It's The End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)

Today marks a monumental day in history, for 'tis when yours truly blessed the planet with my presence. You're welcome. Today I'm celebrating- (not so much celebrating as mourning, really) my 29th birthday. For the 3rd year in a row. I know I should feel older and act older and have like, maturity or some stupid shit that comes with age, yet...I don't. Screw you, Father Time. I'm never acting my age, so there. That'll learn ya.

This arrived today, all fall color-y and whatnot and smells remarkably wonderful. At least, in comparison to the odors that normally are found in a house full of gross boys.

Flowers? Check.



Cake? Check. DUDES. Dig this crazy cake my Very Important sister had delivered to my door. It's so cool! Why, you ask?...



Fondant DICE, mofo's!



But what better way to turn a year older than to buy yourself something great. Maybe not great, but fun. Not so much fun, really, as ridiculous. Yep, that's it, ridiculous.



That's right. I bought myself a "Shut Up, Hippies" tee shirt. Usually, I find people who wear "funny sayings" tee shirt to be GIANT douches. Like the disgusting college losers in "Imagine Whirled Peas" shirts or cornhole jocks in "MILF Hunter" shirts. But a hateful-to-hippie shirt is EXACTLY what this world needs more of.

Rock 'N' Roll High School

3 things of (probable non-) interest to report, all of which made me weep a little, and considering crabby fembots from hell don't cry, this is a death-defying feat, for I now may rust into indifference and never again will I be able to bitch so carefree and full of vim. But screw you, vigor!

1.) The first of incidents happened yesterday at the bus stop. As in, *school* bus stop, not grody public transportation bus stop. The last time I was on a public bus it made me itch and rue the moment I declined on bringing a flask of Jack Daniels along for the ride. So waiting at the bus stop sometimes results in awkward social situations, as it did yesterday when I was forced into making that "pleasant conversation" BS with a teenager waiting for her little brother. So we were talking about absolutely nothing and I dropped the line "get medieval on your ass" and I immediately knew I said something painfully unhip because she looked at me like I was speaking Yiddish and went "umm, WHAT does that mean?"...crap....here's me: "You don't know that phrase?! Say WHA? Everyone used to say it...you know...from Pulp Fiction..." and she goes: "No. I never heard that. I was like, 2 or something when that came out".

Holy snapple, sweet baby jebus smite me where I stand right now. Send a swarm of locusts to annihilate me into oblivion. Better yet, send a Flock of Seagulls. She was 2 when I was 18 and now I feel OLD. Old and ridiculous. I'm 31 and that's not old, right?! But apparently Teens These Days hate me and I'm officially An Adult. Well who the hell said it was OK for THAT to happen? At what age do we go from young and hip to old and embarrassing? Because inside my head I feel exactly like I did when I was 18 and seriously, I know I'm a total dork, but I thought I was a somewhat happenin' kind of dork. The Magic 8 Ball says "Don't count on it".

2.) The second thing makes me weep, but in a joyous way. I saw a guy in the mall (yes, I was at the mall. I was buying an Auntie Anne's garlic pretzel. Don't judge me.) wearing a tee shirt that said I ♥ Haters. That is probably thee best thing I've read in ages. It'll be my life's mission to find that shirt. FINALLY a tee shirt company "gets" me. Up yours, Hot Topic, you don't know me, I'll cut you. Sigh. I do love me some haters.

3.) The third thing is the most grotesque thing of all and that, my friend, is the fact that not only am I old and not cool, but I am getting even older and not cooler in 36 days when I turn 32. I mean 29! Yes, I'm turning 29. For the 3rd year in a row. Here are possible gift ideas for you to think about at work today: mass quantities of Swedish Fish, a mixed tape of 80's metal, a Chippendale's dancer named Derek, a I ♥ Haters tee. Your call. Or maybe I'll just stay hidden in my bedroom that day reading The Babysitters Club and listening to Wham records.

My name is Kim and I do not support this message.