My birthday is on Saturday! I’m old, I think. I’m definitely starting to FEEL old, what with my 5 years of marriage, my home-ownership, the impending birth of my progeny, my expanding waist-line, my ever-increasing need to moisturize my neck, and the fact that I dyed my hair blond in order to appear more youthful. (Sometimes I apply sunless tanner to complete the “horrifically obese surfer” look I’m going for. Laird Hamilton better watch out, ’cause he’s Old and Busted®, and I’m the New HotnessTM!)
Anyway, I’m sure you’re all absolutely wildly looking for presents for me, but to be honest, I don’t need much. My friends, my family, an endless supply of quality single malt scotch, neck moisturizer: these are the things that I need. Maybe an iPod, or a widescreen TV. A 1970 Chevelle would be nice, too. Or somebody to clean my house. But I’m getting far afield of my topic, which is:
Honestly, I don’t really remember. Let’s see: birthday presents; Laird Hamilton; hair bleach; my wrinkly, leathery neck; oh! My birthday, and why it is awesome and should be a national holiday on which everybody but my company will be celebrating with a day off and a bottle of Glenfiddich.
This is why my birthday is important: it is because I am special. Or so all of the self-esteem-building stuff I watched on TV in the early 80s said. I am special! Which would seem to indicate that no one else is as awesome as I am. Of course, considering these programs were wildly watched by thousands, nay, millions of young children, it would seem that everybody’s special, and equally so, at that. Which would seem to indicate that no one is special at all.
Except me.
I guess what I’m trying to say is: I don’t really have anything valid to say. Which makes this pretty much the same as any of my posts. Except that today, I’m wearing new Christmas present pants, which I didn’t wash before putting them on, and so they are making my legs itch very, very badly. This is an example of something that quite literally does NOT make me happy in my pants. Everything in my pants is quite angry right now.
Note to all: anger in one’s pants is something to be avoided. And now I must return to scratching. See you tomorrow, when I’ll have even LESS to say! HA HA!
