Party like it's yo berfday

That's my plan. Well, not really. More like clean the house, work my part-time job, do laundry, and go get dinner at the little Israeli sandwich shop that opened recently not too far from the house (if you've never had an Israeli steak sammich, you should run out and get one right now, they're pretty tasty). Not so much of a party as a regular weekend that happens to have my birthday in it. No big deal. 28 isn't a landmark age anyway. Besides, last year and the year before I had fantastic birthdays. I think last year takes the cake (mmm... cake). K planned a sushi/karaoke party that was a total surprise in DC and the man made me a shirt that had my face superimposed on this cheerleader's silhouette with a big "Happy 27th Birthday" across it. Then, they both kidnapped me and drove me to New York for the weekend. It was amazing. We had the best time. The year before that K took me skydiving. Talk about your awesome presents. Wow. Wowzers.

This year is low key. I'm going to do all of the above mentioned things and work on the table runners for K's wedding. They're going to be very pretty. Simple and clean and a nice touch for the room. I can't wait for her wedding. I'm thrilled to bits for that little girl.

It's Friday. That's a good thing. Sunday is my birthday. That's a good thing. Martha Stewart is done with house arrest. That's a good... nah wait, I don't give a shit about Martha Stewart.

I'm still stressed out about my state of financial destitution and the fact that there are holes in our house from the hurricane and that there are people dying all over the gulf coast that I have no way to help and that I'm feeling wicked fat lately, but I'm trying to put those things on the back burner and enjoy my weekend. Heartless? I hope not.

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