thirrrrty

Okay, talk about AWOL. It's been, what, four months? Well, almost. Let's catch up. What has happened to me these last few months? Had I bagged a new, exciting job? Perhaps globe-trotted a bit? Let's see... That's a "No". Oh, and another "No". See how easy that was? All caught up. A yummy job? Well, is doing some telemarketing on the side considered exciting? On any planet? As for the globe-trotting part, that's all Cousin and her Bangkok shopping binge.

(Conversation with Cous, the Bangkok Bitch:

Me: Hey, Cous, bang any cock in Bangkok?
Cous: 'Course not! But check out the shoes!)

Kath once summarized my life perfectly when she caught one of the company security guards picking his nose. She came back to the room, calmly recounted the incident, and said, "And that's Wednesday." Yep. Every day is hump day, pick-your-nose day, fucking Wednesday. Great.

Anyway, Cousin turned 32 a couple of months ago. We all had dinner at this cozy grillery, chatted and laughed. After the dinner thing, we hung around outside while a friend waited for her ride. And that's when we noticed them. Well, at first, we noticed it - a mechanical bull in the resto/saloon across the street. And then we noticed them. A group of tow-headed teens. Teens, I tell ya. And wow! Were they pretty. And the whole lot of us just stood there, like those creepy men you shake your fists at on "Law and Order". Anyway, we just watched them get up on those mechanical bulls. Watched them roll and writhe. Everything seemed hazy and, crazily enough, in lovely slow-motion. So what's the point of this story? No point really. Only that I'll be turning 30 in, like, 7 days, and I will never ever have sex with a cute 18-year-old boy again. Never. (Even Demi drew the line at 25.)

Princess U turned 30 a couple of days ago, and we went to another trendy resto. And I swear to God, we were, like, the oldest people there. Everyone was in a belly-baring tube top. Or some off-one-shoulder ensemble. And there we were, in plain jeans and tops that bared nothing except our necks. (Actually, Princess U was even wearing a turtleneck.) And we all just shook our heads, muttering "Kids" over and over again. I had to physically restrain Millionairess Mattie, another friend, from sweeping our Carbonara off the table and screaming, "Can someone please turn down the music?!" Holy crap, when did we turn into senior citizens? In fact, as we were snagging our table, Angie had actually pointed out this sign that read "Please present your senior citizen card before ordering". We all laughed. But it wasn't funny. Not really.

(Had this conversation with Cous yesterday:

Me: I think I'm clinically depressed.
Cous: What makes you say that?
Me: Well, I'm always tired. They say that's a sign of clinical depression.
Cous: You're not clinically depressed. You're chronologically depressed.)

Princess U and I were talking about this whole "30 thing" and why we were being all panicky about it. Something about not having done all the things we had planned to do. Apparently, we would embrace 30-dom if we had, like, three kids and a hubby with a Ph.D. But we have none of that. Not even one kid and a hubby with a pulse. So, anyway, I'm turning 30. I'm sure I'll be okay. I hear it's like the new 20s. So I'm going to be okay. Watch this space for updates.