Blogging is so lame, especially as a verb. Blogging. I have to blog….on the toilet, haha! I’ve been laboring for a couple weeks to think about something worth posting about. I figured I’d better just sit down and start writing.
I went to school for writing afterall. What’s that all about? I do like writing, a lot actually. It’s pretty self-indulgent though. Maybe that’s not true for everyone, but definitely for me. I mostly just like doing it so people will laugh at my jokes and tell me I’m funny so I can be all like, I know! I think so too! Isn’t it great how we agree on how talented and amusing I am? Here’s some food for thought: what if I’m retarded and everyone is always laughing at me and not with me? ‘Food for thought’ is a cliché, and you shouldn’t use those when writing, that’s something I learned at writing school. I used to take this cool bus to my classes, it was short. Wait a minute!!
The other thing about going to school for art is, as it turns out all people think they’re special in some way. The thing of it is, if you’re thinking that, odds are instead of concentrating on how unique/brilliant/talented you are, most people are thinking those things about themselves. Oh god, I’m talking myself out of writing this blog!
That’s kind of how I feel about my birthday…conflicted? I have the birthday blues. I get them every year. I think it’s mostly because January sucks so much. It makes me wish tanning didn't cause cancer. I usually get over Debbie-downer state when the “me centered” celebrating commences and I remember how much I like attention. You probably knew that already if you were reading this….since it’s a blog.
Birthday tantrums might just be the funniest tantrums of all. I think it’s the pointy hats. Yep, whether you’re celebrating or throwing a hissy fit, strap on a pointy hat and hilarity ensues. Probably why Klu Klux Klan members are so entertaining, while skin heads are a bunch of sour-pusses.
 |
| A birthday mating ritual... |
I’m thinking Karaoke to ring in a quarter of a century of Elyse. I’m seeing an aforementioned pointy hat, and a breakdown in the middle the stage while claiming between sobs over the instrumental crescendo of a Journey song to be determined that “my birthday is ruined!” Should be a fun time.
8===============================================================================>
Ok, so I got a little distracted on the way to posting this online. Birthday weekend and all... I feel the need to bring everyone up to speed. Birthday=over. I’m a little relieved, although I got some good loot and homemade pizza mmm.
There was ‘karaokeeing’. As it turns out, the song to be determined was, of course, drum roll please- “Don’t Stop Believing”. I did sing that, but I didn’t sob that my party was ruined. I was doing pretty Ok until the end of the evening when I felt myself floating in and out of consciousness and was unable to pull the trigger on a drunk, kind of fat dumb chick who wanted to start a fight. You might be wondering how I could let this happen. But then again it was only an hour or so into having turned 25 that I celebrated by re-acquainting myself with my pasta dinner, oh man let me tell you, did we ever get re-acquainted!
 |
| We were so awesome, then we barfed so much |
Is the problem that in my unmotivated journey toward maturity I’ve learned nothing? Or does this puking deal really get worse as I get older? Every time is like a surprise now. A horrible, horrible surprise. Like how I hurt my foot at the gym last week. Am I…aging?? After a coma on the couch I spent Saturday morning (my birthday) dry heaving….dry heaving loudly. So loud that it woke Dan up even though I was in the basement. I’m a loud barfer, and while my hangovers seem to be getting worse, some things never change.
Ready for this adventure? Too bad, it’s not an adventure, it’s a blog…stupid. Please continue to read, or don’t. I don’t really care. Actually, I hate you.
