Moothercowing Borthday

So yeah. It's my booooooooorthday. Nothing to do with the sleepy Welsh town of Borth. It's all to do with the amazing day of my birth, you know, that time when the stork dropped me off somewhere in Chesterfield with my mass of black hair and love for hitting people with garden instruments. And now, 23 years later I'm... 23 years old. That is old maaaaan. I can feel my bones creaking. The first half of the celebrations took place on Saturday in our most wonderful (well, as wonderful as a place in the South can be) capital city (London town for the geographically retarded) where my university friends and I did some drinking of some rather undelicious fruit flavoured beers (I had no less than 4 alcoholic beverages, wild and crazy Stanze) and talked about what makes the world go round. I wore a skirt that I though was very beautiful but when I looked in a mirror it was actually very see through so I shared my sexy black polka dot pants with everyone. People came from all four corners of the South to be there and it was delightful. I was even complimented by strangers four times in one day, as is my alluring beauty. Happy happy happiness :)

Problem is, no one took any photos so I have no exciting sordid snaps to share with you. However, to rectify this I took this charming selfie in my bathroom mirror (ooo, yeah, wankbank):

Note the amazing stamp print shorts and flashing badge which I received as gifts. That picture also demonstrates how damn long my hair is, something which I don't quite understand. I suppose it has grown back a lot thinner but it's not all that long since I was bald. No wonder no one believes me when I tell them I've had cancer. I also took one of my scar (the one where they chopped out my infected Hickman line, remember?) which is getting distressingly healed. I WANT IT TO LOOK MORE SCARY.

But anyway, today (my actual birthday) has been a slow and chillaxed affair. I got up and opened all my cards and presents and looked at the pile of money my gran gave me and wondered how to waste it best (TATTOOS CHEESE DONETSK) then wandered out to acquire meat and fried eggs. It was then off to work with a nice big slab of cake (the rule where I work is that you have to take cake in on your birthday or you're brutally shunned from the company) topped with sweeties. After some more happy birthdays it was down to the serious philatelising that I do so well, stopping only for a mildly infuriating call to the Blackpool disability office.

Then after work I was my usual extravagant self and bought a reduced 8 pence yogurt and some chips. Just outside my flat I was propositioned by a man who used the classy chat up line "My mate just gave me this condom and I'm gonna use it on YOU", an offer which I sadly had to decline as I needed to put something in the freezer. I also don't think I've ever had sex on my birthday and I wasn't entirely sure I wanted that honour to go to a 45 year old drunk man. Unless they're called Pete Steele. Alive, and without the beard.

And now it's off to listen to some Type O Negative in the bath with a little Russian vodka. Pues pues, it's all baths and vodka...

... That is all. Thankyou everyone for your birthday wishes and cards and hugs and gropes, I have enjoyed them all immensely. I feel very jolly today, there's more love being directed at me than a crazy man with a lollipop :)

Constanleyknife the sexy OAP :) xXxXxXxXx

P.s I forgot to mention, the second half of the general birth celebrations will be next Saturday when I shall be having a party rave UP NORTH. All friends welcome. Do ask me for details.