Tuesday, February 1, 2011


Despite all suggestions to the contrary (I'm talking to you, T) - I am now in my MID-thirties, or entering my thirty-sixth year, as my Grandpa would say.

I think one of the birthday traditions I look forward to most (besides eating a disgusting amount of "cheap white" birthday cake) is receiving my annual birthday poem from my dear friend, D. And yesterday, without fail,  she delivered what I think is by far her best poem yet. Without further ado...

Oh Dear, oh dear the day is here,
Time to rejoice by consuming large quantities of beer.

You have successfully made it to age thirty-five,
Well, successfully may be a stretch but at least you're alive.

I can't seem to find a nice thing to say, cause thirty-five sucks rocks,
Good thing they cancelled the census - now you don't have to check the much older age box.

Things are saggy, droopy and the word perky no longer applies,
You're fricken old sister if any one says different it's all LIES LIES LIES.

I love you, D. You made my day. xo

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