Once a year I remind myself that my days of being 22 are over. It comes to me in the form of attending my friend Marisa's annual birthday bash that coincides with Memorial Day weekend. I don't know what it is about her and all of her friends that bring out the long gone carefree party-with-no-repercussions girl buried deep inside of me, but they do.
This year I actually dodged the inevitable call to the bar for shots and didn't even drink all that much. And the next morning I still hated life a bit. There is something about being climbed on by a small excited person breathing in your face and saying "mom, can we do an art project now?" that just doesn't work well under slightly fuzzy conditions at 7am.