I survived my 36th birthday this week. You know what that means, right?
It means service people call me ma'am, not miss. It means that the tiny little hair that creeps out of my chin scar every few months is going to bring friends with her next time. It means I can hold a pencil (or a phone book) under my breast with no hands. And it means I will probably never get carded for buying alcohol again. (Except at Claim Jumper--they card EVERYBODY!)
But it also means I've had 13,140 days to learn, grow, and experience life--and in that time I've learned some pretty valuable lessons. Today, I'd like to share some of them with you.
-A genuine smile can be very disarming.
-Your mother will always love your manuscript. Even if it sucks. She's just amazed that you were able to string 75,000 words together considering you're the kid she used to find you in the basement shaving bars of soap and sniffing--just to see if you'd sneeze.
-Do not go barefoot to pick up dog poop.
-One armed hugs are stupid. Go big or go home.
-Lite beer doesn't taste good, and only pansies drink it.
-Sing loud. Even if you sound terrible.
-Go to church sometimes. Good things happen there.
-Laugh until you cry.
-If a burner smells hot--don't touch it!
-Fainting goats are proof that God has a sense of humor. (see video below)
-Say what you mean.
-Girls with long hair should not stick their heads into ice coolers outside the 7-11. The little fan inside can do damage.
-If your dad offers to pick you up from school in a sky blue, 1969 Winnebago with an umbrella-holding, cartoon bear on the side, and a caption reading, "God's love shines through" just say no.
-Potlucks are a stomach ache waiting to happen.
-Always have faith.
This post is like the penny-cup at the drug store. Take a lesson if you need one, leave one if you don't.