My birthday did not go as I had planned. It was supposed to be a mellow day of painting and NPR. Instead, I had an intense and ill-advised love affair with chocolate martinis that lasted a mere three hours. I’m still reeling a bit from the aftermath. In other news, I truly wonder if I will ever be able to drink chocolate milk again.
So yeah. Today is full of the lazy. And the loud noises my keyboard makes when I type are a little bit more than my allergy stuffed and oxygen deprived brain can handle.
I did get it together enough to write a Craftastrophe today. Kinda. You see, they’ve asked the writers to town it down a tidge to keep their advertisers happy. I’m trying, Interwebz, but PG rated isn’t exactly my strong suit. I think the most offensive word I used was “boobs.” It’s possible that Hell just froze over.
Thanks for all the birthday wishes and swag, you beautiful people! Remember how I pined for a tiny gilded giraffe last week? Well guess what magically appeared on my doorstep on my birthday courtesy of Wicked Shawn (and Drama Queen, too)?!?
I know! I had to pinch myself twice to make sure it wasn’t just some Baileys-fueled hallucination. (Hold please while I swallow down the the reflexive vurp that may forever follow the thought of that liquor.) The part where he blew bubbles while dancing the Macarena in the palm of my hand might have been a hallucination. Today he doesn’t seem to have any tricks other than looking pretty. Most importantly Rocco can see him, too.
Speaking of hallucinations, I think Reginald and I opened this birthday card from Sister Merry Hellish while the room was still spinning Saturday night. I don’t exactly remember checking email that night, but I do remember some very strange, 70’s themed dreams involving Kojak and Jim Henson. I’m hoping this card explains all that away.
Holy crap do I look like a whacked out coke fiend. On that note, I’m going to spoon with Reginald and Mildred on the couch for the next several hours while rubbing my gums and sniffling.