a bitch, I know. I cock-blocked my best friend! But it was fun. I’d forgotten what it’s like to have a good kiss. Far too many guys can’t seem to figure it out, which tells me a lot about them as a species. It also tells you a lot about me, mainly that I get around. But I don’t get around-round, (round-round, I get around, I get a ooooh!) I have fairly unbreakable morals. Did someone mention Australians?! Shhhh.

So I spent the evening with a lovely gentleman who was even lovelier and DEFINITELY my type by that point, through my absinthe-goggles. I realised today that I don’t really have a type; stubble and nice eyes and I’m yours. To this, Hannah (artsy, beautiful, intelligent, clever) replied that I just fancied Tom really. Admittedly, Tom (anarchist, dope-smoker, amazing writer, TALKER) helped me get over my ex because his nice eyes and stubble were a distraction from the newly inflicted singledom and thing we NEVER MENTION. He’s a nice guy but we would kill each other, and I think we are much better as friends/agony aunts to each other. Plus nothing ever actually happened, which kind of shat on that rainbow.

I was under the impression that I wasn’t going to move on to newer and better things, and I hate to admit it and be so cliché, but love is a drug! It actually is though, because of the chemicals released into your brain (thanks Cosmo for your insightful article) but I’m getting worried now. Because it wasn’t enough for me to just inappropriately straddle this guy whilst sitting next to my Creative Writing Tutor, I wanted kisses all day long. It didn’t have to be him either, just a person who could do it, and well. I don’t like this new me that’s an alcoholic-loveholic. I suppose the term is sexaholic, but it doesn’t fit, because it’s not sex I’m craving. I think it’s just . . . kisses.

Oh, and did I mention I actually quite fancied his best friend, bit of stubble and very, very nice eyes, who unfortunately has a girlfriend? Yeah, nothing ever comes easy. First year representation lectures are going to be real fun from now on . . .