Get out the hole punch, ma!

I have a big birthday coming up in a few months. It starts with a 4 and ends with an 0 so if you couldn't figure it out, I'll be 29.

How the hell did I get here? I'm so grateful to be here, but the hell? How could so much time have passed? I don't feel much different than when I was 22, I think? Maybe? Maybe not. God, I don't know. Shouldn't I have things figured out by now? It's 2007 for fuckssake. And where's my god damn flying car!?!

I have a vivid memory of a day in high school when me and group of my morose, self-entitled, overly expressive "Drama Fags" stood around in our pegged jeans and flipped collars and figured out how old we would be when the century rolled over from 1999 to 2000. I was shocked and sickened to realize I'd be 32 and man, my life would like totally be like over by then. Sha.

How silly I was.

I know a number is just and number and all that and I believe that but now that I'm staring at the last half of 39 I'm getting floods of emotions about it and my life and where its at or not at on a daily basis. It's a wee bit overwhelming and I'm not quite sure where it's all coming from or what to do with it.

And whoa, this is not the fork in road I intended to take today. I'm over-tired and probably hormonal and what I really wanted to discuss was my idea, intention and desire to do something a little crazy for or before my epic b-day this year.

I want to get my nose pierced.

Please contain your shock at this extremely important subject matter. I know it's not like I'm planning on base-jumping off of the world's largest ball of twine or anything but this does involve needles and my face and possible permanent divets in my shnoz. Plus there's the whole age thing and the new decade I'm entering into and all the stupid fucking preconceived notions and expectations on one who's in this particular age category, and man is that a post for another day. It's also a proven fact I have no luck so there's a good chance something would go wrong.

I got my ears pierced when I was in 3rd grade. What is that, 8? 9? I don't remember. I'd been begging my mother for God knows how long to be like my friends who already had their ears pierced and taunted me with sparkly pink rhinestones and painted beans dangling from their faces. I'd put up with all the lame "why do you want more holes in your head" jokes from the men in my family long enough and had finally been given permission to get them.

The day to get perforated finally came and my Mom and I embarked on the trek to the biggest mall we had in San Diego at the time and made our way to the large department store who offered ear piercing. I was nervous but excited and tried to ignore my mother's non-mothering warnings that it was going to hurt. (My mother has a long history of making injuries and such worse by making a horrible grimacing face while looking at your bleeding wound, sucking air through her teeth and saying, "Eeesh, that looks baaaaaad.")

We went through the glass double doors and walked under the bright over-head lights to the jewelry counter. I don't remember if we needed an appointment or not but it was obvious we'd have to wait a few minutes since there was a little old lady getting hers done and had already parked her fanny in the chair. We learned she was having her ears done for the first time in her life after using clip-ons for more than 50 years and she was obviously nervous, wringing her hands, her brow furrowed with anxiety.

I watched with glorious ignorance as the piercer marked the old woman's ears with a purple felt-tip pen then loaded the "gun" with a stud and backing. The old lady was with her middle aged daughter and she gripped her hand tightly, steadying herself for the pinch. The gun was placed on her lobe, everyone held their breath and just as the piercer pulled the trigger her hand twitched the lady jerked and WHAM! The earring went in crooked and the gun jammed and the whole mess was stuck on the old ladies ear.

There was a lot of hustle and bustle and bleeding and old lady moaning and actual tears down her wrinkly face crying and I nearly shit my toughskins two times. They finally got the piercing gun dislodged from her head and managed to talk her into finishing the other ear which was done without a problem. But by that time I'd gone from wary to terrified, my eyes as big as saucers and already tugging my mother back towards the door. All I knew is that I didn't want my ears pierced by Miss Fumblefingers no fucking way fuck no.

In a rare moment of understanding my mother let me take some time to reconsider instead of her normal "you've made your decision now live with it" attitude. We walked around the mall for a little while and came upon a jewelry store that also did piercings so if I wanted to go through with this at least I didn't have to go back to the department store and risk a pre-teen lobotomy from Retardo.

The new piercer person was a nice girl who was calm and gentle and talked me through the ordeal with expertise. I held still even when I was surprised and momentarily deafened by the sonic boom crashing through my brain from the gun and the pinch was more of a slam-my- head-in-a-door feeling but it was done and I had done did it.

My ears were flaming hot for the rest of the day and I was convinced my whole heart had climbed up into my sinus cavity but at least there wasn't a major malfunction. Of course I did not take care of them like I was aggressively warned about, lazy about cleaning or turning the earrings so they didn't get stuck and being the wild kid that I was diving into diseased ponds and having dog shit fights they got infected all the time. And I was forever scared away from getting any more holes in my head after that.

So yea, the nose. I think I should go for it. Totally.