Rockstars get hangovers too

Last we spoke, I admitted that I had just turned 35! 35! That just sounds unreal to me. I made an executive decision to party hard this year, given that I missed out on 2 years of celebrating due to the angry knee.

So on Saturday night, awesomeness gathered at the PA Brew Pub for a celebration. What a great night -  I had so much fun! I danced all night. I probably didn't need to jump each and every single time Kriss Kross instructed me to do so. I probably didn't have to shoot the Burt Reynolds (what was in that shooter, by the way?); however, in the moment, nothing hurt and life was gooood. I was a rock star.

mature young ladies

lookin' good

things begin to deteriorate

I did wake up at 6am Sunday morning feeling less than awesome. Realizing that Biloxi, the cat, was licking my armpit and my calves were seizing from dehydration and reckless dancing, it occurred to me that I am definitely NOT 21 anymore. Oh well, I told myself, that was totally worth it.

So I couldn't walk for a day. No biggie. Totally worth it. So my head was pounding to the rhythm of Jason Derulo's latest hit. Totally worth it.

But then 3 days later I got strep throat. I'm presently laying on my couch, swallowing razor blades with my NeoCitron and the fabulousness that was me on Saturday night is a distant memory. A very distant memory.

Yes, yes - thank you, body. I hear you loud and clear. Got it.

Moral of the story: You're never too old to party like a rockstar. Just be prepared for an armpit-licking cat, immobility, and strep throat.