While it is true that I turn 35 years old today, chronologically speaking, I strongly resent the implication that I'm growing up. No way in heck am I growing up, except in a few ways that we won't talk about, for once.
I love my birthday. I love a day where I know I can be special, that people can come up and say happy birthday, that I can get presents from people. I start lobbying for birthday presents, typically, around December 27. I'm an obscenely easy person to shop for, as I say, "Ooo! That would make a great birthday present!" when I see something I would like. Then, I remind anybody who'll listen for two weeks afterwards that I would like it.
For instance, I got a book today that is J. Michael Straczynki answering some 4000 questions about his science fiction writing and Babylon 5, which he created and is, to date, my all-time favorite television show. I told The Wife that I wanted that, for the entire month of March. I also got the Coraline bluray, which I had been threatening my wife that I'd buy for two weeks before she bought it in order that I shut up about it.
I have a big present coming tomorrow, but I don't know what it is. It's been in a box on the dresser in the guest room, but I'm not one to peek. I much prefer the surprise and anticipation. (Hard to believe, I know, but I don't peek at presents. I worked that out of my system when I was, like, 9.)
It was a nice day.