Baby wants a corndog* (or I am getting depressed by impending birthday).

Admittedly, I am totally psycho when it comes to my birthday. Nuts to the max. Thing is, it's not like I did anything on my birthday, it was my mother (God bless her) who spent 23 hours in labor to pop me out while watching and rewatching a video tape (probably beta) of Princess Di's wedding (priorities). Still, I am always hellbent on having the best birthday day (actual day is Sunday) ever (perhaps to make up for all of the shit days throughout the year or to quell my abandonment issues - I don't know, I'll ask therapist next week - ha! the only therapist I can afford comes in a can with a lovely blue ribbon on it), but it always verges on turning disastrous. I need elaborate cakes with marzipan figurines, 12 course dinners with a proposal, the biggest Barbie dream house made, purple Huffy, the coolest slumber party of all of 5th grade, etc. It's a sickness and generally very out of character. This year, in the face of my 26th, I am putting the kibosh on any expectations. Lacey and I are going to a fancy schmancy place where we will wear dresses and heels, swill expensive wine, and gaze longingly into each other's (lonely) eyes while unsexily mispronouncing menu items. No parties. No gifts. And certainly, no boys. In spite of all of the self help books I've read (coincidentally, they also come in cans with blue ribbons), being in a relationship on the big day is how I'd prefer it. Your parents have to care because they paid for you, your friends have to care because of the guilt, but your bf/gf doesn't have to - they can cut out anytime, but there they are, caring about your birth, you know? If you are going to send me a gift, might I suggest litter boxes for all the cats I will undoubtedly begin collecting as an old maid? Also, maybe something to collect all the clichés, too.

Also, the b-day is depressing because it marks another year of things I meant to do, but didn't (oh please, you are no better than me in this endeavor - don't even pretend). Well, things are going to be different this year. I vow to think about doing the following:

1. Karaoke more (by more, I mean at all, it's been far too long, perhaps for good reason, but that's pure speculation). I am horrible, yet I love it so. I mean, like painfully bad, but only because I think I'm 43% good. I'm that girl.

2. See Andrew Bird in concert. And Cold War Kids. And Feist. And make out with Craig Finn in my mind at The Hold Steady.

3. Find my signature cocktail. I have tried the sidecar, vodka tonic and Manhattan, but no luck so far. I do enjoy Hendrick's and tonic, but that's so someone else's drink. I can't survive on Pabst for the rest of my life. Or can I?

4. Learn to play the banjo.

5. Implement operation Boyfriend07. It's time. My disabled robot heart isn't getting any younger, so you know, hop to it lady.

6. NYC fall break trip - we're soooo going, Shain. You can meet my New York Boyfriend! We'll eat pancakes with G-race!

7. Get my NES to work so I can play some Zelda.

8. Not suck.

(Me, in case you can't tell.)
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(Cake I wish I was getting, but stupid Jackson got it instead.)

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(Eternally single Cathy, my hero. Oh, she finally got married or died? Hmm.)

*Obvs, I will end up at The Deli Sunday night. Buy me a red cup or else (and a menthol cigarette)! No, don't. It's never a good idea to feed the bears.