I celebrated my 26th birthday recently. Hold the applause, and that’s a lie anyway. It seemed entirely appropriate that I woke up on my birthday with a zit on my face the size of the cupcake that no one bought me. Rest easy–I ended up finding that cupcake and buying it for myself. And then I bought another. And then I don’t want to talk about what happened next. Despite my advanced age, I nevertheless seem to retain the body of a hormone-riddled 15 year old who has just discovered junk food and, consequently, the obesity movement.
It also seemed appropriate that I did not enjoy my birthday. It’s not that I dislike birthdays. Actually, that’s exactly what it’s like. I simply despise getting older, because while I understand that aging is a fact of life, I nevertheless take it very personally. It’s something of a singular event to me, and every year I get older I respond by acting another year younger. Maybe that’s why my friends call me Benjamin Button. They don’t, but you get the point. This year, however, I am putting my foot down. Some changes are in order because I am growing weary of playing a professional on TV but moonlighting as Chris Brown. So I’ve pulled together some semi-attainable birthday resolutions, and am now endeavoring to not forget them with every passing second.
Drink less–Much like unlimited fries come with every Red Robin hamburger, so must this appear on every resolution list I create. Next.
Lift weights–Word on the street is that I need some weight lifting in my life, because that’s what healthy adults do. The street of which I speak is Biggest Loser, and the word is that of Chris Powell and his ever-pregnant breeding champion Heidi. My search for two hours of inspiration a week brought me to this show, which has delivered in all ways except for personal weight loss. But now, I’m beginning to understand that the only thing standing between me and the rocking body that Fitness magazine tells me I can have is a huge tire that I can push around my front lawn, if only either existed. Fortunately, I have overfed my cat for one too many years now, and he is beginning to resemble the entire tractor–not just its tires. I figure I’ll start my personal training by lifting him up a few times.
Be more social–Don’t get me wrong, alienation can be an entertaining place. Despite its moments, it also happens to be lonely. For this reason, I have returned to social media, to embrace the always unfulfilling connection to sheer acquaintances. Find me on Instagram at @cats.in.your.pants or at the neighborhood bar. In either, I’ll be the one with no friends who is trying to figure out how to operate her phone.
Grow up–Years of acting like a teenager have not served me well. Thanks to parents and peers who have become parents, I have been shamed into the realization that it’s time to get a job, land a man, and bake a baby. Sounds pretty complicated to me, but I guess there’s always alcohol.
Oh, and if you happen to be feeling bad that I didn’t get anything for my birthday, don’t worry, I did …
Cats In Your Pants 