My last post.

...AS A 28-YEAR-OLD. Ha! You think I'd just up and leave my blog like that? Please. Who else would I talk to when I'm bored? WITHOUT INTERNET I'M ALL ALONE. (Not really). (OK. Maybe sometimes). (Oh, hush, you are, too).

I can't just end birthweek without exhausting all of "my last _____ as a 28-year-old"s. This week I had my last Monday. And Tuesday. Wednesday, Thursday. Last blizzard as a 28-year-old. Last smoothie. Last drive to work. Last morning shower. Last wake up. Last lunch. Last, last-y, last, last, last. ISN'T THIS FUN?

OK, no it's really not. I'll do all of these things again tomorrow. And next week. And they'll be exactly the same. But when I was a kid, that was HUGE.

"OMG tomorrow I'm 5. FIVE. Will I feel older? OMG I feel older already. MOM! Mom, I'mma be five! FIVE! This is the last time I'm going to scream at you as a 4-year-old!"

I always expected to feel older on my birthday when I was a kid. Yet every year I was disappointed when I didn't feel any different. I suspect 29 is going to feel just like 28, which, if I'm being honest, feels like 11. If we break it down percentage-wise, I'd say, 79 percent of the time I still feel like a kid. Not in that corny, "YAY! I'm so carefree and spirited, and let's ride bikes and have no responsibilities! Wheeee!" kind of way. Rather in the, "Oh shit. What? Bills? Something about life insurance and car maintenance? Dad. Help?" kind of way.


I'm supposed to be a grownup. I am a grownup. Shit, in a year, I'm going to be a 30-year-old grownup. Don't get me wrong, I do pay my bills, I do take care of myself and my car (disclaimer: to the best of my ability, which isn't always the best), I do all the grownup things that grownups are supposed to do. I fit the part.

But you better belieeeeeeeeeve there's a stuffed animal in my bed. It's a dog. He's pink. His name is Alton (after Alton Brown). Sometimes I go to bed without brushing my teeth. Sometimes when the cat pukes on the floor, I don't clean it up until tomorrow. My furniture doesn't match. Even a little. I like nailpolish with glitter and bright colors. I don't even have a boyfriend (is this shocking to you anymore?), nonetheless a fiance, or a husband, or kids, like others might expect people of my age to have.

I am a child. I swear to god. I am a fake! A FAKE!

So I might turn 29 tomorrow, and I might be a year from my thirties, but do not let that fool you. This site will still be bright pink, I will still need my dad to do my taxes, and I'll still drive 6,000 miles in between oil changes. While you guys are smoochin' your spouses goodnight, and tucking your toddlers into bed, I'll be waiting for the clock to switch over to 12:01 a.m. so I can giggle and wish myself a happy birthday tonight.

OMG. MOM I'M 29! MOMMMMMMMMMMM. I don't feel any older! MA! TWENTY-NINE!