Champagne Wishes and Birthday Dreams; Why Turning 26 Changed My Life

Song of the Day

Satellite of Love by Lou Reed. Because Glam Rock will never die as long as I'm alive.


Courtesy of Miss Pardon My Fashion herself, Brittany Fowler. Check out her blog:

June 25th was the same as any other day. I went to the doctor's office, went to lunch with my Dad, and hung out with Beth. What makes this June 25th so different is that for the first time since turning 19, I didn't cry on my birthday. For some reason, this year was different. For the first time in almost seven years, I had hope. This whole mess started towards the end of my freshman year at UCSB. My roommate came in and saw me crying, which is rare because I never, ever cry in front of people, even at funerals. All my friends were hooking up around the clock, and the most action I got was having someone tell me that while they did not find my physically attractive, my brain was "sexy as hell". Yes, that is what every chubby girl wants to hear, that I have a sexy brain. When I was 20, I lived in Cambridge for a while (in England not Massachusetts). I took a film class while there and one rainy/ hot afternoon we watched Remains of the Day (nothing like taking a British film class in a 200 year old building. I went to school at Downing College, which was built in 1749, and is considered one of the "new" schools. After the class, I went with a few of my fellow American comrades, my professor and his wife to some pub (which open and close early. People in the UK like to get smashed by dinner time. God forbid you try and go out after 11pm). I forgot how it came up, but I told my professor's wife that I really related to Anthony Hopkins character in the film. She was shocked; how can I, a fresh faced youth, relate to an old man? It was because at the ripe old age of 20, I regretted my life and felt like it was one big disappointment. It was all over, at 20; I had wasted my time focusing on books and making myself a better person when I should have been focusing on convincing someone to love me or at least, make them want to sleep with me (according to society, a woman has no use unless she is sexually attractive to a man). I never realized how weird it was to relate to an old man until a few years ago. I cried every year on my birthday because that was another year that I didn't fall in love, didn't reach my dreams, and didn't even do anything worth regretting. It was a gentle reminder that I was about to embark on another mind numbingly boring and lonely year. 

Downing College and my dorm room. My dorm was on the 2nd floor, and towards the back of the picture. It was lovely waking up in the morning, looking out my ivy covered window, and seeing a Storm Trooper (there were several Science Fiction conventions at Downing while I was there). 

This year, however, was different. I decided instead of sitting around, waiting for people to forget my birthday, I was going to tell everyone. I wrote my last blog on how I was going to be alone on my birthday. That night, I got several text and messages from people asking if they could take me out for my birthday! A few days later on my actual birthday, I received over 60 messages from people wishing me happy birthday (and telling me they like my blog, which I greatly appreciate). I know it seems small or insignificant to most people, but I've never felt more loved. That day my father took me out for lunch with his BFF John (like all Persian men, he and my Dad go by their American names. Even my Mom calls my Dad Alex. They do this because most Americans are racist towards Middle Eastern Americans, even if they have lived and have contributed to America for the past 40 years. Also, I'm sorry but when people tell me I'm a privileged white girl and how can I know anything about hardship and racism, I think to myself "what an idiot". When you have to tell people you are Italian or Jewish because you are worried they might harm you or your family if they found out you're Iranian and your friend just got the crap kicked out of him for being a "dirty Muslim terrorist" after he just volunteered  to help the victims of September 11th, and still to this day you are always subject to "random" screenings at the airport because of your last name and what your father looks like, that kind of makes me an authority on the matter don't you think? ).  Oh I like to rant. Anyhoo, later that day, after my dinner plans fell through, Beth came over with German gummy bears, a big Mylar balloon, and a six pack of diet Pepsi (Beth, you know me too well). That night, I reflected on everything that happened to me that day and I realized; the best is yet to come. 

Brit and I at my family party. Beth was there but didn't want to be in any pictures because she is not as crazy/photogenic/ delusional as I am. 

I know this is going to sound like rubbish to most people, but I always thought I was really old. It may because most of my friends are at least 2 years younger than me (my new bestie Monica is 5 years younger than me). Seriously, I think in my entire life I've only had one or two close friends who were older than me. I realized that night that 1) I'm not old at all, I'm actually quite young and 2) life is what you make of it. Destiny doesn't exist. God loves us, but he doesn't control our lives. We make our own choices. For years, I was always told to not think about the things that upset me (you know, like the fact that every moment I am alive I'm exploiting another human being, or that the world is evil or that no one will ever love me) but instead, I decided to embrace what troubles me and to change it. I'm not living by someone else standards, I'm living for me. Every 20s something girl is expected to be sexually available to all men at all times. I believe it was Gloria Steinem who said that the sexual revolution failed; it didn't make sex more available to women, it made a woman's sexuality more readily available to a man. So to woman everywhere I have a challenge for you; most men don't respect us and I don't blame them. How can we ask for respect when we don't respect ourselves? We went from stupid wives to stupid whores to them. Don't put up with it. If you want to have a one night stand then do it (use protection please, you're worth it and deserve it!) If you want to have a long term relationship, be upfront. I hate how a lot of women now try to out sex each other, win a man over with their slut-a-tude, then expect a long term relationship. I'm sorry guys, but do you really want to tell your children you started dating their mother because she claimed to be able to deep throat a banana? Pathetic. If I hear one more girl say she doesn't have a gag reflex, then I'm going to push on mine and throw up on her because mine is quite sensitive. Seriously, the main reason girl's lose their gage reflex is because they were/are bulimic, which is really depressing to me. Make me promise ladies, own your sexuality. I'm personally waiting until I meet the right man. Do what you want, whatever it may be, just know you are worthy and deserving of respect, dignity, and love (and this applies to men too. It's not your fault God cursed you with a penis and a very small brain). 

It took me 20 minutes to convince Brittany that this was a dummy and not a real person. The gorgeous girl on the left is Chelsea, Brit's sister and my "niece". 

What was this blog supposed to be about? That's right, my birthday. It was one of the best days of my life and nothing particularly extraordinary happened. I just realized that my future is filled with endless possibilities. I'm a smart, non-threateningly pretty, funny, and sassy girl. The world is my oyster. I'm friends with Brittany Fowler who the world is literally her oyster (we are like Ying and Yang. It's like we were one person but she got all the good luck and I got all the bad. I should write about it; it is ridiculous how easy most things in life are for her). I could find my dream job in the next year; I could fall in love, get my heart broken, discover the cure for cancer, meet Doctor Who, and just possibly, apply to schools for my PhD. I have hope because I have friends and people who love and care about me. Who would have thought the phrase "Happy Birthday Jasmine" would have meant so much. 

I know this has nothing to do with what I just spent the last few hours writing (each blog post takes me an eternity. You do not realize how dyslexic I am) and I decided I need an adventure. I want to travel or even live somewhere for a month or two. The only problem is that I'm too chicken to go by myself. Anyone want to go with me? Even if you don't know me well, I need to get out of here, just for a while. I was thinking maybe a road trip of some kind. If live is an adventure, than call me Peter Pan. because I need to fly out of here. 

PS- in the past, when I've written particularly personal blogs, I received emails and calls from people asking me if I'm OK. I assure you, I'm fine; please don't call to ask me if I'm OK after reading this. I really appreciate it but the fact that I'm expressing myself is a good thing. Be worried when I stop talking. That is when I need your concern. People who don't know me well have always thought I was sad when I was happy and vice versa. I would like to end this post by assuring you, I'm am quite happy. Of course I could be happier, but couldn't we all? 


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