Happy Birthday to Me

My birthday is fast approaching (11 days and counting), so I’ve been reflecting on past events this week. Mostly out of boredom, but also a bit of nostalgia. The gap to 30 is getting smaller and smaller and I am adamant about enjoying this birthday as I’m sure the big 3-0 will be fraught with horror and a possible mental breakdown. It isn’t that 30 is old, on the contrary, it’s right spry! It’s more what it represents: adulthood.

30 is when it all goes down (hence I’m googling local mental facilities to find the nicest one to house my breakdown). When I was little, probably 10 or 12, I decided that 30 was it. This was partially in keeping with my parents own “late bloomer” status (they met and married in their early 30’s), and partially in how large a number that seemed to my young mind. By 30, I should have graduated college, gotten comfortable in my career, and started thinking about getting married and having kids. I’m about to turn 28, and I’ve done none of these things- not even close! It’s enough to make you cry, and believe me, I have.

It is well known that I don’t plan to ever get married (I just want to be like Kurt and Goldie), so that portion of the “30 year rule” was amended when I was 16. That doesn’t change the fact that I’m alone and have been alone on every one of my birthdays. I don’t know how I do it! I’ve always just broken up with someone, or don’t meet them for another week, or (and this was the worst) break up on my birthday.
[side note: birthdays are not times to discuss anything important, nor are they a time for name calling. This rule extends especially to any time you are in bed with another person in a non-platonic way. Seriously.]
Just once, I’d like to celebrate the meeting of sperm to egg with another person in a biblical sense (or a PG-13 sense or a PG sense. Just about any “sense” really). On a related note, I will be holding my friends responsible for keeping me from any foreseeable mistakes. You know who and what they are.

As for the rest of my life, it’s dead end job to dead end job. (I’m going to stab somebody; problem is it will most likely be me). No career. No school. No money even if I wanted to go. No prospects. I thought these were attainable goals. Who could have predicted things would go so terribly wrong?

I always hope the next year will be different, but it never is. The week of my birthday will be pleasant, maybe even rad; but shortly after everything will return to normal. I'll say it again, as I do every year: This time will be different. This time, I'm going to get off my lazy, depressed ass and start doing what I want to do, what makes me happy. Now, I just gotta figure out exactly what that is...

(a pretty typical birthday shot)