Well, I spent my entire birthday making a list. And checking it twice.
Sadly, only 71 of my 711 Facebook friends wished me a Happy day.
That's 10%, peeps!
On the bright side, at least I can bear testimony that I know a tithing of my friends are true.
Aww, JUST MESSIN' WITH YOU, peeps! I don't know how many friends wished me happy birthday on Facebook. Alls I know is my hub had to keep giving me the heimlich because I had a big lump in my throat all day. Thank you for that, tithing friends!
So you wanna hear about my big birthday? Huh? Huh? Huh?
It started off early, with me trying to sleep off my head cold/lub allergy and my hub trying to wake me up to feed me French toast made from French bread topped with a French kiss.
(Ewwww! That's not true.)
(You guys probably think I'm a liberal now, huh?)
(Fer reals, I only kiss American style.)
After breakfast my hub asked me what I wanted to do for my birthday.
"I want to go to the dump," I said.
"We're not going to the dump on your birthday!" he said, firmly.
Or maybe it was forcefully.
On second thought, it was more disgustedly.
Anyways, I told him that is was MY birthday and that I could go to the dump if I wanted to. It seemed a simple enough wish to grant, but there we stood in the carport having a knock-down drag-out fight over it. Finally he pulled out the ladder, climbed to the top of the garbage can and began to dog pile our leftover Mother's Day/Birthday/orange business garbage while I screamed in slow motion:
"I W A N T T O G O T O T H E D U M P!!"
I'm pretty sure there are city codes that say you can't pile your garbage higher than 8 ft above the rim. That's what I told him, anyway. So he began passively resisting my assertive confrontation by attempting to fill up all the neighbor's garbage cans with our leftover crapola.
So I began assertively confronting his passive resistance by attempting Karate Kid position at the end of the driveway.
I'm proud to say that in the end my wish was his command. He made all my garbage-free dreams come true and we lived happily ever after.
After we lived happily ever after, we took our cute dog, Lulu, for a walk and guess what! I'm not allergic to lub after all! As it turns out, I'm just allergic to garbage.
Since my hub consented to spending $7 at the dump, I consented to spending $7 at the movies.
We saw Iron Man 2, which I liked very much, except for the kissing scene at the end. It was WAY too American for my liberal taste buds. (Get it? Taste buds? hee hee hee)
Then my daughter came home from school early and started BHBO (barfing her brains out), which I thought was kinda rude, being as my stomach is so susceptible to the power of suggestion.
When my hub asked me where I wanted to eat, I hesitated and considered my options carefully. I decided that Zuppa Toscana soup would be the best BMBO meal choice.
In other words, we ate at The Olive Garden (of course).
*I'm happy to report that my stomach did not succumb to peer pressure.
The rest of my day was a blur of bright balloons, pretty bows and redundant words. I got the impression that everyone just wanted me to be happy.
So I was.
But it's time to get back to reality. I've been dragging this birthday out for far too long. My mom, Gigi and aunt Carol started the ball rolling when they took me out to celebrate a few days ago. Alls we talked about were dogs, dogs, dogs. I can't figure out what I used to talk about before I had a dog. Can anybody tell me? We laughed and laughed and laughed about my aunt Carol's dogs, and I bragged and bragged and bragged about my dog. And then we cried.
Well, I didn't cry, but my mom did. And all because my aunt Carol told her that "Daddy" on the Dog Whisperer had died. My mom just about choked on her chicken enchilada as tears began welling up in the corners of her eyeballs. I felt so bad and I tried to think of something comforting to say (in between giggles), but alls I could come up with was,"I can't wait to blog this."
My mom really lubs the Dog Whisperer. She even gave me the Dog Whisperer book so I can train my already perfect puppy. I've been whispering in Lulus ear all week, but it doesn't work for me. I don't think puppies speak English. In fact, I would guess their primary lub language is "Words of Mastication." Either that or "Acts of Chomping."
Guess what else my mom brought me on my birthday! A Jumbo Jamba Juice, which basically amounts to 43 bowls of Fruit Loops. (What mom in their right mind would give their kid 43 bowls of Fruit Loops for their 43rd birthday?)
What ever happened to birthday spankings?
Mother Nature didn't give me any birthday spankings either. The mountains and the clouds and the sun and the the sky were on their best behavior all day. It was almost like Mother Nature had whispered in their ear, "Can't we all just get along for once? For Crash!"
Thank you Mother Nature whisperer!
And thank you all my tithing friends and family who remembered to remember not to forget!
You guys are da bombdiggity!