Tuesday, February 17, 2015

A Quarter of a Century Old. (And Valentine's Day).


Well, y'all. It happened. And by "it" I mean that I did in fact turn twenty-five years old. This past Friday to be exact. Yes, on Friday the thirteenth I turned a quarter of a century old. I couldn't believe it either. I'm not really sure when I did in fact get to the point that I was ready to be in my mid-twenties, but here I am. And you know what? I'm good with it.

I know, right?! I didn't see this coming either. I thought that I would have some giant meltdown  or something. I honestly didn't know how I was going to react. I mean, don't people usually have a mid, or in this case quarter, life crisis? Shouldn't I be freaked out and trying to "find myself" or something along those lines? I don't know. I'm probably ok with it, because I'm good with who I am. I know me and I'm happy with the person that I am. The way I look at it, as long as you're happy with yourself, than you're fine. Unless you're a serial killer, rapist, hurt children, or you know, Casey Anthony. Than you're not ok. And I want to punch you really hard in the throat. You know, just saying.

I've also never been one to celebrate birthdays. Don't get me wrong, Momma always made us a cake every year, but we never did the whole big shebang. I had a sleepover when I was in fifth grade to celebrate and that only happened once. And it was completely by my choice, because if we're being perfectly honest I didn't like having all those girls over invading my space. Even just thinking about it gets on my nerves. The next morning I told Momma never again, and I meant it.

I've just never been one to get excited about birthdays. But this one? This one just felt different for some reason. I couldn't tell you why, because I don't even know for myself, but it did. I didn't do anything in particular. In fact, Momma and I grabbed some supper and stayed in for the night. It was SO cold! And we all know how much I don't like to go out in the first place. But we stayed in and relaxed. It was great.


And did I mention how many people remembered my birthday? And Valentine's Day? Yeah, I'm pretty sure every single person I know wished me a Happy Birthday. Some sent me cards. Others candy. My very much (non)boy(guy?)friend even sent me flowers, chocolates, and a card. (No ones ever sent me flowers before, by the way). Greg and his crew came up the next day and took us out to dinner and brought me a giant hot pink stuffed dog. And finally, two cakes people. Two. Cakes. All in all, I'm going to have to say that I put it to a vote and it's been decided- I'm turning twenty-five again next year. Don't try to talk me out of it. Cake and flowers, I've made up my mind.

Thursday, February 12, 2015

That time I did Zumba and almost didn't recover.


So, last Friday (the sixth) I did something that I never thought that I would do. I actually let Dani talk me into going to Zumba with her. Do y'all know what Zumba is? If not, I'll tell you. Actually, I'll let Wikipedia, because if I tell you it's going to have many more expletives. Just saying.

Now that you know what it is, can you really imagine me doing this? If not, you would be completely accurate. I was a, for lack of a better word, maniac. The fact that I have absolutely no arm/feet coordination was not a surprise to me. I mean, I haven't had it almost 25 years, so why start now? Right?! Everyone knows this about me. It's never by any means been a secret.

I ran into people. I followed the wrong steps. I shook my butt so hard at one point that I thought I was going to fall over. What can I say? I have alot of ass to shake. Also, can we just talk about how hot it gets in those places? SO. HOT. The class was 1.5 hours long and it was to raise money for the American Heart Association. And although I don't think that I will ever do it again, at least I have no immediate plans, I have to say that it was kind of fun. Hell, they let you dance to Bruno Mars, so what's not to like?


After I got home from Zumba, my entire body ached, so I popped a couple excedrin and did a few shots, and then Momma and I went to Wal-Mart to pick up a couple things. And so I could have an amazing photo-op with a giant stuffed giraffe. That I named Steve. (Unknowingly after Bennett's brother. What?! I didn't know that was his name!) And when I woke up Saturday morning, I had to take more meds and drink, because- Ouch.