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Guest Post: “You Should Be So Lucky”

While I’m off studying cadavers (it’s kinda disturbing just how excited this makes me) the always amusing Katy from Whatever has offered to write a guest-post for me until I can talk my way out of this pesky necrophilia charge.

I kid, I kid.

So without further ado, please enjoy this rather amusing walk down memory lane. And remember, you never EVER joke to a woman about her age. Seriously.

Later my freaky darlings.

Mid-Life Crisis

I recently turned thirty-five and a baby in one of my college classes (I didn’t know they were letting twelve year-olds go to college) jokingly asked me if I was going to have my mid-life crisis soon.

After I dropkicked him into the hallway I snootily informed him that I have already had my mid-life crisis thankyouverymuchyoushithead.

My crisis came at twenty-three.

I turned twenty-three on March 7, 1997. That day I woke up and thought to myself, “This is my twenty-third birthday, I have a two year old and six month old twin babies and I’m driving a FUCKING MINI-VAN!” At which point I hit the liquor cabinet. At 7am. (Admit it, you would have done the same thing!)

For my birthday that year I went with a friend to a tattoo parlor and got a tattoo around my ankle, then we hit the bars in Pioneer Square Seattle where I proceeded to get drunker than I’ve ever been in my life and gave $11 to a dog.

In my own defense it was a really cute dog wearing sunglasses, a fedora, and holding a cup in its mouth. And did I mention that I was drunker than drunk?

Tattooed and hung over the next day, I thought that I was over it. I had acted age appropriately without hurting my babies or husband. (He laughed at me and then stayed home all day to nurse my hangover and me and take care of the kidlets so I could sleep. He’s awesome.)

But I wasn’t over it.

So the next weekend I went back to the tattoo parlor and got my nose pierced.

Husband didn’t speak to me for twenty-four hours.

I had mentioned to husband that I wanted to get my nose pierced a few weeks before and he unequivocally expressed his dismay and disgust at the very idea. He acknowledged that I certainly had every right to do so, after all it is my nose, but asked me not to out of consideration and love for him.

The fact that I did it anyway proves that I was only twenty-three, albeit with a marriage, mini-van, and babies. Not my finest moment.

So to the snot-nosed college baby, I’ve had my mid-life crisis and survived with only scars; a 12-year-old tattoo and a mark on my nose. You should be so lucky.

Categories: Uncategorized
  1. April 17, 2009 at 9:19 AM

    Shoot! I didn’t have kids, or piercings, or tattoos.. and I was drinking at 7am JUST TO FACE THE GODDAMN BOSS EVERY DAY! at 23. :o)

    You gotta love wine!

  2. April 17, 2009 at 8:26 PM

    Those damn young 20 something whippersnappers think they know everything! 🙂
    That’s quite a mid-life crisis, and I don’t blame you one bit!

  3. April 17, 2009 at 11:07 PM


    I had two kids at age twenty three, and owned a mini van. However, I delayed my crisis until I was 28. No tatoos, but had plenty of other shenaningans.

    Just think. Only five more years and then you’ll be my age.

  4. April 20, 2009 at 9:38 AM

    Oddly enough, every day I wake up I want a tattoo more and more, despite the lilly-whiteness of my Irish fair skin.

    We should probably start a pool on when it’s going to happen.

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