Happy Birthday Baby!

Can I just tell you guys that being 26 is totally, like, kick-ass!

I, like, totally was thinking it was going to suck and stuff?
But it DOESN'T!
I'm, like totally just almost 30 and I like, don't even care!

I LOVE 1980!
I love me!
I love to party and get presents!
I am totally 32.
You what's kind of a bummer?
When I tell people that I am 26 today, they're all for it and that's great, you know?
Like, yay! I still look really young!
The thing is......
There’s all that credibility that you get when you turn thirty and it's going straight out the window when I say that I am in my mid-tweinties. POOF! Evaporative Maturity. It's the new aging.
Even thinking about being in my mid-twenties makes me want to smoke and stay out until bar time every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday.
And sometimes Sundays and Mondays.
But only during the DAY on Sundays.

It makes me want to think about working out all the time and putting my favorite stuffed animals on a shelf over my bed, displayed with my favorite books of girly poetry and my Little House on the Prairie book set because having those things on display just seems right at 26.
You know, instead of the actual art and some cool rocks and a hand-made jewelry box that you display in your room post-30.

I can't decide how old to be today and I guess in the long run, it does not matter.
My favorite aunt had a Fortieth Birthday Bash Twenty Years Too Late.
My good friend's grandmother tells everyone she is 82 when really, she's 72... By telling people she is 82, she is guaranteed to get the ohhhs and ahhhs that women with a healthy sense of female vanity need.
Youth, you know?
It's a trade-off.
Be 26 and seem really together and ahead of the game or be 32 and seem to be aging really well and getting the "But you're so pretty!" reaction that I love so very much.

You know, back around the time I was actually 26, my best friend made a joke about how if you buy both of us a Miller Lite; one of us will go home with you.
I've noticed that now, if you tell me I'm pretty, I will forgive your roughly 123 sins.
I probably won't go home with you but who knows?
Maybe I'll make it a goal to get slutty in my early thirties.
Buy me a Miller Lite; some things NEVER change.

arizonasarah at 9:07 a.m.

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