People mistake me for being somewhere between the ages of 28 and 32 nowadays. Until about a year ago, I was mistaken for being between the ages of 15-18. How come I have to skip all the good years?

When I was a teenager I comforted myself with the fact that despite my babyfaced patheticness was preventing me from getting laid now, that same babyfacedness would help me score when I was in my 30s and was still looking a healthy 24. Nope. I just went from one type of person who doesn’t get laid to another type of person who doesn’t get laid.

I think in high school I just wanted to assume that before I died I’d get to experience being a man of sex – a person who would enjoy sexual arts whenever he wanted. That’s not to say I was absurdly horny, or that I only thought about sex, it was just that that was the type of life that seemed most opposite of the life I had and I wanted to experience all lives. Now, I’ve come to the realization that the playah lifestyle is not one I will get to experience, and that makes me sad. Again, not because of my inability to get laid, but because it means I’m close enough to death to scratch things off my bucket list that I never even tried to accomplish.

So, death has been a pretty consistent worry for me all of my life, but now it has gotten worse as I realize how much work must go into being famous enough to have the affect I need to have on the world. This means that I will be writing once a day about what instance made me think about and fear death most in that day. Y’know because this is supposed to be a funny blog. This will last as long as it lasts.