Christmas birthdays probably blow.
People give you christmasbirthday presents, a lot of your friends are away on vacation, Jesus completely steals your thunder, and you have to act like it’s all cool.
You know what else blows?
Birthdays right after Christmas.
Everyone’s hung over, feeling bloated, and broke.
The odds for a good birthday are kind of against you. Unless you are a chick who is so awesome, your birthday has no choice but to be a reflection of your awesomeness.
Not one, but two totally rockin’ bloggers I happen to be friends with happen to have post-Christmas birthdays. On the same day.
(Image via Cake Wrecks.)
Which brings me to me.
My birthday is exactly one month after Rassles and Kitty’s birthday.
It’s a demographic-jumping year for me. I’m leaving the coveted 17-34 group. Off to the purgatory of the pre-middle aged. The only things marketed at me are beige carpeting and Sheryl Crow CDs.
I want to turn thirty-five in a blaze of glory.
So how do I go about making that happen?
All ideas are welcome.
(But just so you know, here’s some things I won’t do:
Wear heels over 2 inches.
Get a perm.
Drive a Yugoslavian car.
Shank a bitch.
Go to a movie starring Kate Hudson (I find her off-putting.)
Lick a metal pole.
Take public transportation.
Wear lace-up anything.
But other than that, anything is fair game.)