I just lost my post so I’m going to sleep now.
I’m mad because it was funny but then again it’s late and it was probably bad anyway.
The title is still there. It was called not that into it. Maybe tomorrow I will write about the stuff I’m not into.
Entertaining (about 3) readers since 1998…
I just lost my post so I’m going to sleep now.
I’m mad because it was funny but then again it’s late and it was probably bad anyway.
The title is still there. It was called not that into it. Maybe tomorrow I will write about the stuff I’m not into.
About 30 years ago, Gloria Steinem said “This is what 40 looks like. We’ve been lying so long, who would know?”
Not that I would remember this, I wasn’t born yet. I’m 29.
Just like on that insipid Oil of Olay commercial, where the model can pass for 29 because of the special skin product.
Ok, I am not 29. If I am asked nicely, I will admit that I am actually 24. Indeed, if one plays the office math game, I must have started at my job at 18 … and the previous — ahem — few/several years of work on my resume can be attributed to childhood genius or identity theft.
Or just good genes.
Or the simple fact that is this what 3-ahem looks like.
Today, I was talking to my great friend K. about getting older. I am not well adjusted in this area and she is. I want to learn her secret. I should not be afraid of the march to wrinkles and new hairs in strange places.
And in the spirit of my new self, I am starting the march to 40 … err, I mean the march to 30 countdown.
Only 1235 days to go.
I expect presents. You can expect weeping.