My 28th birthday was filled with an eclectic smattering of activities, including but not limited to: drinking tea with scones and clotted cream, wearing a purple wig, and self-applying Dio de los muertos makeup.
Twenty-eight. 28. It just looks weird. So did 26 and 27. Somehow, after 25, they started to melt together. With these "late-20s," I haven't anticipated each individual age, (16! 17...was almost 18! 18! 19 was almost 20 which was almost 21!) so when a new one comes around, it's like, "Huh, we're back here again already?" Time, you old coot.
Apparently when you turn 28 your start using words like "coot."
The day was solid, apart from the weather ("Enjoyin' te lovely Irish weather, are ya?" someone literally asked me.) I got slightly suckered into watching the boys for a bit during the morning while Niamh packed to take them to Dublin for the long weekend ("bank holiday" on Monday) to visit her mother. Though, she didn't leave without gifting me a nice set of cozy pajamas and fuzzy socks. Conor was traveling for an away game, and so I had the house to myself for the rest of the day.
I treated myself to a long Getting Dressed session. Every once in awhile, when I'm alone, I like to (are you ready for this embarrassing admission?): Try On Everything In My Closet. I don't know why I feel so ashamed about this; it's totally ridiculous. But it feels like such an indulgence to spend an unnecessary amount of time playing with combinations of my own clothing. I rarely allow myself to do this, especially when people are around or waiting for me, because it just feels silly. The voice in my head telling me I "should know what's in my closet already and it doesn't matter what I wear because who cares?" just gets silenced; I turn on some music, pour another cup of coffee and just sort of... hang out with my clothes.
[Ten points if you would have gotten a "secret single behavior" reference.]
I met up with my American friends for tea and scones at the adorable little traditional tea shop I went to a few weeks ago. After, we went hunting costume inspiration for a Halloween event I was drawn to because it insisted that costumes not be "sexy." I was intrigued also by the program including circus and performance art. It sounded like a more novel way to spend a birthday, instead of what I usually do which is go to a restaurant. I mean, I like restaurants, but, it gets old like anything else.
We decided to go more for theme than character with our costumes; Kirsten and I painted our faces Dio de los muertos-style (and I must say we did a pretty good job for not having ever done that before, it's flippin' difficult work!) and Michael went for a trial-and-error dripping effect with the face paint. Andy, our bumbling Brit, did a zombie twist on Rocky Balboa, because he suspiciously happened to already own a "Rocky" bathrobe. (Very spooky, indeed.) (Sorry, Andy.)
The event was cool enough; I liked the concept - more American Horror Story, less Casper the Friendly Ghost - but it wasn't quite the slammin' bash I'd envisioned. The performance art wasn't exactly Cirque du Soleil (but what is, right?), though it was a cool effort and there was a pole dancing performance that made me want to drop everything and sign-up to do THAT.
After spending some time on the dance floor, we decided to take our costumes out on the town, though we didn't get very far because of the rain. We ducked into the first pub we came across and ended up spending the rest of the evening with a bar full of people who were NOT in Halloween costumes; so that was awkward. But we met some tourists from Baltimore (AMERICANS ARE EVERYWHERE) and finished the evening with the discovery that daylight savings time was ending. (One week earlier than back home; who makes these rules?) Which, ok, that was pretty much the best birthday present ever.
And that was that; crossed off 27 and Halloween in the same night.
Next adventure: London! In six days! I'm so excited! I'm sure you can't tell!