I was born on December 26, 1977. I should also point out that my mother went into labor with me after Christmas Eve dinner on December 24.
I am surprised she is still talking to me.
Seriously. I was in labor for 12 hours and I promise you that I'll be throwing that in Buttercup's face when she gets all teenager-y and hormonal and demands to stay out past curfew because her friend's all have much cooler mothers than she does.
Anyway, I'll be blowing out the candles on my 33rd birthday cake sugar-free, dairy-free, gluten-free pumpkin mousse this year. Which goes to show how much has changed in the last year.
Other things to celebrate?
*My ass-tau has been reclassified as a J-Lo.
*I've made peace with my ego. Bring on the rejections.
*Years and, okay fine, decades of angst regarding me and my kinky curlies Mama gave me are done and over with. Can you say MEXI-FRO?
*I met The Bloggess,sat next to Kendra on a plane, hung out at Rudolpho Anaya's house, had lunch with Rick Najera and his lovely wife, and was told that my manuscript didn't suck by the amazing Demetria Martinez.
*I gave up sugar and gluten and found my waistline. Newscaster says? Parade at 11.
*Did I mention I wrote a book?
*Or that the number of candles I will be blowing out this year doesn't bother me in the least? It'd probably because I adopted a new mantra. Can you say, "I don't give a shit?"
Next year is almost here. A little part of me is always going to be looking back and focusing on what I could have done and where I think I should be by now, but I'm okay with that. Because that little voice is just going to push me to try harder in my new year and the New Year to follow.
Mappy Birthmas to me.