This image has no real relevance to my post other than it came up when I typed "booya" into Google images. And maybe this is just a little bit how I feel today: as if I am oiled up and wearing leather gloves, tipping my hat to the ladies.
Of course I wouldn't be me, exclamation point and all, if I also weren't guessing who's having just a teensy bit of buyer's remorse. Guess who's already nervous about the first day? Guess who's worried she oversold herself in the interview? Guess who wonders where she'll eat lunch, and with whom? Guess who wonders if using "with whom" makes her socially un-lunchable? Guess who is scared this means she'll never write a book? Boo-yeah, that's me. But more on that later, motherfuckers. (And I only say motherfuckers tenderly, as a term of endearment, like punk ass bitch, which is Bryan's pet name.) You all helped me in ways you couldn't even imagine these last few months, what with your comments and support, making me laugh when I felt as if my mouth were made of stone and debt. I love you. I honestly love you.
Pop quiz: Did I include this photo because a.) it showcases the finely coiffed layers of my Supercuts haircut? b.) I honestly love you a la Olivia Newton-John? c.) I love me some turned up collar? or d.) all of the above?
Off to celebrate!