Aging

Well, I'm officially a year older.I was going to attempt a post about the "craziness of this past weekend" that sounded like I was talking about TomKat's wedding when, in fact, I was talking about my own birthday - (do you see what I was going for there? what kind of crazy twist would that have been?) - but, then I realized that I don't have much of anything in common with TomKat, and that creative well ran dry. (Why could I really do? Talk about A-list guests? Exotic sights? An incredible, designer gown? I think we all know my birthday party's classiest moments occurred sometime after I (loudly) shared my theory on olives and their lack of necessity in the world and sometime before I spilled red wine down the front of my shirt.)Then, I thought about writing about my presents. But, since I got "House" on DVD, a book by Amy Sedaris sub-titled "Hospitality Under the Influence," and cash, my gifts were pretty much perfect and, for anyone who knows me, completely expected. I mean, I already get a lot of topic mileage out of Hugh Laurie, alcohol, and running out of money, so I don't want to over-mine, if you will, and find out that the well has gone dry one day.Plus, this is one of the rare weekends I didn't spend eight hours watching Lifetime, so I don't even have cheesy movies to mock and re-hash for the anti-made-for-television crowd. My dog didn't get any new outfits. My landlord has stayed out of sight. And, I haven't run into a single vagrant wanting to predict my future or sell me a dead pigeon.Why am I telling you about everything that wasn't funny enough to write about, you might ask? Because it all leads me to my new worry that turning 27 has killed my storytelling mojo.Normally, weird stuff happens to me all the time - especially on my birthday. At twenty-two, my crazy ex-roommate caused a scene in front of forty people before throwing a beer against the wall and storming out, and I coined the phrase "crazy like a loon and not like a fox." For twenty-three, there was literally dancing on the table. And, last year I threw an 80s prom.Even before I became of legal age, this stuff happened. I spent half of my tenth birthday in a horrendous girl scout camp where an obese camp cook tried to make me eat my weight in spaghetti before a homeless man stole my duffel bag as it was sitting on the front steps of my school when the troop got back and unloaded the van.I usually like to go big.Yet, this past weekend was tame. Some might even say "drama free." I can't help but wonder if I've come to the end of the road for zaniness. Will I stop having the experiences that make for my future anecdotes? Will I have to start writing about food or social issues or what kids will be wearing in the spring to get by? Will I have to embrace gardening or evaluating toaster ovens just to have topics of discussion?I don' think anyone wants to see the day I'm planting crocus bulbs from all the different Home Depots in town to see which one bears the brightest bloom - especially me.All I can say is that if my family gets through all of Thanksgiving dinner without incident, I'm really going to get scared...