Pic of the Week.

Wait, let me take a (bathroom) selfie.
Wait, let me take a (bathroom) selfie.

A few days ago, I was driving to work, and while looking in my rearview mirror, it appeared my foundation had already smudged near the start of my left eyebrow.

At a stoplight, I proceeded to blend the smudge with my fingers. I had no luck, and upon closer inspection, I realized that it was indeed NOT a smudge, but a deep wrinkle where my makeup had settled.

I gasped in horror. There was no fixing that line without a needle-full of botox.

I turn 29 tomorrow, and I’m feeling a little stressed. It didn’t really hit me until about a week ago — I honestly kept forgetting that my birthday was around the corner.

Blame it on the old age, but it seems like a rare moment when I even know what day it is. I rely completely on my calendar, and if it’s not on my calendar, then it’s not really happening.

Just a few weeks ago, I mailed a check without putting an address on it. It’s happening already, I’m a year away from 30, and I’m forgetful, careless, and I need facial injections.

Irrational thinking is common around my birthday. I do more reflecting on July 2 than I do on January 1. I start thinking about where I’ve been, where my life is going, do I have a plan?

And I’ve almost always been single on my birthday, leaving me to question that as well — is this how it’s going to be, forever? Since I’m not sold on having children, it’s not necessarily a biological clock issue, but more of just a life issue. I’m not getting any younger, and obviously my face isn’t getting any smoother, chest isn’t getting any perkier, and I don’t think my personality is blossoming.

I need to find a dude, and fast… or do I?

I’m still feeling wishy-washy on the whole subject; despite creating an online dating profile last week (more on this later).

Seriously, sometimes I wonder… is there really going to be a guy out there willing to put up with me? I like to sleep with my TV on, and lay around for a majority of a Sunday (no matter how nice it is outside), and I like to read trashy novels, and sometimes I eat junk food.

I’ve never really been able to share this part of me with a guy, for fear that if I do, he’ll run. But I’m so old, and set in my ways, that the next guy is going to have to take it or leave it.

So, about that birthday thing… where’s the chocolate?


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