In exactly two days, at 9:01 a.m. Eastern Standard Time on Friday, January 12, I will turn 34.
If 30 is dead in gay years, does this mean I am approaching resurrection?
Or has my flesh finished rotting off my bones and is my skeleton just lying here, deluding itself that there is any life left in it at all?
I thought you were Faust and made a pact with the devil, preserving your youthful self for eternity. Some unpleasant side-effects may occur, though.
30 is dead? i thought it was cool to be in your 30s!
Great. I guess my funeral is quickly forthcoming.
Each decade boundary brings another death and regret that you didnt enjoy and exploit your time wisely. It truly sucks, unless you can somehow marshall a great attitude. It helps if you are rich, still handsome or otherwise richly endowed. But youth has something you’ll never regain: time and beauty. I’ts Life’s cruel, sinister joke. Steel yourselves for it. You will soon be chased down by the demon. Listen to my warning; no one warned me and now I am just a sad observer of the parade.
That is why i decided to be fifteen forever…even though i look about 85 just now after a good 12 hours at the office.
Oh fuck off. I mean, Happy forthcoming Birthday and all that, but really. Whoever told you 30 was dead in gay years should spend eternity hung upside down in a container of farm effluent.
Um, unless it was me π
Hey, Buffy’s died twice. What do you have to complain about?
And another thing: If you’re 34 and approaching resurrection, at 37 am I approaching deification? Let’s hope so.
Well, if you’re still doing the odd job as a go-go boy at the ripe old age of 34, and still having to beat people off your erection with a stick while standing in the light, I’d say you’re nowhere close to death.
I, on the other hand, am still trying to figure out how to beat Carol Channing to the morning buffet at the Old Broadway Queen’s Retirement Home. That girl is quick!!
Travis
Please remember, sir, that you have friends/readers even further down the road to decrepitude than you are, and we urge you to count your blessings before you get such a pinch!
Oh, Jeeeeez! Don’t you guys know how sexy and hot a forty or fifty year old guy who’s kept his body and been around the block a lot can be? Maybe not in Manhattan, but here in Boston and throughout the “wilds” of New England, sexy middle aged men are getting pursued and laid all the time. Experience, confidence and the skills that come from a great deal of practice are extremely seductive.
The best is yet to come.
It just means it’s time to pose for one of these.
well if your flesh rots off your bones, you’ll at least have the figure you’ve always dreamed of.
First, Happy Birthday. Second, all those young things that say 30 is death… I wonder if they own a house with their partner?
I’m aproaching 40 pretty soon… I’m a little scared… nice post π !!
Just make sure to keep that portrait in your attic…
Happy Birthday!
You selfish little young man/b!tch! You mean to tell me I’ve been dead for 12 years! O’ the thought of all the money I could have saved on therapy had I only known.
Side Note: My dear departed step-mother started counting backwards in years when she hit 39. After several of years we caught on. She then proceeded to surprise us by making her birthday any day she felt like it.
You could have avoided all this rotting-flesh unpleasantness by choosing cremation.
We can only appraise this question with an accurate tabulation of your true age. But wouldn’t that invalidate the spell that involves the painting you keep in the attic?
Um, what I meant to say was, “Come on! It’s a new year: it’s a new you!”
Damned keyboard.
Well, if your skeleton is going to bother being delusional (as mine does), you might as well pretend all the sassy twinks are jealous of your wisdom. It works for me.
Plus, my skeleton is hung like a horse. π
In Saturn-return years, where you start over at 29, you’re five years old again: the world has just opened up, you’re learning new and exciting things and meeting new people. Happy birthday!
Happy birthday. The worst is yet to come.
Happy Birthday Joel!
A.B.
Belated by one day but no less well meant: Happy Birthday!
Now that aging gracefully is out of the question, what’s next?
Oh, pshaw. I turned 41 today and you don;t see me bitching, do you? One advantage, of course, is that now I can use words like “pshaw.”
Just turned 40 a couple months ago…30 is definitely not dead.
Hey – your workout classes sound fun!
Thirty in gay years is the new 23, or something like that.
Happy belated birthday!
Now that that’s out of the way: Die In a Fire.
Love,
The Really Old Guy
Thirty-four? Wow. Who’da thunkit? (Happy birthday, you!)
Well my philosophy, adopted rather recently, is that life begins at 41 and one month and 23 days.
I don’t know if you’re haggard just yet, but I take comfort from the fact that I have yet to hit 27, so…
Happy birthday though!
How neat – happy birthday. I’m a 12th baby myself, 1:17PM; 5 years, 4 hours, 16 mintues after you, if you were born on the West Coast.
And thank you so much for posting that Lord of the Gummys thing!