mynewplace

But I'll be damned if I'm not cross-posting on three different blogs. You all know you're my only love, though. Right? Actually I only use the blog on 360 and the one at MySpace as teasers for this one. I would never post all the intimacy and detail that I put here.

Despite my protestations, I am freely admitting my upcoming age to those who ask, albeit I choke a bit before it comes out. Embrace it? Or lie like a rug? I dunno. Maybe both. I can say what I please. I'll be sporting a swagger tomorrow, and the next day. I'm looking forward to them both.

Just a few days to go until I'm 40. That still makes my heart stop a second.

This is going to be the strangest birthday ever. Men are buying me things. Men have NEVER bought me things before. Not even men who hoped to have sex with me. And while some of these are those types of men, not all of them are. I don't know what to make of it. Deep down, I like it. It makes me feel wicked and a bit vengeful. As if one birthday is going to make up for all the times I felt less than acceptable as I watched my stepsister Patty accumulate roses and diamonds and silk lingerie.

Cheesecake and roses and a few unmentionables are going to more than make up for it. You know why? Because I don't have to be perfect to get these things. And she always felt like she did. I don't have to be blonde, I don't have to be thin, I don't have to be an ice princess who insists on being wined, dined, and romanced in exchange for a peck on the cheek. I can be bawdy, lusty, voluptuous, luscious rich and decadent me. I can toss auburn curls far better than she ever tossed those platinum ones. And I've got the Mae West strut down pat.