2023 is wrapping up, and as usual, I’d like to use this time to skip over the sentimentality of my self growth and personal development and instead invite you to applaud me for continuing to write so consistently over the past year.
After all, keeping up with a blog is no small task – especially when some of the topics revolve around Lunchables, or off-brand Barbies, or extremely specific tips for visiting Seattle or LA or New York.
I’d also like to thank all of the publications who will never read this that published my work, including Slackjaw for publishing this PSA about vegetarian suffering, Belladonna for publishing this post about baby name consultants [which is an actual job and not something I made up], and my own personal Medium page, for publishing everything I put on it without question or critique.
And most importantly, I’m sending a giant thank you to all of my follower this year for your support. I don’t want to call you out by name or anything, but just know that I appreciate your consistent devotion as a reader.
Unrelated, I also appreciate you birthing and raising me all those years ago.
On that note, it is New Year’s Eve so please excuse me while I go cover my face in the same sparkle eyeshadow I bought for a Kesha concert earlier this year and drink enough champagne to help me forget I don’t like champagne.
While I do that, I invite you to enjoy these pictures from the long-ago New Year’s Eve when my best friend Brittany and I went into the bathroom together at a party and got accused by the host of breaking the toilet seat (we didn’t) because he “heard us giggling” (that’s just what we do) and assumed the merriment was related to the broken toilet seat (it wasn’t) even though it had been broken when we got there (really) and perhaps the real problem (Dan) is that he needed a sturdier toilet seat (DAN).
Happy New Year, everyone.
Leggy Blonde 