Helloooooo, Thirty!

 It's a Celebration, Bitches!

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!!!!

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This post is dedicated solely to me. It's MY day. If you don't like it, piss off.

Happy Birthday to Me!!

I think I deserve a little shout out for making it to 30 without having ever been impregnated OR overdosing.

Whichever you think is more of an accomplishment.

Today, we celebrate. All day. No excuses.

Ta-Ta, Twenties.

So, in case you missed the memo, tomorrow is my birthday. My THIRTIETH birthday. I'm not really having the pre-birthday jitters. There's no third-of-the-way-through-life crisis to be had over here; in all actuality, I don't feel all that different. I guess as you get older, birthdays really do become just another day. I mean, I guess I'm looking forward to it...I'm definitely looking forward to the party part of it...but the getting older part, I could probably do without. Still, there's that little part of me (that apparently never grew up) that is looking forward to my special day - the one day a year where everyone puts up with all of my shit and is super nice and complimentary and tells me how pretty I look and gives me presents...all just because I was born on that day! It's a pretty sweet concept, you know? Truth be told, I love the idea of birthdays and everyone having a special day to celebrate themselves. I'm already daydreaming about the amazing, wonderful delights that I no doubt have in store for me tomorrow because not only is it my special day, but it's my THIRTIETH special day...IN LIFE! I've already informed the hubs (he's such a good sport) that it's time for us to synchronize our cell phone clocks so when our IT'S BECKS' BIRTHDAY! alarms go off at midnight, they go off at exactly the same time. How else will he be readily available to place the birthday girl diamond-studded tiara on my head the minute it turns my birthday, à la Lily, on How I Met Your Mother?? That girl really has the right idea on how to celebrate a birthday. So, instead of waxing poetic about how much I'm going to miss my twenties and all the things I've accomplished thus far and hope to accomplish in the future, I'll just leave you a visual so you can feel like you're there with me (and the hubs) at the stroke of midnight. My fingers are crossed for the Spanish guitar player and breakfast in bed. Well...maybe not the breakfast in bed part. I have enough trouble getting to work on time as it is (Um...hello...a girl has to look her best, right?). Until tomorrow, my dearies. I'll catch you in my thirties. xo

HIMYM clip found here because our stupid Websense blocks YouTube at work. Hmph.

...not by the hair of my twinny twin twin.

Good morning! Happy Hump Day to all my nine-to-fivers out there…and Happy 420 to all my ganja lovers – please remember to puff, puff, and then, most importantly, pass. It’s a karma thing. I’m looking out for you. Moving on, it feels like it’s been awhile since I gave you a commentary with any real substance. Please accept this morning’s post as my proverbial olive branch…

You know, living in Houston has really made me much more jaded than any other city I’ve had the pleasure of living in. With a population of over 6 million, you can imagine that the crime rate here is quite impressive (or actually unimpressive, when you think of what that really means, but I digress). Every day, I hear news stories that remind me just how scary the world can be and how fortunate I am. But ever so often, I come across a story that really makes me question how some people can be so...deviant. 

This is one of those stories.

For those of you who have already puffed this morning and would prefer the crib notes to the article, here goes: Houston police discovered that these gross, PWT 48 year-old twin creepers lived with their dead mother’s body for three months.  No, really. THREE MONTHS. Their version of the story is that ol’ naggin’ ass moms came in hootin’ and hollerin’ during the BCS Championship game and somehow slipped and fell. Well, they were obviously preoccupied (Hello, the game was on!), so they just left her there. In fact, even after the game (and assessing the situation, no doubt), they left her there since they didn’t have any money for medical care. I guess they figured she’d eventually heal herself by osmosis. To make a long story longer, the boys left her lying [still alive] on the floor for four days without food or water. But obviously only because she didn’t speak up and ask for any, although she was conscious for the first day. She finally gave out on the fourth day. And get this – they remembered the exact date because it was a day after her 89^th birthday. What a fist in the ass. Happy effing birthday, mommy dearest! Would you just die already? The icing on the cake was that they decided not to involve the authorities after her passing…because they didn’t have the money to bury her. The police eventually found the body after the neighbors called because they hadn’t seen the poor little old woman in months. I think a visual would be appropriate now, don’t you? You have to be dying (no pun intended) to see what these bottom feeders look like (excluding poor mommy in the middle)...

