Questions:

What's beer pong? And why do you Americans called it a "grilled cheese sandwich" when you make it in a frying pan?

I saw the Yankee tonight. My oblivious flatmate invited him to our kitchen for a couple of drinks, and he actually came. Does that mean he wanted to see me, or does what happened between us mean absolutely nothing to him? (that sounds a little more Mills and Boon-y than I intended. I'm not pining over him or anything.) Anyway, we all went off to another party, and we sat next to each other on the bus and had a little chat. But then I got all awkward and couldn't speak to him, so he probably thinks a) I hate him and/or b) I'm weird and socially inept. a) is false, b) is true.

I so would've fucked him tonight. I'm ridiculously horny. But no, I couldn't get my act together enough to flirt with him, so here I am at 1 in the morning, drunk and blogging alone. Bah.

Oh no

No no no no no.

This morning I woke up and was almost immediately consumed by a sense of dread. You know that feeling, where you can't quite remember what you've done but you're sure it's something awful? Usually I just have to roll over and it's there next to me, snoring away. Ah ha ha.

But no, it wasn't one of those mornings - I was definitely alone. Something else...and then it came back to me. Last night, while pissed on Strongbow (it was 50p a can, don't judge me) I sent the New Boy a message. Quite an incoherent message, along the lines of "why haven't you rung me I quite like you just tell me to get lost if you want". The kind of message I'm usually on the receiving end of, which makes me think the person who has sent it is desperate and incapable of taking a hint.

And now I am that desperado.

Bear in mind I've met this man once, weeks ago, and ok we spent the night together but still, he owes me nothing. It's not like we'd been out a few times and then he dropped off the face of the earth. ONE encounter. He's going to think I'm such a stalker.

Hnnngh! Idiot.

Drug conundrum.

You know what I don't understand? When I went to university the first time, the legitimate time, when I was 18, I never encountered drugs. I don't know if the circle I was moving in was incredibly pure or what, but I swear to god, no-one offered me so much as a joint.

Flash forward 3 years. I'm back, at a different university admittedly, and everyone's into it. The kids I live with are 19 and 20, and they're much more well-versed in the art of getting wasted than I am. E, MDMA, coke.

I can't help but think it's a generational thing. And I can't help but feel glad that I get to experience both generations.

Confuzzled.

Text from The Ex this evening:

"There's a bit of me that thinks we should have one big night and then call it a day and delete each others numbers from our phones."

Oh, right. So all this time we've been having pleasant conversations about our lives, you've been wishing I'd shut up and/or initiate a bout of text sex? Well isn't that just lovely. You know what, maybe we should do that. Or maybe we should skip the sex and I'll just delete you anyway.

Kidulthood.

I went to the cinema tonight, and the ticket guy attempted to sell me a child ticket. "Are you under 14?" No, I am not. I am TEN YEARS OVER 14. And this isn't even the first time it's happened. Do I laugh or cry?

Actually, if I had any sense I'd do neither - I'd just nod, pay child price and save myself some money. Missed a trick there.

Yawn.

I'm aware that the last couple of posts have been rather downbeat - even, dare I say, dull? That's because I'm getting no action right now, not even a sniff of action. I'm at my parents' house for Easter, hence no boozing, no nights out, no men. Trust me, once I get back to Manchester things will perk up.

Having said that, I had text sex with my ex the other night (yes, the one I'm still not over). It was fun - I don't know what came over me, but I took on this dominatrix persona that I've never encountered in myself before. Not sure if I'll ever explore it in real life, since I don't think I could pull it off without dying of embarrassment. I'd have to be pretty hammered, and when I'm in that state I like to lie back and have my hands pinned over my head, that sort of thing. Perhaps if I could find a state between "sober" and "the room is spinning"...

Watched the Boat Race yesterday. What is it about posh boys? Whenever Boat Race day rolls around (and whenever I watch the rugby, truth be told) I start thinking I'd like nothing better than to marry an Oxbridge graduate and live in his family's country pile with a brood of Labradors and maybe a horse or two. Or maybe it's the sight of sixteen 6 foot 6 men in lycra that gets the blood rushing straight to my expensive place. Yeah.

Sorted.

Yep, it's all done - I'm taking four months off to get myself fixed (or work through my issues, as my personal tutor phrased it.) She was the nicest person in the world about the situation, advised me on counselling services and the like, and I came away feeling happy about how things had been resolved.

And then I got home and had to break it to my parents. The horror.

Dear Mother: it is NOT my fault that I can't get a handle on my moods, so please don't try to make me feel guilty. Please stop asking "why" I'm depressed. If I knew that then I wouldn't have a fucking problem would I? I am no longer 8 years old - I know what's best for me. I have to do what I feel is right. I can't live under your wing all my life. I know you love me and you're concerned for me. But I can't be worrying about you as well as taking care of myself. I need support, not a guilt trip.

Also, dear New Boy: fucking well ring me you twat.