There's little out there that has made me realize what a loser I am more than the fact that, 9 months in advance, I've started planning my 30th birthday party.
And so, with 267 days to spare before that momentous occasion rolls around, I have considered different venues (originally wanted a harbour cruise, but decided the logistics and cost were all a bit much), discussed my options with the event staff (I want my own DJ and catering for the first 2 hours), created A and B invite lists (I wouldn't actually notice if anyone on the B list wasn't there), and started to think about what I'm going to wear.
I'm not sure why I'm so ridiculously excited about this, apart from the obvious fact that I love anything that is all about me. Although when you think about it my 30th birthday is probably the only really huge party I will get to throw for myself for quite some time, especially considering I certainly don't plan on getting married unless it becomes some sort of global mandate, with noncompliance being punished with unending and repeated viewings of MTV reality shows or something equally likely to inspire depression and suicide.
And so, I feel rather justified in my exuberance, even if it means that I have made the planning of this party a priority over other possibly relevant things like figuring out what hotels I will be staying at in cities around South America in May, consoling friends who are living through various life traumas at the moment, and so many work related items that I won't list any here because I don't want anything to distract me from the big THREE-O.
It's become so much of a focal point that I think my friends and family might want to start preparing for the fallout when I wake up the day after my birthday and realize I have nothing left to live for. At least not for another 10 years.