I am about to celebrate a birthday, one which officially puts me in my mid-30’s. Shit, I’m halfway to dead. I remember when I was in denial about getting out of the young man phase of my life, but that is in the rear view mirror. I can’t read menus or computer screens without contacts or reading glasses, my body hair is winning the war of attrition (historians will bemoan the fall of the Coen empire at the Battle of Chris’s back, circa 2013, as the turning point), and I think I have about two years before I have to get something done about my thinning hair in the crown region (Santa needs to bring me Rogaine foam or a time machine that is body part specific).
All this has led me to reflect on my life a bit (alcohol does that too, but I usually just don’t give a damn after the fifth drink). I will use 22, when I graduated college as a reference point. Bad – see above paragraph…I’m not a millionaire or raising bald eagles on a ranch…they haven’t found a cure for ass hair…I need to sell my condo and the market sucks…water, not beer, still pours from my tap everyday. Looks pretty grim, kids.
The other side? Good – I am getting married next year to an amazing lady (see my fiancee’s “Bad” list on her birthday for the counter to this)…I can afford better beer than Busch Light (don’t worry, baby, I won’t leave you! You’re still the one!)…I’m in better shape than at 22, which is more of an indictment of 22 year old me rather than an endorsement now…I perform comedy, which is awesome – especially the rare times when people enjoy my act…I have a blog, which is cheaper than therapy…oh, and I’m not dead yet, which if you knew me in college is perhaps a bit of a surprise. I’ll take it. Now if only I can hit the powerball and start my bald eagle sanctuary, I’ll really be rolling.