Health & Fitness
Is 40 the New 30 in Hollywood?
Whether you're a celebrity or not, turning forty in Hollywood can be quite a traumatic milestone event in one's life - especially for this blogger!
Apparently it’s not the 80s anymore and in a couple of weeks according to my birth certificate, it seems that I am turning 40. So OK! I think I’m right in the middle of what clearly can only qualify as a major “Woe is I in Hollywood?” mid-life crisis.
Who am I? Where am I going? What do I have? Who’s going to take care of me when I’m old and senile? What have I accomplished for my kids? Wait, what? Oh yeah, I don’t have kids! But do I want kids? Am I too old now? Is it too late? And when is George Michael going to marry me?
These are the mind-consuming existentialist questions that keep me up at night.
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It’s too much confusion brewing in my head to take all at once for my 13- going on 40-year-old self. Luckily, before I proceeded with my original homicide plan to simply kill myself by binging on a few pounds of bell peppers (I’m highly allergic), I instead came up with the (obviously) better idea to buzz my BFF Kristina.
“I’ve officially lost my mind!” I declared.
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“What do you mean officially?” she rhetorically questioned.
“I’m having a very silent nervous breakdown,” a whiny me attempted to clarify.
“Come on now! Enough with the melodramatic Oprah moment,” she quipped in her thick Philly accent. “What’s the matter sweetie?” she asked.
“I’m turning 40 in a few days and I don’t think I’m handling it well! And please don’t compare me to Oprah,” I announced in total horrifying panic.
“This is not a Tsunami darling and the only break you’re taking is CAWFEE!” she decreed before ordering “meet me at Solar Cafe in Hollywood in fifteen.”
Evidently I promptly obliged. Nobody says NO to Kristina. What can I say? She’s badass!
“My world is completely falling apart. I’m just a total failure … a freaking professional loser,” I self-deprecatingly spewed out, “I’m 40 years old and have accomplished nothing”
“I know what you mean,” she offered supportively.
“What do I have to look forward to? I mean I’m already half way through my life and nothing’s happened yet. What could possibly change in the next forty years ahead of me? Nothing changes at 40! It’s all downhill from that point on. If I haven’t figured it out by now, what are the odds of me figuring it out in the near or even distant future?” I frustratingly continued in my breathless élan.
“Calm down honey,” she interrupted, “It gets better! I promise!”
“Forty is the new 30 in Hollywood,” she then declared.
Where was that coming from? I thought to myself. She couldn’t possibly know that I know that I am a celebrity in my own head.
“Why don’t I write a memoir? Seems that every god damn living celebrity is writing one these days,” I declared.
“Sure, but why would people want to read about your life?” she replied.
“Why wouldn’t they? What are those celebs saying that I can't say? C’mon now, you mean to tell me that at 15 years old Justin Bieber has an extensive list of life-experiences to share with us? What could they possibly have that I don’t?” I immediately counteracted.
“They’re famous!” said Kristina.
“Don’t they know who the hell I am?” I valiantly proclaimed in an effort to rebut her valid argument.
“No sweetie, the real question is (she suggested sympathetically) who the hell do you think you are?”
Well duh!!! Clearly if I knew the answer to that question, we wouldn’t be sitting here like Statler and Waldorf stuck in an episode of The Muppet Show at this freaking café, now would we?
