26, Feel the Burn

Today is my 26^th birthday and I woke up at 6am with a UTI. My morning is spent in the waiting room at Planned Parenthood and I can’t help thinking “boy, it feels good to be alive!”

Every year on my birthday, I feel deserving of freebies, endless compliments and favors. Lately that sense of entitlement has extended to all the days in January leading up to the 14^th, and even the few days after. “I was born this month. MOVE ASIDE,” I shout out to the other cars in traffic. “Yes, I’ll have extra whip cream and no, I shall not pay for it!” So far it’s working: the nurse gave me one of her tamales and some rando let me take a left turn in front of her (in LA, this is the greatest gift). I’d like to think there’s a certain glow, an aura that I carry to make others notice the prominence of this day, but it’s probably more that I’m being extra obnoxious and they just want me to go away.

But I do feel special today. Facebook comments make me all warm and fuzzy with reminders that people do, or at least at one point, have appreciated something I did enough to bother writing. Going through my inbox, you can believe it or not, but Starbucks offered ME a personalized free drink. Even my online medical portal sent an email with tips to stay healthy and safe on this special day! Isn’t technology wonderful?

Among those encouraging emails was one from a screenwriting contest I applied to last spring, announcing my selection to the semifinal round. Which in the grand scheme is trivial but still nice to get a positive response for once. I’ve gotten so used to rejection from these things that I’ve learned to completely erase any memory of ever applying to avoid constant disappointment.  So that was an extra cherry on top to my morning of burning pee… someone out there liked what I wrote, and thinks it’s worthy of a second read. Not too shabby. It’s really all that we crave, isn’t it? Chocolate cake and a slice of validation? This word has taken a new, grimmer meaning since trying to find parking in Los Angeles, but it’s something that I, and most creatives, constantly struggle with.  Am I any good? Will I make it? And today, on the anniversary of my birth, I expect you all to tell me, “Yes, yes you are and yes you will!”

It would be dickish of me not to mention the passing of Alan Rickman this morning, the second great Brit we’ve lost this week. I’d lie if I said I knew a lot of Bowie but Rickman was certainly someone I admired. I won’t dwell on his death because, heck, I barely knew the man and it’s my birthday, damn it! But even when he wasn’t Snape he was true perfection on screen, in some of my favorite films. He will truly be missed by this industry and movie lovers worldwide.

OKAY. BACK TO ME. Me, me, me! I haven’t shared much of the surprises and joys and horrors of living in Hollywood yet, which is a bit unfair and lazy on my part because there are a boatload of stories to tell. Some I am not allowed to because I have signed a non-disclosure agreement. Which is excruciating because I am TERRIBLE with secrets. But I promise to knock your socks off another day. Tonight, though, I just wanna be away from my laptop and dance, and will do so in Mexican fashion with killer tacos and salsa music. Because I like to live life with a bit of spice. And guacamole.

I feel extremely fortunate as a recent west coast transplant to have friends to share my day with, but I also get a bit tingly inside when I receive bings from friends far and abroad. Chicago, you and your beautiful people will always be home, though I'm so content to not be in your freezer. And Oh Paris, my loves in Paris, I miss you so much. Nobody thinks I’m loud or too smiley here, or that my colorful clothing and jolly way of speaking are off-putting. Since leaving you I have realized one of my biggest fears, and that is that I merely blend. It’s not such a bad thing, really, but I crave that extra validation, particularly in the form of credits and dollas. I’m gonna work my ass off for it this year, and the next. And the year after that. And I hope with each proceeding birthday that the good vibes increase and the UTIs decrease and that eventually I stand out in the way I imagine or at least find the joy in blending. That’s okay too.

To my fellow '90 babies, let’s make 26 sexy, and good health to those who share my sitch (ha!). Over two decades of playing soccer, and I’m still wearing the jeans I bought at age 16… it really does feel good to be alive!