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

Kitty Porn

IT'S A BOY!

Weight: 1 lb. 6 oz.

Length: 10 inches

Thank you friends for checking on me via this blog. I am very much alive and enjoying doing a whole lot of not much this summer.

An adoptee joined our family last week. We visited PetSmart with the intent of purchasing a "real" pet, a guinea pig, for Ethan, and stumbled across the rescue center's cage stuffed with the last chance litter. The clearance kittens had one day left before they were sent to that big litterbox in the sky. You have no idea the restraint it took not to give in to that crazy cat lady inside of me and tell them to box up all of them.

Mr. Kittypants seems to enjoy home life. He finds the velvety couch much to the liking of his claws and has eschewed his pricey kitty bed made of faux fur in lieu of curling up in my makeup case on the vanity. As cats tend to do, he has quickly asserted himself as the boss around these parts. Ethan will shush me if kitty is sleeping. Must not disturb the kitty's rest!

I need your help on the matter of naming. I know you are a smart bunch, so I am hoping you can come through for me. We have tossed around Milo, Harley, and Gatsby, but so far, nothing has stuck. Ethan suggested Wieners; for obvious reasons, this is not a top contender.

So hit me up with your best name suggestions. Winner does not get a prize, but will get the intrinsic satisfaction of knowing that you have spared a cat the indignity of being referred to as Mr. Snuggly Woogly Fuzzy Wuzzy Kittypants (or Wieners).

Ultraviolet

Anyone else find it ironic that I just slathered myself with SPF 70 and put on a sunhat to go sit in the shade at the pool at 5 pm on a cloudy day when this is what my skin looked like all summer long a mere decade ago?

Nope. Me neither.