Birthday ramble

It's a cliche that old folks wake up super early. And here I am blogging at seven am. So does that mean its true? Does this mean I'm getting old? I mean, today is my birthday after all (cue impending doom music) - my 30th birthday.

I suppose the wise thing to do here would be to lie about my age, or gracefully sidestep it. But if you know me at all you know I'm a terrible liar and that gracefully sidestepping delicate subjects is not my forte. I mean, come on, it's not called Chatty Cathy Hangs It Out for nothing. So yeah, I'm 30. Eat that. But before you make your judgements (before I eat my high fiber breakfast) let me explain why I'm awake, and how that proves that I'm not old.

The short answer is that Zaphod has been meowing at my door since six am. After telling him to shut up for thirty minutes I let him out, at which point he immediately proceeded to pick a fight with the feistier of my parents' two cats, Bandit. A little back and forth has us both shut back in my room. So much for sleeping in...

Shots is the long answer though. As I lay here in the predawn gloom, listening to my childhood home waking up, reviewing the show I went to last night (see I still like to have fun!) I find myself pondering this question: who actually enjoys taking shots?

On the surface of the question it seems like lots of people like taking shots. I mean, you tell someone it's your birthday and they say, "shots shots shots shots shots" (you know the song, right?). That's like, tradition. It's like, a cultural must, or something. I mean, I've taken at least five shots in the past week, and I don't even like them.

So what is it about pounding a miniature glass of liquor (or god forbid, some sugary mixture of liquor and liqueur) that seems like a good idea? It wreaks havoc on your stomach, it puts you over the limit on your drunk, and it's usually something you wouldn't even drink. At least, that's my experience. But maybe I'm just old.

Maybe people like shots because they're a divergence from the norm. They're festive and fun and a suspension of normal behavior. Maybe people like them because it's like a feat of strength; in downing a Buttery Nipple (my shot of choice) or a Surfer on Acid we prove our strength, our cojones. Look at the titles of shots for that matter: Kamikaze, Sex on the Beach, Red-Headed Slut. They sound like dares. Maybe we like them because they allow us to be a more reckless, glamorous version of ourselves. The version that isn't afraid to take a chance, to be dangerous, to live on the edge.

Well listen: I'm living on the edge already. I'm chasing my dream in a big city, putting myself out there to either fly or fail. If quitting your job to pursue art isn't dangerous I don't know what is. And if you need proof of my cojones: I just admitted publicly to being thirty, in an industry/city/world/paradigm that is obsessed with youth.

I'm losing the train of this thought, so I'll wrap it up. And who knows, maybe these ramblings are the signs of early dementia. I mean-I am a crazy cat lady (your words, not mine) who brought her cat home for Thanksgiving, right? (Let me just pull up my Depends so I can start my day.)

But I'm choosing to look at this new age in another light. I know myself better than ever, and I'm having more fun than ever before. So I'm going to keep it up. Keep laughing, keep loving life, keep seeing the wonder in the world, and above all keep playing: Ina word, I'm going to keep being young. So I'm going back to bed. That's what kids do, right?

PS-I'm thankful for you, readers. Xoxox