And now I'm suddenly one year older. Whoop de doo.
Suddenly, singing happy birthday just seems redundant, y'know? After 29 years of it, it starts to get a bit depressing. No more toys for birthday presents (unless someone has a big enough heart to get me a dildo or something), no more theme party ware, no more musical chairs and passing the cushion. The only music-chair combination nowadays is when I fart after dinner and the only cushion passed around is that kind with the hole in the middle. 29, man.... I'm one year away from officially becoming an 'auntie' in my own head. Sucky.
I voiced my misery on Sunday at rehearsals to a fellow cast member and she laughed, calling me silly. She's 19. She does not understand my ire and deserves to die because her stomach area still looks like a friggin' unused skating rink. My stomach, on the other hand, has a name of its own thanks to its growing personality. The rest of me is too darn ugly to name at all. 'Cept my boobs. Those are still looking good, thank god. I think they want to wait till I hit 40 before falling apart like the rest of my... um... Rubenesque self.
SO yeah. I'm havin' a birthday. To mark it, here's a list of 29 things about me being 29 that you probably had no idea about. Lucky for you, I'm suddenly in the mood to share...
- I still live with my mother. Despite several attempts to claim my right to absolute independence, I still come home to someone else's house and am still fighting over what I wear, how I speak, what time I come home and how I keep the room I sleep in. You'd think that after 29 years they'd give up on things like that. But no. Apparently mothers can sustain their ways for far longer. I had hoped that by this birthday at least I'd be enjoying solitude in my own place, but it looks like I have to wait till I die for that.
- I think I've found the 'one'. My best friend and happy drug. Yay. I love him, and he's the only man on this entire planet who's made me rethink my policies on marriage. Someday, perhaps I'll get off my high horse and ensnare the poor sod into a lifetime commitment before he knows what's happening and has a chance to flee. Maybe after I've hit mid-life crisis, if I haven't already.
- My hair's falling out. I'm putting it down to an age thing.
- I still haven't found my calling. When I do find it (and the finances for it), I have the perfect bunch of people I want to work with. I hope my Imps stick around that long.
- I can no longer gobble down infinite quantities of achcharu without succumbing to a bad tummy. This is depressing.
- I am increasingly aware of how unnecessarily petty, judgemental and completely wrong my parents can be on many things. That's a very sad thing for any child to figure out at any age, but for all their best intentions, I've realized they are pretty flawed. I don't know if my observations give me strength to control my own life more or just weaken it further, given the faith I previously had in them.
- I am no longer cool. I can't hang at nightclubs without yawning by 10pm, and I don't see the point in head banging. Help.
- For the absolute first time in my entire life, I actually hate some people. I mean really, really, wish-you-were-dead kinda hate. Eek.
- From a tomboy who couldn't fathom the virtues of lipstick, I'm suddenly this silly bimbo who actually understands the importance of shoes and handbags and I can't stop buying them. It is both worrying and exhilarating. I used to have just a few blacks and browns that would go with everything, but now I have pinks and greens in an assortment of heels and strap patterns. I still don't know why, though. This I'll figure out by 30.
- I have mastered the art of talking to my cat. We understand each other purrfectly now.
- I am becoming increasingly bad with punning on words.
- My memory takes a trip now and then. There are the mildly amusing times when I can't remember a name or number. Then there are the alarming occasions when that name and number are my own.
- I've started disapproving of the youth and their wild ways. Its bad enough that I call them youth. Lately, I've caught myself 'tsk tsk'ing at many a radical behaviour (considered normal behaviour nowadays) quite a number of times before hitting my head into a wall to keep myself from becoming like one of those archaic old ladies who serve you in school canteens.
- My ass is a thing of the past. Oh wait... I already covered that subject. See what I meant about memory?
- I used to have the time, patience and frame of mind to get through a good book in two days. Now I take a whole month to leaf through the Hi! magazine.
- I read the Hi! magazine. If that's not a sign of aging, then I don't know what is.
- I still adore cartoons and teen flicks. I can sit through an entire Disney marathon, and still fantasize about the prince in the Little Mermaid. He's pretty damn cute. It's nice to know that some immaturities will always remain unchanged.
- My waist size is no longer worth my pride and I am still in denial about it. I used to be a 23-inch. If I told you what it is now, I'd have to kill you. I promise myself that I will return to my young, slim self someday soon, as soon as I managed to complete that climb up the stairs to the gym after contemplating it with a mars bar. Meanwhile, I buy kurtas and kaftans to keep my body comfortable.
- I just admitted to wearing kaftans. That is the epitome of old-aunty clothing and I had no qualms about telling the entire blogosphere. Egads. Time to panic.
- I have attempted suicide twice in my lifetime and lived to tell about it. One thing good about this ageing thing.... I'm now old enough to know better.
- Buying furniture and linen suddenly makes sense.
- My performing arts skills have come along nicely, all on their own. I am finding out at age 29 that I can actually now sing pleasantly enough to not empty a room at the speed of light thanks to my voice growing deeper and stronger over time. Shah. And whether it's a good thing or not, my increasing mental detachment from reality (they call it senility, do they?) has helped my acting skills by leaps and bounds.
- Its becoming more and more pathetic to say I lived in the eighties and set a bunch of kids off into a fit of sniggers.
- Everyone I know is married, divorced, has kids, an alcohol addiction or is dead.
- One of the afore-mentioned divorcées came to me recently and squeaked " How are you Miss? Remember me, Miss? You taught me English in grade 6!" Then I realized how old I was.
- I can actually diagnose my own illnesses and say the names of various medicines without mis-pronunciation. Only the aged are that capable and this worries me.
- People come to me for advice. Me. For advice. They listen, too.
- I think I used to be a girl worth looking at, judging from the number of school boys who'd pay my brother off to get some info on me. I used to get a few stares, whistles and phone calls from fellows who'd send my father flying towards his air-gun and heart medication. Now when I eyeball cute guys, I have to slap myself for acting like a pedophile and stop them running away from the creepy old lady. And only the rotting wooden handle of the air gun remains... with spiders hatching eggs inside it.
- When I try to skip rope, I piss myself.