Yeah, it's my birthday! Whoo-hooo! I keep forgetting, actually.
I'm 29. And bald. Jk. But at least I'm not, you know, 29 and balding. I'm a girl, so it would be tough, short of medical or rebellious reasons, to be bald. I do have a great 80s look going on, though. I keep thinking, man, I'll grow it out. But as soon it gets a bit long, I go crazy and get it cut again. Then it's short again, too short, and I cry and cry for about a day because I look like a boy and I'm not used to the haircut. After about two days I'm ok. A week later, it's long again and I go through the entire identity crisis scenario again.
I don't know how I'm going to make it through an entire life with so many combative emotions. I really don't. If only I looked like Julie Christie in Fahrenheit 451, the character Clarisse, with short hair. She's gorgeous. And if only I wore adorable, girlish outfits like Clarisse. And if only I had that sexy gap between my two front teeth like Clarisse. As it is, I had a spoiled upbringing and wore braces for four years. Oh yes, this million dollar smile wasn't free, you know.
What is a birthday celebration if not to salve the sorrow and fear of growing old? I'm sure other cultures have done it differently, like those cultures where age means wisdom and the elderly are revered. I'm past the point where a birthday was awesome because finally, you're getting some respect and maybe getting closer to being freed fom the iron fist of your communist parents. I'm to the point where every birthday (if not every day) brings me closer to the realization that my youth is gone. It's not the thought of death that scares me (because, you know, old age brings death), it's the thought of everything else that does: being overlooked, forgotten, no longer inherently beautiful just because I'm young, and so on. So, curse the bastard media and their youth-worshipping ways!
This year I wasn't forgotten. My good old friends remembered me, and my family did, and Stoker has been a doll. Bless you Stoker! Bless you old friends! Bless you family! (Sorry, that's so sappy. I'm usually sarcastic as hell, but today, for some reason, I don't feel like it.)
FYI -- don't click on the link to Hotbaugh's blog. There's nude pictures of me on it! Bwah ha ha ha.
6 comments:
Deararies327: Happy Birthday! When I wrote the date on the whiteboard this morning for the children, I thought, "3/27--Aries327! Nicole!" How thoughtful of you to treat us, your faithful readers, on this special day with a blog. I've been working on a present for you, but it's not finished. I really wanted to send you a cool present, like a pogo stick or something, you know, just something unexpected and exciting, but I've got one part of your gift almost ready, and you're sure to love it because it's homemade and involves Sharpie markers, old memories, and a few references to The Simpsons.
Talk to you soon! Happy 29th!
A pogo stick would be really awesome. Or a pogo ball.
But anything done with Sharpies is bound to be a hit with me. Plus, I live my secret life in Springfield, with the Simpsons.
"I'm not going to put dog poop that's been on the dirty ground, all over my face."
I can't wait! Homemade presents rule!
Happy birthday! I checked out Baugh's blog. No wonder you love her - she's so funny and interesting!
Funny and interesting? I'm really convinced.
I'm not! Weaponsofmass, my ass! I only know one person who uses the word 'interesting' when he doesn't know what else to say.
Don't let it get you down baughtronic. We both know how AMAZING you are. And HILARIOUS. And WITTY. The only people who even come close to your hilarity are CBG (the REAL CBG) and Stoker. And maybe Mike. He's pretty funny too. Oh wait, and Jason. And Shannon. Hmm. I guess I just surround myself with comedians. My humor hardly compares.
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