Bow down to me

…for it is my birthday. Yes, that’s right. I’ve been kicking ass and not even bothering to take names (because: who cares? I kicked your ass already) for 35 years. Whoa. 35 years. Eeek.

I’ve never really had problems with ‘getting older’ or whatever it is that women freak out about on birthdays. I probably LOOK 35, but I don’t feel like I am. I sure as hell don’t act like it, and I often feel like I’m only posing as an adult. Sometimes I look around me and think “I own a house. And a kid. And a dog. And a car… I OWN these things. I am IN CHARGE of them. Shouldn’t somebody do something about this? It can’t be right!”

I see other women my age who just… seem so much older. Even women I know who are younger than me seem older. Maybe it’s because they seem to have their shit together, I don’t know. Maybe they’ve found what they’re looking for. Or maybe they figured out what they wanted to be when they grew up and they are that. I have yet to even IDENTIFY what I’m looking for, so I know I haven’t found it. I know I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, so I’m in no hurry to do that. This state of mind isn’t a bad thing, necessarily, but I find it curious that other people pay a lot more attention to ‘grown-up’ stuff than I do.

I mean, I just spent $500 on Phish tickets.

It’s a good thing, I think, this youthfulness (okay, let’s call it what it is: immaturity) of mine. I have never felt like I had to grow up and be an adult, whatever that means. And as Neil from The Young Ones says: “it’s never too late to have a happy childhood.” My childhood was as happy as anyone’s, I guess, and I don’t see why it has to end just because I’m in a new demographic.

OH GOD. I’m in a new demographic! I am no longer the 18-34 super-desirable marketing target! Does this mean the types of advertisements directed at my age group change?

35. Sounds weird. I remember when my mom turned 35. I have a sweater that I bought that year (1988). I STILL HAVE IT. And it’s been in style four times since then.

The upside to this “I don’t feel 35” business is that I don’t think I look it, either. I probably do, but a fine layer of fat is keeping my skin smooth. HAHAHAHA!!! If I lose all this weight I will finally look my age! Yikes. Anyway. Even though I am a die-hard hair dye aficionado, my current hair color is my ACTUAL hair color (brown? Who knew?), and there are no grey ones in there. Nope. So that’s good. Ma started going grey pretty much the day I was born (sorry, mom). But not me! NOT YET. And… NOT ON MY HEAD. Oh, I do have some grey hair, but… they’re… elsewhere. I’ve had those for a few years so there’s been time to get used to seeing them (AND PULLING THEM OUT BECAUSE WHAT THE FUCK?).

Overall, I’m fine with my age. There’s nothing I can do about it if I’m not, so why waste time freaking out about it? I’m 35. Apparently, I’m a real live adult person, and people take me seriously sometimes. I have made a promise to myself that I’m not going to plan to do things, I’m going to ACTUALLY do things. When you’re 20 and say “I’m going to go skydiving,” people say “awww, isn’t that cute!” But when you’re 35 and say that, people go “Whoa, that’s ballsy! Don’t die!”

Big plans to not make plans, homies. It’s my birthday.