Saturday, December 18, 2010

Eighteen Candles.

Good God. One cold cup of coffee, one even colder shower (thanks for everything snow), and the first sleep in about 30 hours (in which I woke up not knowing where I was or what time it was or whether last night was a dream or WHA) are conquered, and the details of my 18th birthday are now gradually returning like pins & needles. Veni, Vidi, Vici.
For the week leading up to Friday the 17th, the weather was predicted to be cold but tamely and THANKFULLY snowless. Then at about four o’ clock on The Big Day it was, in the words of Family Guy weatherman Ollie, SNOWING SIDEWAYS. The panicky texts began to trickle in as the white bastard jizzed over everything, putting parents in the risk of losing their lives and tolerance of letting their resident teens out. I was at this point (approx. 19.30 hours) convinced the whole thing would be A Winter’s Fail. Little did I know that 29 mad wans would take an overpriced bus AND an even more overpriced taxi, risk their limbs driving around hills, fall UP hills, walk two hours warmed only by whiskey and essentially beg, steal or borrow their way to my humble and well-decorated abode. It is no exaggeration to say that I’ve never meant the phrase I-cannot-thank-you-enough more than right now.
What followed was a chaotic Van-Gogh-swirl (see above photo) of UNREAL, something all the more positively heightened because I really didn’t think it was possible that it could happen.
I can’t quite put into words what it meant to see the frankly otherworldly effort my friends made, and although not everyone I wanted there could (100% understandably) make it, I was very much saved from spending my 18th birthday burying myself in DVDs, ice-cream and rum and cranking till I tripled myself.
AHAHAHA I laughed when I wrote that
To say this birthday brought me closer to my friends and made me appreciate everything I have is an understatement.
And this is why it was (and I know I’m somewhat obligated to say this) the best one yet, both because of the above and because how the plain imperfect perfection of it sums up how I feel about everything good in life right now. Like any standard high-white-balance-and-flash weheartit photo, what ever is spontaneous, unconventional and wonderfully flawed, is usually the most beautiful in the end.
And indie.
Anyway, what other night could result in a dancefloor smeared in snow, malibu, bodily fluids and the aftermath of our cake war, making the room look like the monkey paintings out of the lion king? Which domino-ed on to create some of The BEST cartoon falls I have ever seen or experienced first-hand. Which in turn ballooned on to a pretty class singing circle time, including such classics as a racist cover of Blackbird, Something, Real Love, Hamlet:L, Iris, Thaz Aul Right, our insane Ceolchoirm na Nollag setlist (re-enacting the trombone solo and harmonies on both Fairytale of New York and Sneachta Ag Titim respectively) and some folksy shit aswell.:)
Images of the stairs getting an encouraging lap-dance, that Spanish girl being forced into the snow, more than wood being burned in the fire and a guest’s surprise entrance around half ten post-crying phone call with signature pineapple in tow can’t quite leave my brain..we are indeed as someone said today, “a colourful bunch of legends”.
It was a surreal and twoderful time and something that affected and submerged me so completely that I didn’t even realize how emotional I was the next morning when saying goodbye until Marianne said “Oh god don’t start crying”. And as I opened my kiss-and-cake-torn mouth to say “What choo talkin bout de Leaster”, I realized that yes, I did indeed have tears in my eyes. Because it had just hit me in that pins-and-needles way just how Christmas-miraculously great it was.
Plus the non-metaphysical presents were totally Boss (is that phrase from Scott Pilgrim? I don’t know anymore..) and the cards were just plain sob-worthy. From what other people can you get the reaction of: “I find that hard to believe” when you answer No to the question “So have you ever smoked drugs?” or just getting asked do you practive tap-dancing professionally. And I think one of the most genuinely beautiful & plain simplistic moments of my life was around 5.30am, when I slid across to a cutely inebriated friend and sang from the “Home” lines up to the chorus in time with Stornoway’s Fuel Up while she smiled perfectly and looked at us appreciatively. Cinematic ta fuck.
That is, I think, something important. The crux, or part of it. Like romance and those “Home” lines, happiness and exquisite nights like these cannot be constructed. They just occur and form themselves, emerging from your own feelings and a few feet of snow.
So really, I cannot thank ye enough.

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