Happy 23rd Birthday, Self

I think I actually look like a lady in this photo...

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Today I am 23. The big two-three. And I even though I know what I'm about to say is totally going to make you throw up, I'm still going to say it anyway:

OMGIMGETTINGOLD.

There! I said it! I admit it! This is the first birthday I've sort of wrinkled my nose and been like, "Ugh. Really? I don't think I'm ready for that age, yet."

I could totally go on and bitch about how hilarious it is that I'm technically out of work and technically should probably be busy calling up recruitment agents and frantically sending off submissions to various magazines and newspapers...but I'm definitely not.

I think I'm finally grasping the coolness of being set free from my 9-5 gig and getting to choose where my life is going to go. Vacation hours are a thing of the past. Sick days can suck it, and I'm never going to have to get stuck in a lift with the fucking lazy, large assed people from the first floor who couldn't just walk up the one measly flight of stairs it would take them to get to their fucking desk ever again!

I'm officially done being sad, and moping about and staring out the window on trains wondering what I'm going to do.

For god sake. I'm 23 today. TWENTY-THREE.

I have some incredibly exciting ideas in my head. My brain has turned into a vibrant, colorful road map of ideas and possibilities rather than some depressingly emo haiku.  I'm finally starting to feel stoked about stuff. 23, I'm really hoping that you're going to bring it and bring it hard.

23, I want your volume turned up to 11.

I can feel my world moving into a new direction, so today, I'm really going to try to celebrate my life, my future and my rebirth as passionately as I can. (And, obviously, cupcakes, pizza, the Sex and The City movie and cocktails are the way to do it.)

So...

Happy Birthday, self.

Here's to you, and your new beginning.