31
It’s kind of odd – I’ve had plenty to write about, but little to no ambition to put it to print. Excuses are as follows:
A. I had the flu for an entire week.
B. I turned 31.
C. The Navy shot down my satellite.
D. I’m pregnant.
E. My cat voted for Ron Paul.
F. Britney Spears stole my car.
G. I was traded to the New York Knicks.
H. I was in rehab.
Pick any of the above and be satisfied, as I’m not one to make excuses. I just provide them as needed, mostly as a service to you. Customer service is important to me.
I celebrated my 31st birthday on Wednesday. Turning 31 wasn’t a big deal, neither was turning 30. For many people, it’s a birthday of note, as it suggests entry into the Halls of Adulthood. It wasn’t that significant to me. Looking back, I think 27 was the eye brow raising birthday for me – I was a 27-year-old guy hanging out with a very young woman at 18 and older clubs. I felt old then.
Must have been all the idiot children that were at the club or the security guard that tossed my drink in the trash because he thought I was sharing it with minors, but I imagined myself to be quite out of place. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not attempting to present myself as a codger or anything, but trying to get along with pre- and current early twenty-somethings was an ordeal.
Being naïve, careless, loud, and obnoxious is only so charming…
My point being that thirty ought one is not that big of a deal to me. Life has suggested some changes as age has found me, however – I’ve retired from basketball leagues. I’m more aware of what I do to my body. I’ve future proofed my interests. I worry less. I make better decisions.
Am I boring? No. I’ll punch the first nun in the face who accuses me of that!
