Blast-ed Budday

One month and no post—chee chee chee. And I call myself a blogger. But then again, my life has been excessively dramatic lately. In fact I’m thinking of chucking the book I’m contemplating thinking about working on (yes that’s how much I’ve been procrastinating on it) and write a book on my dramatic life. There will be only one book published and I’ll be the only reader, but still.

Anyhoo, the birthday just went by. And my, whatte budday it was. Since I’m ignoring the fact that I’m getting older, and am nowhere near what I imagined what my fabulous life would be like, I decided to party my *bums* off this year. Last year was an utterly crappy birthday, so I more than made up for it this year.

Although I’m currently observing (I actually changed that from doing to observing) Lent—yes, that means no alcohol for almost 50 days; no, I’m not Catlick but I’m doing it out of love and support, sigh—it was decided earlier that I get to take a break from the abstinence on my budday eve and on my budday, of course. (Only much later did it occur to marad that I had managed two days out of this *hyuk hyuk*).

So there we were, a whole bunch of my friends and I, at one of our favourite bars, drinking, singing, dancing and generally making merry. I cut a cake at 12 (I still adore this ritual), got calls from friends and family, and generally was very *happy*. Now obviously, since almost everyone was as *happy* as I was, no one wanted the party to end, even though it was a weekday.

So we headed to a friend’s place, all the girls piling into the car, while the boys chivalrously took autos. On the way, two my *happy* friends wanted balloons, so we stopped and bought a bunch of colourful balloons. We reached said friend’s building and continued taking photographs (of course, over 200 from the night) in the compound.

Suddenly, somehow, no one is quite sure how—a number of unverified reports—a lighter found its way under the balloons and all the balloons exploded simultaneously. Onto three of my girls’ faces and one boy’s arm. Whaa?

Apparently, these were not regular balloons. These weren’t even helium balloons because those don’t explode (some fancy scientific explanation). These balloons were filled with some form of flammable gas, which burnt like a bitch. We rushed the victims to the hospital at 2am and many tears, some ointment and a questionable night doctor later, we wrapped up the night around 4am. “Blast-ed birthday” indeed!

There was little respite afterward because we had to wake up in two hours and go sort out some new house thingy at the ungodly hour of 7am. Made it to work on time, worked all day, got said new home cleaned and then went out again to make more merriment.

Needless to say, it was an eventful and exhausting birthday. Can you blame me for not blogging? Oh and btw, I just turned 21. Okthanksbye.