Each year I try to write myself some sort of Birthday post or note or something to commemorate the passing of another year and successfully living through it. Last year, I recounted the year’s birthday festivity of celebrating with strippers (totally SFW as long as you don’t click on the video. I kid.) which did a great job in summing up the whole year.
This year, I’ve been sitting at my computer for well over two hours, trying to come up with something and failing miserably while I distract myself by commenting on every. single. “happy birthday” post on facebook. I am totally sucking this year.
Oh, I also found a recipe for beer battered fried pickles which actually sound better to me than cake right now. So obviously I’m pregnant. (With a phantom baby, of course.)
I just don’t have anything of value to say about turning thirty-five. Aside from lugging around thirty-five extra pounds for the 9th year running, I really love being exactly where I am. Sure, I’d love more money, more travel, more fun and excitement with my family from time to time. I’d love to change some of the little things, but I actually like getting a little older.
I love how “middle-age” (though I’ m quite certain I am not dying at 70, dammit) feels. I’m so relieved to be at a place where I feel comfortable in my skin. Some days, I absolutely still have the insecurities and self-doubts of a 14 year old little girl. The difference is, I also have the brains of a 35 year old woman that, once I sit myself down and give myself a stern pep talk, I can remind myself that none of that shit really matters. And all can go back to being right in the world.
For me, this is the best part. Being thirty-five seems to be another new level of feeling cool with being me. There was a recent time in my life where I could let the real me out with some friends or a few close people, but I still felt the need to reign it in around everyone else. Lately, that just really isn’t the case. I think a lot of that freedom has come from writing this blog (and the ones before it that I grew past and then moved to here.)
This is my place to blow off steam and blow things out of proportion and be completely crazy, but it’s also my place to just get it all out. It also seems to be my training ground to be able to do that in the rest of my life, too. (Although, I will admit, I don’t swear like a sailor in my real life. For the most part. I save that just for you. Okay, maybe I do.)
And here, the part that everyone totally cares about, are my goals for the next year:
1. Get some sort of a job that enables me to be wife and mom for the most part, but a little side income earner too. I’m thinking bartender. I’ve always wanted to go to bartending school but wondered what kind of a person (mostly MOM) people would think I was. And then I realized that’s just bullshit. What do you think? Wouldn’t you want someone like me serving your drunk ass cocktails? This is still in the holy shit, that’s a good idea stage. I’ll keep you posted. I think I might like it better than selling your drunk ass purses. I think I just might.
2. Take a vacation with my hubby. It’s a sad story but Jimmie and I haven’t been on a real life vacation alone together since our honeymoon. And our honeymoon was two days in Victoria, BC in November (the grey, rainy time) while I was pregnant and miserable with their disgusting fucking food. So, we’ve never been on vacation together. This year, we are freaking going on a goddamn vacation together. Just the two of us. So we can drink and dance and have sex like normal married people. WE ARE.
3. Come up with some more life goals because right now this is all I can come up with. So there.
Happy Birthday to me, people. I freaking rock at being thirty-five.