I think I used that stupid title on one of my other birthdays. What can I tell you? I lack originality.
So. Yeah. I'm 44 today. FORTY-FOUR! At least it's one of those repetitive-digit years. I think those are cool. It was cool when I was 11, it's cool today.
Marvin surprised me with some extra gifts today.
Who hearts himself? He got a particular charge out of the "Clarence Clemons: His new knees ROCK" headline.
He also got me More, the magazine for women over 40. I will be really annoyed if I end up liking it.
I once made fun of my friend Stacy for reading Oprah magazine, and then as soon as I opened it up, I just loved it. Seriously, do you read that magazine? You know how you read those decorating magazines or gardening magazines, and you feel a sort of desperate need to revamp your entire living space? Or you read a beauty magazine and you want to spend $80,000 on plastic surgery THAT AFTERNOON? When you read Oprah, you just feel like, oh. Everything's great in the world! It's a rewarding periodical, I am not kidding you.
At any rate. I will not be officially 44 until 4:52 p.m. Because that's when I was born. And you know I kind of get perky right around then? When I freelanced, my most productive time was 5 to 9 p.m. I came up with a theory that people born in the morning are morning people, and vice versa. Don't you hate it when people say "vice-a versa"?
My grandmother once told me that if you're really quiet right at the time you were born, you can hear the number clicking over in your head. In retrospect, I think she said that so I'd shut the hell up and stop screaming around my birthday party. But do you know I can never remember to listen for the click? I always think, Crap. It's 6 p.m. I forgot the click.
It's also Ginger Rogers' birthday today. I'm certain we'll call each other.
I guess that's all I have to say about my birthday.
