It’s time to face the cold, heartbreaking, truth. I can no longer sing the lyrical wonder “22” by the musical royalty that is Taylor Swift. I am now officially 23 years old.
A moment of respectful silence wouldn’t go a miss, right now.
But me, oh my, what a month it’s been. So I figured why pop back up with one of my sarcastic list posts about your quarter-life crisis, when I could give you guys a little insight as to where I’ve been and why I’ve been in a perpetual state of “Rachel Greene, I don’t want to be a shoe” crisis for the past thirty days. (Wee Friends reference to keep us going there, folks.)
To kick off, I turned 23. The beginning of the end until Swift writes a catchy little number to go along with it. The occasion was marked with an obligatory week of absolutely milking my birthday to within an inch of its life, of course. Time was spent with my family, with the phrase “you’ve got to, it’s my birthday” being thrown around like a verbal rugby ball. An embarrassingly large order to Dominos was placed only to, of course, blame it on ‘my birthday’. Let’s not forget trying to convince everyone I know and their aunt’s to go to the aquarium with me and most importantly the equally obligatory trip to a nightclub.
I don’t mind telling you if it weren’t for the being with my best friend portion of the evening, I fear I would have lost my temper. The ratio of female to disrespectful male was off the scale. At one point I even had one girl admit mid drunk-bathroom-chat, that she’d grown so desperate to fend off the sexual advances that she’d completely skipped the old classic, “I’m a lesbian”, and straight to “I never made it to the bathroom on time”… Not all heroes wear capes, girls.
Now, as if such birthday excitement wasn’t enough I also woke up on the celebration of my birth with an email saying that lil’ ol’ me had been accepted to study contemporary art.
And just when things couldn’t get anymore eep-worthy, my old workplace – and by old, please instead read ‘favourite’ – opened back up and I got offered my little beaut of a job back… Did I mention it’s exactly three minutes from my door?
Not to mention, I’m getting at least eighteen more hours a week than I was at my other job. Too much eeping to be done, here.
So, my little nuggets, expect shopping hauls galore for a while… I seem to think I can make it rain, right now.