March 02, 2004
almost thirty-one | joanna
We at two-twenty don’t usually wipe off the clown make-up, but after multiple attempts to craft digital ballon animals for our dozen or so readers -- during which times each and every one popped in my face -- I freaking give up. Tomorrow is my birthday. My thirty-first birthday. Thirty ONE. I don’t like it. I will tomorrow. Shit, I’ll love it tomorrow. But today, or at least for now, I do not like it at all.
So instead of continuing my effort to look outward, I’m going to turn myself to face me (all apologies to Bowie). Birthdays are personal New Years; here are some annotated resolutions:
Learn to empty ashtrays before they are scary.
Sigh. A year ago I was two months in to being smoke-free, on my second to last week of the patch. Quit for seven months. Then I met Ash. Now I ash in an ashtray he bought me.
Cool, right? When you can see it.
Maintain commitment to trying on items at H&M despite devil voice that insists 1) "it’s only $15" and/or 2) "you can always return it". Thought about capturing evidence of past indiscretions but there’s self-examination and there’s self-flagelation. Important to draw the line.
Keep desk organized, or at least more organized.
I have no "after" picture.
Learn to wear heels. Without falling. When sober. At weddings and everywhere else.
This was actually my New Year’s resolution. Not doing too well with it. It’s been cold and New York is a walking city and... okay, enough excuses. If freaking Sarah Jessica can run around in Manolos than I can too, dammit. Or knock-offs. Or whatever. It’s the stairs that are a problem. No no WERE a problem.
Stop ignoring reports that Tasti D-Lite’s published nutritional analysis is absolute bullshit.
Accept that even my beloved Caudalie skincare products will not change the fact that I am getting older… but never ever stop using them because they are magically transformative.
And finally, concede that even though their country is home to the ten deadliest snakes in the world, that they are proud of having the largest man-made structure on the planet that is, in fact, a chain link fence, and that they talk kinda funny... Australians aren't all that bad after all.
related entries:july 14th 2006 | missus hamburger
franks bar and restuarant, vienna | mister hamburger
nick burns on nicks and razor burn