Another part of the tradition, which started when we were in school, is that every year on your birthday, someone blurts out, "It's your year to shine!" Megan started this. It's a fantastic tradition. It makes everyone feel good, as traditions are meant to do. It's a ridiculous statement. It's cheesy. But it's your birthday, and you've got a whole year before you -- anything could happen. You could shine the fuck out of this year.
Sometimes it's your year to shine, but some years it's not. Sometimes people get married or have a baby or start to be better looking. But most of the years, if you're me, you have a year like all the other un-shiny years, where you have regrettable sex with a lot of people you shouldn't; one ex-boyfriend or another comes back, remembers why he didn't want to marry you, and then leaves you again; you don't pay off your car again; you don't pay off your law school loans again; you mean to go skiing, but you don't; no one ever tells you he loves you; and probably you get another cat. Also if you're me, you move at least once, after selling your real estate (that was supposed to have been in an up-and-coming location -- the realtor said so!) at a loss.
Now, I am massively clinically depressed, I drink vodka like it's water, I have more STDs than you can shake a stick at, and I take so much medication I should be dead, but every year on my birthday, I get caught up in the hype. So when Megan says, "It's your year to shine, Jules!" and we all laugh, I secretly, quietly think to myself (the voice in my head sounds like the chorus of intermission mice from the pig movie Babe), "Maybe it is my year to shine!"
But this year, ten out of ten of my best girlfriends have other plans on my birthday, which makes perfect sense, because Wednesdays are known for being the night of the week when people go out of town or have important things to do (I suspect that Jersey Shore is promoting a particularly compelling episode). I don't get my birthday dinner tonight, so I'm going to sit in my apartment alone eating Cheerios and cigarettes while listening to Tony Robbins' "Get the Edge!" It takes like 400 days to listen to this program, and so far I've put in about 25 minutes and I've learned that Tony Robbins is so fucking incredible at having The Edge, that he owns Turtle Island. Let me say that again: He OWNS Turtle Island. I don't even have a fucking pork chop. And for the first time in 14 years, no one is going to tell me that it's my year to shine.
But no matter! Be not afraid. I do not own a shot gun. I'm not going to the post office. It's a new year and things are really starting to happen for me! For one, I have this blog, and now when I go out of my house, people are always saying to me, "Are you going to write about this in your blog?!" and "Please don't write about me in that blog!" and "That's so weird that you have a blog." So all of this makes me think that people are secretly frightened to be around me now, and this may work to my advantage. People will perhaps do insane things to try to get me to write about it. Or, alternatively, people will be on their best behavior so I don't say bad things about them. People let me be in pictures all by myself because no one wants to have their photograph posted on this thing. It's very empowering having everyone around you completely on edge and biting their tongues and kind of not liking you very much anymore.
I went on a date this week and the guy said, "If I do something wrong, are you going to write about it in your blog?" He said it as a joke. I was quiet for a few seconds. I took a sip of my drink. Then I said, "Try me." I think it made me seem very mysterious and sinister, and there are few things that men are looking for in prospective wives than someone who could at any moment say, "Watch your step, bitchface -- I could totally fuck up your career with shit I post about you in cyberspace."
The other night when I was out with friends, I was introduced to a co-worker of a friend, and the co-worker asked me what I did. My friend said, "She's a blogger," which made me feel like a total jackhole, because it made about as much sense as telling the guy, "She likes peanut butter", because this isn't my job. But it was still one hundred billion times better than how I would have felt if she had said, "She's a divorce lawyer." It is always the case that one-one-trillionth of a second after I say that I am a divorce lawyer, and his eyes start to dart around the room for someone else to talk to, I wish that I had said that I am an airline hostess. But saying I am a blogger is so bizarre, it is almost like saying, "I'm independently wealthy and need not work," or "I'm a cosmonaut."
Another way in which things are looking up for me is that I cancelled my Netflix subscription. Netflix is the bane of my existence. I have wasted months of my life perfecting my queue with all of the movies I want to see, and the thing is like 140 movies deep with really great stuff. When the red envelopes come in the mail, it's like Christmas... "What will it be? What, oh what will it be!! Please let it be The Departed. I could so totally watch The Departed again! Or The Hurt Locker! I really meant to see The Hurt Locker in the theater, but I missed it. I really hope it's The Hurt Locker!" But the movie that keeps showing up is like, Land of the Lost or Wolverine: Origins. "Where is Sin Nombre? Where is Food, Inc.? I don't want to watch fucking Wolverine. How did that even get in there?" Any day that I don't feel obligated to watch Wolverine, well, it just puts a spring in my step. So, good riddance, Netflix. Happy Birthday to Me.
Finally, this year I am going to officially give up running. Running is a stupid hobby. Sure, it's great cardio, makes you want to eat right, helps you get better sleep, gives you a confidence boost from the endorphin high, is something you can do with your friends, and keeps your ass from becoming a continuation of your back, but it's bad for your knees, it takes up a lot of time, and it's really getting in the way of how much I like to smoke.
I think this is what Tony Robbins has in mind when he's coaching me about getting The Edge. If I keep up the good work and keep making all of these positive changes, I'm sure I'll own an island and comfortably sport a fu man chu too someday. I may even be asked to speak about my success, and the name of my program will be, "It's Your Year to Shine!" Everyone will get a pork chop for lunch and an eight-ball of coke, and no matter what I have to say, you are going to walk out of my speech with so much self-esteem.
