On A Summer Day In 1975 ...

... my mom was biting on a leather strap in the maternity ward. I think that was how they did it in those days, right? As of today, I am four hundred and twenty months old. That is a lot of months.

To my surprise, the laptop fairies came through this morning and I was graced with TWO new ones (Holla, Avis! LOVE tropical flamingo pink!) to replace the one that passed on early this summer. This morning has been spent rediscovering the wonders of the Internet and sorting through old pictures with a seven-gallon Mochafrappacinnafatassachino, yes, whipped!, by my side. I am still in my pajamas because it is 102 degrees outside and that is too hot to put on clothes.

Later, there will be dinner at Volt. Reservations are at 9 PM, I am not sure if someone my advanced age can stay awake that late, but I'll do my best because I hear the place is rad or awesome or wicked or whatever expression those kids are using these days. I will bring my rhinestone reading glasses to decipher the menu, as I lament the low lighting. I will then yell at the waiter to repeat the specials because my hearing is starting to go. I will call him "Sonny Boy" while distracting him as I stuff rolls and sugar packets in my handbag for later (surely it was not just my grandmother that did that?). If our table has a female server, I will call her "Dearie" and compliment her sharp slacks as I sip my Manhattan.

For fun, a quick revisit of the past thirty-five years. Indulge me, I've ingested 3,500,000 mg of caffeine today, so I have some creative energy to expel before dinner, which is due to begin exactly one hour past my usual bedtime.

Once I Was Five Years Old ...

Occupation: Triple-threat ballet dancer/piano player/gymnast. Lessons in all discontinued when it became apparent that I had two left feet, was tone deaf, and scared of falling off the balance beam even though it was only six inches above the ground and surrounded by pillowy mats.

Aspirations: Horseback riding lessons starting at age six. Beating Karen at stick horse jumping competition over life-size Tinker Toys in front yard. Perfecting the "Who ME? It was MY BROTHER!" stare of innocence.

Soundtrack: "Baby Beluga" by Raffi.

Then I Was Ten Years Old ...

Occupation: Barn rat.

Aspirations: Captain of the 2002 Olympic Equestrian Team. Convincing Chris S. that he should fall in love with me by ignoring him in the fifth grade hallway (my master plan finally worked senior year of high school, but only for a few weeks). Beating Karen at real horse-jumping competitions.

Soundtrack: The anthem of Girl Scout Camp. Hey Mickey .... You're So Fine, You Blow My Mind ... Hey Mickey! Hey Mickey! ... Toni Basil.

And Then Fifteen Years Old ...

Occupation: Pretending to be mature beyond my years.

Aspirations: A year-long tan. Perfecting the teenage eye roll. A midnight curfew.

Soundtrack: Whatever was on the Please Forgive Me Let's Get Back Together I Cannot Believe We Broke Up For The Sixteenth Time This Month I Cannot Live Without You (Until Next Week When I Break Up With You For That Girl With The Mercedes and Double-Ds) mix tape from high school boyfriend (**not Chris S.).

Twenty Years Old ...

Occupation: College student/Ocean City summer resident/pool guard by day/cocktail waitress by night.

Aspirations: Convincing bartenders that my fake ID, the one picturing a brunette from Hawaii, was actually me so I could order a classy lady drink like a White Russian or a Pink Zinfandel. Fun. More fun. A bit more fun. A little sleep. Then repeat fun.

Soundtrack: Come On Eileen, Dexy's Midnight Runners. Emmett Swimming. Bob Marley. Enya, for emergency use only during all-night exam cram sessions, the consequence of too much early semester fun.



Then There Was Twenty-Five ...

Occupation: Third-year law student/law firm clerk/wedding planner.

Aspirations: A job to cover student loan debt and/or save the world. Avoiding murder while living in sketchy Baltimore grad school housing. Happily ever after.

Soundtrack: Pachelbel's Canon in D.

And Thirty ...

Occupation: Litigation Attorney/Mom to young son.

Aspirations: Somehow figuring out how not to feel guilty for being a mom while trying to be a lawyer and for being a lawyer while trying to be a mom. Learning how not to cry in office after getting reamed by Nancy Grace clone boss. A full night's sleep not severed at 3 am by child or Blackberry. Law firm partner by thirty-three, retirement in Fiji at forty-three.

Soundtrack: %!!#3AIJ)(%R+_PO+T$Y!!!!!#!)*$)#@%!!!!!!$3!@%!!!!!



And, Now, I Am Thirty-Five ...

Occupation: Volunteer/Board Member for clinical research non-profit (shout out to Jon H!)/freelancer writer/famous novelist in progress.

Aspirations: Forty. Forty-five. Fifty. Fifty-five. Sixty ... and so on. Will gladly, and gracefully, embrace grey hair and wrinkles. Fiji, someday.

Soundtrack: This week it is California Gurls, Katy Perry. Sung as loudly as possible with sunroof open, steering wheel drumming required.

Happy Weekend All! Thanks for the birthday wishes and most importantly, for your friendship!

Cheers,

- J