Couldn't I have stopped at 35?
I have just under four years to take over the world.
The worst part about turning 36 is officially being closer to 40 than 30. I'm not the type of person who obsesses or worries over age typically, but I think it hit me yesterday during the recovery process that though I basically act like an inbred autistic preteen with clinical adhd I am quickly becoming an "older" man. When I was a little tadpole in the outback frollicking with kangaroos I always imagined I'd be slain in a freak boomarang accident somewhere in my late twenties. And then in my twenties the fantasy became something more tangible, going out like James Dean (mmm FRANCO) and careening off the side of the road in my hot rod (mmm hot rods).
But alas, none of that came to be. Don't get me wrong, I don't have a death wish. I couldn't be happier about the way things are going for me lately. I have a lovely wife, two gorgeous kids (i don't let them near the keyboard so they don't have journals), a spectacular lover (still haven't figured out an accurate term for us), and some wonderful friends. Not to mention Meryl the dingo and little Vegemite Platypus Rebecca Eric Bana I think this is me just experiencing a combination of post-birthday depression and hangover recovery.
Rose, Diane, and Brian set up the party and if there was any doubt as to how well they know me, it wiped all that away. All they had to do was bring Brian out in a leather skirt and I lost control of all my senses and nearly flipped him around on the dining room table and gave it to him proper. The girls tried to put makeup on him but he was too quick and concerned for his manliness so he fled like a little girl. I spent the rest of the evening following him around, lifting his skirt, and trying to pinch his bare arse underneath. He left to go surfing with Marty but at that point I was too toasted to be concerned and got chummy with everyone in the usual fashion, putting my hands on various parts of their bodies and squeezing. I had my arm around Orlando all night, as usual, but then he and his ball-and-chain left and Mandy Moore started hitting on me and I'm fairly sure the hickies on my neck yesterday morning were from her and not Brian. I may get in trouble when he reads this, but he was surfing on my birthday so I think this is suitable revenge and really enjoyable at the same time.
As if I weren't depressed enough, I see that someone made an extra creepy icon of my face. I'm used to the "bana hoochies" (their name, not mine) turning decent normal pictures of my face into strange and horrible creations but this one strikes fear into my heart for no reason that I can put my finger on.
I am a refugee of The Village of The Damned and I can make you do things with my mind. Undress immediately. And vote for me below.
In an effort to cure my depression, HELLO MAGAZINE has included me in it's poll of it's "Most Attractive Men". My picture looks even more horrible than the one above but the competition isn't too bad except for Tom Cruise and his teeth still look a little funny even after his braces.
Right this second, I am heading down to the garage to start up my new toy and going to pick up Michelle. I'm not exactly sure what we're doing but I know it's going to be Fast and Furious. Maybe she'll show me where Sanoe lives and we can stand outside her window with a boombox over our heads playing Peter Gabriel until she admits her love.
The worst part about turning 36 is officially being closer to 40 than 30. I'm not the type of person who obsesses or worries over age typically, but I think it hit me yesterday during the recovery process that though I basically act like an inbred autistic preteen with clinical adhd I am quickly becoming an "older" man. When I was a little tadpole in the outback frollicking with kangaroos I always imagined I'd be slain in a freak boomarang accident somewhere in my late twenties. And then in my twenties the fantasy became something more tangible, going out like James Dean (mmm FRANCO) and careening off the side of the road in my hot rod (mmm hot rods).
But alas, none of that came to be. Don't get me wrong, I don't have a death wish. I couldn't be happier about the way things are going for me lately. I have a lovely wife, two gorgeous kids (i don't let them near the keyboard so they don't have journals), a spectacular lover (still haven't figured out an accurate term for us), and some wonderful friends. Not to mention Meryl the dingo and little Vegemite Platypus Rebecca Eric Bana I think this is me just experiencing a combination of post-birthday depression and hangover recovery.
Rose, Diane, and Brian set up the party and if there was any doubt as to how well they know me, it wiped all that away. All they had to do was bring Brian out in a leather skirt and I lost control of all my senses and nearly flipped him around on the dining room table and gave it to him proper. The girls tried to put makeup on him but he was too quick and concerned for his manliness so he fled like a little girl. I spent the rest of the evening following him around, lifting his skirt, and trying to pinch his bare arse underneath. He left to go surfing with Marty but at that point I was too toasted to be concerned and got chummy with everyone in the usual fashion, putting my hands on various parts of their bodies and squeezing. I had my arm around Orlando all night, as usual, but then he and his ball-and-chain left and Mandy Moore started hitting on me and I'm fairly sure the hickies on my neck yesterday morning were from her and not Brian. I may get in trouble when he reads this, but he was surfing on my birthday so I think this is suitable revenge and really enjoyable at the same time.
As if I weren't depressed enough, I see that someone made an extra creepy icon of my face. I'm used to the "bana hoochies" (their name, not mine) turning decent normal pictures of my face into strange and horrible creations but this one strikes fear into my heart for no reason that I can put my finger on.
I am a refugee of The Village of The Damned and I can make you do things with my mind. Undress immediately. And vote for me below.
In an effort to cure my depression, HELLO MAGAZINE has included me in it's poll of it's "Most Attractive Men". My picture looks even more horrible than the one above but the competition isn't too bad except for Tom Cruise and his teeth still look a little funny even after his braces.
Right this second, I am heading down to the garage to start up my new toy and going to pick up Michelle. I'm not exactly sure what we're doing but I know it's going to be Fast and Furious. Maybe she'll show me where Sanoe lives and we can stand outside her window with a boombox over our heads playing Peter Gabriel until she admits her love.