I turn 23 in three days and my friends are coming over tomorrow and I am going to make a billion mini cupcakes. Kelly is making lamb and Alston is making pots de creme and Meghan is making two things because Sarah doesn’t cook. All of this demonstrates that I am very lucky. It’s unclear how this happened.
Last night we went to the shittiest bar and I drank too much whiskey and some guy called the TVs “legendary”, which is very funny, and I sat on an air hockey table and made out with my girlfriend and then this morning I woke her up at 8 am to make sure she still liked me because I am terrible. I am still scared to send in the cover letter and resume for what I think might be my perfect job so I’m just listening to “Ocean Breathes Salty” on repeat and reading old entries of other people’s blogs. 23 feels adultish and it is freaking all my shit out.
