Yes, people... it's my birthday. And you, too, should party like it's my birthday.
I'm the big 2-9 this year, which means that I have exactly ONE year to pull all the stupid shit that you just can't get away with in your 30s. Yes, I know your 30s are the new 20s (whatever the fuck that means) but have you ever seen a 36-year-old woman coming out of Forever 21 in the mall wearing a tight little tank top that is short enough to see her navel piercing? And didn't you just roll your eyes a little? Now do you know what I mean?
Anyway, this is the year to get another tattoo and another piercing. This is the year I blow a lot of money on shit I don't need and not give a damn about my credit score. This is the year to take a bunch of stupid road trips for no other reason than to see the World's Biggest Paper Bag. This is the year I paint my fingernails black all the time and possibly dye my hair a stupid color. This is the year to drink too much and eat lots of candy and not get enough sleep. This is the last year I will wonder if I should just quit my job and go backpacking around Europe to 'find myself'. This is the year that I blow off work as much as possible to go to concerts, because Flying Spaghetti Monster knows that next year I will probably worry about damaging my hearing. Next year I will probably become one of those tools who wears earplugs to a show.
I know some of you who are older than I am are already having a good chuckle about my impending sense of doom about my 30s, but let me just say this: I have become one of those people who always has a pullover or jacket in my car just in case it gets chilly. Even at the height of a Georgia summer when it's 104 degrees outside, I have a hoodie in my car because I get cold in movie theaters and restaurants sometimes. I have become my great-grandmother and I'm still in my 20s.
I need some beer.