There is a story from when I was just a pimply teenager desperate for a Y necklace. Found one hiding in a box in my mom's nightstand a few days before Easter. Family lore has me returning it in favor of one I liked better before my mom had a chance to wrap it. As much as I want that story to be true, it simply is not. I waited to return it until after I opened it. I can't wait until I'm so old that I only remember the fable version.
I did, however, set my alarm for 12 a.m. and by 12:00.15 I was wearing these suckers -- which I've wanted since I saw Leisha Hailey of "The L Word" wearing awesome cowboy boots on stage when her band Uh Huh Her performed at Pride last year.
Another victorious gift from Chuckles Van Chuckerstein.
I'll say this for Facebook: It certainly knows how to do up a birthday. I haven't been so delighted by responses from friends and family in, like, ever. All these long-lost faces popping up to say "Happy Birthday" or give me some special message -- like that today was also Gina from the GoGos birthday! (Thanks, Jodi) -- what a treat.
Facebook, you are the Hallmark of the Internet.
I haven't gone out wreckin' on my birthday for two years, but Chuck and I found another suitable way to damage our innards:
The Dairy Queen Heath Bar Blizzard Ice Cream Cake. My slice was more like a slab. So delicious. I still wanted to barf. And it provided its own special variety of hangover.
So bummed that now I have to go back to it not being my birthday anymore.