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Now, if that didn’t kill your high; you must be on that DEATH (haha, shout out to Katt Williams…and okay, maybe a little pun intended that time). This article begs soooo many questions. WHY was her body found with no underpants and her dress hiked up? That might be the most disturbing part. No…I think pretty much all of this story is disturbing. What kind of shitty human beings (if they can be called that…the jury’s still out) could do something like that? To their own mother, no less? My guess is that poor lil’ Sybil just laid there in the hopes that God would end her suffering. What a nightmare it must have been to live with her demonic offspring. I mean, look at them. Hygiene obviously isn’t high on their list of priorities. Again, I have to wonder what it smelled like in there…before AND after the fact. Additionally, I find it extremely difficult to believe that Mama Dukes “slipped and fell.” Slipped on what? A banana peel? (O’Doyle RULES!*) In the middle of the living room? Doubtful. I don’t guess that this house was the cleanest…but what could have been on the floor to instigate such a fall?

Oddly, this story reminds me of Wedding Crashers, and Will Ferrell’s character who lives in the basement and is forever shouting at his Ma to bring him some meatloaf. You know the scene: “Hey, Ma! Can we get some meatloaf?! Hey, Ma! The meatloaf! We want it now! The meatloaf! What is she doing? I never know what she is doing back there. Ma! The meatloaf! Fuck!” Bahahaha I shouldn't compare the two and make light of the situation…but I just can’t help it. I could totally see doucheserious** Chaz Reinhold leaving his poor mother dying on the floor whilst he goes trolling for hoes at the nearest funeral.

On that note, I’ll leave you with a bit of wisdom. For all of you parents out there, this story is exhibit A as to why you should encourage your children to leave the nest. As soon as possible. Because they just might leave you dying on the living room floor with all of your religion showing. For those of you who do not yet have children…maybe you should just keep on keepin’ on…because there is no guarantee that they will ever leave…and they just might leave you dying on the living room floor with all of your religion showing.

*Thanks to Billy Madison for being one of the greatest movies EVER and providing so many quoteables

**Thanks to Taryn for coining this phrase. I use it all the time. Haha!

Reflection Internal

I can’t believe it’s already almost April. I had the realization yesterday that my birthday is very quickly approaching…which means I’m almost thirty. Damn. Thirty. The BIG 3-0. That’s a lot of candles. Funny, how I never imagined myself at this age. Does anyone?

We spend our whole childhood looking forward to aging. And, surprisingly, the anticipation grows greater as you get older. I couldn’t wait until I turned 13, because I thought that being a teenager was going to be soooo cool (I was wrong). I really couldn’t wait for 16, because the appeal of being able to drive alone was all I could think about at that age; it just felt like independence was at my fingertips (again, I was wrong). 18 was obviously a big deal because I graduated from HS, moved out of my parents’ house, and started college…and because I could finally get into clubs and shake a tailfeather [legally]…and then there was 21. Ah, 21. What a great age. The “coming-of-age” age, in fact. Not a care in the world, but where to grab my next adult beverage.  23-25 seem like distant memories, but I remember that I looked forward to the real independence 25 promised: being able to rent a car on my own, a real career, homeownership; the whole shebang. 26-28 flew by with love and marriage (but no baby carriage just yet), a big move and some life-altering career changes.

…and now I’m here. With 30 almost at my doorstep…and I’m not sure it’s exactly as I pictured. There are changes in myself I’ve started to notice that never envisioned when I was young. I never imagined myself getting to an age where I preferred staying at home on the couch in my pj’s over running wild in the streets and partying from Monday through Monday, or where I pass without puffing first. I never imagined that I would worry over wrinkles, saggy skin, and my bedtime (a girl needs her beauty rest, you know). Furthermore, I definitely never imagined that I would ever get to an age where I would outgrow 4-inch stilettos (kind of) or short shorts (working on it).

The thing is - life is good. I really have no complaints. I’m one of the lucky few who actually really like their job. I have great friends and family (for the most part). I’m happy. I could have never imagined how amazing and loving my husband is, or how exciting it was to buy my first German car (face it; some things just aren’t always better when made in the U.S.A.). I especially couldn’t have imagined the fabulosity I could attain with simple self-confidence. Yes, life is good…and I’m looking forward to what’s to come. 29 has been great, but I think 30 look will look even better on me. I’m not scared of getting older. With age comes different experiences that I wouldn’t trade for the world.

So you know what I say? I say, hurry up, 30! You’re missing all of the [calmer; more sedate, mature, grown and sexy] fun! But please…stay awhile. ‘Cause I can’t even begin to wrap my mind around 40.