W H E N P L A N S F A L L T H R O U G H...

Don't you hate it when you have plans and they fall through? It's one of the most frustrating things especially when it's on a weekend which go so briefly...well this has happened to me for the last two Saturdays. Last week I did the sensible thing, cooked a nice dinner, watched a cheesy movie and took myelf to bed at a reasonable hour. However this weekend I decided that was bloody boring, and even though my plans had fallen through, I was going to be productive about it...so this post ensued.

So it's Saturday night, for many this is your time to start getting dressed up, make yourself look pretty (try that new lipstick you recently splurged on), and go out. Yeah, up until about twenty minutes ago that was my plan to...but no, that hasn't happened. Instead, I'm home alone, as my flat mate is on holiday, and there is a bottle of wine in the fridge which is mine for the taking. So here we are, about to embrace my evening in full Bridget Jones fashion, and documenting it for my blog...as this week I have severe writers block and everyone knows alcohol brings the goods.

It's 9.00pm I'm three glasses in and I've already got the munchies. Now anyone who knows me knows that at the end of a night I am ALWAYS down for drunk food. Truthfully I don't even need to be drunk to be down for drunk food. 'Where's Tiz?'...'She's at the hatch' (Kent students know), or; 'She's at Subway', or; 'She walked that way on the phone to Dominos. Well I'm hungry now, but I'm also poor, and pasta pesto is my guilty pleasure so I'm face down in a bowl. I eat it probably two or three times a week because I'm lazy and still think of March as an acceptable month for comfort food indulgence; 'cause everyone knows that you don't really need to start working on your summer bod till April...right?!

9.30pm...I'm half way through the bottle and this is the part where I'll probably need to apologise to basically everyone tomorrow who is remotely local to me for messaging you trying to organise a last minute night out...I'm tipsy, not feeling the giant bowl of pasta that's hit my stomach, starting to sing really loudly to the music I've put on the speakers, and I really, REALLY want to dance. Someone, anyone? Dance with me?

Okay so I'm not even pouring glasses at this point, why bother? I'm not sharing it with anyone. Swiggin' from the bottle, I've got this disclosure song down. Word for word. Why am I not out?! Sam Smith and Disclosure are such a good combo. Aaaand I've just broken the silence with someone I shouldn't which I'm definitely going to regret in the morning.

I feel so productive. Maybe I should definitely get up early and hit the gym tomorrow, and really sort my body out and start looking at my career prospects, as well as see all of London because I've been here for months now and just haven't done enough. I'm absolutely going to get my life together, so come Monday I'll be like a whole different person, shit together and everything, no messing around.

The bottle is empty - and the remaining glass of red I was saving for tomorrow didn't make it that far.

You know what frustrates me, why is autocorrect always autocorrecting me, I need that imperfect spelling as proof come tomorrow that I was inebriated when I sent that message, so therefore, it is moot. Also, snapchat should have a drunk mode because whether I am in or out, after three glasses I definitely do not know my angles and these aren't pretty, lets stop now. And while we are at it lets just stop with the snapchat messages as they dissappear and that's just not okay because how will I know what I need to fix when my up-frontness kicks me in the bum.….aaaand other peoples snapchats look so much fun and are making me jealous and why did my plans fall through?? *cry*

11.30pm. Man down. We out. No diggity.

^ That sign off is probably the best thing about this post.

The part about getting my life together however was strangely true. Okay, so I wasn't productive in the sense of going to the gym (oops). but I did get myself up (despite my sore head) grab a coffee and embrace the sunshine on a walk through Clapham Common. And instead of looking at career prospects, I managed to touch base with everyone I had been promising to catch up with for the last month in one day. And though I didn't become a whole different person, I put a whole different set of sheets on my bed. Not quite the day that drunk me had promised sober me – but it was a good one, and honestly, what is better than crisp fresh sheets!?