22 Years of Tripping, Stumbling, and Catching Myself

Happy birthday to me. (Sorry, self, it's slightly belated.)

Twenty-two. Tweeeennnnty-two. Twenty-two is kind of a scary age. There's nothing really to look forward to, age-wise, until I'm sixty-five and get the Early Bird special at Denny's.

It was a splendidly underplayed birthday. The older I get, the more ridiculous I feel celebrating... myself. Adult birthdays are simply not the same as kiddie/teenage birthdays.

But here's a rundown of the fantastically understated day:

Slept in (glorious bed!)

Awoke to a beautifully sunny day

Gave Ricky a hug and kiss goodbye, as he was driving home to California that night

Spent the day luxuriously reading, writing, lounging, and bathing

Grabbed a stack of gently used books from D.I. to add to the collection

Was treated to an impromptu Barnes and Noble trip with me mam, brudder, and sister

Spent at least an hour perusing through books, only to put 90% of my stack back and buy this

Came home to a fabulous dinner of chicken, potatoes, and veggies...

To justify eating two pans of brownies! (I don't need a cake)

Opened gifts: More books, more B&N gift cards (resulting in my Tori Amos book--see below post), cash (always a winner!), a new shirt, a labeller (still questioning this but Mom insists it kicks ass), awesome shark propaganda, and the permission to play whatever music I wanted while we ate dinner (random on the Ipod--included Flogging Molly, Tori Amos, Regina Spektor, and a little U2 for good measure)

Won in Jeopardy, went to bed early

And now, it's time for the obligatory birthday countdown, similar to spankings, only more blog-like:

Birth: Was due on February 14th, 1987. Born on March 16th, 1987. That's a whole month late. Poor Mommy. Hope she doesn't hold a grudge.

0 years: Walked and spoke at nine months. Still no hair, though.

1 year: Went swimming every day. Cultivated love for water, ocean, mermaids, sharks, and sexy lifeguards.

2 years: Got first stitches when I banged myself on the coffee table. (I need sharp edges like I need a hole in the head.)

3 years: Hannah is born. When I can't name her Lisa or Ariel, I decide she's the enemy... until I realize she's my audience/slave.

4 years: Reading like a demon. Mostly Dr. Seuss.

5 years: The musical career begins with weekly piano lessons from the crazy, impatient mom neighbor whose kids kicked over my snowman. Also the year of the witchy kindergarten teacher who still haunts my nightmares.

6 years: Tested high enough to skip second grade, but kept in first grade for possible "socializing" reasons.

7 years: Move to Lehi. Also, new brudder Keaton. Afraid to change boy diapers.

8 years: Writing maniac, MAA-NIAC! Fills up several journals in 2nd and 3rd grade with utter nonsense.

9 years: The year of the sports--basketball, baseball, tackle football, soccer, rugby, kickball, and capture the flag.

10 years: Puberty! Periods, strange hairs, underwire bras, and strange reactions to Val Kilmer in Willow.

11 years: Cute chin-length bob, tomboy habits such as boxer-wearing, spitting, breast-binding, and Batman backpack.

12 years: Tough year for the fam. First time in a limo. (On the way to the cemetary.) Also, first trip to the Big Apple.

13 years: First zits. Also first hips, first awkward junior high experiences, first body odors.

14 years: Acting debut in Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. Have loaf haircut, hideous, but charming in a nerdy way.

15 years: First kiss. In the rain. By someone I actually like. Also, a new Emma.

16 years: Simultaneously get driver's license and steal parent's car in the same year.

17 years: Throes of high school woes. Skip more classes than I attend. Pass AP History test, but fail Chemistry.

18 years: No more high school! Celebrate with a new job at Thanksgiving Gardens, where I sit in a sweltering box with an outdated computer and wait for customers.

19 years: Work at a publishing company. Sweeping win at Miss Lehi, where the other yuppie sentimental bitches didn't stand a chance. (Uhhh... kidding... uhhh...)

20 years: Competed at Miss Utah, left with diddly-squat (but wonderful memories, blah blah blah.) Finished writing album.

21 years: Got excellent dueling piano job, finished novel, had royal wig-outs.

22 years: Who knows? Another novel, an album, some traveling, a new car, new bookshelves.

Future? Starring in a Muppets movie, children, a snobby summer home in Ireland, and a cat farm.