It's My Party and I Can Cry if I Want To
cry if I want to. cry-eeeeeeeee.
So tonight we are having a triple birthday blowout bash with the girls. M, J and meeself are celebrating/being celebrated with dinner at Pietro's followed by the David Bowie Birthday Sex Dwarf (that makes it a quadruple celebration, I suppose!).
Anyway, and let me get this straight to those of you who read the blog and can't make it tonight - because this isn't meant to be a guilt trip, I'm merely feeling *sorry for myself*. Got it? GOT IT? but I must confess I'm a little bummed that two of my fave peeps can't make it tonight for completely utterly legitimate reasons.
The main reason why I feel a little more bummed than I normally would if a friend couldn't make it to my birthday bash is because last year for the BIG 3-0, there was a HUGE snowstorm and we had a big party all planned out and everything was ready to go and it was going to just be funfunfun. But it just kept snowing and snowing and snowing that day. And nobody could make it. Fortunately, S & A trudged through 9 blocks to come over, but it was indeed a little bummy. Not to mention the fact that S pointed out that he "only bought a $9 bottle of wine because it's only pizza we're having after all." (Girls have memories like elephants, men. Don't ever forget THAT! Ya insensitive jerk ya! There, I said it. All is forgiven. Love ya, S. kiss kiss.)
So poor me. At least I'll have tomorrow night and my twelve glasses of Scotch to celebrate with (one for each apostle. or commandment. or days of christmas. yeah...)
And it goes without saying that not having slept in a month does not help my tender emotional state.
(No, you don't need glasses. I apologize profusely for the tiny font. I was just trying to make the first line tiny but it won't let me change everything else back to normal. I tried, people, I tried.)