Sick of 35

It's my last day to be 35 years old an I am spending it sick and in bed. That's just great. I have tickets to see Doug Stanhope at Red 7 tonight and I am going to try go but I am already having doubts.

This stinks.

I wanted to go see the roller derby on saturday.

I wanted to eat at Pearla's or Uchi, or Uchiko.

I wanted to buy some earrings at Kendra Scott with my 50% off birthday coupon.

Pffffffffft. Not going to happen unless this cold (or whatever it is) decides to leave my body in a few short hours. Instead of packing up to leave, the symptoms are getting worse and settling in for a long stay. Stupid sickness.


Tomorrow I will be 36 and I have a really good feeling about this year of my life. I like to say "thirty six." It sounds so nice. "Thirty five" sounded harsh and unbalanced. I never enjoyed saying that number. Nope. But "thirty six" is something fun to say. I like to raise the intonation on the second half of the number. I raise my eyebrows when I say "six".

I dare you to tell me 36 is anything but fabulous.

Dale says I can re-do my birthday weekend when I am feeling better. I think I may take him up on that.