I celebrated a birthday last week. I hope I never stop having birthdays because THEY ARE AWESOME. We should have more birthdays, right? Would that make it less special? Maybe. But you know what? It would really spice up the economy. Just saying.

My mother called me at 9:30 in the morning, while I was at the office. She was like “What are you doing?” And I was all dude, I’m AT THE OFFICE because that is what I do on a Tuesday at 9:30 and she’s all, “Happy birthday! You so old now. You should have baby and I raise it for you.” That was all.

My cousin, who lives in Seoul, had a kid, but then went through a divorce. She’s a concert pianist and goes on tour a lot, so my aunt and my mom are more or less raising the kid. Being raised by one’s grandmothers basically means you get a shitload of attention and, like, all the ice cream you want. So they want to have another sibling for the kid so he can, you know, “keep it real.” Which, I suppose, is where I come in. PLEASE NOTE: My uterus is currently closed. Sorry for the inconvenience. At this time there are no plans to open my uterus. However, you can sign up for the newsletter to get the latest updates on my uterus. Just kidding. A uterus newsletter would be heinous. Or, awesome. You know how some people will send you email from babies or pets in the first person, like “Hi, Today I had my first piece of cake and boy, was it messy!” or “Today I went for a long walk, played fetch with Mommy and Daddy and I found a dead squirrel!” Well, my uterus newsletter would be like that. “Today I’m dry and old and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to breed! OMG, sad face. But don’t worry Mom is totes taking good care of me! LOL!” Yes, my uterus is like a 12-year-old girl. Disturbing, I know, but listen, it’s my uterus. I can’t change it. It is what it is, you understand?

Speaking of uterii, in Canada, I saw this sign and, of course, had to take a photo of it because the rest of my body is also 12 years old, just like my uterus.

So here’s the moral of the story: I am older in Earth years, but in mental years, I am still, like, 12 years old. Now, who wants to drop me off at the mall?

This entry was posted on Monday, August 31st, 2009 at 3:20 pm and is filed under Happy Birthday or Whatever, family, shame, travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.