30th birthday is 54 days away. But who’s counting? I’m gonna have a party. You’re all invited.
I’ve been trying to lose some extra pounds because after this is baby talk and this could be the last year I recognize myself sans clothes. “Trying” is a bit of stretch. Really, I just hope they lose me.
So I’m failing at getting me ready but trying to get party ready. Things are moving along and I already ordered these cocktail napkins. And that’s about it. No music, no food, but I’ve got cocktail napkins. Actually I don’t even have them. They’ve only been ordered.
Even my inspiration is a little uninspiring.
You’re meaning me.
I don’t necessarily want cake pops but I do like the idea of putting gold flakes on something. Maybe a cake.
And this is just for me to get me feeling better about the age I’m turning.
Every time I read this I feel like crying. Not because I think it’s touching but because I’m trying really hard to believe it.
Any women out there cope okay with entering into the new age bracket?
images via geronimo balloons, sweetapolita