Should I feel insulted or pleased?
For the first time in years (perhaps even the first time ever , as I can't remember the last time it happened), I have been turned away from a club for not having ID. I couldn't blag my way in. Not even the fact that my friend new the person running the club could get me in. I'm not sure whether I should feel pleased or not- I was looking at some photos from Friday's AFE and thinking how old I looked, so it is nice to know I could still potentially pass for a teenager. Maybe I should get myself down to the Skins auditions and pretend I'm still only actually 17, and not a ripe old 22.
Thankfully, I knew Alex Pop was on his way to the very same club that I had just been denied entry too, so I waylayed him into the nearest open pub, which happened to be a whetherspoons and got rather tipsy on vodka and coke. Classy; maybe I am still a teenager after all? Coming home drunk was quite enjoyable, considering. I always forget how being drunk is often actually rather fun, so when I do get have a few drunks, the result is often a pleasant surprise, like re-discovering an old pair of well-loved shoes at the bottom of your wardrobe, and dancing in them all over again.
I think I still am slightly tipsy, Huzzah!
I preparation for tonight's festivities, I cut up a pair of old black jeans into hotpants, teamed with a ripped t-shirt, sequinned capelet and curled hair (Kitkat cabaret girl meet 77 punk was my intended look). I have never worn proper hotpants before (or any kind of shorts for several years), so this was all very exciting, though I was slightly nervous that I would feel somewhat exposed (the days of clubbing in those butterfly-shaped nipple pasties are far behind me now, I fear). I needn't have worried, though; I soon got used to it, and it was even rather fun. Cold, but fun. I can see shorts may become a bit of an obsession; I quite fancy a pair of little blue sailor-themed ones next. And maybe a matching sailor hat too, for when I am pretending to be Kylie Minogue in 'Loveboat' mode.
Thankfully, I knew Alex Pop was on his way to the very same club that I had just been denied entry too, so I waylayed him into the nearest open pub, which happened to be a whetherspoons and got rather tipsy on vodka and coke. Classy; maybe I am still a teenager after all? Coming home drunk was quite enjoyable, considering. I always forget how being drunk is often actually rather fun, so when I do get have a few drunks, the result is often a pleasant surprise, like re-discovering an old pair of well-loved shoes at the bottom of your wardrobe, and dancing in them all over again.
I think I still am slightly tipsy, Huzzah!
I preparation for tonight's festivities, I cut up a pair of old black jeans into hotpants, teamed with a ripped t-shirt, sequinned capelet and curled hair (Kitkat cabaret girl meet 77 punk was my intended look). I have never worn proper hotpants before (or any kind of shorts for several years), so this was all very exciting, though I was slightly nervous that I would feel somewhat exposed (the days of clubbing in those butterfly-shaped nipple pasties are far behind me now, I fear). I needn't have worried, though; I soon got used to it, and it was even rather fun. Cold, but fun. I can see shorts may become a bit of an obsession; I quite fancy a pair of little blue sailor-themed ones next. And maybe a matching sailor hat too, for when I am pretending to be Kylie Minogue in 'Loveboat' mode.