Happy Birthday to me. I have now officially reached the stage in life I am most scared of. MID twenties. That means in three years I will be LATE twenties. It scares the crap out of me. It feels like only yesterday when I was eating frozen ice cream and tubs of chocolate sauce and getting ribbed for being the fat girl as I lumbered around the streets in ill fitting clothes with an even more ill fitting square fringe. Actually, that was
yesterday. I felt I had burned off so many calories (34!!) bouncing around on my new dance mat that I was entitled to stuff my overly wide face with full fat freezer goods which in turn led me to slink around in ultra loose clothing to hide the 4 new bellies I had just developed. These clothes were so baggy I'm sure they were designed for women with balls. I could have fitted the contents of my cupboard down there, along with my girlfriend. Hmmm. I could be onto something there. Or nasty older women's clothing label DASH
could be... Anyway, I was presented with my dance mat on Monday, not long after I had a full on stress fit about not being at uni early enough and as I was away to power walk my frustration out there appeared a Beautiful Boy who was laden down with goodies for Miss Fee. On discovering dance mat and game complete with Euro cheese happy hardcore mixes, my stress of not having done enough work evaporated. The heavy shoes were removed, the trousers were tucked into socks, the hair was tied up, the boobs tied down and I was throwing a lot of body weight around attempting to stay in rhythm to 'classics' such as 'baby let's get higher' 'drop the bomb' and the group favourite, 'make a jam'. Around 9 hours and various particpiants later I was wasted and losing all coordination due to an over consumption of alcohol which was used to ensure all inhabitions were lost and we were all free enough to let it all hang loose and wobble like we've never wobbled before. Although wobbling of that severity is experienced by me every day of my life but alas. And so I have found myself shaking my every ounce whenever possible. I get up in the night and find myself unable to resist the lure of the two-step euro cheese. I have even, only on one occasion mind, found myself forgoing food in the name of the dance mat. Life is good. Birthday's are good. And still to come is the Britney party on Saturday. Everyone must come dressed as a Britney or something Britney related. I wonder whose idea that
And so I go to prepare myself for the drinking I will be doing tonight, unless my hair gets any bigger that is.