who's a debbie downer?

I'm so ill prepared for a big fat birthday. I'm just not feeling it. It feels nothing like a celebration and completely like a "Calling Before the Yardstick" ceremony where I bear witness to my lack of accomplishment. 

Married? No.
Children? No. 
Published? No. 
Well surely then I've made great strides in my professional growth and am experiencing an enriching and lucrative career. Ha! No.
A well appointed home that I've poured my non-marital, empty-wombed self into decorating? To the contrary, I think the Con-Ed construction going on right outside my building actually resulted in a tiny mouse skittering across my living room floor last night. At least that's what my dog's sudden crazed behavior indicated. Ah metropolitan living, so high end and pristine. Enviable, really. You're feeling envy reading this, aren't you? 

There are of course a few consolations; Jennifer Aniston for example. She is very hot, very rich and famously single, more so even than me (my mom would violently disagree). If she's having a hard time finding someone to ring and ding her what hope can there possibly be for me? That's right, none (insert awkward ha ha  here). Also, no children means I very very rarely get peed or puked on. Sure, last Friday I was hanging out with my 5 year old friend and sure she leaned in to give me a good-bye kiss and of course in reality blew a raspberry in my mouth, but as a non-mom that just happens a lot less than you'd think it would. Sometimes I spend entire Saturdays or Sunday in pajamas. 

Then again, this could all change. Especially considering I recently learned that David Duchovny lives 9 blocks away from me and I have 4 days off coming. I think I'll get myself a Mulder for my birthday. Or this: