I think at some point you’re supposed to accept your birthday as just another day and be gracious about it or something. I’m not there yet. I spent yesterday telling anybody who would listen You know it’s my birthday tomorrow? It’s my 25th birthday tomorrow. Just putting that out there. Just thought you might like to know.
Is it bad that I want to take cupcakes to work for my own birthday? Like it’s second grade? It’s my birthday so I brought you cupcakes. Feel free to reciprocate on your own birthday.
Usually I feel depressed on my birthday because I’m like, another year’s gone by and I’m not a thin, glamorous telenovela star/volcanologist/rodeo cowgirl! (I know volcanologists are not known for their glamour, but believe me, I’d revolutionize the field in that respect.) But ripping myself apart for what I’m not is counter-productive so this birthday we’re celebrating the fact that in my 25 years of life, I’ve never been arrested or knocked up. Yeah! So far, so good!
Incidentally, it’s also my baby sister’s sweet sixteenth birthday. I’m a little upset, because last time I checked, she was this big:

And now apparently she’s sixteen.
Here is a photo from when we turned 17 and 8:

We have the same smile.
Here’s last year:

I just remembered. I still need to get her a present.
Happy birthday to me and Lara!







