because none of us is fucking up like we think we are, is what i'm trying to say

Saturday, 31 December 2011

I know an end-of-year post is cliche, OK?


On unavoidable reflection, 2011 seems to me to have been somewhat thematic. I got propositioned as a prostitute, won an award for my vagina, graduated with a first-class honours for writing about my vagina, wrote on the Internet about my vagina, moved my vagina to Rome, stopped blogging about my vagina, started blogging about my vagina again, wrote a book about my vagina and then took my vagina out on a particularly shit date. To me this raises an very pertinent issue: should I have my fish grilled or oven-baked for supper?

Whilst reviewing the photographic evidence of the year, what struck me was the three very definite stages 2011 had for me. The first four months clearly highlight being obscenely drunk with Calum, and then working incredibly hard for many, many hours with his alter-ego to truly give weight to the mantra work-hard, play-hard. He got me so drunk that I threw up glitter after we met an American man who worked for Alexander McQueen and inexplicably could only refer to as Chicago, and also kicked my arse so hard that when I was sick beyond all comprehension but still had a coursework deadline he looked me right in the eye and explained to me that NO. THAT PIECE OF SHIT I WROTE WHILST SELF-MEDICATING ON PILLS STOLEN FROM MY NANNA'S BEDSIDE TABLE WOULD NOT SUFFICE AS A FINAL DRAFT and I was all like, YES, BUT I THINK I MIGHT ALREADY BE DEAD SO IT DOESN'T REALLY MATTER and he got totally, LAURA. I OWE YOU THIS. I CANNOT LET YOU JEOPARDISE YOUR ENTIRE DEGREE COURSE BECAUSE YOU CRIED IN THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY AND ASKED ME TO TELL YOU IT WAS OKAY and I was like, SO IT ISN'T OKAY? and he was all, SWEETIE. HERE ARE SOME MORE OF YOUR NANNA'S PILLS. I'LL STAY WITH YOU UNTIL THIS IS AN A+.

I got that first class honours.

Then I flew to Italy to meet up with many old friends, make lots of new ones, and essentially get all of that academic-angst out of my system by doing very little work and much, much play, particularly in bathroom stalls with sticks to pee on. All of the shots where I am wearing a red tee-shirt? Best summer of my life. Turns out, I'm a pretty rockin' teacher.

And then I moved to Rome, and told you all how shit it was. So shit, that one morning in October I woke up in my shared room in the arse-end of town, wearing every piece of the 20 kilos of luggage that I had brought with me, freezing to fuck and penniless to buy proper bedding, and I cried because it was raining outside and my only pair of shoes had holes in. I probably made a joke out of it, but really, I had already decided to say BOLLOCKS, I WANT MY MUM and to return to the U.K. But then things turned around, literally on that day, and that's probably why I haven't written lately. I got paid, I moved into my own place, I met some of the bestest people, realised I had written 70,000 words of a book and work actually became pretty fucking awesome.

VAGINA.

Sorry, I was getting a little too sentimental.

Anyway. As every year, (well, 2009 and 2010) I did a video. It's not really for you, it's for me, but hell: it's set to Danza Kuduro so I thought, well. Best share the Italian pop music love. OH THE MEMORIES.

Happy new year!



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