Speaking of being 30 years old, I'm starting to wonder what the heck I'm going to do next month. I started this blog as a way to document my 31st year, which I'd looked forward to all my life, hence the name, "Year 31". Well, I guess I didn't think I'd follow through with the whole year or something, because that's not a very versatile title. Should I re-name my blog after August 18th? Should I just keep the title and be one of those blogs with a nonsensical blog name? I did actually have the foresight to create a banner that makes sense after my next birthday, but I still feel like it's a weird title. Eh, I don't know. I'd love some suggestions!
Let's see...what else? Oh, I got my test results back, and it turns out that I've got a defunct gallbladder. I don't have gall stones or anything--it just stopped working. Weird, I know. I don't have any of the risk factors for gallbladder disease, though my younger sister did have the same problem about five years ago, so I guess it's genetic. I'll be having surgery sometime in the next couple of weeks to have it removed, so that's what's up with that. I'm looking forward to the downtime, but I'm not sure if this means I'll blogging from bed or not--we'll have to see if I feel up to it or not.
Is it weird that I write on this blog like I'd write to a pen pal who hadn't heard from me in a while? I feel like I have to catch you all up on my life, even though most of you probably don't care much what's going on. The heat is smothering my sense of humor, I believe, because I can think of nothing funny or interesting to write. Sorry 'bout that.
Oh! The kid turned three years old on Sunday! That's something to write home about. He had two birthday parties, both with Spiderman cupcakes. We had one here at home, in a movie theater, and then the other was a swimming party at my dad's house. I got some great pictures at the pool:
I published 117 photos on my facebook page of the last few weeks, and I was in a grand total of FOUR of them. What's that all about? The hubby needs to pick up a camera every once in a while. We have actually gotten in arguments over this. I take all the pictures, which I actually enjoy, but I also would like to be in some of them. The only pictures the hubby ever takes are with his blackberry, which aren't always the best quality. He did take three last night, though, on family date night, so I should be thankful. Here's what he got:
Oh! When we were visiting my dad, I also got to go to St. Louis to visit a friend and support his magazine, What's Up St. Louis. It's a publication he started which is put out quarterly and sold by homeless people as a way for them to make money and maybe help them get back on their feet. Great cause, REALLY fun event. It was called Dizzy Spell, and it was basically a spelling bee with beer involved. I went in really confident (being the fourth and fifth grade spelling bee champ), but the crowd was full of intellectual hipster types, so I was not a winner. Oh well. Here I am trying, unsuccessfully, to spell the word "Erlenmeyer":
Again, taken with the hubby's blackberry. Again, I had to ask him to take my picture. Grrr.
Why is it that I feel like such a jerk asking him to take my picture? I think it's because I just want him to want to take my picture. Like in the movie The Breakup, if you've ever seen that. Well, that and also, I feel really self-centered asking someone to take my picture. It's like, "I look really pretty so take a picture of me!". But really I just want to be in a picture every once in a while. When I die, I'd like people to know I was here, you know?
Ok, I need to wrap this up. The hubby is home with some friends, and I think they're coming in for a drink. Better put on my hostess hat. Later gators!