There. I said it.

There’s been something at the tip of my tongue for a few months now.

… something I’ve been struggling with, trying to come to terms with.

… something that is difficult to say.

But sometimes, those are the things you just have to SAY, right? Just man up, and say it already.

I’m turning 25 this year.

There. I said it.

I know, right? JESUS CHRIST KACI, bfd.

But I’m serious! Usually, every February 1, I throw myself a little half-birthday party. (Okay, not really, but at least there’s a party in my head. Get off me.) This year? Notsomuch. Because, I reasoned with myself, if I celebrate my half birthday, that means my actual birthday is that much closer.

And y’all, I do not want to turn 25. I’m perfectly content staying 24 forever. It’s a good age! At 24, it’s acceptable to be single. Or in a relationship. Or engaged. Or married. (The possibilities are endless!)

It’s also okay to, at 24, be and/or get pregnant, and/or have a child/children. Or not! It’s okay to party until 5 a.m., or go to bed at 8 p.m. (though one may or may not lead to more severe judgement than the other).

The thing is, 24 is kind of the perfect age.

25? 25 is a quarter of a fucking century.

Okay, it just hit me that I KNOW there are people older than 25 reading this. Please note: I DO NOT MEAN THAT YOU ARE OLD. In fact, quite the opposite. And yeah, I know I’m not making a lot of sense. (Don’t act so surprised.)

Here’s the thing: I’m the baby of my family. I mean, the b-a-b-y. Think of everything you would think the baby of a family would be… and you’ve pretty much got me. I’m not a spoiled little bitch – I know the value of a dollar, my mommy told me “no” plenty while I was growing up… but I AM (was?) spoiled. And bratty. And definitely an annoying little sister, and I kind of tend to think the world revolves around me (hey, I’m a Leo AND I have a blog… again, don’t act so surprised). I like to get what I want, when I want it, and yes, I actually DO want your full and undivided attention. Unless you’re being mean, then go away.

I just kind of never thought I’d actually make it to 25, I guess. When I turn 25, ownership of the house left to me by my grandmother (RIP grandma, I freakin’ love you and miss you!) is transferred into my name and out of the family trust. I’ve known that would happen since my age was still in the single digits. So yeah, 25 has always been an age that was kind of out there, but not really attainable.

But this year, I turn 25.

And I’m kind of freaking out.


Photo credit


Alternately titled: The one where I write about a whole lot of random shit going on in my life AT THIS VERY moment, as in literally THIS VERY MOMENT but not really generally in my life, therefore it’s not really meaningful whatsoever but I’m going to write about it anyway because I haven’t actually written anything for a bit and I’ve been home alone for more than two hours already and it’s only 3:45 in the afternoon and YES that means I got off work at 1:30 today and YES that means The Boy is out doing something constructive with his life. For once.

I kid, I kid. He’s done a couple other constructive things with his life.

ANYfuck. Currently?

I am currently totally completely utterly in love with my job. How cool is that? I mean, really, how many people do you know who can say that? NO REALLY I’M ASKING YOU because this is still a totally new idea in my life. Whodathunk?

I am also currently carrying my laptop with me from room to room while I clean, therefore am typing this between scrubs and folds (laundry, hello) and sweeps and vacuums and texts (yes, text messaging is a very important part of cleaning house… so is blogging, obviously).

My house is currently being taken over occupied by 3 cats, 4 kittens and 4 dogs. And another litter of kittens on the way. I am literally becoming the crazy old cat lady on the hill, except for that whole thing about me only being 23, which doesn’t really qualify me as old at all unless I’m talking to my little cousin who just graduated from high school, in which case I feel REALLY old, and except for all the dogs and except for the fact that I also live with a boy. But other than that, I’m definitely the crazy old cat lady on the hill. Because, well, I’m a lady and I live on a hill. And then there’s the crazy.

My house currently also STINKS LIKE YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE. Except maybe you would believe it because of all the fucking animals I just described. And now maybe you understand the cleaning spree and also may you understand why I’m taking breaks to write all this. Because I can’t breathe.

