Even with the retro-aging scheme I cooked up last year, I’m still way older than I want to be. Not that numbers really bug me, really, they don’t, but they serve as a kind of guideline to how we’re supposed to feel and act. I’m at an age where it’s really not appropriate to wear piercings (especially to get a new one), tattoos are more a thing of the past (hell, that’ll never happen – I’m wondering if I can work into my will that I get fresh ink during the funeral, something should be fresh going in the ground, eh?), you should dress less like someone out of the Urban Outfitters catalog, y’know, shit like that. But I don’t wanna!
Yesterday, despite the 50-degree temperature, I wore shorts to work. Now, the simple fact that I can wear shorts to work gives you an idea that I’m not the typical 30smmsjkj-year-old. Why did I wear them? Cos I like them. I kinda don’t like wearing jeans or even the big baggy cargos I have. In fact, I only have one pair of jeans and one pair of cargos. I have four pairs of shorts. There’s something less restrictive about them that I like. Of course, I was wearing a thermal under the t-shirt I was wearing (which, again, the fact I can wear t-shirts – even the “Orgy of the Dead” one I love – makes me think my job has maybe enabled me to fashion-wise refuse to grow up.
But I digress. This post is about my birthday which, coincidentally, is on Thanksgiving. So, I told everyone to take a four-day weekend in my honor. Ha. No turkey for me, tonite. Don’t like it. Nor any of the other crap that tags along for dinner on the fourth Thursday of November. Cranberry sauce? Stuffing? bleechh. If that stuff was really that good, why wouldn’t we eat it more than once a year? No. Not me. My wife is taking the kids to her mom’s house to eat that shit and I (as is my Thanksgiving tradition) am staying home and doing nada except being thankful for frozen pizza.
Do I mind getting older? Not really. What I mind is it implies there’s less and less time to do things. I’d like my last ten years as a do-over now that I’m back on track to where I started going back then. But, hey, water under the bridges I’ve burned. Do I feel old? Sometimes. My back always hurts, but I attribute that more to the crappy chair I’m sitting in right now and spending 12 hours a day in front of a computer. There’s the slower recuperation after a night of too much drink. But, really… no.
So, I say fuck birthdays. Who cares!
Just get me presents. HA!