Photo by Cassandra Eldridge
Today is my birthday.
I hate birthdays. Not because I hate getting older, but because I dislike when people make a big fuss about their birthdays. (After twenty one, I think the big celebrations should pretty much be over with, you know?) But I decided to do a post about my birthday anyway. Because, to be honest, I think 26 might have been one of my best years yet.
(Which is pretty funny, because when I was 22, my definition of “best year yet” definitely looked a lot different.) But is 27 really that different? Yes, actually it is. I’ve slowly come to realize, pretty much everything in my life has changed in just the past 5 years.
One of the ways I can tell 27 is different? Well, when I was doing some SEO research for this post (us bloggers do that a lot), I typed in “how to tell you’re 27” into google’s keyword search, curious of the results–the related phrases I got back were “how to tell you’re infertile” and “how to tell when you’re ovulating” which is all very reassuring. Late twenties sound like a BIG PARTY so far.
Other than your suggest google search results, here are 19 OTHER ways to tell you’re getting older…
At 22, my ideal birthday celebration involved EVERY girlfriend I had, a ton of vodka, and a Forever21 dress I probably couldn’t remove when I got home because it was too tight to pull over my head (anyone else frequently sleep in their clothes in their early twenties?) Oh, and potentially a lost iPhone. (That’s when you KNOW it was a great night–when someone loses an iPhone.) #SingleGirlsForLife!!!
At 27, my ideal birthday celebration involves grilling a chicken breast in my sweatpants and consuming two bottles of wine with my boyfriend.
At 22, I thought Instagram was just an app to make my Facebook photos look prettier. #FacebookRules!
At 27, Instagram is the closest thing I have to an addiction.
At 22, I never had any summer plans. Vegas in June? Sure–why not! There’s nothing else to do, anyone else to plan things around, or spend my money on! #VEGASBABY
At 27, my summer social schedule revolves exclusively around wedding festivities, and my boyfriend and I share a google calendar in attempts to not “overbook” each other around said activities.
At 22, Sunscreen? What’s that. I’m going tanninnnng!
At 27, Will applying eye makeup like this give me wrinkles?! *Googles ‘best anti-aging cream reviews’ weekly*
At 22, “Is this dress too short?” Was a frequent question. (Friend says: “I think that’s a shirt?”)
At 27, “Does this turtleneck make me look like my mother?” is more like it.
At 22, There was only one option of music: Taylor Swift would be blasting as loud as the speaker would go.
At 27, I still blast Taylor Swift as loud as the speakers would go…and listen to NPR podcasts.
At 22, I couldn’t believe how clueless my mother was. Doesn’t she know that is NOT how the world works anymore?
At 27, I have realized she is always right. Also, I am her. Literally, I am her.
At 22, I would wake up with no voice and realize it was because I was talking over so much loud music. (SOOO funnnnn!)
At 27, If I walk into a bar with loud music, I leave.
At 22, I would get upset each time I ordered a drink, because the waiter would laugh and ask if I was 12.
At 27, I recently went to pull out my ID when purchasing wine, and the Mariano’s grocery store clerk laughed at me and said, “HA–OH GIRL–you’re good!” (#whatabitch)
At 22, I’d log onto Facebook to see the drunken recap photos of an EPIC weekend.
At 27, I need to get drunk to get on Facebook due to the amount of proposal photos and babies. EVERYWHERE.
But honestly, would I trade it for anything? Nope, I wouldn’t. Let’s face it–it’s fun getting old. And thanks so much to YOU for making this past year such an amazing one. Something tells me 27 will be just as great.