Nothing is more gratifying than when you realize you are a total freaking moron. Especially when you put your moronicness (totally a word) out for all the internets to see.
I'd just like to clarify that I am in fact 33 years old. Years young. What the hell ever. I'm FUCKING THIRTY-THREE. Not 32. Not 34. Not 23, which is what I pretend sometimes when I do stupid shit, that's not related to trying to figure out my age.
I believe however, that this is the most epic of stupid shit that I've done in quite a while.
If you read my post yesterday, then you know I mildly freaked out and thought I was 33 (soon to be *gasp* 34), but somehow missed normal second grade subtraction and thought I was 32. Like, seriously spend 48 hours thinking I was 32. Told my trainer I was 32. POSTED ON THE BLOGGY I WAS 32. Told ALL the people I was 32.
When clearly, it's not only gloriously posted right under my picture to the right here----------
BUT anyone that has a grade school education can figure out that I'm actually 33. Not 32.
I think my math teacher of a mother (who taught me all though high school) is extremely proud of me right now.
Actually, Mother, I blame you. Yup. That's what's going to happen here. I not only inherited your side of the family's classy ditziness, but you neglected to teach your OWN daughter basic math skills. Yes, this is all your fault. (Again, I might be acting like I'm 15 at the moment, but let's not dwell on that, mmmkay?!)
And since I'm going to redirect my ignorance here, and continue on the Mom-Blame-Game, I'd like to share with you all EXACTLY where I come from.
This was Mother's comment on a post I put on FB the other day:
SEE PEOPLE?!?! SEE!!!!
All Heifer Free.
I'd like to be all heifer free as well Mother. But I'm referring to my heifer sized ass.
In other news: Day 2 of my Sugar Overload Diet commenced with my employee bringing in fresh, straight from the oven, still radiating warmth, Krispy Kreme Donuts this morning.
I've had 2.
I'm thinking about having another.