Yowch.

I just logged into my myspace profile, and there it was, staring me right in the face: JMBauhaus, 35 years old. And I was just beginning to get used to the idea of being 30.

Oh, well. Most of the coolest people I know are my age or older, so I can't be too bummed about it. And my mental age still hovers around 12, so if you split the difference, that puts me in my early twenties.

Actually, I don't want to be in my early twenties. Those weren't really the best years.

No, I'm pretty comfortable here in the mid-thirties. It's not like there's no room for improvement -- there's always room for improvement -- but the fact is that my life's never been better and, overall, I've never been happier. I've got an amazing husband/marriage, a great job, a burgeoning writing career, I'm taking baby steps building my own business, and a giant leap towards owning my own home. Life is good, I'm incredibly blessed, and I'm finally happy with who I am and comfortable in my own skin. I wouldn't trade that for all the youth in the world.

Still, that 5 is going to take some getting used to. I have time, though, since I plan to remain 35 for at least the next ten years.

***

In other news, Sonic does not impress me with their fancy coffee offerings. It's really disappointing, because normally, drinks are the one thing Sonic can be counted on to always get right. But I've tried two of the three items on their newly expanded coffee menu, and so far they're 0 for 2. The other day I tried one of their lattes, and was irked (but not really that surprised) that it obviously came from a powdered cappuccino machine. This morning I played it safe and ordered a regular "premium roast" coffee, because, who can screw up a regular cuppa joe? The Sonic crew, that's who. It was burned and bitter and nasty. Strike two, Sonic.

I'll give you one more chance with your blended frozen coffee drink, about which I've heard good things. But if the hype doesn't hold up and you strike out, I'll be sticking with my beloved Java Chip Frappuccino on my fancy coffee treat days.

Birthday Blues

It's become a tradition between my mother and me (as well as between my mother and my siblings, and between her and her grown grandchildren) to take me out to eat and then shopping for my birthday. This way we get to spend some quality time with each other, and she doesn't have to worry about what to get me ahead of time. She's on a fixed income, though, so this is never a huge splurge. Last year, she took me to Ulta and we loaded up on sale-priced makeup, and then she bought me a cute but inexpensive suit jacket at Ross. The year before that, it was the clearance sections at Old Navy and Target. The point is, I can either pick one nice thing, or find a good sale and get a lot of bang for her set number of bucks. I usually take option number two.

This year, though, I think I've decided to switch it up and go for the one nice thing; that thing being a pair of nice, figure-flattering jeans. For the last several years I've been buying the cheap discount chain store stretch versions of Levi's and Lee Jeans, refusing to spend more than $20 on a pair that I figured would just be too big by the time I finished losing weight.

Well, you know what? I think I'm finished losing weight. Not that I couldn't stand to lose another ten or twenty pounds, but I've accepted the fact that I'm most probably not going to. I like food too much, and I don't like exercise enough. I maintain enough of a balance between those two things to keep from gaining weight, but not enough so to lose weight without actively trying.

And I'm pretty much done actively trying. Sure, I've got some extra jiggle in my lower regions, but my husband has no problem with that, and tells me I don't need Carson Kressley to tell me how to look good naked. I can swim a mile, I can walk up several flights of stairs without getting winded, and my arms are toned enough that they don't jiggle. I eat healthy, most of the time. I look good in my clothes, I can wear a bathing suit in public without feeling self-conscious or having to hide under a giant tent of a tee-shirt, claiming that it's really just to prevent sunburn. I'm finally, FINALLY comfortable with my body. It only took me 35 years to get there.

I feel pretty. And gosh-darn it, I deserve a pair of nice, bum-flattering bluejeans.

And maybe some shoes, if there's anything left over.