Happy Birthday to Me!

Happy Birthday to me...Happy Birthday to me...Happy Birthday Dear Ging/Mrs. Wookie...Happy Birthday to me!

Here's to grabbing 27 by the balls, telling this zit that's popped up on my chin is NOT welcome.  I feel like my pore is birthing out a small microcosm.  WTF?  Where did you even come from?  

I'm 27.  I've got 3 years till 30.  Let's make them count.

I'm 27.  I know what I want in life.  And that's a lemon.  Thickly sliced.  Garnished over the rim of a well-executed vodka tonic.

My 27 years on this Earth have been a great one.  I've only tried to kill each member a couple times.  And while Baby Sister maintains she feared for her life while I careened her down our backyard on the ever-awesome Big Wheel, there's totally a smile on her face.  So suck it.  You didn't fear.  And this is wasn't the only time I tried to "kill you."


And check out those hot pink socks.  You can't teach fashion at this level.

In the perfect world, my birthday would be a vacation.  Perhaps not all the way to Heidelburg, Germany for such festivities.  Just a small vacation.  But with the Navy, they usually require your lives, a stray cat, and the online auction of a Vietnamese panther's liver.  So no vacation this time.

Thanks to this crazy lady for the singing telegram into my voicemail.  Yes, this is Mommy McD (back in Spring 2008) with Offspring #2 being a Momarazzi.  Because who can't kill time in Target?  Minus Mussolini.  I lucked out having my phone die in the middle of the night so I wouldn't be woken up to the 3 Tenors.  But thanks though, McD, much appreciated.  Now get those trolls a short half-caff no-foam latte.  They sounded sleepy.

Here's to making the most of my day.  While Mr. Wookie has to work longer than usual.  Yay.  Just what I love.  A birthday dinner over Ramen noodles.  Happy Birthday me!