27 Today

Today with much trepidation I turned 27.. leaving the era of "mid-twenties" behind and officially entering my "late-twenties".

I feel that a lady of my age, should perhaps be a little less excited about my birthday.  But this morning at 6 am I was awake and knocking on my parents door (that's right.. 27, single and living with my parents) to see what presents awaited me.

The sad thing is as you get older, the less fuss is made, when really I think more fuss should be made. I mean, I have survived 27 years in this dangerous world. A ten year old has only made ten.  Surely I have more reason to celebrate than them?

An entitlement to celebrate myself and the year that has been I think is completely valid.

So today I celebrate that since I turned 26 I have:

• Left my crappy supermarket job and got a real job
• Erased my debt with UK credit card providers, Australian credit card providers and Bank of Daddy
• Been on 4 dates
• Kissed only 3 boys
• Resolved to stop allowing unworthy gentleman access to my lady parts (and hence have gone through many packets of batteries)
• Completed half of a diploma in journalism and feature writing
• Almost decided on what I want to do with my life
• Put on 7 kilos and lost 4 (3 to go! Woo!)
• Attended 1 High School Reunion
• Battled with a stubborn case of adult acne
• Got my very first family dog.. in fact my very first family pet ever
• Have welcomed 4 friends babies into the world
• Seen 6 of my lovely friends deal with nasty break-ups
• Have been on 3 awesome trips – Bundaberg, Sydney & Byron
• Watched many, many hours of The Tudors, Gossip Girl, How I Met Your Mother, Big Bang Theory and Modern Family
• Spent countless hours daydreaming about the men of The Tudors and Gossip Girl (Chuck Bass, if you're reading.. feel free to have your way with me)

So as I prepare for a lovely home-cooked birthday dinner with traditional birthday trifle I’m thinking, despite first appearances, I’ve actually done alright for myself this year.

The Downside of Exercise?

In my 26.5 years I have found precisely two forms of exercise that I enjoy.

One, involves music, and moving my feet and getting sweaty to the beats of salsa, merengue, forro, bachata, gaffeira and samba, or wrapping my legs around a pole and swinging. 

The second involves wrapping my legs around a different sort of pole, and also getting rather sweaty. 

After a year of near-celibacy (apart from 3 delicious encounters) and a back injury that put an end to any dreams I had of becoming an exotic dancer I’ve decided to do something about my now flabby thighs and muffin top by returning to the latin scene with Zumba.

Tonight I went with Lady Smash and it was brilliant. Exhausting but brilliant. However, whilst I am delighted at the prospect of having cellulite free legs and a non-wobbly bottom, I have a very deep fear.

I am terrified that I will lose my boobs.  The girls, since their sudden appearance in 2005, have been very good to me, assisting me in getting free mechanic repairs on my car, free drinks, service at crowded bars and intimidating my colleagues.  They were, I thought, my meal ticket to the good life.

What happens if all this exercise shrinks them back to their early twenties state? I’ll lose my ego-boost that I get from having the girls proudly on display.  Because let’s face it, it’s always the FIRST place you lose weight.  I think it would be a truly wonderful thing if you could tell your body… “Please take the muffin top from my waist and transplant it evenly onto my right and left breasts, thank you”.

So readers, you may think I’m silly, but it would be like losing part of your personality.

I suppose the fantastic legs will make up for it in the end. And if the worst happens… well boob job it is.

Oh God, I’m Too Old For This

Last night I went out with an old school friend for dinner, drinks and a general bitch about life and gossip about our fellow graduates.

We drank ALOT. Bottles and bottles and bottles of alcohol. Today I am recovering. And you know what.. whilst I still enjoy getting dressed up and going out with my friends. I am too old to be going out on the Sunshine Coast, and particularly too old to be at Fridays.

When you are 18 (up to the age of about 20) it is great going out. Its great waking up with strange entrance stamps up and down your arm. It’s nice to walk around with them and be smug to all your underage friends and saying “look at me I went out last night!”. Today, at 25, they make you look a little trashy and you spent 15 minutes in the shower trying to scrub them off.

When you are 18 it is easy to recover from a hangover and a 2am return home. Many night I was out until 3 in the morning then off to work at 8.30 on Sunday Morning. Today, at 25, a night out renders me bedridden for pretty much a full day. I stumbled out of bed at about 11am this morning in search of vegemite toast. Then went back to bed and felt sorry for myself. It is now 4pm and I have just ventured out into the company of my parents, who are taunting me.

When I was 18, texting wasn’t a huge thing.. mobile phones were only just getting en vogue. Now I spent most of my evening wasting credit on texts to my friends across Australia and the UK professing my love for them. Thank the Lord I removed my ex’s number from my phone. I’ve learnt my lesson there before.

When I was 18 and heading to Fridays, there seemed to be a variety of age groups that went from just legal to middle age people. Now it seems that I am the oldest person in place and spend my evening watching young girls tottering around on heels they cannot walk in.

So yes, I think that perhaps I am too old for the Sunshine Coast party scene. But I did have a good time getting absolutely hammered and dancing to Mr Jones.