Tomorrow (Friday), I will have been alive for 25 years. Ho-ly shit, y’all. That is a lot of Amanda time and I’m not so sure how I feel about it.

I’ve always been the baby.

Gratuitous baby photo. I'm the small one with t-rex arms.

But now I’m old, and my vocabulary is more likely to include the words: Escrow, mortgage, HMO, pantsuit, and atherosclerosis. Other likely candidates? Red Lobster, Prilosec, and Rite Aid.

Regardless, I will now write a tribute to myself. That’s only fair, right? It’s been a good quarter-century.

Some important milestones:

  • I have seen approximately 87 Jack’s Mannequin shows.

    my homeboy

  • I’ve visited 27 states, 3 continents, and 10 countries. Booyah.
  • I became a vegetarian. And then I stopped.
  • I learned how to be a lady from one of the greatest women I’ve ever known.

My sassy grandma

  • I changed my hair color no less than 7,000 times. It’s a bit of a Christmas miracle.
  • I left everything familiar and moved to the West Coast.

  • I got Scuba certified.
  • I was the Maid of Honor in my sister’s wedding.

  • I went to the Sundance Film Festival. Benjamin Bratt refused to give me his autograph.

    yo yo, A.Poeh

  • I learned how to ask for a raise. And how to get it, frick yeah.
  • I held a lot of spectacularly awful jobs and had batshit crazy roommates. Someday I will write short stories about them, David Sedaris style.
  • I haven’t grown up.