My birthday was Tuesday, and to say I have milked it for all it's worth is not an understatement. As much as I love a holiday, a birthday is your own personal holiday, and I like to prolong that as much as possible. I typically celebrate birthday week (I tried for birthday month, but there was so much eye rolling and mockery from everyone that I dialed it back down...a bit), but this year I've managed to get in two full weeks of celebrating.
The festivities kicked off Easter weekend with a home cooked meal of my very favorite foods, followed by birthday cake. If you have never been to Junior's and you are not currently in New York City, I have good news for you: Junior's will ship you the most awesome cake you have ever put in your mouth and you can see what heaven tastes like for yourself. This year, Mom got a chocolate/white chocolate mousse confection shaped like an Easter egg. And she bought me a print of a bichon frise, a.k.a. the king of the castle around here, to hang in my den. On a scale of one to ten: perfection.
The next weekend, we spent a gorgeous Saturday on the patio of a neighborhood restaurant enjoying Bloody Marys, a fantastic lunch, awesome friends, and of course, celebrating moi. I got to wear a new top (although the look may have been slightly marred by my Target sunglasses) and I laughed so much my face hurt. Second celebration: success.
Which brings us to that glorious ninth day of April: my real, actual day of birth. Bring. It. On. I strategically planned my day so as not to do anything I didn't want to do, but then I got all magnanimous and exercised (ugh) and vacuumed (double ugh). A few of you were sweet enough to call, and a zillion folks sent some Facebook love (bonus points if you threw in a compliment to accompany your birthday well wish).
Clint came home a little early--a rarity that truly signifies a special occasion--bearing a gift bag the size of vending machine. Inside, I found a dozen packages of Peeps (I confess that I hoard them and now I've got him in on the act), a Walking Dead t-shirt (the perfect way to combine my love of a zombie apocalypse with my love of t-shirts) and, drum roll please: two tickets to a Dave Matthews Band concert in July. I was ecstatic, since seeing DMB in concert is on my bucket list. Incidentally, that was the only thing I have put on my bucket list, which is probably an indication that I live a sheltered life, and should not be considered a sign that I will be ready to die after said concert. I need to add some drops to that bucket. And, as you will see in the pictures, my "card" was also a tiara that crowned me Birthday Princess. Brilliant.
I was wined and dined at one of my favorite restaurants and then home to sample a selection of gourmet cupcakes. I may or may not have run into one of my least favorite people on the planet while we were at dinner, but I was having a decent hair day and wearing a cute outfit, so ain't nothing gonnna breaka my stride. Onward and upward. Thirty-five is the new fabulous, so eat your heart out, oh-so-shallow nemesis.
Maybe I'm still on a sugar high, but the rest of this week is still up for grabs, and I'm thinking that if I play my (birthday) cards right, I can work this birthday thing right through the weekend. Light the candles and bring out the cake! And I can still wear the birthday tiara from time to time, too, yes?