H Is For...

"Happy Birthday To Me!"

I feel like I'm cheating, because entry H was supposed to be on Saturday. But I DON'T CARE! Because it's my birthday and I can do whatever I want to do. Yep, that's right. Today is my day.

I'm 27 years old now -- I think that qualifies as "late twenties." When I was 13 and my sister got married at age 26 I thought she was SO OLD. But I barely feel like a legitimate adult. Actually I like the term "heavily subsidized pseudo-adult" which is how Speak Coffee puts it.

I have a job and an apartment and I pay bills and buy groceries, and I have my laundry washed and folded (which I just began doing and is not only "adult" but "New York adult"). I travel by myself, and I take care of my "children" (my kitties). I guess there is a certain amount of responsibility involved in my world.

But I feel like this entry from Hyperbole and a Half best describes my approach toward "adultism":

This Is Why I'll Never Be An Adult

Note: if you don't read this blog already, start now.

I feel as though responsibility has been forced upon me via life, but that I'm actually a pretty irresponsible person who can barely take care of herself, let alone her cats. Actually, I kind of prioritize with taking care of my cats. They are easier to care for than I am.

I also just realized that Speak Coffee and I have known each other for 14 years -- more than half our lives. Holy poop.

Tonight? Chic dinner with 4 of my closest friends at a NYC hotspot. Saturday? Par-tay.

Somewhere in there I get my present from the boyfriend. He better have been kidding about the toaster.