I am currently working on a website. Well okay, this isn’t so much RIGHT THIS VERY MOMENT but really more general in my life right now, but I’m including it anyway because I! am! excited! I’m not telling you what or who it’s for yet but don’t worry, I’ll let you know about it when I’m done. One or two of you out there might care.

I am currently out of breathe from having lifted a 50-pound bag of dog food. Okay so I’m also currently a big fucking liar because I just checked and actually it’s only 32 pounds but DAMN! We have two 32-pound bags of dog food! What is wrong with us? (Answer: Nothing. We live in BFE so we buy in bulk. Or something.)

I’m currently avoiding the dishes. And putting away the clean laundry. Because I HATE dishes (unless they’re clean) and I HATE putting away the clean laundry. Washing the laundry? Fine. Even the sorting (which The Boy does not do AT ALL) of the laundry is fine. But I HATE putting it away because damn me right to hell, I’m a little OCD about how and where the laundry is put away TO. Like, my black tanks HAVE to go there and my white tees MUST go there and The Boy’s tees have to go in this order and they all have to go after his button-ups and and and. And. It’s kind of a pain in the ass, alright? There. I said it.

I’m currently still. sick. And I’ve been coughing a lot and really? I’m still writing this? Sorry.

{Post image via here.}

The one with the stripper

I for real honestly 100% actually actually actually do not even know where to start about this weekend.

There was alcohol. There was dancing. There was laughing.

There was a wedding (aww) and babies (double aww) and new kittens* (aww… fuck) and and and and parties. Bachelorette and bachelor parties.


There were bitch girls who didn’t know what they were talking about and there could have been fights.

This was NOT the stripper. This would have been an improvement, but I guarantee still just as awkward because HONESTLY.

Oh, and there was the stripper. The male stripper. Which sounds cool and all at first (unless you’re like me, in which case, it doesn’t sound cool at all not even one bit) but really it wasn’t cool at all, not even one. bit.

It was awkward and and was OF COURSE dressed as a cowboy except then he had a bandanna on and looked more like a wanna-be gangster? And I don’t even know. There were way too many one dollar bills floating around that living room and a lot of uneccesary “WOOOOoOooOoooooo!”ing and even more of “Please put your pants back on oh god please let him put his pants back on now” and a lot of him NOT putting his pants back on while he continued to sit in the living room while the bachelorette was outside puking because she took 12 too many shots of vodkawhiskeyrum. I don’t even know what she was drinking.

And people wonder why I just stick with Coors Light most of the time. It’s a safety issue, people.

But I mean, for holy shit. He was wearing a thong. I just don’t need any manthong in my life right now. Or at all.

But for real. The weekend. I did not even go outside or LOOK outside at all today (um, Sunday… right? Today IS Sunday? Like, I need to go to work in the morning right?). I probably wouldn’t even have put pants on (because, okay, for family members of mine who may be reading this, it’s best you heard it from me: My pants are not permanently affixed to my body, sorry big brother) if people hadn’t come out to the house.

* Yes, Sable had her second batch of kittens. Yes, they’re adorable because what kittens AREN’T adorable, I mean really. Yes, you can take them all home with you. No, I don’t want to talk about it. Anymore than I did just now.

{That cowboy photo up there? Is from here.}

Thanks, Glamour Mag, SO much.

Headline: Great Health News for Every Woman

Body: Quick! Take this poll: If there were a pill that could…

  • Slash your chance of getting breast cancer
  • Help get rid of headaches
  • Cut symptoms of depression almost in half
  • Lower your risk of type 2 diabetes by 50 percent
  • Make it easier to get pregnant when you want to
  • Boost sexual arousal by 100 percent
  • Improve your body image
  • Make you fall asleep 40 percent faster
  • And help you lose up to a pound a week

… Would You Take It?


Rest of the story: … basically tells you that, oh, PSYCH! There’s no pill or drug that does all that shit. But but BUT! Research shows exercising 30 minutes a day does do all that shit. And can reduce risk of memory problems by a third.

The rest of my reaction: Well, shit. There goes my shot. Wait, no, I could exercise every day. Wait, no, who am I kidding? Wait, no, wait! Ah! Who am I!?

{Glamour magazine, June 2010 issue}