I'm not sure if you felt a gentle breeze on Sunday tickle you in all your naughtiest places but that was probably Mother Nature letting you know it was my BIRTHDAY!
The leaves are changing, the air getting cooler, like sands through a still-86-degree summer hourglass, these are the years of my life. Or something… Look, I’m 34 now. Don’t feel a day over my emotional age of 14.
So what does one get for her 34th birthday? An incrementally smaller mortgage, a greater feeling of ease about your place in the world and plantar fasciitis.
Sigh… I’m 34 going on 84.
I’m at the age where I don’t ask for a lot of gifts for my birthday and instead want “just to spend some time with my friends and family.” I totally understand now why my grandma used to say that even though young me felt that grandma was throwing away a perfectly good opportunity for some Bath and Body Works lotion sets or Guess jean shorts.
Even though I only require a nice brunch and hug from my friends, I do try to give myself something special to mark such a momentous moment in time. Besides, I have enough organic coconut oil and raw shea butter to keep me positively greasy until my existential crisis when I hit 40.
The past few years I've tried to give myself the gifts of tackling a long-held fear, a new experience or stepping out of my comfort zone (with a Glock). This year I just wanted leg warmers and comfy socks. This is unrelated to the plantar fasciitis - socks just feel nice. Although I should probably look into getting some arch support...
I ordered from the premier sock source on the internet (yes, there is one) appropriately called Sock Dreams. They have a every kind of sock/leg warmer/thigh high available and a large and active community of customers. I’ve never seen reviews this specific and impassioned outside of sex toys. They have every size imaginable (of socks not sex toys - different site) so no matter what your calf-to-ankle ratio is, they have you covered. COVERED! Sock puns, y’all.
In keeping with the theme of old people gifts, I was also going to gift myself some yardwork from some very handsome and well-mannered twin boys who live in the neighborhood. I feel like I should make a dirty joke here but I just can’t lust after guys whose ages end in -teen and call me ‘ma’am’ twelve times in under five minutes. They are children and it makes me feel gross. Besides, how can I fantasize about working out my daddy issues on someone who isn’t old enough to drink?
Unfortunately instead of yardwork I made a spur of the moment decision and bought myself some new glasses. I can't pass a 50% off optometrical flash sale. Steel yourself for the upcoming selfie, Instagram followers.
Since my landscaping help is pushed out til Spring I treated myself to some DIY landscaping. I’m not sure I understand the concept of gifts…? It was definitely less glamorous than drinking a cocktail and watching twin 18-yr-olds work in my yard but dirtier.
First, I gifted myself a few Wench irises! Look how cute these ladies are.
I also hit up a few plant sales for some new goodies… Still working on getting these into the ground but I like looking at their potential. Notice how I always have a lot of pictures of new acquisitions like this and not in the ground…?? Ahem...
I also got myself the gift of follow-through by buying some Limelight hydrangeas as we discussed previously this summer! You may remember I had exposed a side to my house previously blocked by a rotting mini barn and now I’m filling it in.
|I'm still digging so this is not my yard but maybe in a few years? Here.|
Happy birthday to me now go dig some giant holes while being eaten alive by mosquitoes wheeeee! Digging holes in my dirt is a painstaking two-day process so I really suck at celebrating. Six inches down my shovel hits the solid wall of clay and I reverberate like a cartoon coyote. Fortunately, I only slipped off the shovel once and I’m a spry 84 so I recovered quickly. Hope my neighbors enjoyed my muddy tumble.
Your gift to me is to please pray to your god for me that these guys live.
Not to be outdone, Charlemagne found a nest of bunnies and brought them ALL to me this weekend. *sob* A dead bird on occasion I can handle. The rare chipmunk is hard but it is the natural order afterall. But the bunnies? THE BUNNIES? Pretty fucking miserable.
They were too far gone for me to save or find a vet for a mercy killing on a Saturday night so I just had to listen to bunnies SCREAM on my patio while I tried to draw winged eyeliner on teary eyes. Apparently turning 84 also hardens your heart because to drown out their screams I had to turn up the music and take another shot of Fireball to dull the pain. I mean, shit, Charlemagne….
So even though I cleaned up murdered bunny carcasses and dug holes on my birthday, it wasn’t actually like the prison sentence it sounds like. It was really pleasant and there was much drinking and laughing and french fries and Beyonce concert footage to be had.
Murdered bun buns aside, I gifted myself socks, glasses, plants and most importantly a sense of accomplishment. And that’s the best gift of all, says this grandma!
Other than literally anything else on the planet.