Let me tell you something. If you are not yet 45, prepare to not FEEL 45 when you get there. I think of myself as maybe 27. Without the whole Janice Joplin/Kurt Cobain/Jimi Hendrix burning out before I fade away thing.
The above picture is from 1999, when I turned 34. My LA workplace did like to fuss. And I might have mentioned it was my bday oh, a time or two in advance.
I am sorry to tell you that was the night JFK Jr. died, July 16, 1999. I am full of the happy news, aren't I? I remember waking up hung over the day after my birthday and Marvin said, "John-John is missing."
Marvin loves giving me the bad news. And saying things like "John-John." He also woke me to tell me about Princess Diana, who thankfully he did not call "Diana-Diana," and he stormed into the bathroom while I was putting Jergen's on my legs to tell me about the World Trade Center. Who is he, the town crier? The town repeater of first names?
It being the stupendously ridiculous anniversary of my birth, I wanted to tell you that the best gift in the world is having all of you as my friends. Even if you have never left me one word of comment, just seeing you as a reader on my sitemeter or on Google Reader is exciting. It's like, someone is reading all the crap I write about my dumb life! Who knew?
There's this guy at work I like, and he said yesterday, "I'm so glad someone else has my sense of humor finally. It makes everything less lonely." That is how I feel about all of you reading my blatherings.
So thank you all very much. Y'all are better than a puppy. You know. Almost.