I should save this for my birthday post. November 27th, thanks for asking.
But I don’t know what to write about so happy early birthday to me.
I’m 36 this year. I’m still 35 as I type this.
Things I learned in 36 – still 35 – years:
- I hate gum now. Chewing gum tastes like chewing on a mint piece of rubber.
- It doesn’t matter how old you are – girls are still cliquey.
- I’m pretty sure hangovers can kill. No, not the alcohol. The hangover itself might just kill you.
- Wearing a fake penis makes you want to grab yourself. I get it, guys. I get it. It’s just hanging there, a little fun pouch to play with. It took me 36 – no, still 35 – years to discover this.
- “I get it, guys. I get it.” – me, dry humping the air at a Halloween party. I’m sorry. It just flashed before my eyes. This is what happens when I write free-style.
- Kids are people. You know when you deliver your baby, you deliver your baby. A piece of you, coming out of your body. I realized this year – and I don’t know why this particular year – that that’s not the case. I met Emma Grace Burton on May 24th, 2006 and I met Kate Audrey Burton on May 7th, 2009. I met two people. Completely separate people from Scott and me.
- Don’t knock the gluten-free fad if you haven’t tried it. Toenail fungus. GONE.
- Shit starts falling apart on your body. I’ve been writing on a computer all day. My eyes are strained and throbbing. I’m wearing glasses and it’s only 7 p.m. God, I’m old.
- Scott said I should add how I learned to push myself this year. I’m like, “screw you, Scott. Wait, what do you mean?” And then Scott said physically push myself, at my gym. Oh, ok. Fine. Good one. I’ve never sweat so hard in my life.
- Scott also said I should add I learned how to cook crock-pot chicken this year. Screw you, Scott.
I’ll add the rest of my list when I’m 36.
And don’t forget to buy my book, “But Did You Die?”