(209): I think this dress is screaming I want a birthday 3some with two moderately attractive guys. I hope.

Today I am 22 years and 358 days old. Which means that in seven days I shall be 23. This is when I begin to think I am getting old.

Unfortunately there is nothing I can do about the inevitable onslaught of time, but I can make sure that I make it pass with a bang, which is generally what happens when I reach this milestone.

As you may have guessed from previous posts (and one day I am more than likely to go into further detail), I am pretty much estranged from the majority of my family, so celebrating my birthday is often made the most out of with friends. This is the modus operandi for this year too. Tonight is the first of such celebrations, and I know it is a week early, but I like to call it my birthday eve eve eve eve eve eve eve. Any such plans that take place from now until next Tuesday will reduce by one eve as the days progress. You get the point.

Tonight I am going to dinner with an old friend of mine. His name is Steve. And he happens to be my old English teacher.

Yes, this is slightly strange. Yes, we meet up a few times a year to catch up, get drunk and generally mock each other mercilessly about the general lack of direction in our lives. The guy is only ten years older than me, and it helps that he still thinks he is 21 too. So tonight I will be sharing a cocktail and a general summing up of the past few months with him. Plus he buys a mean present, so that side of things will be a great way to spend a Tuesday night. Did I tell you I got straight A’s in English? Lol.

Tomorrow night I am going for a curry with the girls. Not so much a birthday celebration as a general catch up, as over the last few months, everybody has grown a little bit more distant as our lives start to take different paths. We have reached that age where we are all in pursuit of different things in life, and inevitably distance can sometimes grow when some of us are settling down and about to give birth, and others are still necking bottles of beer and becoming queens of downing steins (ahem). So it was decided that we all needed to come together to stuff our faces as we are all still pretty good at that.

Thursday night I am not doing anything. I am relishing this fact. Actually possibly planning the outfit for the Saturday shenanigans.

Friday night’s plan is to have a few people over to my house possibly. But then the imminent arrival of my father on Saturday morning, meaning waking at dawn to clear the carnage from the night. Not such a great thought.

Saturday daytime may be spent with my father. I say may, because the guy is notoriously unreliable when it comes to spending time with his eldest daughter. Swear to God the dude still needs reminding about when I was actually born. For a father, he is a complete wanker, but as a friend he is pretty cool. I mean, how many people do you know that have a short, balding Irish guy with a Jamaican accent for a father…? I rest my case. Ya man!

Saturday night is when the main event has been planned for. As per usual, hitting a club with a gang in tow. Thirty five confirmed attendees already. Thirty five. I really shouldn’t know that many people.

However, there is one guest that I must point out. The one that has had me arranging eyebrow appointments, having the girls consult over makeup, hair, dresses etc. The GOD that is A.S.

A.S. is a guy. But not just any guy. He is the ‘holy shit, hose me down, otherwise I will be all over him like a fox on a rubbish bag’ guy. A.S. is my Channing Tatum, Wentworth Miller, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, hot to trot, chunk of hunk, eye candy guy. I love him. On my last birthday he showed up with a friend of mine, and after he wished me a happy birthday – please note that I was oh so drunk by now – I dragged my then boyfriend to where A.S. was standing and proceeded to tell him that that was the man I was going to have beautiful babies with, not him. Wowsa, did not go down well. Hiccup.

So now I’m single. And so is he. And to be honest I haven’t got a rats chance in hell of anything ever happening with him. Standing next to him and dribbling onto his shoes does not count as something I am told. Anyhow, this year I was cajoled into inviting him personally by the girls, having not spoken to him since the same time last year. And then he accepted. And then he spoke to me on Facebook. Like, actually came and found my profile and spoke to me first. After picking myself back up off the floor and finding my phone so I could call Donna and tell her that the magnificent wonder that is a social networking tool has just connected me to My Biggest Crush Ever… and get her to tell me to breathe again. He messaged me saying ‘I guess there’s a party soon beautiful’.

You see that last word there. Uh huh. Go read again. Yup. To me. And I get all cool and composed and actually reply. Dude, I must have taken a brave pill or something. I reply ‘ Yes, bad times. I’m getting older’. Yeah… Six whole words. I’m getting good at this shit. And then he replied ‘Older, wiser and prettier my dear… x’. And then I died.

So Saturday is D Day. I am going to see the godly A.S. again. And I know that he will come say hi, kiss me on the cheek and say happy birthday, and I know that I, with the retardations, will more than likely giggle, splutter hi and spit in his eye before stepping on his toe and spilling my drink down him. But for two seconds, two whole seconds, I will have A.S. embrace me, and then I can live for another year, hoping that one day the retardations may subside, and I may come across as normal, rather than a buttfuck.

Expect stories.