I’m 39 today. Unless you factor in my maturity level. Then, I’m probably only 29. Phew.

In honor of the unsurpassed love and dedication I hold in my heart for lip moisturizing products and to recognize the past 39 years of life that my smackers have endured, I wanted to dedicate this post to chapstick. And countdown timers.

Because:

A. It’s my birthday and I can do whatever I want.

B. I’m in charge.

C. I’m addicted to chapstick

D. I’m now addicted to countdown timers.

But—-since as of today I am officially old, I will need to do the post in increments because:

A. I’m old, feeble and tired.

B. I forgot what I was going to talk about approximately 18 minutes ago.

C. I have a birthday coffee date with my hot woodsman.

D. What were we just talking about? Oh never mind.

E. I’m dehydrated.

So I’m going to go hydrate and moisturize—cause lets face it—these smackers aren’t getting any younger and I will be back later to discuss that pile of chapstick in that box up there.

Also on the blog discussion menu today:

A. Frog launching

B. Pig launching

C. Adult only beach trip

D. Maturity

E. Sex.

pause

pause

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KIDDING. I wouldn’t talk about S. E. X. on my blog. Not today, anyway.

Just making sure you people are paying attention. Sorry. That was mean. And inappropriate. But it’s my birthday. So get used to it. I celebrate all week. Are there any topics you wish to discuss today?

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I’m back. I decided after begging like a child persuading my man to let me open the birthday package that landed on the doorstep earlier, that my age—based on maturity level— is actually somewhere around 27. So—thank gawd for that.

Several of you have inquired about the chapstick addiction.

Here is the lowdown.

‘Cause I promised and all.

And–I better tell it while I still remember how to spell. At my age, spell check can only take you so far.

This is where it all began. My love journey for chapstick.

It meets all the criteria. It’s dry but not too waxy. It smells delightful but not so much that you feel the need to take a bite out of it like some people I know. Knew. Used to know. Well, I still know her—but I don’t think she still eats chapstick. It’s also orange flavored. Scented. Flavored. Depending on whether or not you eat your chapstick.

Orange scented is my favorite but they no longer manufacture this scent. Flavor. Color?

Which leads to a lot of sadness, immature pouting and anger on my part. (27. Remember?)

This led to an addiction to plain.

No flavor. No scent. Just plain.

Don’t think I haven’t tried others. I have. Like this lovely looking moisturizer right here sent from my fabulous father-in-law.

Sadly, it has a tingly sensation. Yes. I said Tingly. And well…I can’t have tinglies. Ya know. On my smacker. It burns. And that’s all I am going to say about that because this is starting to sound like an inappropriate blog essay, even though it truly isn’t. Is not.

So, this is as close to the real orange as I have yet to find.

The flavor. The scent. Flavor…whatever…is exact. The consistency is somewhat less dry than meets my criteria, but it is passable.

My latest favorite is a tube that Erin at The Mother Load sent me.

Spectacular texture. Almost perfect scent. Flavor. Depending on your preference.

Now I’m parched. I’ll be back later to discuss launching animals and Adult Only Beach Trips.

I have a lot on my mind and it’s just better for everyone if I can get it all out of the way.

At my age, you just never know if you will get another chance

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Tagged as: 39th birthday, adults only, chapstick, chapstick addiction, sheeplaunching

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