Not only do you look like a monkey, but you act like one, too.

The following is the actual conversation I had with myself this afternoon as I was peeing:

“Jeez. I can’t believe I’m going to be 38 tomorrow. Lord have mercy. 38. Un-freakin-believable. Doesn’t even seem possible. Good gravy this is the oldest I’ve ever been. Sheesh. Wait… 38? That doesn’t seem right. What year is it? 2007? What year was I born? 1970. Wait… that means I’ll be 37. I’ll be 37 tomorrow not 38. Whew! Ok, things are looking up.”

And I’m not lying.

I could bore you with the things I’ve learned in my 37 years of life. I could also list all the things that I still have yet to experience. I could share my profound insights on life, love and happiness. And I could even explain to you the meaning of life. But I won’t.

September 6, 1970

All I’m going to say is thank God I was born in an even numbered year which is also the beginning of a decade. 1970. It’s easy to calculate and it seems the older I’ve gotten, the more important that is. If I had been born in 1967 or 1972 it would cause me to have to constantly carry around a calculator just to determine my current age.

Why is it that people are so hung up on age? And by “people” I mean me. Even though realizing I’m not turning 38 brings a little sparkle back into my old, weary eyes, the thought of being 37 is quite… quite… quite… horrific. Like I said in my self-conversation, “It’s the oldest I’ve ever been.” But I guess it’s better than 38. Or being dead. Or being 37 and living a horrible life. Which I’m not. Ok, maybe 37 isn’t so bad.

Here is a conversation I had Monday with friend:

Best Buy Clerk: Sir, can I have your birthdate?
Him: August 10, 1958
Me: 1958? Hahahahahaha
Him: -------
Me: And you’re not dead yet??

And here is a conversation I had today with a 31 year old co-worker:

Me: My birthday’s tomorrow.
Her: Yep. How old?
Me: 37
Her: Hahahaha
Me: What’s so funny?
Her: Do you realize that you are now OFFICIALLY in your late 30’s?
Me: Shut up.
Her: Look, you gave me hell when I turned 30. It’s payback time.
Me: When I turned 36 I was so happy that I was still considered mid-30’s.
Her: Those days are over, baaabbbbyyyy!!!
Me: Shut up.
Her: You are SO old.

What goes around comes around, huh?

One good thing about my birthday being tomorrow is that I’ll have good hair. A friend is my hairdresser. Tonight she pampered me with the works. Coloring. Streaking. Cutting. Even free shampoo, conditioner and other hair products that I haven’t quite figured out the purposes of. After she styled it I told her I looked like a rock star. Too bad she doesn’t do my hair every morning.

So there you have it.

A birthday blog that lacks insight, foreshadowing and reflection. I’ve been too busy obsessing over www.justin.tv to be concerned about how my aches and pains are going to only get worse. My new high-school-girl crush on Zac Efron has me way too occupied to bother with what I haven’t done with my life.

Ok, maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the Zac thing.

But it’s true. It’s a coin toss between wanting to mother him by saving him from a desolate future in rehab due to drug addiction and wanting him to be my little-boy-play-toy. Perverse, I know. It changes back and forth pretty much hourly.

Is it considered omg-so-not-cool if a 37 year old carries around a Zac Efron lunchbox? How about a 37 year old without children who has watched both High School Musicals more than once?

Wait. Don’t answer that.