Today is my 39th birthday. Here’s how I feel:
Today is one of my favorites birthdays. Being a somewhat reclusive Writer, I keep a small tight, global crowd. In New York City, I’ve got a crew of three. Brooklyn gets a special shout out in the squad, and today is his birthday.
Today is another birthday. Last year, I was sailing around the south Caribbean. This year, I have a soul sister from Australia beside me. It’s five in the morning, we’re on our way to Central Park.
Yesterday, the luthier decided he needs some space. I guess this has been unravelling since I last popped into these parts.
Some things I save for poetry. But trust me, that one hurt. Yet another one bites the dust.
In a few hours I’ll be having French pastries and black coffee in Soho. Tonight I plan on dancing to samba.
You never know what a birthday will bring. Here’s to year 38.
Namaste blog tribe
Most of our loyal cult affiliates are aware that my birthday never goes for only one day. It usually ebbs and flows for a week-ish and I spend the month of September shouting out the whole being born concept. I’ve always just felt if there’s one thing to celebrate, it’s your birthday.
Meanwhile, I’ve developed this affinity for bottle popping. You see, if you’re a feisty female ready to go out whenever, New York City club promoters take notice. That said, I’ve recently surrounded myself with a handful of Manhattan’s finest hailing from Italy to Brooklyn and a few spots in between.
There’s something enthralling about your phone sporadically igniting seven days a week with messages like, “Le Souk tonight? 11pm walk in. Bottles all night.” Such messages are often accompanied by a secret password you tell the doorman to skip the line and walk right inside.
It’s a bit pimped, really. Continue reading