Bet you think I’m RAAAAGGGING for St. Patrick’s Day.
More like LOUUUNNNGGING/pouting.
Gotta horizontally max out tonight
in prep for tomorrow/get all the tears out.
SO MATURE AT 23.9999 YEARS OLD!
Speaking of tomorrow,
This is my last hour as
an average twenty three year old with exceptional hair.
In an hour, I will become
an average twenty four year old with exceptional hair.
Just wanted to say thanks everybody, it’s been a great time not actualizing my dreams to be a mega babe on the cover of Nylon with a S550 in the circular drive of my 1970′s mint-teal Palm Springs pad, but hey, you know, I feel like there is a lot of wisdom that comes with growing up.
Like I’m totally cool just aiming for thirty now.
That’s fine, thirty’s like the new twenty one or something, right?
I dunno, let’s just read the last Jen Aniston interview & subtract ten years to whatever “oh see middled aged isn’t old!” bullshit they try to pass off a good plastic surgeon as. By their logic, I’m like nine so I feel like I have my WHOLE LIFE AHEAD OF ME ALL OVER AGAIN!
See, wisdom.
& I’ve got forty six minutes to go.
You know,
you improvise.
You adapt.
You overcome.
That shit comes with age.
I’m talking about
“getting” your dad’s favorite Clint Eastwood quotes, of course.
[...] I stayed in on St. Patty’s because the next day was my birthday, which I made a great flyer for it (Ian, I specifically thought you’d enjoy it). I briefly got into the evening but my birthday, although thwarted by the city of Los Angeles ripping out my porch and veranda a month ago, was actually a success. I don’t think I’ve had so many good friends since I was in Girl Scouts, when everyone has to be your good friend because you can’t invite half the troupe to your party. That shit is rude. [...]