Birthdays are a weird thing. Sometimes you feel like celebrating them, other times you just want to forget that you’re one year older. This year my birthday came right in the middle of a busy work schedule so it was just easier to pretend that it didn’t happen. Plus, I’ve already gotten accustom to being 33. For a few months when people would inquire of my age I would answer “33,” before remembering that that wasn’t yet the case. But when I turned 31, I shaved a year off for six months or more and always answered “30.” I guess I have just gotten used to being an old fart in the last two years.
I cleaned my kitchen today and in the process realized that I am in desperate need of grocery shopping. I have three boxes of cereal but no milk. Two bags of pasta and no sauce. And 6 monogrammed wine glasses but no vino. Trader Joe’s here I come!
It’s a beautiful day in L.A too. I should be jogging through the park, or skateboarding on the beach. I should be doing something athletic and sporty and youthful. It’s what L.A is all about.
We’re going out tonight to celebrate my birthday, belatedly, to a bar with beautiful people and a white DJ spinning hip hop songs, six dollar bottles of beer and if you tip the bartender only a buck he sneers at you with his beautiful teeth. There might be a line so we’ll have to get there before ten and hope that we’re not too old and un-famous to make it past the burly bouncer. I don’t like these kinds of places one iota but since it’s my birthday there’s a battle cry to go out and live it up. I’ve never understood how standing around in a crowded bar while people stare judgmentally at each other and girls dance in packs with each other was living it up, but you only turn 33 once, (unless I decide to repeat this year next year) I figure I’ll put on my best sport coat and jeans and hit the scene like a fireball of gasoline.
You only live once, but grow older all the time — ain’t that a bitch.
Happy birthday, fellow pisces. Keep floating in the current, you’re all beautiful fish.