a.funnytimeofyear.com

I’ve been mentally jotting all day. Psychologically scribbling in my cerebral notepad of all the things I could do, if I wanted to, now that I’m going to be a legal adult. The list is, of course, filled with utter garbage that will have little effect on my way of life at all, so I abandoned this task fairly early on in the wee hours of this morning. So I can vote, so I can drink, so I can finally get a Visa card and order lavish amounts of commercial goodness without leaving the confines of my homeland. I can finally order that gay porn I’ve been gagging for (you know, the one with the giant fist, yeahyeah, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.) I get a whoopy chequebook, I can sign my own consent forms when going on field trips, oh, and of course, now I can see eighteen plus films (like I hadn’t, come on.) I can enter pre-determined holiday competitions to be whisked off to the isle of Ibiza with four of my buddies, and I can work an all-night shift at the supermarket of my choice. If I wanted to, that is. If I really wanted to I could pop along to a Chippendale-esque showing and oogle at the strutting of over-muscular middle-aged men.

Of course, this is if I was really desperate, right?

I think the thing that will make it most fun – this whole turning into a “legal” adult thing – will in fact be nothing to do with turning eighteen at all. It won’t be anything related to being able to obtain sordid porn, placing a misguided vote for my country, or even be able to drink in my favourite friendly pub without the fear of my illegality being discovered. It won’t be associated with the prospect of paying for my own phone line, or the prospect of owning an IKEA store card. It’ll be something to do with a change of thoughts, a shift of mindset – a rift of positivity pushing me further into becoming the person I want to become, and always have wanted to be. This year I’m throwing out the shit and bringing in the sweetness. Onward with two thousand and three, the age of eighteen and many new experiences.

It’s a busy weekend ahead, and this is one of the first birthdays where I’ve been physically shivering with excitement in.. well, longer than I can remember. Brighton Boy and I are still unsure of where we shall end up on Friday night/Saturday morning. After much surfing and attempting to decide on a club to visit (G-A-Y? Heaven? Popstarz? Blowup?There’s so many) I’m still no closer to finding somewhere. My guess is that our drunken feet will take us wherever our groovin’ boots will be a wandering (as long as we end up in Peckham after 9am the next morning, alive, I couldn’t care less.) Rupa’s party (livejournal meetup extraordinaire that she is) is the next day (hence the Peckham destination) where I shall no doubt be re-meeting fabulous people. Time seems to have whizzed by so fast that I only just realised that three months ago to the Saturday, Brighton Boy and I met for the first time, at exactly the same place.

So do me a favour this weekend, and have a good one. ‘Cause I know I will, whatever I do, wherever I go, and however old I’m turning.

(PS - I can’t guarantee I’ll be acting like an adult, at all, though.)