Whether You Want It Or Not, Once A Year It Comes, Anyway....

My birthday. Despite fervent wishing to the contrary, it happened this year. And I'm over it. I don't want to officially be "in my 30's", but I am. Life just keeps on going, like it or not.

I did, however, have a fantastic birthweek. Which started on Saturday with Scott's gift to me. The gift was the computer, not Twitter. I already have one of those.



Scott also took me to a romantical seafood dinner, after which we were too stuffed to be romantic. But crab legs are a close second. So the night was not a complete failure.

Then, there was the barbeque Sunday night. Of which I took no pictures, because, let's face it, no one wants to see me after I've downed a Margarita. Or five.

Anyway, Graber came over and gave me this:



A gift certificate. Just in time to sucker me into the "Semi-Annual Sale." "Sale" being code for "You'll be able to buy at least 2 bra and panty sets with only half (as opposed to 3/4) of your monthly paycheck."

Bastards. Rich bastards. Who the hell is Victoria, anyway? And, let's face it. That bitch exposed all of her "secrets" long, long ago.

Anyway. Then, as though downing a gajillion margaritas and eating homemade blackberry pie with ice cream (Thanks, Neighbors!) on Sunday night weren't enough, Graber brought cupcakes to 5th period on Monday.

This is what I like to call the crazy teacher look:



Oh yeah, I'm hot.

Sopko, of course, pulled through with a fabulous gift:



The state of California (represent!) even weighed in, granting me the first day of state testing, which is code for complete, blissful silence in my classroom for the first 3 hours of the day. My only responsibility is making sure the bubbles are filled in completely. Which is a lot harder than it seems.

At least if you had a few too many margaritas the night before......

After a long parent meeting and receiving word of a colleague's passing, I finally arrived home, spent.

If being in my 30's has taught be anything, it's that I can't roll like I used to. A weekend of drinking and sinful eating took it's toll.

Nonetheless, on my birthday, I feel as though there are no consequences, so there was no need to go to the gym. Additionally, there was no need for feeling guilt at having this for dinner:



Yes, that's homemade fry sauce. And yes, I really ate McDonald's for my birthday dinner. I NEVER eat fast food, so this was a once-in-a-year treat. Because sometimes you just need to eat something completely disgusting.

And sometimes, you just need to pretend that you can still down 2 cheeseburgers, fries, and a beer without having your ass automatically grow 4.5 inches.

30-something-year-old metabolism can suck it.

I'm off to the gym. For, like the next 5 hours. Hope my sweat pants still fit.

Peace.