The Occasional Solipsist

So my sister called me today to see how I felt about getting another year older and during that conversation I finally realized what the name of the tv show thirtysomething was going for.

I have never actually seen that particular pile of 80's television drek, but I know of it and it dawned on me that the title likely wasn't some clever pun, but rather a reference to people in their thirties not being aware of their exact age because it just no longer matters.

We ended up having a quasi-argument about how old we both were, and during it, I actually lost track of how old I was. I had to do the math to figure out that I am in fact 33 now. I think the reason for the disagreement was simple: We're both thirty something, and once you're there, the numbers seem to hold less meaning than they used to. Of course, I pointed out that there is a big difference between 31 and 39, so it might be more important for her to remember her age than me to remember mine, but she's pregnant with her second, so she's got more important things to worry about than counting down to forty.

In other news, I guess I had the best birthday I could reasonably hope for. I got woken up by Trinity and Superwife, had both my breakfast and dinner made to order for me, got to take my princess for a long ride in her new sled in 10cm of newly fallen snow, got to take my new PS3 for a test drive, and spoke to both my parents and had a great conversation with both of them. I think the only way it could have been better is if Superwife had surprised me by giving me a lap dance dressed in her Wonder Woman costume rather than falling asleep on the couch. But now that I'm getting older and edging closer to heart attack country, those sorts of things need to be more carefully planned anyways I suppose.

Labels: everything else, narcissism