Tamara Lynch

It’s December.  How in the fuck is it already December? In three weeks I will officially be one year older. I was trying to ignore it, but I have already gotten three wake up calls: Foley + Corina has already sent me a little gift certificate for my birthday. So has Borders, and I’m waiting for my free birthday reading at Tarot.com. With the internet age, you can’t get away from it. It bombards you and makes you feel like you have to bombard others. Last month I sent a birthday text to a friend and then felt obligated to put it on her Facebook because all of our friends were putting it on her Facebook and I didn’t want everyone else to think I forgot. Fucking Facebook! I miss the days when I could forget about my birthday. I miss the days when you could forget about someone else’s birthday and send a belated birthday card…and no one was pissed. Now you have no excuse except this one.



Speaking of being bombarded with B-days, Kim Kardashian has been slapping us in the face with all of her wining about turning 30 and how OLD and HAGGARD she feels. Welcome to the third floor Kimmi! We saved a seat for you. By the way, in case they didn’t tell you, your natural metabolism slows down, which means your naturally fat ass is going to win out on you. Talk about a wake up call! Now that I’ve vented, I’m done hating on my bday. Fuck it. I was born, I’m still here, I’m going to take it like a woman.