The homeless can see your thong!* (Overwrought & Enfeebled Birthday Blog)

Current mood: old

The 31 Ages of Jon

As my 31st birthday has been approaching, and has now arrived, I have been looking back at all the wasted opportunities, bitter unfulfillment and directionless wandering that has been my life thus far. No memories, only jaded melancholy, a dull sense of disappointment at nature's betrayal and the feeling of being poked in the eye by karma remains. With the only consolation being that due to my ineptitude at relationships and inadvertent chat up lines ("I've got so many comics in my bag right now"**) no babies have been forthcoming from my inadequate loins (thank you loins! praise be! What is the point of children? I'm sorry I just don't get it. Apart from leaving your mark on the world, which you could do (with much less hassle and expense) by a few well placed criminal acts against pigeon's bone stalks, or getting a job as a freelance, student abortionist, on commission).But then I remember the only real, tangible thing about birthdays is the (wait for it).....PRESSIES!!!!And the only feeling left is the tingle of my fingers anticipating the paper-ripping goodness to come, as I scour the gift tags looking for the name of Jenny's rechristened mum, "Shaniqua"!
*uncredited quote, attributed to local booze-hound. Said to Lindsey, who was perched on the window-sill of the pub, facing out to the tourist information hut, where the trolls/alcoholics/outcasts of Ringwood society like to gather for their general meetings (of which only one is homeless, and the underwear in question could not be classed as a thong. Rendering the entire quote at best an inaccurate, though vaguely humorous generalisation, and at worst wrong and offensive and evil, so there).
**actually a favourite line of Ian C, of "comics pouch" & "butt hymen" fame, but used here for comic effect.


Currently listening : Rabbit Fur Coat By Jenny Lewis with The Watson Twins