The fancy amigurumi calendar my Chinese food place gave me has indicated by a show of neon-pink horses, frogs, and sheep farting heart bubbles that February starts tomorrow. This means several things for the world. Groundhog’s Day, Lincoln’s Birthday, President’s Day, Valentine’s Day, and HOLD THE PHONE… my flippin birthday!!
I’m pretty sure that Lincoln won’t mind if you forget to send him something, so you should concentrate all of your careful efforts on yours truly and disregard that dumb groundhog, too. Nobody should get a gift (or even a news segment) for crawling out of a hole or not crawling out of a hole. Except maybe Richard Gere’s hamster. Somebody send that little dude a handi-wipe.
Here are a few ways you can make me happy to be turning the big THREE-TWO this year. And some of them don’t even cost money!
I wish for the good citizens of Egypt to have their internets restored so that they may read this blog post and send me an e-card from some-e-cards-dot-com. Those shits are funny. Oh, and maybe it’s a good idea for that Mubarak guy to resign. Thirty years is a pretty good run for a king, no? Tens of thousands of protesters are pretty pissed and they can’t even Twitter about it? Sounds dangerous to me.
A set of robotic, yet natural looking dog feet for old-lady dog. It’s been almost six weeks since we changed her food from the only somewhat expensive kind to the uber-expensive “your eating ramen tonight, kids” kind of kibble that has no by-products or even by-by-products and has a wolf on the front. And she’s still licking her feet till her eyeballs go all pinky and roll back into her head and it sorta looks like she’s having an extra-special moment. Only that repetitive, wet, hairy dog-tongue noise is NOT extra-special for anyone else. Especially me and hubs when we’re trying to make our own extra special, repetitive, wet, hairy dog-tongue moments. That came out all wrong. Two new dog feets please!!
A lifetime’s supply of THESE BAD BOYS:
A 55-200mm zoom lens for my Nikon D5000 so I can take photos of you picking your nose and eating your boogers without you knowing. And maybe doing other things. Without you knowing.
A bikini wax. Scratch that. A GIFT CERTIFICATE for a bikini wax. Now that I’m 24 weeks pregnant I can no longer see my lady bits without a mirror. And even then, I can’t get that curly-headed midget to get out of the way so I can see what I’m dealing with. Just because I’m at my most womanliest right now does not mean I have the desire to get in touch with my natural-femininity “down south”.
A non-stick, oven proof pan for making fritatata. ta? Because sometimes I want eggs, but fancier.
Lastly, but certainly not leastiest… I’d like for the true age of one of my former boyfriends ( this dude right here ) to be revealed to the world. Since I’m pretty sure he’s still telling people he’s my age- which is twelve years too WRONG. If you’re reading my blog, old boyfriend (which I am 100% certain you pretend you have no time for) YOU’RE 44! Embrace that shit. Pffft.
Now get busy, people. You have only seventeen days to fulfill my every birthday whim. Or send me a handmade card with glitter or a funny cartoon in it. I’m old enough to know when to make sacrifices. But not so old I will forget you didn’t remember my birthday.
* I’d like to congratulate myself on my very first screenshot. It only took me an hour to create, capture, and paste that little pistachio comic.