jamie ann

Hi!  My name is Tia and I write Clever Girl Goes Blog.  When Jamie asked me to do a guest post for her while she soaked up the rays in sunny Florida, I jumped at the chance.  A feature appearance at The House of Lovely?  Yes please, sign me up.

If you didn’t know (like, as in, you might be living under a rock), the other day was Jamie’s 25th birthday.  She wasn’t ESPECIALLY excited about it, which is something I can totally relate to, although her reasons might differ from mine.

(As in, she’s probably not crazy and doesn’t harbor major phobias about getting older.)

(And seriously?  If I could have, I would’ve sent her balloons and flowers and 19 puppies and Edward Cullen.  But I don’t know where she lives.)

Anyhoodle.  I can sympathize with Jamie about lack of enthusiasm towards birthdays, because mine is next week.

(I accept gifts in forms of jewelry, cash, and ponies.)

Last year, I had a VERY hard time with turning 27.  I dreaded it.  I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was an age that someone ELSE was, not me.  I know that probably doesn’t make much sense, but for me, 27 was iconic and scary.

Now, as I’m staring 28 in the face, and strangely enough, it doesn’t bother me at all.  A couple weeks ago, I was waiting for the anxiety to settle in.  I figured any minute, I’d be chasing Hubs around the house with a knife, yelling “REDRUM!” because he dared to bring up the idea of a birthday party for me.

(Best.  Wife.  EVER.)

Whatever the reason, 28 is looking just fine to me.  I’m embracing it.  It doesn’t scare me.  I’ve bested The Crazy.  28 seems settled, and on the right track.  Sure, it lacks the cute intonations of, say, 23, but it’s not a bad place to be.  I’m okay with it.

Besides, I got carded twice last week, so I figure my age-obsession is all in my head.

(Thank you, cute pizza place waiter!)

In today’s society, when people are completely focused on diets and botox and cougars and wrinkle treatments, it’s no wonder that a girl might get a little sidetracked and not realize the BEST thing about getting older:  MORE TIME TO MAKE FRIENDS = MORE PRESENTS.

So if you find yourself with the birthday blues, just remember that.

And let’s be real, shall we?  The WORST thing about getting older, for me?

Feeling creepier every year about lusting after a seventeen year old undead high schooler.