When I was young I thought that turning thirty meant waking up with a head full of gray hair and complaining about the sciatica in my butt. Instead, it meant drinking strawberry daiquiris by the pool in Vegas with my best friends (and husband-to-be). The daytime celebration was a pirate-theme, with a few added accoutrements for the birthday girl. It has been five years and I have yet to get Elyce back for making me wear this outfit. Okay, the daiquiris helped twist my arm.
I was reminded of this photo after discovering that one of my dear readers, andygirl, is about to turn thirty. Happy Birthday Andrea. Thirty is the new thirty. I've never felt older, or happier. It's a damn good thing.