I never care about my birthday until it appears no one else cares, either. So, like, a day before (April 23rd, what a weird coincidence), I become obsessed.
I have decided that "birthday weekend" is far better than "birthday". With me??
I have the best birthday ever. April twenty fourth=pretty. 4/24=pretty. Fabulous.
I will use any excuse to drink mimosas. But my birthday (weekend) is pretty much the most acceptable one. Which is why there are two bottles of champagne and two tall cans of Bud Light Cheladas (so good the next morning...) in the fridge.
I also use it to get away with eating anything I want, doing anything I want, and going anywhere I want. Shamelessly.
I hate being sung to. You are more than welcome to take me to dinner. But only to a place that brings me something awesome, ie. free champagne, dessert, etc. Anywhere where waiters collectively gather to sing/chant/make both them and me want to collectively kill ourselves is unacceptable. At least on my birthday. I'm not 10.
I'm going to be thirty next year. Yowch.
29 is a weird, boring, frightening age. Even more so when I remember baby sis will be 25 next week. Holy hell.
Two of my three former bridesmaids had the exact same response when I told them we were going to a beer festival on my birthday: "it's like they knew!"
And now you all know. And if you'll excuse me, I have more champagne to drink. Mwah.
-posted out of laziness from my iPhone.
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.... and Scooby Doo, on channel two....
ReplyDeleteHappy Birthday! Drink, eat and be merry :)
My problem is I do all those things EVERy weekend, not just when it's my birthday (the eating and drinking whatever I want that is).