Whiny Little Bitch Hodgepodge

Having survived my trip to the DMV, I am now legally a resident of New York state. Freaking out a little bit? Why, yes! I know, I know... it doesn't sound like a cataclysmic life-event or anything but, keep this in mind: My birthday is less than a week away and I don't handle getting older very well (because I'm a big baby) and during this time of the year, any sort of happenstance that smacks of "growing up" or "change" is fraught with so much symbolism and meaning my head might fucking explode like a neutron bomb of whiny, white-guy angst. And, yes, I recognize that this isn't one of my more charming qualities. Sorry. My father's the same way so I guess being a total pussy about your birthday is genetic. Blame him.

But you have to grant me that this is sort of a big deal. In the eyes of the law... if not in the eyes of anyone else, myself included... I am a New Yorker. I mean, look, I know that I'll always be a Texan... no matter how long I live here, or anywhere else for that matter, it will never be long enough to erase the first twenty-two years of a life spent in the hot, flat confines of the largest US state (that's right, I said LARGEST... fuck you, Alaska... you're Canada's ill-fitting toupee). I love BBQ and country music and enormously dumb belt buckles and longhorn cattle and Nolan Ryan and the stars at night that are unquestionably big and bright. That shit is my DNA.

But still, ya know? BUT STILL. I sort of feel like Sam Houston is going to come alive and kick my ass.

Meh... whatever... I know that I'm probably making too much of this. Just how it is during the weeks surrounding my birthday. I'm trying to keep any and all wigging out internal, where it'll build up into a hard, evil rock of cancer, I'm sure, somewhere down the line and then I can bitch about THAT until I'm dragged kicking and screaming into hell by a man in a dark, hooded robe. Ah, Death... See ya soon!!!

NOTE: Did I mention I don't handle birthday's well?

----------------------------------------------------------

On to less distressing topics... um... I'm sure there's something... sorry, it's really hard to focus on anything other than myself, right now. I mean, it's ALWAYS hard to focus on anything other than myself... that's what happens when you're as awesome as me... but right now it's like doubly hard. I'm two years away from thirty! THIRTY!!! And yeah, yeah... I know that some of you out there are already thirty or past thirty or well into your elderly years (ZFS! is huge in retirement homes, for some reason) but that is SOOOOO not the point. We're talking about my selfish ass here, not yours.

Ugh... SORRY... I'm really trying to not be like this. And really, it's not JUST my birthday that's got me fitted for extra-tight crankypants. My job sucks and I'm kind of broke and the Mets didn't do anything to plug up their leaky bullpen at the trade deadline and the fourth season of Six Feet Under (which Girlfriend and I are currently watching on DVD) is starting out pretty lame and I don't know and stuff and whatever and junk.

I guess the most positive way to look at my current mental state is that it's best to get it all out now. I'm having a big wingding next week in honor of my glory and I'd really prefer to not spend the entire night in the darkest corner of the bar cutting myself with a broken bottle and mutter unspecified threats towards all my friends who just want me to stop crying so hard because I'm setting off car alarms up and down the block.

This is healthy...?

----------------------------------------------------------

Uh... so, yeah. What else? Oh, I'm finally going to check out The Dark Knight this weekend. Just wanted to make sure that I was THE last person on Earth to see it before I made the trip down to the theater. Batman will heal my soul. Right? Right.