The Obligitory Birthday Fortnight

August 2nd was the last birthday I will ever have in my 20s. A friend (who is 30, with a house and a husband and a child), was sure to point that out a few days prior to my actual birthday. I hadn't thought about it until RIGHT THEN. I freaked out for... about 4 seconds, then didn't care anymore. Age is not what matters. How awesome you are is the only thing that counts. And, since I'm pretty damn awesome, I really don't have anything to worry about.

It's been a tradition that started in college, that you don't just get one day, or the weekend closest to your actual birthday to celebrate. Oh no. You get an entire fortnight. And since everyone seems to be catching on that this will be the LAST fortnight in my 20s (I mean seriously, do these people just sit around thinking about this shit all long?!), it's a BIG fortnight. I had a softball game on the actual day-of (hence the misleading hippy-vibe I am giving off in the picture below--team uniforms), but the team surprised me at the dive bar across from the field with drinks and a cake! We lost the game, and I was burping up a very strange cake/beer situation in the middle of the 3rd inning, but it was pretty awesome.

(What is REALLY AWESOME is that it says "Adolf" on the chalkboard to the left of my head in the picture below. AND I'm wearing hippy-Nazi red)

This weekend there are two surprise-days happening. One where I get to wear yoga pants (my friends are awesome) and one where I'm going to see an airshow.

AND THEN, on Monday, I'm going to see Miranda Lambert at the Ventura County Fair for the second time in two months. (see?! Told you I was awesome).

Now that I've spent at least 5 minutes of your time talking about ME, I want you to wish me a happy birthday fortnight and move along with your day.

Be sure to check back soon. Why? Because I said so.