It's my birthday! Happy birthday to me! 22 years now and one closer to 23!

Hokay, I'm a wiener BUT I can't believe I've lived to 22! I find it strange how as we age, we generally have a tendency to feel two things: fear or apathy. With every new wrinkle and roll comes a tonic to rid of the years gone by. With every birthday, celebrations become less and less. Maybe some of you out there think birthdays are overrated, or you can't see past the commercial side of the day, or maybe you disassociate yourself from birthdays because of their roots to paganism--gee I don't know, nor do I care. But one day in the summer it occurred to me after all the near deaths experiences, and wishing I were dead experiences, that getting there--is lucky.

Life is a blessing in disguise, shrouded by immorality, disease and the down trodden. Life is also fickle and resilient. Always changing and returning--always moving forward until, really, you die. I realized one day after hearing my friend didn't care about his birthday, that I care about mine. I thought to myself, goodness, if they weren't born, if they didn't exist, if I didn't get the last year with them--my life would stink.

So this is why I think people need to care about birthdays. It's a celebration of life--of getting to live another chapter of your story--of getting to live another year with those you love. I've never needed gifts or soirees (although cash flow is always appreciated ) All I want is to be around people I love and have them love me in return. Because, regardless of the immorality, disease and the down trodden, that very love and friendship makes life worth living another year.

<3 Sophie @ tender 22

NEWS: Gonna get CRUNKED!

                                            

Today, I contracted...dum dum, dum...lice. My booger of a little sister possessed a colony of those pesky parasites all over her head. She crawled into my bed looking all innocent and bulbous-like as most eight years olds are, trouble in disguise. Who would have thought I would regret letting my little sister snuggle up with me the night before (usually that's a coyote ugly experience); however, I can hardly ignore those chubby cheeks of hers. The next morning at O'nine hundred hours--the infestation began.

After tying her hair into pigtails my mother noticed what looked like a crazed ravaging of ant-like fiends squirming Alyson's head. In an instant, my mother's crazy Asian woman erupted. She began screaming and cleaning the whole house like a Wall-E on an Eva mission. Directive: to get rid of that shit! Naturally my mother found a way to make my little sister's lice manifestation about herself and of coarse tearing down her daughter's self esteem in her always bellowing self righteous way of doing things. She bickers with me about bringing her to the hair dressers, but there is no negotiating with an Asian woman. Crazy is crazy, thus, let the hair chopping begin!

As my mother rushes to the hair dresser to nearly bald my little sister, I take it upon myself to assume the directive: destroy creepy, crawlies on my head. I make my way to the pharmacist, who I will call, Sargent Immigrant smarter than Everyone Else, whom lectures me about the lice wars. See, in contrast to misconceptions, lice breeds in clean places. Like a hotel, you will stay there if it's clean, but you're going to go somewhere else if it's dirty. He told me that it was necessary to handle it like a war. The lice are like the Persians in 300 with big numbers and they are a resilient bunch, with their fornication and laying eggs everywhere. So it is necessary to irradicate them all, any potential threats at any potential place. All sheets and all players would have to engage.

I go back home with permethrin bombs at hand. After trying a pansy herbal remedy, my mother is still picking out lice she finds in my sister's hair, decapitating them and shattering their babies. Popping casualties never seemed so easy--my mother is a natural. I inform the gang of the plan and rush up to shower. God forbid I let my mother chop off my locks.

Let the chemical warfare begin...

As I unleash the poisonous liquids onto the parasites I can hear them scream for mercy. Hah! There is no mercy in war. One by one they die. Behind the ears--they die. On my neck--they die. On my scalp--they die. My sister was the most devastating battle of them all. You could see their armies fall in great numbers down the drain. Today was the first battle. Tomorrow, clothes and equipment sanitation. A week from now, the war will hopefully be over. Who will prevail? Let's hope Sophie.

Additional lice tip: when combing lice away, you need to scrape opposite of how you would normally brush because of their growing direction.