That’s right, Hooligans, it’s that time of year. So in the words of the great Eric Cartman:
“It’s mah biiiiiirthday, mah buh-buh-buh-biiiiiiirthdaaaaay!”
I am now officially (well, actually not until like 11-something at night if you wanna get technical — sorry about that, Dear Sweet Mama!) the big 3-5… yes, alack and alay, no longer in my “early” thirties. It’s weird, though — I tested myself this morning by saying “that’s what SHE said,” and I still snorted and giggled. Then I high-fived myself. So, not grown-up yet… maybe next year?
So Chuckweasel and I are hitting the Mexican joint for birthday lunch today (not QUITE as fine as Casa Bonita from “South Park”, but add a waterfall and they’d be close!). Then I’ll be in an enchilada-induced coma for awhile, and by the time I can eat again Poor Ol’ Dad will be taking me to the Red Lobster on Sunday (we’re going after he gets home from church, the which I don’t have to go to, ’cause #1 I’m a heathen and #2 IT’S MAH BIRTHDAY!
That’s all for now — remember to check your emails to see what color Ultra-Mega-Mega Man you’re supposed to get me.