2008. The Year of predictive text.

Yes, I am embracing all things new in 2008. Starting with predictive text. My attitude towards predictive text was originally similar to my initial attitude towards pointy shoes: ugh, yuck, ugly, why bother, you look like a witch. Then, after 5 years of scorn and missing the cool shoe boat completely, I give them a crack and decide they are actually ok. This is now me with predictive text. Previous attitude: ugh, why bother, spell words out yourself dammit and this is another example of laziness in our obessesed with saving time society. Clearly I should spend less time thinking about unimportant things in 2008.

Hmmm, I might start thinking about fiscal responsibility and 5 year plans.

Mmmm, speaking of plan, that rhymes with flan and I saw the best looking one in a window of a bakery in Amsterdam on the weekend.

Where was I?

Ok, I realise it's just predictive text and I'm not making the world a better place or preventing my late life onset obesity for when my metabolism truly dies from eating apple pie for dinner (last night) by promising to go to the gym in 2008, but this is a big thing for me, hence the announcement of its introduction to my life.

Onto other things. After being stopped at the airport by the security frisk lady and questioned about my age i.e how old are you, I was looking around for your parents, I've decided I may boost the maturity levels too this year. Now, don't get me wrong, being mistaken for a 17 year old is nice, but I feel like I get more and more immature as I get older. Seriously, I was way more mature when I was 18. Now, I am about 12 and wearing a trainer bra. Ha, wait, I'm still wearing one. I'm not sure how I go about this 'I am mature hear me roar' thing, perhaps having a competition with your housemates as to who knows the most swear words in different languages (me - hands down.....pfft amateurs) is not a good start. But really, is it ok to be 40 and still laugh at poo jokes? It's scary that according to society/sister precedent/nature I am suppose to be nesting and listening to the faint tick of 30 and it's freaking me out. I haven't even begun to gather the twigs and you know what, I don't want to. I'd rather stick marshmellows on my twigs and toast them over the fire. Hmm, is this some kind of metaphor for my choosing fun over the bur(n!)den (ha - burnden!) of financial responsibility and life stability. Perhaps, and I am so ok with that.

This weekend I enjoyed more marshmellow and went to Amsterdam. God, I love that place. I could happily live there. There's something about the place, the people, it just fits with me. The weekend was relaxing and believe it or not, Megan and I were still sick for most of it. But we managed to eat, drink and shop ok. Thank god.

This Thursday Megan and I are off to Vienna and then Salzburg and I can't wait. Finally, my girly fantasy of riding in a hose and carriage will come true and I will be able to gorge in all things apple and sausage.

Maybe I should go to bed now and actually get to work on time tomorrow, cause that would be, you know, mature.