Trent and I are officially “those people”:
The Christmas Party People.
You know – everyone has that one friend who throws the big Christmas thing every year. The thing you can count on to keep your friendship in good standing because even if you didn’t get to see each other all year long, you’re definitely going to be at the Christmas thing.
And I LOVE being the Christmas Party People!!!
I’m not sure why, exactly, we decided to throw our first Christmas party at 3675, five years ago now… It definitely could just be because I like to party? Does there have to be another reason? Continue reading
I just packaged up my 23andMe saliva collection sample!
It was SO GROSS.
Unfortunately, I have a true aversion to human saliva. Sorry, but – I cannot spit (I can’t even let other people drink out of my glass – not even Trent). I literally thought I would DIE before I could muster enough spit to fill the (tiny) test tube.
BUT I GOT THROUGH IT. F#@%ing phew.
And now I get to find out “what I am”. 🙂 Continue reading
Last week (and in most recent weeks, really), I spent a lot of time ruminating on what it means to now be 39 years old.
This past weekend – the end of Week 1 of 39 – I was in Detroit with my family. I tried to keep my father’s words of wisdom, about how “getting old is the plan”, present as I went to Anna’s 40th birthday party, and as my mom brought lots of friends and family around all weekend to keep my spirits high. She threw me yet another little belated birthday party, we had a little family get-together for an early Father’s Day, yada yada…
And it felt good, honestly. Especially as I spent precious time with this guy:
He is certainly fulfilling “the plan.” Continue reading
I turned 39 on June 2nd. It was a big deal for me.
I’ve long dreaded turning 39. I think I was telling myself I was dreading turning 40, but that was a lie. I’m not afraid of 40 – I’m excited for it, actually. It’s a badge I’m anxious to earn. But I’ve been scared shitless of 39.
My father died when he was 39, you see. He did not have what most people would consider a “good death”. He was a young man with a wife and two small children – barely in his thirties – when he was given a devastating diagnosis. He and his mother were both diagnosed at nearly the exact same time, with the exact same cancer; they were each given just months to live. In hindsight, it’s very clear that both of their deaths could have been easily avoided by not subjecting them to radioactive, carcinogenic procedures to treat their (hereditary) thyroid conditions. But in the early 80s oncology was a fledgling field, ya know…