I turned the big two-six today.
For the record, I have never videotaped myself having a tea party, and I never will again -- certainly not while wittingly before a camera, wearing a pink dress, speaking in falsetto betwixt sips of Earl Grey for all of the puppet houseguests I'd be (hypothetically) entertaining -- so before you start getting any crazy ideas, I thought I would quash any rumors here and now.
Everyone knows the best tea parties involve full-frontal nudity and enormous wigs, not pink dresses. Duh.
In other news, someone at work bought me a twelve pack of Diet Coke for a present. It might be time to admit I have a problem. Nah, who could possibly go an entire day without quaffing a dozen cans of soda? That's impossible. Ironically, since I transitioned from real pop to the diet variety seven years ago my freshman year of college, I haven't had a single cavity. Go figure. It's like rain on your wedding day, am I right? Or ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife (though I reckon ten thousand spoons, considering their collective power, could cut as effectively as a knife. I mean, ten thousand? That's a lot of spoons, man).
Tonight's plans include Doom III, alcohol, friends, strippers, poetry recitals, and danceoffs. If you would like to partake, and you know my address, feel free to join in on the fun! (Don't bring any eskimos, as they will be provided. Do bring single, sexy ladies.)
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