So guys, I'm having a birthday tomorrow. I've already pretty well finished celebrating (and how!) and I have to say, if being nearly 30 means champagne cocktails and Gladys Knight dance parties, I am fully on board. I've started and stopped a whole lot of posts here lately; I blame my continuing battle with the phone company (Goddamn you, Phoney McRingring) and the subsequent lack of internet connectivity in my glorious new home. Also, my attention span, which grows increasingly shorter with each passing day. I promise to be fully dialled in sometime soon.
When I was younger I used to always watch 16 Candles the night before my birthday. I always thought that when I actually got around to turning 16 I would be incredibly wise and have a hot, mute boyfriend, just like Molly Ringwald. Watching the movie the night before said sour sixteen was kind of meta for me, and also pretty anticlimactic. I don't think I've revived that tradition since. I have, however, watched it, and the rest of the Molly Ringwald catalogue, too many times to count in the years since I became legally eligible (although certainly not competent enough) to drive a car, and I fall more in love with Anthony Michael Hall every time I hear him sing that opening snippet of Hey Jude. In my early years, I was a big fan of the bad boys. It pains me to admit that I had a huge, complicated thing for Judd Nelson, and was actually pretty upset when he married Shannen Doherty. But now, pushing thirty, I think I'm finally ready to admit that what I really want is a big nerd. Someone who'll politely ask if he can borrow your underpants. Someone who doesn't know how to rewire a lamp. Someone who hangs out with John Cusack. Or maybe I just want John Cusack.
Happy birthday to me.
There is no polite way to ask to borrow your underpants!
ReplyDelete