BIRTHDAYS.

So this is what my baby boy will look like?

There's something about birthdays that makes them so much better for contemplating your existence than New Years. Unless your birthday is January 1st, making resolutions to get your lazy ass to the gym or to stop touching yourself so much are no more meaningful on New Year's Eve than they are today (unless today is your birthday (like Sarah Gatling's (Happy Birthday Former Roommate!))). Your TRUE New Year's Day is the date you slid down your mother's cervix like the countdown ball. In the midst of my birthday binge drinking and attention seeking, I like to take stock of the previous year while thinking of ways to improve my life for the long haul. In honor of my 8/8/86 entrance into this world, I came up with 8 ways to better my being by my 26th birthday.

 

Maintain My Blog

For every zillion people with a blog, approximately five of them keep up with it after their first handful of disappointing posts. My biggest fear when entering the blogosphere was not low readership (that was a given). It was falling victim to the three-month dump. Like a romantic relationship, the third month seems to be the point where you either lose interest or make a commitment. I intend to go steady with this digital diary.

 

Join the Elites

No, I'm not talking about the brave men and women who risk life and limb to ensure our freedom. I'm talking about the gluttonous boys and girls who spend a majority of their income on meals and activities they will then glorify or chastise via Yelp.com (http://okmarkok.yelp.com/). I have been bleeding at the fingertips to win the "Review of the Day" award ever since my first review. Unfortunately, Elites are the only ones eligible for such an accolade. 

 Be A Winklevoss

The Social Network left me with two insatiable desires. First, I want to become a billionaire before the age of 25. (Wait, 2011-1986 = 25. SHIT!) The second thing I've been dying to do is row crew. Every weekend I plan to roll out of bed before the sun breaks the horizon, throw on a Harvard University hoodie (Note To Self: buy or steal a Harvard sweatshirt) and glide up and down Town Lake (Gmap it) on one of those hydrodynamic vessels. What's stopping me? Good question.   

  
Expand My Magnet Collection

Yes, I collect magnets. NO, it's not as lame as it sounds. Or, maybe it is. Either way, I purchase one of these refrigerator mementos every time I travel to a new destination. Thanks to my obsessive compulsive sentimentality, every trip to the kitchen results in a wonderful journey down memory lane. However, that mental voyage has recently become a reminder that I need to get out more. Sam Chow, ready your couch. I'm coming to NYC before my next birthday.

Get Laid

Whoa, whoa, WHOA! Before you point the finger of perversion in my direction, allow me to explain myself. I, unlike many people I know (ladies included) have been blessed (or cursed) with the ability to remain pleasantly celibate for ridiculous lengths of time after a break up (Record = 2.5 years without so much as a kiss). After reading multiple Men's Health articles suggesting that sexual starvation is harmful to your health, I figure I better "get down on it." You know, for my health. 

Write Something Substantial

Not that Yelp reviews, blog posts and the slew of promotions I've concocted since becoming a copywriter are meaningless. They're just not how I intend to leave my mark (3rd person pun) on the world. I'm talking about a meticulously crafted manuscript or screenplay that immortalizes my literary voice while leaving me a suicidal alcoholic in its wake. I would gladly go the way of Hemingway if I could write (and breed cats) like him.

Nix the Negativity

Contrary to what I just said about one of the most notable and quotable authors in literature, I think it's time I tune down my neuroses to slightly less Woody Allen levels. I don't want to completely deactivate my misery receptors (contentment is a writer's Kryptonite), but I'd be nice to yawn for once without wondering whether or not that involuntary action was a symptom of Parkinson's Disease. I'll start by convincing myself that someone is actually reading this.

 
Marry T-Swift (And so begins the optimism.)

Stop rolling your eyes and read me out. As cheesy as it is, I've always had a soft spot for the saying, "Aim for the stars and maybe you'll reach the sky." I may never exchange marital vows with this driven, wholesome, talented, beautiful, etc., beacon of female perfection, but if I can find a lady who personifies those same qualities I'd gladly put some babies her belly. And if I can't, I'll just become the crazy cat guy (a.k.a. Ernest Hemingway).




So there you have it. Those are the eight goals I intend to pursue until August 8, 2012. If you have any words of advice, encouragement or defamation (I'm counting on you, Jack Rozier) feel free to share them with me and the 3 other people who read this blog. Speaking of sharing, if telling people your birthday wishes is bad luck, then I'm as f%&ked as this little darling.