So it was my birthday last Friday, and I'm only getting a chance to write about it now because college is so ridiculously busy at the moment - between running around, practically sleeping in the library and making calls begging people for last minute interviews, I haven't had a second to stop. I can't believe how much I have to do, I feel so overwhelmed sometimes. I'm quite behind on the Mega 64 podcast too, which is just completely unacceptable as far as I'm concerned. I just watched last week's one now and I've another loading up for when I'm done with this (although I'm probably going to end up watching it on the bus to and from college tomorrow cos I'm so fucking TIRED right now). I have to start a new book too, or else I'm going to go mad. I have one waiting for me, I just have to take a minute to sit down and fucking start it.
Anyway, I turned the grand old age of 22 last Friday and although Saz gave me shit for getting old, the fact that I'm rocking the emo fringe right now and still getting hit on by 15-year-olds while trying to hurry through the city on any given day meant I wasn't at all upset about it. My face, for some reason, is refusing to age. Maybe it's cos I gave up the cigarettes, maybe I'm just blessed or whatever, I don't know. But I still look young and I'm okay with that. It makes getting older much more fun.
Despite the fact that 22 isn't a big deal, for my birthday this year, I celebrated on three consecutive nights out on the town - the first of which was on Thursday in my favourite rock bar. The objective was to get hammered and I definitely, definitely did. By the time midnight rolled around I could barely speak. But that's okay, cos that was exactly what I wanted. And because it was technically my birthday night out, I knew other people would be in charge of getting me home.
I was fucking skint last week so I had nothing new to wear, which pissed me off. I ended up in pink zebra-print hotpants, a white vest top, fishnets and Docs (luckily, I was too drunk to care). Oh, and I had a badge that said "I am 8" which was given to me by the emo. I loved it, as I did his card, presents (that haven't arrived yet cos they're being shipped from the US but they are AWESOME anyway) and everything else I received that night. As usual, the pressies were unconventional. Scooby got me a Kevin Smith book and a framed pic of the two of us looking disgustingly drunk and sweaty on the dancefloor together (among other things), Saz got me a grungetastic Kurt Cobain top and Joker badges, Star got a pressie that was too big to bring to the pub, Ross got me a big chocolate bar that said "Happy Birthday", Tar got me a "Nicht lustig" book and skeleton arm socks, and Noodles got me a tattoo (to name but a few)! He surprised me with it the day before, over hot chocolate in Butler's (what else!?). We hopped excitedly in his car and sped off to Bray where I met the most frightening and probably best tattoo artist I've ever come across. I got the word "Liebe" (German for love) on my right wrist. It wasn't the worst pain I've ever felt, and I managed to set up an interview with the guy too which was awesome. It's healing quite well, which is great. The only problem is that I'm itching for more...
Thursday night went well overall. There was a bit of trouble with Star, who saw it fit to attempt to get Dill and the emo to fight (although neither of them knew she was trying to provoke the other until the next day). It escalated into a pretty serious incident, involving me being dragged kicking and screaming back to the emo's house, but once the dust settled the next morning it was grand. I'll admit it was a very shitty thing for her to do, but luckily the lads are too smart for shit like that and no harm was done. In fact, they may have formed an unlikely alliance in defiance of her.
Friday was my actual birthday, so I had to race home to see my mother for a bit (even though we'd been fighting all week long). I asked for Converse and she got me bright blue ones, which the emo and I later doodled on (he drew a heart-shaped skull on one toe and I drew a Scott Pilgrim head on the other, which I then labelled "Scott Pilgrim" because it looked nothing like him due to my inferior drawing skills). Other than that, I got lots of money and clothes and a big bag of Werthers from my grandparents (aren't they sweet?). I'd only been home about a half hour when the emo rang to tell me he'd forgotten what time we were meeting and that he was on a bus into town so he wouldn't be late. I rushed to throw on a dress and heels (I'd decided Friday was going to be my classy night out, dunno why) and then legged it out the door. He took me for a lovely birthday dinner in Wagamamas, one of my all-time favourite restaurants, and afterwards we met Noodles for drinks in my favourite gay bar. Many cocktails, cheesy pop hits, Subway and a bottle of red wine later, the three of us headed back to Wicklow and I slept as much as I could in preparation for my final day of partying.
Saturday was another mad rush, as I legged it back to Dublin to shower and make myself somewhat presentable for that night. I still had nothing to wear, so I ended up in Cons for the night (which I was glad of later). Dill decided that my birthday present from him would be a night out, and I was only too happy to oblige. There's nothing I love more than good food, drinks and decent conversation with a friend. He took me to a little hipster restaurant called Jo'Burger that although a bit of a trek outside the city, was worth it in the end because it was definitely the BEST burger I have ever had in my entire life. I thought GBK was good, but this was out of this world. I'd read about the place in Dubliner and I was glad to discover that it was just as non-coupley as they'd described it (everybody sits squashed up on long benches, so it's not exactly a romantic setting) which meant that there were no awkward moments between the two of us. After all, there's nothing worse than finding oneself on a date with somebody who is just a friend, especially when knowing deep down the other person wishes it was more than friendship (not to mention the fact that I'm taken for the first time in two years). The place was very hipster, with a DJ spinning tunes, only organic Coke on the menu and mad burger toppings such as feta cheese and rocket salad. But it was delicious, and I was surprisingly glad of the walk back to the city as it gave me a chance to deflate.
We headed to Bruxies first, but it was packed with match fans who were shouting and boozing too much for my liking, so we ended up in Doyles for the night. It's not a pub I go to terribly often, because the music and crowd are predominantly indie, but it's a good spot nonetheless. We drank and chatted and there were some decent tunes. As it crept into the wee hours, we opted not to pay an extortionate price for a taxi and to simply follow the Luas tracks back to Dill's place, BK in hand. It was an odd walk back. I felt a bit like I was in a post-apocalyptic zombie movie. But it was nice, too. The Dublin air was refreshingly cool, and we got more time to chat (we never run out of things to say to each other). I didn't get a wink of sleep that night because he was snoring so fucking loudly, but I didn't mind. I was buzzing from the last three days.
On Sunday morning, Dill surprised me with the new Lostprophets album The Betrayed (which I'd been whinging about not getting for my birthday) and, after much gushing from me about how fucking awesome of a friend he is, we parted ways and I settled into a comfy chair in Butler's to read the Sunday Independent and drink the best hot chocolate in Dublin, before the emo arrived and we headed out to mine for dinner. Although I was nervous for him to eat with my crazy family, he did very well and even impressed my mother with his manners (which is a difficult thing to do) and my siblings with his wit (not so difficult). He was charming, funny, respectable, polite and sweet. He really did me and him proud. It was the perfect end to a rather perfect birthday and I couldn't have been happier.
The whole notion of birthdays gets a bit silly after the big ones, like 18 and 21, but this one still felt really special to me because I'm lucky enough to be surrounded by people who genuinely love me, and whom I genuinely love back. It probably sounds really corny, but I'm really happy right now. And even though college is ridiculously hard, my mother is trying my last nerve and I'm bloody skint, I wouldn't change anything. It's so funny, because I never thought I'd say that. I feel terrible complaining about anything, because my worries are so insignificant compared to others'. I haven't cared for a long time what people think of me, so I don't know why I'd let it start bothering me now. I was reading an interview with Ian Watkins the other day, and he was saying that even though people hate him and think they know him when they don't, it doesn't bother him or stop him from living his life the way he wants to. I know he can be an arrogant prick at times, but I really try to emulate that in my life. And frankly, I think I'm doing a pretty fucking good job of it at the moment too.
Song of the day: Lostprophets - Where We Belong.
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