I turn 50 today.
It’s weird because most days I feel like a kid. A young boy somewhere in the age range of 12 to 17.
Most people I know say they don’t feel like adults either. Which means we’re all living in a giant Peanuts cartoon. No adults for miles–just an occasional wah wa-wah in the distance. You can call me Peppermint Patty. Or sir. Take your pick. Even though this lesbian doesn’t rock sandals.
W is throwing me a big party on Saturday complete with a party bus. I don’t know the details, so the rest is a surprise.
But today we’ll spend a quiet evening at home with the kids.
We’ll get pizza or some other takeout. I’ll open presents.
I already bought myself these cool black Puma throwbacks as a happy-birthday-to-me gift.
I’m thinking of treating myself to another pair in baby blue.
“Like my eyes,” I told W.
“Yes,” she said.
“My eyes are green,” I said.
“I meant they would compliment your eyes,” she said.
She doesn’t understand how sneakers work.
I’ll wait for next weekend to see The Lego Batman Movie. Maybe as a reward for getting our taxes ready.
“No thank you,” W said when I first asked her if she wanted to see the movie. She has since agreed to see it with me. Because pity, I guess. But whatever. It’s The Lego fucking Batman Movie.
And I’ll save some birthday money for comic books. To spend at that new store in Philly W said we could visit the weekend we see Cabaret.
I suppose 50 means I’m wise. At least wiser than I was at 49. If I’ve learned anything these past five decades, it’s be true to yourself. Live your authentic life.
Even if you’re a 50-year-old boy/woman and that means sneakers and comic books and The Lego fucking Batman Movie.
Life is too short, folks.
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What Peanuts character are you? What’s your favorite type of sneaker? Put them together and make some kind of drag king/queen name. You know you want to. C’mon, it’s my birthday. Humor me.