...pretty fucking soon (what's up with all this swearing?).

I've been thinking about hitting 40 minus 4 in counting (that would be 36 for those of us subtractionally challenged), and that it could be time to begin the legendary Biological Clock Panic. I would normally be up for any new reason to dive right into a depression/shame spiral/up-at-4:00 am-panic attack, but I just don't have the bandwidth (corporate term) for any more obsessions right now. Well, I probably do, but I want them to be fun obsessions, like cute guys, chocolate Haagen-Dasz, and new boots...not the end of my genetic line or possible birth defects (though, I don't actually buy the hype about increased rate of birth defects after 35...).

Bottom line: I just don't have the energy for a BCP at this juncture.

So, I'm going to have to wait till I'm 38 to have my freak out. Hopefully, by then I'll be in a relationship and it'll actually be somewhat appropriate. Right now I'm all booked up with my quest to go on one good promising date. And there's nothing like the discussion of procreation and increased chances of birth defects to kill a romantic evening...

Yesterday, I said hello to guy I've known for a while who is kind of hot ("kind of hot"?...see, I can't even commit to an adjective). He said hello and mumbled something about chocolate, but I didn't quite hear what he was saying because someone else was talking. It took until today for me to realize that he was telling me that I had chocolate on my face. Because I did.

See what I mean? I've got to learn to keep my face clean before I can even consider bringing a child into this world...(and keeping her/his/it's face clean).

Just for today, I can contemplate my impending birthday.