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Original post from 2/6/13... I tried to fix a typo and it changed the date of this post to today. My bad.

In honor of today being my birthday, I present a montage of beautiful photos of me:

19th birthday; yes, I made all of my friends wear black so I could stand out more and get more attention (I have daddy issues, what can I say?) This birthday was amazing--we did karaoke at a bar for hours with some other guys who had the same birthday as I. As we exited the bar I stepped in some vomit which pretty much signaled that my birthday was over and the world was not going to revolve around me for another 364 days.

 20th birthday; I rented out a former fraternity house at Wofford and threw a party with two football players who were turning 21 and 22. This birthday is a little hazy, not gonna lie. Look at how many people came though!

 21st birthday; I made my abroad friends wear all black and they did (their people enslaved my people, whatever, we're even). Don't let the smile fool you: THIS WAS THE WORST BIRTHDAY EVER. I was abroad and homesick and cried for 9 hours straight. Also, I had a birthday dinner and invited my whole program to come. One of my classmates had the nerve to get hit by a car while crossing the street to attend my dinner. What an attention-seeking whore. I'm not sure I'll ever forgive her. 

 My 22nd birthday was on Super Bowl Sunday and it was phenomenal. My friends took advantage of the fact that I still remember most of my cheerleading dances from high school and made me perform them like some kind of circus monkey, which I loved. A few hours before this photo was taken, I tried to do a push up in tights on the counter top in my apartment which resulted in me slipping off of the counter top and bee-lining towards the ground. In an attempt to break my fall, I reached for the oven door handle and fell into the oven. Top 3 most painful things I have EVER experienced (I've hooked up with quite a few black males so that's saying something).

I didn't make my friends wear black for my 23rd. However, I only hung out with black people so it's kind of the same thing.

I'm kidding! For my 23rd I had a huge party at my apartment in Winston-Salem which was a wonderful and terrible idea. The cops came (allegedly) and someone broke my bedazzled birthday wine glass and I drank out of it anyway, cutting my lip in the process. Besides that it was an A+ night. I made electric lemonade, pink panty droppers, and a gin bucket which were a huge hit. Also, no one got hit by a car so that was nice, and more importantly, kept all focus on me.

Tonight, We Are Young

Back in the day (2007-2012), I was fun. I went out at least two nights a week with friends to a party, club, bar, or even just another apartment for a wine night. Staying in on a Friday night was only an option if I hadn't fully recovered from Thursday night, but 9 times out of 10 I was good to go. I loved getting all dressed up and going out, and had no problem sacrificing studying to do so.

Since graduating in May, however, I have turned into a complete and total homebody. And the worst part is, I don't hate it.

As you know, this year my birthday fell in the middle of the week. Usually that would mean going out the weekend before or after. The weekend before consisted of me going to dinner and passing out before midnight after sushi, a beer, and a glass of wine. The weekend after is now... and I am currently sitting on my couch in sweatpants, no bra, and a UGA t-shirt I won at a raffle. Sexy, I know. Fortunately I've got my friend Bella Swan and the first Twilight movie to keep me entertained. Last night was even more wild: I watched a Say Yes to the Dress marathon before passing out and sleeping for 14 hours straight. Thug life.

I never knew how much working a 9-5 would change me, but it has shifted my weekend (and weekday) priorities completely. Sunday-Thursday I have to be in bed before 10 or else I get to work and fall asleep at my desk (this has happened more times than you would believe). Friday-Saturday I'm so beat from the week that I have no desire to go out, and what's great/terrible about it is that all of my friends feel the same way so they don't want to go out either.

Something's gotta give though--I don't want to wake up at 30 surrounded by cats and empty wine bottles, wishing I'd taken better advantage of my 20s. More importantly, how on earth am I supposed to meet my husband if I never go out?! Unless he's a Jehovah Witness or my maintenance man, I can't expect him to come to me. I need to put on my party panties and go out to explore Charlotte and meet new people, and I will... next weekend, of course.