Thirty-five Year Old Angelina Writes Stuff

Okay so yesterday was my birthday. I did everything I love. I also started a list of things I do at 35 that are different from what I did at 34. I know I know. It's groundbreaking. Positively unheard of. Starting a new life campaign on my birthday. What can I say, I am a trailblazer.

You have to start somewhere.



Thirty-five year old Angelina goes to writing workshops, for instance. Liz got me all set up yesterday and in January I'm going to spend a day exploring my authentic voice, or whatever. Hee. It kind of makes me giggle and I'm such a skeptic, but it couldn't possibly be bad for me.



Not everything is so drastic, by the way. Thirty-five year old Angelina also thinks it's cool for sixty year old women to wear leopard print pants and faux fur vests. As long as they don't smoke or drink too much, or have a Valium addiction.

Simple. I'm kind of excited about the prospect.



See also: Thirty-five year old Angelina doesn't smoke cigarettes. Which is why as I'm typing this I'm chaining two together which is major for me, and will likely make me bedridden for the next hour or two. This is okay. I don't smoke in bed.

After that it's just a matter of stringing a massive series of non-smoking moments together like beads until it's the rest of my life. Simple, right?

This should be a piece of cake mostly, cause I'm on winter break until January 4th. I can do whatever the fuck I want. Also: I'm thirty-five now.



Thirty-five year old Angelina:
- stays away from ambivalent incense burners
- does not send flirty texts while driving
- has a membership to the Academy of Sciences
- doesn't call stuff "gay"
- is more Furley than Roper
- has cool shit on the walls of her apartment
- goes on vacation. like. for reals.

Apparently also. I make lists. Sweet.

Happy day after my birthday, y'all.