24

Yesterday was my birthday. I'm the big 2-4. I had forgotten until I walked in the office and saw from lightyears away that my cubicle was decorated in red, white, and blue. I don't think you should have to work on your birthday. There's one for the suggestion box. Instead, I had four meetings. The last one was so painfully boring I just wanted to get up and say, "Riojas, out" and leave. Sometimes when I'm in a meeting, I like to daydream about sneaking out of that meeting. Just slide out of my chair, under the table, and crawl to the door, completely obvious to everyone in the room.

I thought I wasn't going to have any plans for my birthday. My boss said, "So you're just gonna go home and pet your cat all night?" And I was like, "Yeah, until I go to bed." But then Colleen came to the rescue and took me out to dinner (on Matt). It was a lot of fun. Russelle joined us and brought me samples of four different cakes.

So, 24... Not all that exciting. Except I'm sort of almost 30. I'm really looking forward to my thirties. Maybe by then I'll be living my dream life in a one-room log cabin out west—just me and Peewee's glow-in-the-dark clone.

I made myself an e-card:



My mom bought me a pair of ass-kicking boots:



There are so many things I can do in these boots that I can't do in regular shoes. Like see over the cubicle wall, get into bar fights, work for CMT, carry a gun... One two-step closer to my dream life.