When Old Age Attacks!

Tomorrow is my birthday. I'll be 27 years old in real years (or 45 years old in gay years). To grasp how old I'll be, look at it this way: In 2 more years I'll no longer be eligible to audition for American Idol. In 7 more years I'll be old enough to run for president. In 35 years I'll be old enough to collect social security (just kidding - the government will have spent all of it by then).

Because I've blogged a number of times about my birthday over the years, and because my feelings on the topic rarely change, I thought I would repost a couple of old entries I've written over the years. When weighing my options for my birthday this year, I figure it's a lot easier and a lot more inexpensive to repost old blog entries, than it is to throw a MTV-style Super Sweet 16 party. Besides, my life is already rather self-indulgent enough as it is, thank you very much. Oh, and I'm pretty sure my parents aren't going to give me a Hummer

The following blog entry was written around my birthday when I lived in Boston a few years ago. That would explain the whiff of pretense.

The Semi-Annual Mid-Life Crisis

It's inevitable.

I get depressed every year around my birthday. It's not anything to worry about. I embrace depression with open arms every April. I look forward to seeing it again -- we're old friends. "Hey Dep, how are you? Haven't seen you around in a few months." Depression then lovingly throws an arm around me, looks me straight in the eye, and replies "Ryan, you've turned 25 years old. And you have yet to accomplish anything worthwhile with your life." We both have a good laugh, and then ride down the Charles River in the rain on a rented bicycle-built-for-two. We then go home, rent 'Brokeback Mountain,' and ironically Depression is the only one who cries. Listen Depression, regardless of the fact that we're best friends, you've really worn out your welcome.

Don't take this personal, but I think I'm going to take out a restraining order against you.

Have you ever turned a quarter of a century? It scares the hell out of you. You go deaf from the constant, loud ticking of your biological clock. Shouldn't I be married/civil unionized by now? Shouldn't I have at least one (adopted) child by now? (as if the paranthesis prevents the child from finding out it's adopted) Shouldn't I own a house, have a stable career, be worrying about my 401K? Good hell, I'm now old enough to rent a car. Maybe I should start thinking about joining the AARP. I've never entirely understood the concept of the Senior Discount. I'm sure that the elderly love it, but I find it rather patronizing. It's like a reward for surviving. We may as well tell our seniors "Congratulations! You haven't died yet. You're still alive. Here's your 35-cent coffee."

Comments

[Molly]

Hey, but at least this year you're a teeny bit closer to graduating from college, right? I think Christian and Ashley can sypathize with you on that one. Happy Birthday tomorrow! (Because we all know that I will forget to tell you tomorrow...)