When I arrived home, the front door of my house was decorated with balloons and a package of home-made, decorated cupcakes. The decorating/baking culprit was my son's girlfriend. I was completely blown-away mostly because when I backed into my driveway, I sat in my car for a few minutes and at some point, turned around and saw this door covered in celebratory stuff. I hardly know this young woman (she is afraid of me) and this was really a thoughtful way to help me feel celebrated. Too bad it was a complete (almost) stranger but hey, I'll take it where I can get it.
A good friend sent me a birthday card that read Happy F*cking Birthday only there was no asterisk. The sentiment made me smile. Thanks, Lib!
There's an article in the L.A. Times today called 'Obesity: 'Like the new smoking'. If you're still chubby or thinking of eating that last hunk of birthday cake, you might want to read the article first. One tidbit the item states is "the death rate from uterine (endometrial) cancer was 525% higher for very, very obese women than for women of healthy weight." I did not even know we could have percentages in the 500 range but then I was never any good at math. When I was fat(ter) I had uterine cancer and that diagnosis was 4 years ago now. That means I had (and probably still have) a 525% chance of croaking of uterine cancer over a skinny woman. If that
Enjoy the photos (and be jealous) of the pretty home-made cupcakes (because that's as close as you'll ever get to them). Admire my b-day decorated door which I've decided to leave on display permanently, until the streamers rot into bits of slime muddling colors on the doorstep where I'll smear (what will look like dog-poop stains) on my carpet when I walk into the front door some years from now. When my neighbors walk by the house and notice the decorations, they can ask with enthusiasm "Hey, I didn't know it was your birthday!?" and I can say, "Yes, it was my birthday in early March 2011." (Also in early March 1965 and early March 1960 and so on.)
In the photos, please ignore the lovely pink propane bill laying ever so discreetly upon the doorstep courtesy of Mr. Propane Man, (who's about as sensitive a birthday gift-giver as most of the men I've known), the spiderwebs and other assorted door filth, and the assorted red-ish paint colors with which I've been trying to decide over the past few years to paint my door.
Under no circumstances should you ignore Bella, my vicious attack corgi. She was really eye-balling those cupcakes though she abstains (mostly because she's a very picky eater, Thank Haysus!). We watch her girlish figure with a staunch desire to keep any obesity and cancer stats below 525% unlike someone she knows. Plus we can't afford one of those custom corgi wheel-chairs made out of plywood and used roller skate wheels that you have to tie the dog's belly into. We are working on a top secret prototype for other chubster (not my Bella) dogs.
Thank you for all the good wishes!