Well, folks, it's my last day before turning the big 3-0. I think I am supposed to be feeling all freaked out about that, but honestly I love birthdays. I feel like it's a special license to boss everyone around (and we all know how much I love doing that), and since it's a milestone birthday, I seem to have decided that said license got bigger, shinier, and more powerful.
Resistence is futile!
So I'm going to go get a delicious burrito for lunch, with refried (I can't believe blogger spell check can't spell "refried") beans AND chips (because everything is calorie-free on your birthday), drink three thousand Pepsi Ones, leave work early, and then make a bunch of my female friends go salsa dancing. It will be fabulous, and *I* will be fabulous, and even if I fuck up teh dancings fourteen million times it won't matter. Because I will be awesome and fiery and sexy (in my own head) and brilliant. I will also be getting drunk, but that part happens after the dancing, so that I don't fall on my rear and flash my lady-bits all over the place. After all, did I tell you, I will be wearing A DRESS. Yes, Mom, a real one. That actually makes three times this year already, and it's not even August yet! I'm poised to set a record.
Anyway, 29 was a really great year. I have a kickass job (forget about the last post for a moment; when you get down to it, I do love what I do), my employees think I'm an awesome boss, I got a fiancee (surprise!), my BFF Levi finally moved here after 12 years of my harassing her to do so, and I paid off all my consumer debt. Not bad at all!
So far I haven't had a problem getting older, because each year (heck, each day, most of the time) has just kept getting better. And how could ya feel bad about that?