Last One, I Promise

This will NOT become a "whine, whine, whine, I'm old" blog. It will continue to be about my adventures in Alaska, and my students, roommate, night time phone stalker, the dude that brings our Snack Shack food, pilots,  fellow teachers, and Northern Lights.

So this is the last post about my birthday, and how the media hates me. (See previous post) I was on The New York Times, finding out if a man was REALLY dead at his desk for 5 days before anyone noticed. (Answer: no, that's a hoax), when I saw this ad:

Now, I happen to have a birthday that falls between 1920 and 1990, in fact most of the people I know do. As long as one is over 21, (and under 90) they fall into this category. There are 22-YEAR-OLD GIRLS who fit into this category. And yet, look at that picture. Do they think they're going to lure me away from my old car insurance (which I don't even have, because I live in Alaska, where I don't drive) with pictures of a 60-YEAR-OLD MAN?!? And no, I don't believe that man is 55. He is obviously significantly older than my parents, and they're not anywhere near 60 yet.

Okay, enough ranting. I had a lovely birthday weekend, even though one of my hours was stolen via daylight savings. Amy made me a cake, we ordered chinese food, played games at the pastor's house, and generally hung out. It wasn't the labor intensive and hectic weekend it could have been if we'd thrown a traditional Shishmaref birthday, with 6 cakes, 5 pies, three bowls of jello, cinnamon rolls, and juice, but a girl doesn't need that every year.

Amy, Kiley, and Kevin all have summer birthdays. We're thinking about throwing them a party after school gets out for the year. It's also a good way to get rid of all the rest of the eggs before we leave.