adulthood, apparently, feels like crusty contact lenses

For most of my life, I was the only person I knew who was born on July 30th. (Well, except for Kate Bush, but “knew of” doesn’t really qualify as “know.”)

Then suddenly, all in the last 5 years, I’ve acquired not one, not two, but three friends with the exact same birthday as me. And somehow, they are all stunningly beautiful and generally kickass women. I am taking this as personal validation of my good taste and excellent timing. So happy birthday to , and the blogless but no less awesome Hurricane Kari.

And, of course, happy birthday to me. 35 years and still successfully avoiding the trappings of maturity, but yet with an awesome partner, a wonderful lover, a great job and the best friends in the known universe. I guess this is the long strange trip they warned us all about. No regrets, no complaints.

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