The Absence & The Birthday
The Absence
Excuse my temporary absence from cyberspace. I ate something bad and spent an entire weekend with my head hovering above a toilet bowl having my intestines do the Riverdance up my throat.
Someone sat me in front of the television. Or I crawled out of the bathroom and managed to only get as far as the living room before I flopped in sickness and in dehydration in front of the television, which is a good enough place at home to flop before. Miss World was on. Miss World is cultural vomit. The female host was semi cross-eyed and spoke in a tone of unnatural excitement mixed with grating pain – like she had a pair of balls that were being squeezed too hard. The male host had a face that looked like it was about to collapse from the weight of his own eyebrows. Miss Russia kept trying to grab his microphone; he kept swatting her hand away. Perhaps that’s foreplay in Russia, who knows. I stopped watching. I puked.
Monday came and I was fully recovered. I spent the week getting lots of fresh air. What usually happens when you get a lot of fresh air is that you stop blogging. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s a shame to waste good health on cyberspace.
The Birthday
I've been losing track of time like an alien abductee. I thought I had 12 whole months of being 19 and all of a sudden I'm 20. One day, you wake up and realize you're no longer, by all numerical accounts, a teenager. And you realize, you are no better than you were yesterday.
Happy Birthday to my fellow December birthday girls.
Thank you to everyone that made my birthday yesterday better than I expected it to be.
For pics and a report (by the alia) of my low-key birthday dinner ( because I'm too old to have a repeat of the riotous birthday celebration I had last year) go HERE
Excuse the way I look in photos. I'm no Miss World and genetic's a bitch.
Excuse my temporary absence from cyberspace. I ate something bad and spent an entire weekend with my head hovering above a toilet bowl having my intestines do the Riverdance up my throat.
Someone sat me in front of the television. Or I crawled out of the bathroom and managed to only get as far as the living room before I flopped in sickness and in dehydration in front of the television, which is a good enough place at home to flop before. Miss World was on. Miss World is cultural vomit. The female host was semi cross-eyed and spoke in a tone of unnatural excitement mixed with grating pain – like she had a pair of balls that were being squeezed too hard. The male host had a face that looked like it was about to collapse from the weight of his own eyebrows. Miss Russia kept trying to grab his microphone; he kept swatting her hand away. Perhaps that’s foreplay in Russia, who knows. I stopped watching. I puked.
Monday came and I was fully recovered. I spent the week getting lots of fresh air. What usually happens when you get a lot of fresh air is that you stop blogging. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s a shame to waste good health on cyberspace.
The Birthday
I've been losing track of time like an alien abductee. I thought I had 12 whole months of being 19 and all of a sudden I'm 20. One day, you wake up and realize you're no longer, by all numerical accounts, a teenager. And you realize, you are no better than you were yesterday.
Happy Birthday to my fellow December birthday girls.
Thank you to everyone that made my birthday yesterday better than I expected it to be.
For pics and a report (by the alia) of my low-key birthday dinner ( because I'm too old to have a repeat of the riotous birthday celebration I had last year) go HERE
Excuse the way I look in photos. I'm no Miss World and genetic's a bitch.
