Birthday fun times

I've always had pretty naff birthdays.

The two that I can remember being really fun were my 19th and my 25th.

My 19th I was taken out for a meal which was of no consequence really but I had a great night out with my friends. It was one of those nights where you get completely ruined on disgusting cheap gin but at no point feel too drunk or bad. I was merry for the whole of the evening, it was great. Still, it was some time ago though so it's a bit of a blur.

My 25th is a lot clearer. I think I appreciated it more because in the 2 months preceding my birthday I:

• Broke up with a long term boyfriend. Well, 4 years but that is a long time in my book.
• Broken our tenancy agreement early and arranged to move out of our house.
• Found and signed for a flat of my own.
• Applied for and was offered a new job at a higher pay grade and with more responsibility.

This all sounds fantastic and retrospectively it makes me want to sing verses from all of these songs:

• Movin' On Up by M People
• Independent Woman by Destiny's Child
• I'm Every Woman by Chaka Khan

Basically, all the songs that my mum used to play on repeat at full blast for the first 6 months after she divorced my father. 

But, at the time it was fucking knackering. That's when I first started to really suffer with insomnia. I'd had bouts of it before but that was the first time in my life that I'd be hysterical and be in tears at 5am when I hadn't slept a wink and the sun was coming up and the birds were starting to sing. People always bang on about how beautiful summer is with singing birds and never-ending sunshine. But when you haven't slept a wink and are in tears and feel sick at the prospect of getting up and having to even think about functioning for a dull day, the sound of birds just screams 'YOU FAIL AT SLEEPING' to me. It just rubs in the fact that I didn't have any sleep and the fact that every fucker else did means they're more than happy to hear these chirping birds.

Anyway, this is turning into a post about insomnia and that isn't for now.

Basically, at the time, it was fucking hard. I was frazzled and just kept thinking that the end was in sight. Ironically, one of the reasons that my ex and I broke up was that I wanted to go travelling and visit other places and he didn't. The fact that I booked a holiday for my birthday half way around the world was the final nail in the coffin for our relationship.

But, on the day that I left for Rio, I left that house and that relationship. I think heading off to the train station to go to London (and then Heathrow and then Rio de Janeiro!!) was the first time I started thinking about all those schmaltzy songs about being an independent woman and so on. I think because I had had such a shit 2 months running up to the holiday, I was predisposition to have a fantastic time as I'd worked so hard to get there.

I did have a fantastic time, there was sightseeing, sunshine, beer, fantastic South American coke that blew my bloody head off and then some out and out good clean fun. I've got some fantastic pictures from that holiday and it's really fuelled me to want to go on and see other parts of the world. My actual birthday was fantastic, I was half way around the world with 3 really good girlfriends and we ended our night skinny dipping in the Atlantic ocean watching the sun come up. What more could I want?

So yes, they were the two good birthdays.

The rest of them have varied between OK, 6/10 and fucking dreadful, I wish this day was over 1/10. I don't know where I go wrong. Maybe I set myself up too much and then it's always a disappointment. Perhaps I've made the mistake with spending it which a boyfriend if I was with someone at the time. I now note that both my 19th and 25th birthdays were spent without boyfriends, maybe this is the theme!

Last year, my 26th birthday was dreadful. A long story but it ended with me crying on my own in a horrible shared house that I didn't like. I'd moved into it to be nearer to the very same person who'd ruined my birthday. Not good.

So this year I decided to mash things up a little. I decided to throw a party. An actual party with friends, drinks, balloons and sweets. Not the kind of party that my mum threw for me when I was about 6 which involved pass the parcel, sleeping lions and musical chairs although that would be pretty cool. I mean, it's going to be my friends and I having a really good time and just dancing and drinking. It doesn't matter what I wear, or how much money I've got or if everyone comes back to our house and smokes in the top bedroom and makes it smell. As long as my friends are here and we have a good time, I really don't care.

I've learned my lesson - don't expect boyfriends to make your birthday. Expect you and your friends to make your birthday and everything else will just fall into place.