What have I been doing?!

My 25th birthday is coming up this Tuesday, as most people might know from of my constant reminders and messages and emails and texts, and now, this post. A whole quarter-century has passed and what the flip have I done?

Ugh, twenty-five, that is an actual grown-up age. When I was a kid I thought by 25 I would be working as a glamorous pharmacist, married to either Freddie Prinze Jr. or Prince William or Jonathan Taylor Thomas, and buying stuff with my own money, like land and patio furniture and a laserdisc player and the Spice Girls album and corduroy overalls. I also dreamt of purchasing an old power plant and living in it because I had so much money I needed to be humbled... JTT and I would sew our own clothes and I would say stuff like, "did you bring home coal from the coal forest to heat our stove for dinner?" Whatever.

Our neighbor's tortoise used to get lost in our front yard... tortoises live longer than people. I don't know exactly which species of tortoises, but there are definitely certain kinds out there that can outlive humans--up to probably 150 years or something. Our neighbor's tortoise was probably not one of these super tortoises, and if it were--it was too adventurous, so it's most likely dead now--or lost, or soup, who knows. I think many people, particularly Josh, Kyle, and Radim, have heard this complaint. It makes me sad that I cannot live as long as tortoises. Tortoises are not worthy of such long lives! Death is--oh my god, Sri (the cat) is trying to dig a cheese puff out of my loafer, so cute!--death is going to happen one day and it makes me sad that I have already spent 25 years of my life. If I am lucky, I will live up to 95... or up to whenever I completely lose control of my bowel movements, which will probably be around 90 or 95. However, there are crap loads of things that can kill me before old-age.

AND to make matters worst, I do not have an afterlife or a religion to calm my nerves (disclaimer: this is not an invitation to convert me, people). It is straight into the ground after all this! Crap! I refuse to be compost! Something about becoming 25 is really making me think about my own mortality. Some people will argue that I am being ridiculous and that 25 is not old... well, I am not saying that 25 is old, jerks. I am saying that it is the beginning of adulthood (none of this 18 year-old business, no one is an adult at 18 or 21! That's nuts!) and adulthood leads into geriatricism, which leads to death. Major companies now agree that I have gathered enough sapience and real-world experience to rent a car... a whole flippin' car... a machine as big as a rhinoceros. People trust me with rhinoceroses!

 Well, on that note, I look forward to my birthday party Tuesday. And if I have not said it enough... there is going to be

a pinata to distract me from the fact that I am getting old and will die in 70 years if I am lucky enough to avoid assassination, disease, freak accidents, and dangerous animals/insects.

Valentine's Day

Josh and I celebrated Valentine's Day on Sunday. I was very excited to give Josh the present I had customized and pre-ordered weeks in advance. Before he was able to brush off all his eye boogers, I shoved his unwrapped gift right in his face. It was a coffee mug with this image printed on:

It's my faces! It's a mug with two of my heads fused together with MS paint to form a super-conjoined-twin me!!! In addition, I gave him a hologram bookmark--also with my faces.
I think he really liked it. His mouth uttered, "Thank you. I love it." But his face read, "Seriously? This is the fourth mug she has designed this year." After the mug and hologram exchanged hands, I demanded my gift... because as much as I like giving presents, I really like receiving presents. I like presents like nobody's business. I like surprises. I like tearing gift wrapping paper. I like coiled ribbons. I like confetti gratuitously stuffed into boxes and gift bags. I love presents!!!

 Josh did not have anything for me. He said he had gone down to the Bowery earlier last week to look for some duck I had said I wanted (whatever, dude, I have no memory of this stuffed duck). He looked sad and embarrassed, so to comfort him--to be a good person--I said something lame like: "Oh, it is the thought and... you know, the effort... that counts. Yeah. That's it. Your present counts so much to give to me in an imaginary thing that so much effort and all thoughts so it is so that thus is a present that is both full of mind feeling nice which makes me so good." I was disappointed. I like surprises. My surprise was stolen from me! and of all people... who knew it would be the person who was supposed to give me a surprise that stole the surprise from the person who was supposed to give me the surprise but could not give me the surprise because it was stolen from the person who was supposed to ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I felt rage.

Josh suggested that we go to the Columbus Circle mall after watching the Justin Bieber 3-D documentary at Lincoln Center Lowes. Damn right we're going to the mall after Justin Bieber! Not a bad movie, by the way.
However, when we got to the mall, I did not want anything. I was sad that I did not get a surprise. Too sad! Kind of pissed. More sad. Josh really wanted me to pick something out because he sensed my agitation, but I do not like knowing the cost of my gifts (I like guessing the ballpark)... and what I really wanted was a pre-planned surprise.

Eventually, I found a sale and did not feel guilty about picking out some practical sweaters. We at at Avoce for dinner. There, I got pretty drunk off of gin and lavender-something. After dinner, I ran wild at Whole Foods, looking for 365-brand Oreo knock-offs and the glittery kitchen sponges we normally use. "They do'n hab our sbonges!" I loudly slurred. "I neeb coffeeeeeeee..."

On actual Valentine's Day--today--I got a call from my agent. She informed me that our last publisher had rejected my novel and that my best bet is to write a second novel, get that one published, and then publish the first one. I am feeling pretty sad. Yes, I am not getting published this year... but Snookie did. Anyway.