Provocative opinions aired on the clothes line of life.

Friday, 21 January 2011

Ghosts of Birthday Past

Recently I wrote a scathing and mean-spirited post on The 68th Annual Golden Globes Ceremony which went down about as well as Gervais' presenting methods. (Personally I found the awkward silences and horrified gasps of disbelief rather added to the satirical ingenuity of it - besides the Yanks are often too egotistical to appreciate British humour anyway so their balked disapproval didn't come as much of a surprise). But as it has often been pointed out to me, I'm a rather miserable and mean individual at the best of times. Everything annoys me or is overrated or I just find it plain boring and I have no qualms about rudely telling you so. (Suffice to say I'm a laugh riot at dinner parties and am available for children's birthdays).

However while I can indeed be unnecessarily harsh, I often find myself urging people to take what I say with a pinch of the proverbial. As even though I've become rather adept at ripping others to shreds for sport, I spare no mercy on myself either. I'm very naturally defensive, but equally self-deprecating and this is what frustrates me so when such palpable offense is taken to my words.

So in the spirit of self-deprecating humour, I've decided to cast a critical eye over my choice of self-centered celebratory outfits over the course of my last three birthdays.

My Twenty-first

As is customary when a camera is pointed at me in the throes of drunken behaviour I naturally draw attention to my cleavage. Although in the case of the photograph above I wish someone had pointed out the lock of hair nestled between my boobs, which I would like to clarify is from my scalp and is not a product of anything else. My hair was very long at that age, as I've mentioned before I have a mortal fear of hairdressers.

If you hadn't already guessed my costume was that of the Queen of Hearts. (I've always fancied myself as the antagonist as opposed to the hero of the story). Speaking of the protagonist, there she is now... all of her monkey thong splendor accompanied by a playing card and the caterpillar. And as Alice's Adventures in Wonderland is my favourite book (mostly because it was written by a latent pedophile) I transformed my then student living room accordingly...

Which is really rather impressive considering for most of the year it looked like this...

If only I'd applied that same level of hard work and motivation to my studies. Of course the most gallant of my efforts was put into my alcohol dependency and suffice to say I finished up the evening in a rather compromising position which I wasn't keen to stray from...

Yes that is indeed a spanking paddle. And yes sadly I misplaced it somewhere that night. Which was and still is a dreadful shame. But the most controversial aspect of my outfit that evening wasn't my sex toy prop, but that of my fishnet tights. I discovered too late that I had inadvertently purchased a crotchless pair, which afforded me many hilarious photo opportunities...

And in regards to the kinky nature of my outfit, it's likened more to that of Andrew Sachs' niece of the Satanic Sluts than the Disney cartoon creation of the temper tantrum throwing villain. 

Seeing the resemblance comparatively in this fashion explains why I received a ten pound note from a complete stranger in Mcdonalds at the end of the night.

My Twenty-second

The inspiration here was derived from the Katy Perry video which featured her cavorting  around town in a trashy bride ensemble.

And trash I most certainly was. Along with cheap, bizarrely ghetto and as usual leaving very little to the imagination. As with a lot of girls I often wear next to nothing and use the fact that it's intended as fancy dress as a justification. Which it isn't. But ordinarily my relationship status is single and it's very effective in attracting attention. Although I wasn't single during this period and from what I remember didn't invite my then boyfriend to the party. (I was a regular nominee at the girlfriend of the year awards).

And so I ended the night in a backward sapphic position with no groom in sight. Such is life. Well, my life anyway.

My Twenty-third

Following on with the nakedness, last year I opted for a Circus themed event with myself as the ringmaster. Obviously. It seemed only logical since if things don't go my way I often use force...

...and rapping that whip across various surfaces was very addictive. In fact I did it so hard at one point a little piece of it snapped off. I think it was confiscated soon after that, presumably by one of this chirpy lot who know better than to leave me unattended with a weapon...

Clowns to the left of me jokers to the right...And a lion on my neck. Now, this is not what it looks like.

This is my friend Dave who immerses himself so much into the characters he's mimicking that he often finds it difficult to behave normally. He was dressed as a lion and so was adamant that he was going to bite me quite forcefully before I left. Which is exactly what he's doing here and I believe that's his girlfriends hand on the right who was very good-natured about the whole thing. This of course resulted in me sporting a rather sore hickey for about a week afterward and was a bittersweet parting gift from what I consider to be the best night out of the whole three.

As I'm writing this I'm still twenty-three and don't feel a day over nineteen. That was my favourite age and mentally I'm still very much there. But twenty-four is a good age too. This will be the year of unprecedented achievements I'm sure...