The “alone on my birthday” blog: 22 Underrated “Accomplishments” achieved while 22
Tomorrow is my birthday, and it has been looming over me for the last three weeks, like an oncoming herpes break out. I am depressed, bloated, and seriously constipated with thoughts of suicide. Not really. I just wanted to use the word constipated without a feces visual.
I am depressed, bloated, and currently contracting West Nile virus on the patio attached to my new apartment. I wish pasty legs had the same effect on single, witty, SBGs (Sexy Bearded Gents, see: previous post) as they do on blood sucking insects. If I had this many men biting my knee caps at 9:30 at night, I’d be in heaven or some sort of state-funded free clinic. But a girl takes what she can get.
The point is, I have 1 hour left until my 23rd birthday. Since moving to Tennessee, I have been pondering how I will spend this wretched day. I know, and I mean this in all seriousness, three people in this state. Yeah. That’s right. THREE PEOPLE. My yet to be conceived unborn child knows more than three people here. How much of a social train wreck am I that in three weeks of residency, I have only been in the company of three people? This fact alone makes me want to shave off my eyebrows.
But I need not get discouraged. I need to look at this as a character building experience. Sure, all of my family, friends, and random but familiar town hobos, are 900 miles away. But who cares? No big deal. I have my roommate’s Roku and an individually sized chocolate birthday cake my mother had delivered to my apartment today. Upon receiving the cake, I gave her cellular device a ring, just to thank her for the thought. The conversation went something like this.
Me: I got the cake, thank you! It looks amazing.
Mom: Are you sure?
Me: Yeah, I love it. Thank you.
Mom: I was really debating getting it. I didn’t want the fact that you have no one to share it with to depress you.
Me: Oh. Yeah. I actually didn’t think about that until you said it.
Me: Now I’m depressed.
Mom: Have you thought about going to a singles club?
This, ladies and gentlemen, was the single most depressing moment of my life, beating out last Valentine’s Day and the time in 6th grade social studies class when I got my period all over my desk chair. My mind immediately flashed to visions of glitter body cream, Lady Gaga remixes, and roofied vodka red bulls. Is fauxlitely pretending to be seduced by southern townies the way any young woman, on the cusp of fabricated break out stardom, should spend her birthday? I think not.
So instead of canoodling with a “good ole boy” in a Confederate flag wife beater stained with sweat and Natural Light, I have decided to ring in my birthday by creating a list of 22 things I accomplished while being 22.
- I learned how to spell the word “ulterior.”
- I lost 63 pounds.
- I wrote 75 pages of a novel.
- I sold a couch on Craigslist.
- I attended five concerts:
- Ramblin’ Jack Elliot
- Dave Matthews Band
- Bob Dylan
- Goo Goo Dolls (sucked)
- Ray LaMontagne
- I fell out of love with someone who was wrong for me.
- I quit my job and moved to Tennessee on my own.
- I casually dated 5-10 different losers, but who’s counting?
- I started this blog.
- I realized I have a pretty singing voice and should probably not be so shy about it.
- I learned how to shovel snow with a dust pan.
- I survived the coldest winter of my life without using heat.
- I realized its ok to cry over people who don’t deserve it.
- I flirted my way out of paying New York tolls and driving tickets.
- I made fantastic commission at a job where I did barely any work.
- I kissed and I told.
- I only overdrew my account once.
- I survived a painful divorce.
- I found a bra that fits.
- I grew my hair 7 inches.
- I realized for the first time in my life, that I’m kinda, sorta, pretty…once in awhile.
- I found an excellent recipe for Sangria.
So there you have it. My 22nd year, wrapped up in one verbose blog entry. I think tomorrow I’ll go to a local beach, or possibly a bluegrass festival nearby. Or maybe I’ll stay home, watch Roku and eat birthday cake, before putting on cowboy boots and heading to a local honky tonk in search of some good old fashioned birthday lovin’.
I am open to suggestions, recommendations, and redneck-produced death threats.
The girl who is almost 23