Blogland

So after the rather hilarious goings on in LJ's blog were exposed to the whole of Mold, general blogging seems to have stopped. Therefore since I'm not a massive blogger myself I thought maybe it was once again time to blog Paris goings on.

After having another argument with my flatmate - this time about the level of my music, I have decided that either I am not particularly easy to live with, or she is hiding her general difficulties by outing mine...

The conversation started by another conversation about how we are all much harder to live with than primarily expected, for example I was thought to be much more laid back than it turns out I am. This has been deduced by the fact that I don't much care to be woken up in the mornings, and when I'm tired I'm not particularly extatic about people lounging around in my room, all over my bed when I'm in a towel and trying to get changed.

I know I am a particularly stubborn person therefore being told I'm not easy to live with generally makes me much harder to live with.

So the conversation started with me being told I'm not laid back, how I hate people being in my room ... and that if we're on the subject of annoying things ... how I play my music too loud when Helen's trying to get to sleep, and should wear headphones, even though my headphones are broken!
WAHWAHWAHWAHWAHWAHWAH

that's all I can hear when you're talking.

Anyway on other Parisian news,
On a night out with work friends I found myself getting stoned and getting off with a boy called Pierre. Life simply does not get more french or fabulous than that. Oh Pierre how you tried to take me home with you and then asked me out on several dates. Oh Pierre how you miraculously got back with your girlfriend the other day. Oh Pierre.
Oh dear.

I spent quite a ridiculous amount of time in bed today as a means of general recovery from last night - a night on the Social Club scene.
I hate it there.
I think my taste for dirty, smelly, cheesy, creepy clubs has sprung from the teeny boppers nights in the Tiv. Anything with a guestlist and prices above "penny in, pound-a-drink" I find pretentious.
Social Club IS pretentious, whatever anyone else might say. Full of skinny french girls who hate english people, and english "chester kid" types who've found Social Club through myspace.
EVERYONE NEEDS TO GET OVER THEMSELVES A LITTLE BIT LIKE.
However having said that, the music never dissapoints.
Tequilla shots for 5euros is a bit of a joke though ... I think you can tell somewhere is pretentious when a drink from Mexico which usually has a worm in the bottom of the bottle costs 5euros for 25cl.
But I guess you have to account for the lime and salt aswell.
what.a.joke.

Freshers starts tomorrow.
I feel like I'm working myself up a bit ... the term fresh bait keeps cropping up in my mind.
Judging by the turn out at ULIP for the past few years though I should probably be readying myself for a year which is 1/5 male, 1/2 of that male intake will definately be gay, 1/4 in a relationship ... which leaves about 2.5 eliageable boys. Both / all 3 of whom will turn out to be "ULIP lads" and walk around saying (in a southern accent) "Oi, cunt!" allllllll the time.

Anyway we shall see.
I'm not really keen on the whole XOXO thing, so: toodles.

Bananarama? Not so much ... Canauxrama? Absolutely.

So as LJ so fantastically pointed out ... I do not blog very often. Due to a ridiculously busy and fabulous lifestyle? Miss off the fabulous and maybe that's it.

Infact I have a job, fellow bloggers. At The Frog and The British Library ... rather a long title but ohh well, and yes LJ this is a relation to the pub that we spent a rather long afternoon in with my cousing getting somewhat tipsy. And I am loving it. However it does seem to be rather knackering. And on another note, this is a place from which my fellow housemate : Bladers got hired and instantaneosly fired after just two shifts. So unintentional tension is caused when work is mentioned, on the plus side, she can laugh about it.
Turns out this housemate milarky isn't as easy as one would think. For instance my self and the lovely MD "(HB's housemate/playmate?)" ... really? Anyway we had a bit of a small disagreement ... which turned into a rather large disagreement about a girl who is currently staying with Bladers, who studied in ULIP (University of London Institute in Paris) on the year abroad programme last year. So it came to surface that MD has a small thing for this girl and "cannot even look at her because my stomach spins everytime our eyes meet" Ok, Bon, I get it ... a certain SMJ makes me feel exactly the same ... Heck at one point I swear Pete B was giving me that same feeling / still is. However the reason the argument surfaced was because MD said something along the lines of "I'm not going out on Tuesday night" (when we're all going out for a big reunion night out) "and I don't think you should either."
excuse me
"because y'know you'll just get really drunk and tell her I fancy her."

Miles for one I resent that comment, I also resent the fact that you feel like you can tell me what to do in your ridiculous Heathrow accent when you would never do the same for me if I were in that situation.
Thirly and most importantly ... I could care less. She has a bf, it's quite clearly never going to go the way you want it to.

This argument escalated, untill I stormed off ... and then 5 minutes later he came into my room and appologised.
Not, like a normal person, because he felt that he should redeem himself in some way. But more because he wanted to ensure that I wouldn't go spreading his secrets and breaking his heart out of spite.

Before this all kicked off, myself, Bladers, MD, the aforementioned girl and B Mascall went on a cruise up the canal Saint Martin... bit of vino, a 4foot5 lady singing popular french balads and muchos cigarretas. Fabulous :) Canoauxrama rocks!

On another note a certain Bombay Sapphire has been fitted with "soft paws", to prevent her from scratching anything/steal all her dignity. The "soft paws" in question look like fake nails for cats ... and come in any colour under the sun. Fortunately MD managed to restrain himself and bought the clear ones. This most recent incedent of bizzare cat obsessive behaviour is just adding to my suspicions that I am living with someone who is completely derranged.

The housemates are currently in a restaurant that only serves steak ... apparently there is no menu, just steak ... which is the reason I've found time to write these ramblings.

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Social Experiments and Ridiculous Housemates.

