Hello fellow humans. It’s my birthday weeks. You know us gays celebrate our birthdays two weeks before and two weeks after our actual birthday. That gives us the proper amount of time to get all the birthday attention we can get.
A few years ago, I decided I would only really celebrate the big birthdays. You know: the ones where your age ends in a 0 or a 5. But fuck that! The way things are going in this world, we need to celebrate every birthday.
Plus, at my age — fifty-fucking-four years old — ya just never know when it will be the last one. Every day there is a new pain, creak or ache somewhere on my body.
I remember being in my early 20s and thinking that 30- and 40-year-old people were OLD OLD. Now, I’m like, they are just babies.
Last night at the show in the Rose Room, there was a young guy with big black Xs on his hands, which in club speak means he is under 21. He said he was 18, and it was his first time to a gay bar.
Awww, lil baby gay!
So I asked him what year was he born. Now, I know we can all do math, so it should be no surprise to hear what year he was born. But when that little fucker said 2008, I almost threw the microphone at him. My tucking panties are older than he is.
I found myself giving the little eye roll and head shake that the older gays gave me when I was a twink. Back then we were called chicken and anyone older than 30 that liked younger guys were called chicken hawks. Oh, what a beautiful yet fleeting time it was to be young and dumb.
I miss the ’90s.
When I think about my birthday — actually, when I think about my age — I can’t help but feel nostalgic. (Oh fuck! That is a sentence that only an old person would say.)
On one hand I hate getting older, but on the other hand, at least I am still alive and kicking. Whenever I get too in my head about aging and wrinkles and all the bullshit that goes with getting older, I force myself to be thankful that I get to get old.
I lost so many young and beautiful friends when I was young. They never got the chance to realize, “Hey, I should probably get Botox” or “I should get my cholesterol and blood pressure checked” or “Let me get the shoes with the good arch support; they might help with my back pain.”
I wish they gotten the chance to bitch about getting old.
Sorry. One of the things about getting older is you tend to get more emotional over the smallest of things. (No, I am not talking about your dick, although that is sad as well.) I am talking about stupid shit. To give you an idea of what I mean, here is a list of things that has made me tear up just in the last 48 hours:
- Alysa Liu’s gold medal-winning routine in the Olympics.
- Hilary Knight and Brittany Bowe getting engaged at the Olympics (and about 10 other things that happened during the Olympics).
- A Schitt’s Creek montage of Moira Rose saying Moira Rose shit.
Hearing the song “Bed Head” by Manchester Orchestra randomly on the radio a few hours after finding out the drummer, Tim Very, died and realizing what an incredible artist he was. - Egg’s emotionally charged, desperate scream for his knight, Ser Duncan the Tall (“Dunk”), to “Get up!” on Knights of the Seven Kingdoms.
- Listening to “Top of the World” and “Travelin’ Soldier” by the Chicks (formerly the Dixie Chicks).
- Happy puppies.
- Rereading a Valentine’s Day card from my husband.
- Writing this.
I know, it’s ridiculous, but I don’t care; it’s my birthday bitchez!
Remember to always love more, bitch less and be fabulous! XOXO, Cassie Nova