This week Ethel ... I mean Sarah B posted probably one of my ALL TIME favorite blog posts. In fact here it is.... Read it before you finish reading mine!
This blog post was inspired after she and I went to dinner because neither one of us have had stellar weeks and I had a gift card to Applebee's. We won't mention that I was crabby as hell... Oh wait .... As we were walking back to my car she totally did the "I'm too old for this" bit because of tired feet etc. and I had a few contributions of my own. So it only seems fair that I answer her back in my version of the Anti-Bucket List.
1. Bungee jumping. Knowing me I would be the first person to ever smack the bridge and give reason for use of their liability insurance.
2. Pancakes from a box fed to my children or sticky, overcooked oatmeal. Nope. Ain't gonna happen. Some might call that damaged, I call it generational improvement.
3. Body piercings. I had a traumatic enough experience with my conservative single ear holes. Don't need to make it worse.
4. Driving over Bay Bridge alone. Oh heaven help me... The thought. I can hardly cross Pine View dam without having a panic attack.
5. Mini skirts as a regular wardrobe item. God did NOT send me Barbie thighs or calves. Plumpish does not support mini.
6. Watching Blair Witch Project or Schindler's List. No explanation needed.
7. Camp in the wild and the nude with a complete stranger. For realsies? This stuff actually exists and there is a tv show about it. Talk about a censored train wreck.
8. Karaoke whilst sober. Whoever thought karaoke at Mormon functions was a good idea clearly needs a reality check. In order to suffer through shit wannabe singing one must be roasted and toasted and I'm not talking sherbet and sprite roasted and toasted.
9. Attend a live country music concert, especially Ms. Swift. That chick needs to get a life and quit singing about it.
10. Kiss a boy I don't know. There is something to be said for the showing of affection via touching and the electricity it can cause. But in my world the electricity is in conservation mode until I know that the man I'm sharing it with knows me and I know him. And that he is ok with the fact that when he's not gettin lucky (of any degree) I'm an opinionated, sassy redhead who has to be damn sure he is worth it and doesn't have the flu.
The moral of the story: I will never get old. Because that's totally related to all of this. I think. I can't remember.
Until next time, my lovelies!