Wednesday, 15 October 2014

The person you become in a nightclub

Mindy Lahiri is goals
I don't know about you guys, but the person I turn into when I enter a discotech is largely down to the kind of mascara I'm wearing. If it looks as though I'm having trouble blinking because my eyelashes are so heavy, I'm probably wearing what I like to call: my slutty mascara. Or as some people call it, Maybelline Scandaleyes mascara. Or as my google search has just pointed out, Rimmel Scandaleyes mascara. If you ever wondered why I'm not a beauty blogger, I think you just found your answer; I don't even know what brands I use. Let's just gloss over that minor mishap, after all, I am currently drinking the most expensive vanilla latte in existence because the dick-wad barista decided to overcharge me and I'm so livid I can barely see. But I digress; my point is, this Rimmel mascara (nailed it) guarantees massive fat-ass lashes that look the bomb in photos. So much so that I haven't de-tagged myself from a truly atrocious photo that appeared on Facebook last week simply because my lashes are killing it and I want everyone to know. #TrueStory #Blessed.

So yes, slutty mascara = I've made an effort, I'm excited and I'm ready to partay... except in the case of last week when I had what can only be described as the worst night-out ever. Clearly the guy who thought it was hilarious to come up to me and mimic my 'resting bitch face' knew, even by midnight, that tonight was not the night he was getting laid so gave up and began acting like a giant douche-bag to soften the blow.

On that same night I made a new friend in the form of a blonde fresher, I'm going to go ahead and assume she was a fresher simply because she couldn't stop swaying and then couldn't seem to comprehend why I was drying my arm, even after I told her twice that someone had spilt their drink all over me. Eventually it seemed to click and she reacted as though I'd told her I'd been shot. Which to be honest, is a very fair reaction seeing as my new Zara top took the blow. Vodka is for drinking, not for pouring over brand new £30 chiffon Zara tops. Or Primark flats; but I lost that four quid simply by buying the shoes, let's be honest.

I'm not being a nightclub hater; the only things I really hate on are wine gums and incense candles *tries not to vomit*, because there are some great times to be had: you can weasel your way around getting a much drunker friend to buy you a beverage of some kind, maybe even a double if you're feeling adventurous, you can scream the entirety of 'what makes you beautiful' into your BFF's face as she does the same to you, and you're pretty much guaranteed to get some if that's what you're after. Unless of course you're one of those people that refuses to believe when someone tells you they aren't available. Basically what you're telling me is that even in my nightclub finery, I could never be anything more than a hump-and-dump situation. Yes, I may be wearing my slutty mascara but that's where it ends, my friend. And if we're being honest, if someone decides to make up that they're not on the market just so they don't have to get with you, maybe it's time you went home, ate a pot noodle and had an existential crisis of your own. Still, who can really say chivalry is dead when the guy finally stops telling you "you're lying" and trots off to try his luck with one of your friends. Forget holding a door open, this is what a gentleman looks like.

Seriously you guys, all I want to do is dance to Taylor Swift and wear sweatpants while I'm doing it. Kind of like a really hip grandma. Is that so much to ask?

~ Eleanor xo

PS, while googling synonyms for 'hump and dump', I found some amazing alternatives: "wham bam and thank you maam", "nail it and bail it", "smash it and dash it" and the king: "tap the ass and hit the gas"