Ding-Dang Old

It is my 25th birthday on Sunday! Yes, I turned 25 last year as well, but this year I really mean it. The last half of one’s twenties is a gaping void anyway, so why not keep the girls perky and 25? Which is already not as good as perky and 19, shoulda stuck with that.

What do I have to look forward to in my late twenties but my Saturn Return and my divorce? Jeez. I will turn 30 though. Then I’ll hold at 30 until 35. Five year increments for me from now on.

Presents can be directed here, care of Vomitola. I’d like 36-hour days, well-defined stomach muscles, a Democrat in the White House, and some more big-eyed art reproductions. I have such simple, elegant taste. By that I mean “trashy.” You should see this nail art I got.

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