I know this may not be shocking to some (many), but I'm amazed I made it to (BORING) 34(?!) without getting hit by a bus. I guess it's the last dying breath of my rock star fantasy that I would die and leave behind a legacy of unedited half-baked blogs that would immortalize me to a generation of people who are bored at work...(I guess it's not the same thing as "Bobby McGee" - well, that and Janis Joplin died at 26). ANYWAY, I guess NOW I'd better think of something to do with my life!

My mother made her traditional birthday phone call to me this morning to which she added, "Remember, you're SPECIAL!" I can't help but think that this is somehow meant to console me for...? I don't know, a life lacking in, say, KIDS, SUBSTANTIAL SAVINGS ACCOUNT, HUSBAND, ACCOLADES...(just some thoughts).

I do appreciate being special. I'll let this thought cuddle up next to me and keep me warm at night while I watch Sex and the City (LOVE THAT SHOW!) re-runs on chanel 5 (my evening ritual). Maybe I'll let it give me a back rub and make me breakfast in the morning.

Before I end the first day of my 35th year (what?!) I would just like to say to my mother that I LOVE YOU AND THANKS FOR THINKING I'M SPECIAL (THOUGH, ISN'T THAT WHAT MOM'S ARE FOR?)!

Just for today, I can turn 34.

...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.

My salsa dress came in the mail the other day. I'm a little uncomfortable wearing such a scanty amount of fabric, but really, if I can't wear a slutty dress at 36, when can I? When I'm 80?! My friend Brother #2 has been giving me not so subtle hints that NOW is the time to flaunt whatever I got. He suggested I sleep with hot guys (when given the opportunity) because I'll regret it when I'm 80 (I'm not saying I'm taking his philosophy to heart as he is 1) Male and 2) Latino and, therefore, has the attachment capabilities of a melting ice cube).

I never thought about being 80 before, but I also never thought that I'd turn 36...
My friend asked me if I wanted her ticket to see "Wicked" as a birthday present. "It's either that or a vibrator," she said.

I guess things change after 35.

Just for today, I can celebrate turning 36 (which is, actually, on Friday).

Just had to get that out of my system.

Someone needs to invent a way to stop time from passing (they could make some serious cash).

Ok, so for my birthday I'm 1) wearing a slutty dress (tomorrow night), 2) getting a facial, and 3) publicly committing to pursue my goals and dreams from here on out with the tenacity of Hilary Clinton (if I had half her determination my life would be different).

Just for today, I can turn 36.

Slutty Dress went off without a hitch at Birthday #36. I, somehow, managed to dance in it without giving the world a glimpse into anything that haven't "earned" (my therapist's words) the right to see (I did wear about five layers of underwear). However, I did spray both my apartment and the dance floor with an endless supply of sequence. If I ever go missing, I certainly hope I'm wearing that dress because it sure does leave a good trail.

Along with many loving friends, Brother #1 and Brother #2 came to my birthday party. When I told people how I knew them, I added that I used to think that I couldn't be friends with ex-boyfriends, but it turns out that I just can't be friends with assholes (damn, I'm cold). Everyone who came danced with each other, whether they were new to salsa or not, and it was great to see the connecting power of salsa.

Last night, Usually Drunk Salsero told me that he had a "package" for me (what good dancers get away with is really criminal), and kept asking me if I was ready to "open" it. It did a lot to drive the point home that I'm 36 and this is my life.

(Giant sigh, again).

Just for today, I am in my 36th year.

I'm visiting my family for a few days, and am currently staying at my dad's house where I recently finished having dinner (ribs, ravioli, and salad) with Dad, Dad's Girlfriend, Her Kids, Aunt (it's her birthday today), and Cousin.

During dinner my father did some classic Dad Things, like bet me $50 that I was born cesarian when I know full well that I came out of my mother's vagina (because she's recounted the story of my birth to me, in detail, every birthday for the past 36 years). Then, he bet another $50 that he took me to see Star Wars when it first came out sometime after 1980. Now, being a card carrying member of Princess Leia Fan Club (I, actually, have a card somewhere), I also know full well that Star Wars was released in 1977.

At least now I know where I get my bad gambling instincts.

Just for today, I can have dinner at my dad's house.

I was sitting here at Peete's, drinking my crack, getting my democratic primary information fix, when it dawned on me that today's the five year anniversary of the very first time I posted Stella's Blog!

In some ways, this anniversary seems more significant than my stupid natal birthday (especially, now that I'm 36).

Despite it's many imperfections, the discovery of "blogging" way back in 2003 was an epiphany and a seminal moment in my very controlled boring life. Yes, this blog has many flaws: inconsistencies in posting schedule (there isn't one), a few, grammatical, and speling errrs, a sporadic flow of rational thought (cute guy just walked in), downright inappropriate personal content (expecting my period any day now), poor revenue source (I've earned about $100 so far), apparent permanent obscurity in this blog drenched world, and a low (yet, FABULOUS) readership...

...BUT WHO CARES?! Not me. Because I love my blog and it has helped me, countless times, put back the pieces of my sanity. And, what a coincidence that the name of this blog just happens to be STELLA'S SEARCH FOR SANITY!

Well, in a world where women pay money to inject toxins into their faces, and health insurance companies make huge profits off of cancer and other incurable diseases, and young men and women die for twisted political agendas, it's safe to say that there are far worse things than writing a self-absorbed blog.

Just for today, I can celebrate 5 years of blogging.

I celebrated my birthday with some salsa dancing, pinkberry, and more salsa dancing. I had three freaking birthday dances (when all of a person's salsa friends dance with you). By the last one, I felt ready to puke out a pinkberry flavored ball of salsa birthday dances. The moral of the story is: nothing stops birthdays from coming. No amount of money, love, or free plain yogurt with chocolate chips. Why didn't anyone teach me that in high school? I somehow was under the impression that a B+ in AP Calculus and acceptance at an Ivy League school would preserve my mortality. I may as well have spent my afternoons making out with the kid in Spanish class that never showed up anywhere in school....I would still be 37 someday. (Actually, never mind, that's what Junior High was for).

Despite everything, I did have a great birthday.

Just for today, I can celebrate turning 37 (?!).

Birthday Party. Sangria. Wine. Friends. Salsa Friends. Salsa Music. Non-salsa friends leave at 11:00 pm. Salsa Friends arrive at midnight. More wine. Sangria. Deep soulful discussion about relationships, men, women, love, sex. Sensitive male perspective. More wine. Groping ensues. Pervy male perspective. Irony. Dancing. 3:00 am. Open another bottle of wine. More salsa dancing. 4:00 am. Nap. God love salsa people. Change music to Prince. 5:00 am. Sleep.

39. Shit.

Just for today, I had a great birthday.