So, as you probably know, I’m about to get old.
Well, I’m about to be exactly the same but with a unit of linear time assigned to my personage that makes me…and I just need to embrace this and deal…40.
Actually, yesterday I had lunch with someone to discuss a possible book writing project. He asked me what year I graduated from high school and I told him 1991. He gasped, “I opened my first restaurant before you were born! You’re a baby!!! You’re wait…what?”
“I’m 40 in about ten days.”
“High school. You asked me what year I graduated from high school. I was born in 1972. I’m about to turn 40.”
“I thought you were like 28 or 29.”
“Nope. I’m 40.”
“Wow. I can’t believe it.”
“Yep. 40. 1972.”
“You do not look it.”
“It’s true. 40.”
Having said it – out loud and even loudly and in a public place where anyone could have overheard me – it didn’t seem **so** bad.
Still, I’m toying with the idea of remaining indefinitely 39 if anyone’s asking…until I can’t get away with that anymore. At that point, let’s say in a decade, I’ll bump up to being permanently 45.
Anywho, in intrepid preparation for the big four oh, here is a hodge podge things of I hope the birthday fairy brings me, because I sure as hell can’t afford them for myself.
Boots in Hawaii!? Um. Yes. And with shorts no less.
2. New tires for my Jeep.
When I bought it a year ago, the guy said the tires would be good until January…as in nine months ago.
3) New brake pads for my Jeep. Peeps in the know say that’s what the horrific squealing is when I roll down the street. Another $300? Hopefully no more… (Someone mentioned something about “grinding rotors.” Sounds bad/$$$.)
4) This for Foof, because – as much as I hate to admit it – it’s not all about me. Plus this is kind of his dream come true: to wail on a dog.
Even this would do, Fu says…and cheaper than a couch.
5) A tattoo (sorry, parents.)
It’s going to be a shark. I just haven’t figured out the specifics. At first I was thinking this:
But now I’m leaning more in this territory
6) A basket for my bike because it’s a boy bike. I got it cheap and they didn’t have girl bikes in stock and the sale was that day only, so – again – it’s a black boy bike. In short, it (desperately) needs a cute girly basket with maybe some flowers. Plus then I can ride to Foodland instead of driving my stripped tires/bad brakes Jeep and have a way to bring the Top Ramen back.
7. A case of these bad boys
Top Ramen has, like, zero nutritional value. You at least want me to survive this poor patch in my life…right???