So I'm 33 as of yesterday, making me officially "thirtysomething." This makes me think about that awful show from the 80's with the same name. Are we really as old as they seemed on that show? With my rickety self-assembled Ikea furniture it just doesn't seem like I'm able to put myself in the same category as Hope and Michael. They seemed so...adult. She wore pearls for frick's sake.
Ironically for as much complaining and philosophizing as I did leading up to the big 3-0, now that I'm actually in my thirties, I'm feeling pretty young and carefree. Get me, bein' able to eat popsicles for dinner if I want to! Get me, consciously not flossing! I'm on a rampage, world be warned...viva free spirit-edness! Here's to happy hours and twelve dollar manicures and overspending in used book stores!
Anyhoo. I'm babbling.
After celebrating my bid day yesterday over brie, Prosecco, fondue AND an assortment of lovely "pampering"-themed gifts, its time to chill out this weekend and do a bunch of errands....peace out peeps.