On Friday I turned 37. 
This birthday has felt a little weird; the number 37 seems, somehow, a lot older than 34, 35, or 36.  I’m suddenly much closer to being a 40
something.  And that feels weird.  Mainly because inside I still feel 28.  (Sometimes even 24!)  

My joints are laughing hysterically as I type that.  

Despite the fact that for my birthday (and appropriate to my
age) we didn’t do a whole lot – went to the farmer’s market, bummed around the
house, had a nap then a nice dinner; pretty much how my grandparents celebrate
special days – there are a few
reasons I still feel pretty young.  And
all of those centered around presents! 
(you shallow bitch)

Behold!  My new drum
stool!!  Ooh ah!

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Aint it fancy?  It’s
soooo cushy for my geriatric tush! 

And… what I’ve been sitting on the last eight months.  (Yep, my ass on the drain doctor.)

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My drum set… wait, have I told you about my drum set?  My drum set is a twice-removed-used set that
my brother has lent me that he got
from my parents (where it was either given to them by a friend or they bought
it at a garage sale – it’s all a little confusing).  The set was (is) beat up and missing a bunch
of parts and my brother scraped it back together.  It’s from the 70s and it was featured in a
country band.  (I don’t know why I feel
compelled to share that.)  It’s also
almost so ugly it’s cool.  But not
quite.  Which means it’s just ugly.  (Maybe I should bedazzle it?)


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 The whole kitschy
ensemble being rocked by my boy.



And last but not least, this super sweet corset given to me by my lovely husband (who also gave me the
drum stool).  I heart corsets.  If I was a rock goddess I
would wear this on stage.  In real life, I’ll just
wear it out to a club. (I’m going
clubbing again, someday.  I swear!)

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Oh, bless you artificial trappings of youth.   (Thanks Keen!)

              – wg