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May 10, 2007

1159: "My life is a joke!"

I've got a birthday coming up and I'm not particularly stoked about it. I used to get really fired up about having a wild-and-crazy time but that seemed to come to an end when I turned 25. We went to a Morrissey night down in the East Village, where I was probably the youngest person in the bar but I still felt old and decrepit. And sweaty because it was a bajillion degrees in there. And then, a little bit mute because I'd unwittingly been screaming all night.

Getting older is only one factor in my birthday-deflation but it's a big one. Chris, as Pete once did, sips the life-saving elixir known as Pom juice in his quest to fight off the chilly hands of death. Actually, I'm not too concerned about dying, I just don't want to be in a position to look at my life and feel I'm slippin' -- do you know what I mean? I don't want to wonder, "Is this what I'm going to be doing for the rest of my life?" (at this rate, yes), or "Should I have a baby or something?" (oh, hell no), or "Am I too old to continue dressing like a 12-year-old goth boy?" (nah, I still got it!). While others are concerned about their body's decay, I am really only concerned about continuing to live in the privileged state of youthful obliviousness.

Getting physically older does, of course, occur to me but only out of a fear of getting haggard. Logically, I understand that good physical health is the best means to fight off the ravages of old age but there's only so much a person can do. As Chris and I discussed yesterday, if we did/ate/drank everything we read that we were supposed to be doing/eating/drinking we'd have no time to have a life (or a job!) because we'd be fat, bloated and always having to pee. So I pick carefully from among these age-fighting recommendations and go with what will have the most significant and immediately reward for my outward appearance. For instance, I wear SPF 30 - 45 every single day of the year and apply Retinol at night. I want to be as pale as a sheet but without the winkles. I also sandblast my face with an at-home microdermabrasion kit which is probably not a good idea but it feels so nice (in the way that most beautifying treatments basically don't feel like something you ought to be doing to yourself). I look forward to having the same singular facial expression as Nicole Kidman does 24/7. (Do you think she can close her eyes to sleep?)

But as with all matters of vanity and glamor, I take my cues from my wee, fierce-looking hero...

Lindsey sent me this photo album of how Posh has upped her hotness over the years. (Thank you!) There's probably some tut-tutting message in the copy written for this feature but, as usual, I'm willfully oblivious to it. So, maybe she spent a lot of money to look more like an alien -- so what? If I had an endless supply of money and not much to occupy my time, I can see myself getting crazy-go-nuts with the plastic surgery too. I'd have some ribs removed (or is that just an urban myth?) and have a crank installed in my arm such that when I spun my arm around Barbie-style,* my hair would double in length. Also, I'd have a shotgun installed in one arm, which could fire when I flung my wrist back at a 90 degree angle. Wouldn't that be great? Also, I would be able to time travel.

I forgot what I was talking about.

Oh, yeah, my birthday. Well, I probably won't be getting that shotgun-arm like I wanted so - sigh - I'll just have to do without. Whatever. The real problem is that I can't figure out what I'd rather have or do for my birthday. You'd think that living in New York, there'd be an endless list of things to do but the truth is... I don't know. I'm bored. And depressed. And waaaaaaah! *wipes nose on sleeve*

Ugh, I don't know. I'm finding that I prefer to have smaller, non-party parties for my birthday. I'll go all-out stupid for Halloween, but not so much for my birthday. Last year, we had burgers (sadly, not Big Kahuna burgers) and milkshakes (probably $5 milkshakes) and watched Pulp Fiction, which was inexplicably being screened on the Upper West Side that night and absolutely the kind thing I enjoy doing. Pete suggested a similar thing for this year (when I'll be 27) but I feel so down and pathetic, I might rather lay in a ditch feeling bad for myself and weeping bitterly. I can't think of anyone playing in the city that I'd like to see that night (which, unfortunately, is a Sunday) nor any movies I absolutely must see or I might DIE. I'll think of something, but I'm taking suggestions -- anyone? (And no, I don't think I can drag anyone but Chris to se 300 again -- even if we did it in costume.)

On an unrelated note, I had a strange but not unpleasant thing happen to me on the subway this morning. I was busy reading, as usual, and sensed that the man next to me was reading over my shoulder. Fine. That happens a lot and I don't really blame people because sometimes it's hard to fight that urge, although generally it only happens when the person next to you is reading something newsworthy or personally interesting to you. Not, like, you know, The Oxford History of Greece & The Hellenistic World which is what I happened to be reading. (Shut up!) Any way, I glanced at our reflection in the window in front of me and saw that he was very eagerly reading over my shoulder, and smiling. A little weird, yes, but also kind of endearing. Nerds of the world unite!

* Speaking of Barbie, is it wrong to kind of want one for my birthday? True love never dies!

Posted by ashley at May 10, 2007 09:51 AM

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