(Please note, this is being sung to the tune of Luke, not Fiddy.)
I woke up this morning, went back to sleep and slept through my alarm. Got in late, had a long lunch with my bosses, and now I’m blogging. And people wondered why I didn’t stay home on my birthday.
So, I’m officially 32. It didn’t even hurt. It’s not that this age makes me “old,” I’m just “older.” Of course, you can’t tell for looking. In looking at my pics from this weekend (and my dear readers, you don’t have to comment), I’m pretty sure that even though 32 isn’t old, I still don’t look my age – extra poundage and all. Can you imagine how impossible I’m going to be after my weight loss? I’m pretty sure I’m going to own a wallet that has “Bad Motherfucker” emblazoned upon it.
When you stop letting life mind-fuck you, it can be pretty good. It doesn’t hurt that I had an extra coating of sexy on Saturday night. To my ladies – Spanx – the TRUTH. Now, you have to put it on in two stages, because you have to pause, take a breather, then finish; but once you get it up, it’s all good. I’ve got more to say, but it’s quittin time. Be lovely.