Dance Little Liar
And the day has finally arrived. The one where I pen down and share how I have fared in the wild this week. It’s been a rather eventful last week of term here in the Kingdom of Durham. I got mooned (The Kitty flashed me his butt), I got hit on a lot, I got felt up by The Utahan, I handed in a 3000 word paper, I had to pick up cigarette butts as punishment, and I realised that The Little Liar was my person. That last bit is what I’ll be focusing on this week.
The boys finally returned from their “boys trip” to Edinburgh. They were all sufficiently sleep deprived and hungover. Upon arrival, The Little Liar immediately launched into tales of all the drunken shananigans that occurred over the 4 day trip. This was obviously not meant to entertain me but to rub my face into everything that I had missed. All I heard from The Little Liar’s several minutes of detailed narration was, “Boo you! You have a vagina! Hahahaha!”. Puffing away at cigarettes, caught up in drunken stories, The Little Liar and I failed to take the 10 steps required to reach the designated smoking area. Just as luck would have it, it was the Collingwood Vice Principal’s smoke time too. What followed was 20 minutes of picking up cigarette butts outside the college bar and countless taunts from our “friends” about how this was karma. Not because we were smoking in a non-smoking zone. Oh no. Karma because we had maids in India to clean up after us and now it was time for us to do it.
Later that night we all ended up at The Stag’s Head (The Collingwood College Bar). Yes, the colleges in Britain not only have bars, but also endorse them for business. The Koala wanted to celebrate her birthday with us before she left for her Easter break Euro Trip. The plan was to have a couple of drinks and head into town for a night clubbing. Seeing as I was a responsible adult who had a paper due in a couple of days, I decided to stay back and have an early night in (by “early” I mean, going to bed by 1:30 am). It was 1:30 am, I had snuggled up into my blanket and was just about to fall asleep when there was a knock on my door. Grumbling to myself, tripping over my shoes strewn about, I open the door to find a drunk Little Liar at my door, holding up some beer. Remember how I said I was a responsible adult? Let’s just say, the relationship between a responsible adult and alcohol, is the same as the relationship between Superman and Kryptonite. Just as Kryptonite weakens Superman, alcohol weakens the responsible adult. What followed was a highly irresponsible night in my 10 x 12 bedroom, involving loud music, lots of dancing, Justin Bieber, The Ketchup Song, Taylor Swift, deep conversations about the frailty of life (we’re both rather emotional about our deceased grandparents), and phenomenal Maggi courtesy of The Little Liar and the person whose butter he “borrowed”.
We were midway through watching “10 Things I Hate About You”, when we looked out the window to see the sun coming up, telling us it was time to go to bed. The Little Liar left and at 6:00 am, a drunk me realised that my friend, The Little Liar, a person more similar to me than anyone else out there was a closet 14 year old girl who writes letters to herself, loves RomComs, listens to Avril Lavigne, and has an interpretive dance routine in place for every Taylor Swift song out there. And the best part was that that’s exactly who I was on the inside too. As loud and obnoxious as I was around the rest of my friends here, it wasn’t until that night that I actually let go and gave into the cheesiest parts of who I was. And I feel like The Little Liar did the same.
Just yesterday he left for India for his Easter Break. And for the first time in a week, I was all alone in my room at night, no music playing, no dancing, no deep conversations. It was also the first time that I had gone a few hours without a phone call demanding my whereabouts, or if I was up for food, or a smoke. I had come to Durham believing that I wouldn’t find any semblance of permeant friendship here, with just the one year that I had. 6 months in and I think I have found SOME semblance of permanence.
I Just Realised I Haven’t Given Myself A Nickname Yet And Because I Am Obsessing Over Misfits Right Now I Am Going To Go With “MonkeySlut”. (THAT is not permanent)
With Easter Break upon us, next week we shall see how I fare in every Bollywood director’s only conceptualisation of England as a country – London.