Indian math

I got a birthday card Monday from Cache Creek, my semi-local Indian casino. This card is more than a month early and it offers me double points when I use my player's card - something I had no plans of ever really using and only signed up for to get the initial free $20 of slot play.

Way to make me feel prematurely old, unwanted Native American birthday card.

Now my friend Sophie, who told me to write a post and recently had a big birthday herself, would tell me I'm being ridiculous because I'm only turning 25. But this birthday firmly places me in the mid twenties and lately, events are occurring that usually seem to happen to adults.

Between Jon fracturing his hip (75-year-old woman), my wanting to watch the John Adams miniseries (55-year-old white man), and my pulled ab muscle coupled with visits to the chiropractor (34-year-old former high school athlete who thinks he can still play like he's 18), there isn't much going on that makes me feel like a kid anymore.

I'm looking for a job, and just interviewed at a place yesterday that, I'm not going to lie, I really want to work for. Andy just got back from his travels around the world yesterday, which means I can't say I have friends out there still traveling, and I just took my grandma to the hospital to have her eye surgeried.

But there was one thing that happened at the end of the night Monday. I found a power ball (which you may refer to as a super ball or bouncy ball if you'd like) in the parking lot of the delightfully alliterative Porky's Pizza Palace. Nick and I bounced it off the floor and ceiling of his kitchen for about 15 minutes while eating pizza.

So clearly I'm not that old at all, am I, Native Americans?