Birthdays come and go, but wrinkles stay forever

I don't remember every birthday I ever had, but some memories do stick around.

On my 10th birthday, we were visiting my grandparents - my father's parents. We went to town for some shopping and my dad bought me a pin for my birthday. It was a cat, bejeweled with clear glass, except for the black stones that made up its eyes and nose, and it was shiny. I loved that pin. It was the best birthday ever, because in our family, you did not normally get presents any other time of the year except Christmas. So it was a thing of envy for my other siblings.


My mother let me have a party on my 16th birthday. Yep, we are Hispanic -- of Mexican descent -- but I never heard of a quincenera until I was an adult. But "sweet 16" now that was another thing.

My 18th birthday - I was "legal" and able to buy booze in Montana. It was my senior year, so buy booze, I did.

My 25th birthday. I was officially old. That's right. Every commercial on t.v. for Oil of Olay creams told me the product was for "women over 25."

My 40th birthday. I had just graduated from college. I had a new career. I was young, the whole world before me.

My 50th birthday. I spent it at a Gridiron show, singing and dancing about politicians etc. Then the following Saturday, I met my friends for brunch at my favorite French bistro in OKC. It was wonderful and special.

Today: Well, heck. I'm working most of the day. Then, I might venture out to dinner and a movie. I think I'm getting too old for birthdays. Right now, they're a reminder that my life is closer to the end than the beginning. Damn, I just depressed myself.

Happy birthday to me.

Holy cow, I'm on a streak

I've never been an everyday blogger, even way back when I first starting blogging and was all giddy about the idea.

This year I'm slowly returning to the habit. And, I've realized that I'm on track to beat my 2009 record -- not hard. I blogged a whole 14 times in 2009.

I was going to give this up. After all, we've heard that blogging is like spending all your time looking in the mirror -- nobody cares but you. We've heard that "Blogging is for old people." Well, that's a no-brainer. We've established my entry into the "one candle will do" age bracket a few years back.

So, I'm going to keep blogging. Maybe no one will read this, or maybe I'll use my wily public relations skills to lure people from Facebook and Twitter to this site.

Now to find topics to write about. Today is easy. Since I'm on the topic of blogging, I've been reading old posts from my site and from other often read sites. We've been through a lot. It's a diary of our lives. Friends and loved ones have died. We've shed tears. We've laughed til we cried, and we've just laughed.

So tweet away and post your status updates, but if you want to chronicle your life - blog.

Blogging is for old people...

Just when I think I'm hip and keeping up with the youngsters with my Twitter and Facebook accounts, they throw this at me: Blogging is for old people, Pew Study says.

The study goes on to imply that one of the reasons Facebook has beaten MySpace as the social networking of choice is that MySpace encourages blogging. And today's younger set does not like to blog.

That says one of two things. Either 1: most of our youth are too illiterate to actually write a cohesive paragraph of more than 140 characters or 2: they just don't want us to know what they are really thinking.

That sounds like teenagers.

This brain was made for writing

I blogged twice in January - sweet. I'm ahead of the game. Okay, maybe not.

I do feel like I write all the time. My job - I write (not all the time, but a whole heck of lot of the time) news releases, web articles, blog posts, speeches, talking points, fact sheets, media plans, tweets and on and on. My life - I write blogs (obviously not this one) and work on my book and work on my screenplay and tweet and etc. etc.

But that's all good. I'm lucky that I get to do what I love for a living.

Only sometimes is there a glitche. Take this morning for example. I'm in the middle of getting ready for work. When something catches my eye that reminds me of a scene I'm working on. I stop and evidently stare into space for sometime because my husband shakes me out of my reverie -- "Are you ok?"

"Oops, sorry, I was writing in my brain."

"You need some paper."