Today I am one day older than yesterday

Today is also my birthday. Today I have deemed it such that I turn inscrutably old. Which means, of course, that there shall be NO SCRUTING of me from this point forward. Seriously, you should be done with the scruting of me by now, that's how old I am.

While the number of years is not a 'landmark' this year, it's so close as to be merely a prep for the landmark to come, as it shall take me almost a year to adjust to the notion that next year, it'll be LANDMARK AHOY!

Also, today is about the shouting, in honor of Tracy Kaply. And my youth. Which involved a lot of random shouting. Shouting used to be fun, and sometimes involved no real reason, as in 'drive around with Jeannie and scream' outings when I was 17. If she reads this, she'll get it. Frank Langella, baby, and DIRTY PILLOWS!

God, can I really be as old as I am? Also, as my Mom never made it past 39 (admittedly, she's bound to be older (yes, she's alive and kicking) than that now but won't cop to it), which would make me the product of her womb when she wasn't even born yet, which is really really creepy in a sideshow-I'd-like-to-go-to way. Seriously, next year, when I have one of those landmark years, she's totally going to have to up the burn on her own chronology, or people are going to talk.

So yep. Birthday. I'm going to go stare at the CAKE DOME a while and plan out how to find whoever invented the "Happy Napper," which I just heard an ad for on the teevee and now want to invite to a slap fight with "Princess Unicorn and Love Bug." Good grief...people BUY this crap? What has this world come to, when special TOYS are needed to entice children to sleep? Are dogs mating with goats? Has fire started falling from the sky? Did I miss the Rapture (again) and am left with the dregs of humanity, the sniffers of glues, the pantywaist milquetoasts of creation who wallow in their own fear and sweat when faced with a Double Jeopardy question about 'Governments of the World'? Because that would suck, as it's my birthday, and the RAPTURE IS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN ON MY BIRTHDAY.

Also, get off my lawn. It's gestating.


Love,
Tiff

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Oh, and just so you know? 14 years ago on my birthday I was in the emergency room. For 8 HOURS. With a newborn perma-sucking away while I waited for someone to maybe come take a look at the possible BLOOD CLOT that had planted itself inside my left knee. Good times, baby, dang good times. Because nothing hollers party like a room full of wounded people. ROCK ON!