No excuses

I upgraded. Or, sold out, to some. Either way this is my first posting via blogger app. Hope this works.

Is a birthday just another day? Is it time to celebrate not being killed off yet? I live in some world where it is a combination of joy, regret, and potential anxiety. What have I done? What will I do? Blah blah. Most people may have these "what does it all mean" questions on the eve of a new year. Lucky for me, my parents birthed me 5 days later. I postpone for a week.
(P.S. birthdays after Christmas and New Years suck. That's a whole 'nother issue.)

I've decided to accept being a year older. It's true that I would rather drink half a box of wine with my roommate than go bar hopping all night. I seem to prefer getting up early than wasting the day away asleep. These observations are me caring less and caring more. I've always been one of those "what you see is what you get" people. I'm not your everyday girl. And I'm damn proud of it. You don't like me? I'll make sure to breathe when I quit boohooing.

I don't shower every single day. I don't like jewelry, so don't buy it for me. I have the vocabulary of a sailor and I drink like one too. If you're easily offended, refrain from conversing with me. I lack the socially important filter. I'm single because the two guys I would date aren't really boyfriend material and I'm too snobby to date just anyone. I work at a bar, live in a tiny house and drive a car that I'm convinced is trying to kill me. The few good friends I have left, I wouldn't trade for the world.

I may not have much but I'm convinced I'm pretty fun to be around. I'm on a mission. Though I love my job and coworkers, I'm tired of babysitting the drunk. Sick of douchers asking for my number. Over being an unlicensed therapist. Only one way to fix it.

I sing. Not just in the shower or car. Well, those too. I write songs. I could give you twenty right now that I must say are better than some of the crap on the radio these days. What am I doing with it? Absolutely nothing. Not anymore! Alas, no more I say!

No excuses. My new motto. This year I have to get it done. Fitness. School. Job. Music. I'm telling you so you can make sure I'm not fat or poor at the end of the year. No excuses. I mean it.