Hey, I turn 27 tomorrow. Here’s what I think about when I think of being 27: in the movie The Sweetest Thing, Cameron Diaz is trying on clothes. She cups her breasts and pushes them up. “22,” she says. Then she lets them fall. “27.”
No big speech. Let’s just say I’m better this year than I was the year before. And the year before that, too. Maybe even the year before THAT.
Here’s 27 pictures of me in chronological order. I like to see people age, so maybe you do, too. You can tell exactly when I started to hate my smile, and when I began to shy away from any photos I didn’t take myself. Interesting, those things you notice.
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My ulcer, or something like it, came back over my Christmas vacation. Turns out if you go from being a strict vegetarian who doesn’t eat sugar to a person who eats only cookies and beef, your digestive system is pretty much fucked. 99% of my co-workers are women, so, as stereotypes go, there’s food everywhere, especially chocolate. I’ve never liked chocolate. I’m one of those freaks who doesn’t like sweet stuff in general, but I picked up a nasty sweet tooth this past fall. Basically, if there’s food in front of me, I’ll eat it and there was cake and ice cream and cookies and candy in piles everywhere. Someone’s birthday? Ice cream in the lounge. Someone’s leaving? Cake in the mail room. Random Tuesday? Chocolate fondue in the deli. These are all real-life examples, I swear to God. One day, we had a seriously-for-real ice cream cart parked in the lobby.
So after two months of gluttony, I’m back to my old eating habits. Good while it lasted, and my stomach was only out of commission for a week in recovery. In other news, I’m actually leaving my job this month, for good reason. Look for Ulcer, Round Two at my going-away party.
This again! Might as well. It’s January, where all of my writing gets done because I make a resolution to write. Last January, I wrote nearly 30 unfinished stories, some a whopping two sentences long! This month, more of the same. Maybe. My New Year was spent running around with impending plans in a black dress and blue snake skin cowboy boots, only to exchange it all for pajamas and dancing in the office with Chris at midnight. Each year I try for that super-exciting champagne kissy New Year’s, and end up in my house doing the same old bit. Happy 2008! This year should be different from last year, if only we can hope.