Goodbye Golden Arches

For at least the last decade of my life when March 8 rolled around I would eat lunch at McDonalds. After all it was my birthday tradition and I liked it. People have been judging me for years about it. People have offered to take me somewhere else, they have begged actually but I have always stood strong. I never faltered.

Over the last decade there have been good times, embarrassing times, sick times and silly times. Yes, I once made my pregnant friend take me there even though she may or may not have thrown up during and or after the meal. Yes, I once got a little too excited and ate a couple fries off someone else’s tray and was publically shunned for it. But I wouldn’t change thing, I have loved every minute of it.

But this year when March 8th rolled around I just knew that it was time, time to say goodbye to the golden arches. As the good word reads: To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven…

Some get over the golden fries and happy meals at 6, who cares if it took me a little longer…and by a little longer I mean until I was 30.

We have had a good, long run. Thanks for memories. Goodspeed.

I am Lazy.

I just got back from the Virgin Islands. I spent 6 consecutive days at the beach. And by 6 days I mean 6 full days—morning to evening. Wait was it 5? Anyway I am not over exaggerating for effect. And I loved it, absolutely loved it. So this week it was back to life, back to reality…and everyone started asking me about the vaca, which is so kind, people are nice, people care about me.

But I started getting concerned when I kept having a similar convo with everyone who asked.

The chats have been going something like this:

Nice person who cares about me: “So what did you do on your trip?”

Me: “We went to the beach and just kicked it.”

Nice person who cares about me: “Well, what else did you do?”

Me (confused): “Ummm…well we went to the beach and we kicked it.”

Nice person who cares about me: “No, really what else?”

Me (still confused): “Well, I guess there was some snorkeling, and some kayaking and some swimming and some reading and some eating and some walking and some talking and some journal time but like I said mostly just kicking it on the beach.”

Nice person who cares about me: “Really? You weren’t bored?”

Me: “Um, no it is the beach…”

Nice person who cares about me: “So you pretty much just layed out for a week? I could never do that, I would die.”

Me: “Really? That sucks. I guess I am just lazy.”

Seriously? How could you not be happy for the rest of your life doing this? But what do I know I am lazy. I'm lazy and I like it.