I turned 29. I might as well have turned 30. The only advantage of turning 29 is that it is a prime number.
My new theory on all this aging stuff is that 33 is the new 30. If Jesus was allowed to fluff around until he was 33 to achieve something noteworthy, then so the fuck can WE. However, if you want to subscribe to this theory, what you have to achieve by 33 has to be pretty substantial. Reopen the gates of heaven. Cure the ill. Feed the masses. Make the Statue of Liberty disappear. Something magic.
I have many grey hairs on my head (which I do not mind), one grey chest hair (which is sad but I like) and no identified grey pubes (as yet). My age finally seems to be catching up with my body (I had a 40 year old mans body at the age of 18), however, my maturity could be best described as child-like (and more often described as childish).
I don't have a serious girlfriend. I don't have kids. I don't have any work lined up after the second half of January 2009. I am about 8 kg's heavier than my optimal fit weight.
I have been in love probably three times. Been heart-broken probably twice. Since I was 18 I would have had sex on more days than not. I don't have a dog but my house has a cat. I haven't ever been directly responsible for someone’s death, nor have I been directly responsible for saving someone’s life.
I don't think any of that is great or very pathetic. Yet I am fairly happy. It excites me to think that I have plenty of room for improvement still.
And now for everybody’s favourite game: GUESS THAT POO!
Clue: This is a poo that you will never forget.
Answer in tomorrows post!