So this evening over a dinner of couscous (the food so nice they named it twice) and a tomato-ee, vegetable sauce it was decided that we were each going to give up something we really loved in an incredably competetative social experiment to see the side effects of Miles giving up coke.
Now to convince Miles to give up coke both Bladers and I had to give up something in return ... and the person who gives in first has there own individual forfeit... when the first person gives in, we can all give in.

Bladers - not allowed to eat meat or snack between meals.
Miles - not allowed to drink coke.
H Bizz - not allowed to smoke. FOR A WEEK.

Now for a completely normal household these tasks may look laughably easy. However everytime Miles goes for a cheeky fag he will rub it rather unceremoniously in my face. The task for Miles looks ridiculously easy ... most people wouldn't think to drink more than a glass of coke a week, but for a boy who spends at least 30 euros a week on Maccy D's and drinks about a litre of coke a day (I'M NOT EVEN KIDDING) it may not be so easy. Helen eats like an absolute motherbitch, so as a little prediciton for the outcome if we all manage to stick to it: we are all going to be ridiculously pissed off!

In the event that I give in first I have to pick out the poo out of the litter tray for the rest of the week that I didn't manage to smoke for.
Miles has to make every meal for the rest of the week and every outfit Bladers wears has to be picked out by Miles if she gives into the temptation of meaty products or a cheeky carrot stick inbetween meal times.

Why are we doing this to ourselves?
Fuck knows ...

Who do I think will be the first to crack ... me obviously!

The challenge started approximately 20 minutes ago ... the temptation to go outside and just ruin it all by having a cigarette is ridiculously overwhelming ... not because I feel the need, just to stop this ridiculous farse before I'm drinking 2 litres of coke a day and start eating steaks just out of spite.

Also just as a little bit of side information so you can better understand my life ... my "W" key is sticking like an absolute bitch so I have to press it twice as hard for it to work ... probs from typing WWaaahhhh far too much!

Peace out a-town down.

The Adventures of Bombay Sapphire and the 3 Amigos de "Chez TacTac"...

So here I am ... back in Gay Paris. To say I'm a bit dissapointed with my life right now is a bit of an understatement.
Living in a city which is famous for love and glamour one would think that therefore MY life should be full of glamour and, maybe not love, but at least some shaggybanging. As it stands en ce moment ... I live with a rather neurotic boy who is obsessed with his cat aptly named Bombay Sapphire, and a rather bizzare girl. Both of whom I do love dearly, however I hadn't really envisaged spending all my time indoors writing CV's ... because a) it's too hot to go out in the day and b) I have no money to go out at night.

So naturally this isn't really a blog about how amazing it is to live in Paris ... rather a rant.
I'm stuck in a sort of catch 22 ... Paris is amazing but spending all my money on rent and not having enough to leave the house because my housemate thought it neccesary to buy a bin that cost 30 EUROS!!!!!! YES A BIN! is rather annoying. The other option being staying in Rhosesmor and having to live with my mother.

Wahh I'd chose not having money any day!

The other disadvantage to Mold is the rugby problem...

Mold Youth Really Is Wank ... time to grow up boys!

Time to run away to Mexico, grow a moustache and change my name to Manwell me thinks...

My Own Summer...

If "The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men, gang aft agley" then my summer was ridiculously and meticulously planned out ... and at some point went awry.

The main problem being that planning to do a million things when not having enough money to do them doesn't exactly work out as well as it should.

Being free and single living in North Wales in a place called Mold isn't exactly an episode of Sex and the City. Sex in a very small town where you've already had sex with quite a few members of the local rugby team and now they all hate you might be more apt ... therefore meeting new people and pulling lots of hot young men might have been a bit of a far out plan for my own summer.

Despite knowing the fact that 'booty' was very few and far between I did manage to have a ridiculously fabulous summer, thanks namely to Leah B/J. Don't imagine now that I was giving Jizzle Bizzles all over the show to some miscreant named Leah, no, in fact I know two Leahs ... one by the name of B, one by the name of J.

So in an utterly fannytastic fashion we three started the summer by going to Wakestock and sharing a tent. However in the typical trampy way that you would come to expect from three girls who live in and around the Flintshire area we were never all in it at the same time. Mostly due to LB who ruined any chance of her own happiness by cunting about with a guy who pisses in his own face ... and shits the bed after too much bow. LJ, who is usually notorious for cunting about with rugby boys, was seen messing around with an Irish ‘round ball’ player. She also managed to ruin a tent romance between the infamously slutty brother of LB’s beau and a much younger lady who works in Y Pentan. Oh dear.

I on the other hand managed to do further damage to my reputation by continuously asking a boy for sex (some might call it begging, I wouldn’t go that far) who happened to be the best friend of a boy I used to have casual sex with. In doing so ruining any chance of future happiness in Mold, oh well I never really wanted to live there anyway!

The rest of the summer continued in much the same drunken sort of way - a gin, vodka, sangsom blur.

Trips to the beach. Pulling Policemen. Broken noses. Underage boys. 18 year old girls. Failed BBQs. Circus disappointment. Rosies. Mitch James. Misplaced dignity.

All this and more interrupted by bumbling through the odd Indian wedding and a few New Look sales.

To finish off this summer of fun was the obligatory night out in spoons … the highlights of this evening were telling Harvey (a boy that managed to ruin my house on two separate house party occasions) that I was going to punch him really hard in the middle of the face if he ever set foot in my house again. Topped off with seeing the boy who I used to have casual sex with and still have ridiculously mixed feelings for, in the sweet embrace of Ali D; a girl who is a three year younger, much better version of myself … and who he is in fact shagging this summer.

Uh oh … time to go back to Paris me thinks!