My birthday is going to be in one month. I’m going to be older.

I had a bit of a crisis when I turned 35. It started a month before where I journaled a 35th birthday countdown of sorts while processing my impending (and then passed) 35th birthday. There were a lot of tears and bloodshed:

March 25, 2011
I have one month left until my birthday wish comes true for my reproductive system to fail. Put me on your prayer groups.

March 27, 2011
Why are people SO HAPPY about their friggin birthdays? Is there something wrong with THEM or is it ME?

April 3, 2011
On Saturday, April 23rd I’ll need intervention. I will be turning 35 and will be fetal on the floor, rocking and jabbing pointy things in my eyes.

April 4, 2011
Someone told me tonight that my hair looks like skunk rape. Apparently he doesn’t appreciate my dye job. Which is fetch, by the way. He continued to tell me that my eyes are ‘Thyroidy. You know, like goldfish.” I’ve never heard that one about me before so either he needs a filter and a gag or I need some plastic surgery for my birthday. I was also told that I seem “very ethnically friendly” but that I basically should stay white which seemed an odd segue between skunk rape and goldfish eyes to me, but maybe I’m losing my hearing in my old age too.

April 10, 2011
I just told my kid, “I have no patience for your shenanigans.”
Related: SHIT I’m old.

April 11, 2011
My youthful girl swagger’s gone. It’s been replaced by four kids, two baby daddies, two failed marriages, middle age, a superb bullshit meter and the inability to stay quiet about it, and plenty of fat cells.

Special shout out to all the stretch marks I’ve accumulated over the years.

April 15, 2011
Where can someone find my “born on” date?

April 16, 2011
I’ll be 35 in a week. I’ve heard all the stories, but I had NO idea that my sex drive really would totally rule my life. #sux but #awesome. By 37 it had chilled when I started taking the pill for hormones. Not completely chilled, but it saved me from a lot of mischief. My Venus is drying up. According to my mom, I only have a few years left of any sort of sex drive. So I think she just gave me permission to be a raging whore.

April 17, 2011
I’ll be 35 in six days. Could you use your superpowers to prevent suicidal ideations (that I’ll have anyway)?

April 18, 2011
Just 5 more days left for my impending birthday to try to completely crush my spirit.

April 19, 2011
Just 4 more days until I’m hella older. This sucks.
Also, girls feel hella sexy when overnight they sprout grandma whiskers on their used-to-be-adorable beauty marks.

April 20, 2011
I got carded and I warned him next time he better lie and tell me it’s because I look so young and not because he has to.

April 21, 2011
I’ll be 35 in two days. I’m pretty sure at some point in my youth I thought I’d be dead by now.

April 22, 2011
I’m thinking about setting up a train for my birthday. Who wants to be on it? It may not be easy, but I refuse to spend my birthday like a spinster. I’m in San Francisco tomorrow wandering the streets and napping in my van if anyone wants to help me fill the evening.

April 23, 2011
Welcome to a new day, cruel world. Today my vagina turned 35 but she’s still young at the heart. So Happy Birthday, to me and my eggs.

In better news, my eggs are only 35 too so my kids won’t be TOO retarded if I happen to get preggers today and happen to keep it. If there was a hell, that last thought would have sent me there.

Now. Who wants a birthday booty call and possible pregnancy scare?

April 24, 2011
The three-year-old has said Happy Birthday eleventyhundred times. No one told him to also tell me I’m 35 or I’d have to pinch him eleventyhundred times.

April 26, 2011
I got my first age spot on my hand literally on my birthday. I think in order to get over my tattoo commitment issues I’m going to start covering each spot with a tattoo dot. Later you can connect the dots and maybe there will be a treasure map to my G Spot. This isn’t temporary insanity either. I’ve always wanted to get tattoos that just outline the various scars on my body. I have no idea why. I also have extra skin on my elbows now. My elbows look like Don Rickle. I might as well have fun with all this aging and get spider web tattoos on my flabby mom elbows just because no one would ever expect me to have those.

This all will take a lot of bravery since I have a tattoo commitment disorder I think. I know I will commit to a tattoo someday, I just hope it’s not when I’m 90. Or drunk in Vegas. Or drunk in Vegas at 90.

April 29, 2011
I just had a HOLY SHIT I’M ALREADY 35 YEARS OLD moment. Hold me.

April 30, 2011
This morning I look like death warmed over. If death was butt ugly. I realized how badly I looked when the guy at 7-11 asked me if I was sick. No sir, I’m just home with my kids all weekend, this is as good as it gets. Similarly, “You look rough this morning” from your ex-husband translates to “You look like shit and I’ve seen you after 12 hours of labor, I know shit.”

I am the cat’s meow, baby. The cat has rabies, one eye and no hair, but still…raawwr.

May 3, 2011
I’m ‘I had a Trapper Keeper’ years old.
I’m ‘I played Atari’ years old.
I’m ‘I had a phone that hung on the wall and required a 10-foot cord’ years old.

May 7, 2011
I remember at 18 I thought being 25 was gross. I remember being in my twenties and trying to date a 32-year-old and I just couldn’t get past his age, and now I’m like, “HEY! I’m not so old, you stupid bitch!” But I am old. I’m 35.

May 10, 2011
Being 35 changes you. I’ve started calling 30-year-olds “young people”. In fact, anyone born after 1981 is dead to me. I guess that includes my kids.

May 13, 2011
Soon my oldest will turn 16! I can’t wait to become adults together someday.

May 14, 2011
I’ve decided my kids can drink at 12 so I don’t feel old when they turn 21. But I can’t do anything about the voting age thing.

May 18, 2011
Some of the girls I grew up with are becoming grandmothers by 37.
I’m 35. Just give me some time to process this.

May 21, 2011
Christ, I’m old.
Correction: I’m older than Christ was.

May 28, 2011
WE ARE THIRTY FIVE. Never forget.


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My liver still thanks you. 

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