It is 1:31 on 1/31, the day of our Lord, and Justin Timberlake is turning 31 years old.
So far, it has been 13 arduous years for me as a JT fan, with every birthday celebration becoming more and more involved. First I put new *NSYNC pin-ups in my binder, then I sang, then I made cupcakes, and then I started writing the annual JT birthday blog post in honor of the only man I ever loved.
Dearest Justin,
You made it to 31 with plenty of bruises and scars. You survived *NSYNC, the Super Bowl, and a questionable acting career. You sold out stadiums and had your glossy face tucked into every locker and binder cover south of the 9th grade. You left four really great dudes in your wake as you began a solo career that has so far produced two albums — one of them, I might add, being the Pop masterpiece of the new millennium (but then again, I have a slight bias). You loved many women, a few of them who even loved you back, and now you finally break my heart once and for all by marrying the woman of your dreams. Don’t worry; we’re still cool, and I couldn’t be happier for you or more proud.
Justin, when I was 12 and you were 18, I wanted nothing more than to be able to write “Mrs. Timberlake” on all my papers and have it be legally binding. When I was 18 and you were 24, I wanted nothing more than to meet you backstage, get you drunk, and hopefully end the night as “Miss Checking-Into-Room-732-Where-Mr.Timberlake-is-Staying”. Now that I’m 24 and you’re 31, all I want is to have a drink with you. Maybe after we shoot the shit for a while, I can thank you for influencing my selective taste in men, my lifelong disdain for rom-coms, my passion for pop music, and the small thrill I get around anything resembling a disco ball.
Happy birthday, JT. Here’s hoping the next few years are kind to you, and give me the opportunity to buy you that drink.
xoxo,
Valeria
PS - Be nice to Britney. She finally has her life together, but no one is so together that they can refuse a good friend.
