Yups, it is official, I am an old fart. Last weekend Marnie and I had a few peeps over for some beer, booze, mint Juleps, guitar picking, and whatnot in order to kill the brain cells that would have reminded me that I'm now 30. What's that whippersnapper? Get off of my lawn!
First off, thanks to all who sent along well-wishes and to those who graced me with their company on Saturday. And I'd like to especially thank my beautiful wife who went above and beyond in making it a birthday that I will never forget... well, at least until the senility kicks in.
It's funny, I hear these stories about people fretting because they turn 25, 30, 40, etc. It's funny because there isn't a goddamned thing you can do about it and fretting only results in stressing yourself out. And turning any age sure beats the alternative: not having any more birthdays. And if these people keep stressing about getting older, not having any more birthdays is where they're driving themselves.
For me, birthdays generally don't mean that much. I don't fret and I don't get excited. The nice thing about the landmark birthdays, though, is using it as an excuse to gathering a group of people that you'd like to see more often.
Well, I had better get going. Matlock starts in five.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment