It’s true, I turned twenty-frickin’-three on Tuesday. It’s not something I wanted to do, but who am I to stop the inevitable? Well, as I predicted, it totally sucked.

It started out well, though. On Monday, Mom and I headed an hour west to Biloxi, Mississippi for some major spa time at the Hard Rock Hotel & Casino. The facial, massage, and exfoliating body wrap — that added up to three hours worth of treatments —  were A-OK in my book. But, it started to get pretty ridiculous from there. 

Mom and I ate at the buffet like total Americans due to my having a free admittance during my birthday month. Well, I ended up eating something bad because I felt pretty terrible for the rest of the night. Nonetheless, Mom and I hit the video poker. I boast all day that I once won $400 in the first five minutes of playing video poker, and honestly, I can’t recall ever losing money once in all the times I have gambled. Well, I played my limit of $20, and LOST IT ALL. So being bummed out, I played an additional $5. And lost. 


Plus, the casino made me wear this RUDE bracelet that made me feel ancient (and made me pose like a mug shot):


Buuuuuh. Well, the next day…my darn B’Day…I planned to leave Biloxi by 2pm. I told all parties involved that this was the goal. I was making lazy day plans with Ol’ Rob for 3pm, and I didn’t want to miss any quality television programming or nap minutes. Of course, this did not happen. I rode with my mom, and she is much too bossy to let me have my way on my own twenty-third birthday. It’s not like I’m a grown-ass woman celebrating a frick B’DAY! Long story short, I left Biloxi at, like, 4pm…and I had to borrow my stepdad’s truck in order to escape at all.

So…no big deal…I just CRASH HIS TRUCK INTO THE STUPID WALL IN OUR DRIVEWAY. Most accidents occur within one mile of your home, people. It’s true. What sucks is that I HAVE NEVER HIT ANYTHING IN MY LIFE. Honestly! Trucks are too long for their own good.


CRAPOLA! What else could be so lame? Oh yeah. I GET A SPEEDING TICKET on my way to Rob’s. The cop wrote the same date twice on that ticket: once for my birthday and once for the day’s date! Could he not have cut me a break? I haven’t gotten a ticket since I was nineteen. Rad.

Luckily, Rob makes me feel better about all this nonsense. I showed up on his doorstep, laughing at my misfortune with obvious “I Just Cried” face. I have never felt so attractive or skilled in driving. He gave me cute, adorable prezzies that are Top Secret because I want to keep some mystery on this blog, peeps. We proceeded to cuddle, watch TV, and eat cereal with ice cream in it…which is what I wish every birthday was like. Rob said silly things to me in French, which is tres sassy. He even grew wretched facial hair and endured teasing just for me:


Forget you, haters of the scruff! I find it delightful. So, I decide to spread my birthday cheer onto the upstairs-dwellers…Tom (Rob’s bro), Renee, and Baby Isis. My good luck causes the electricity to go off. Yeah. Then, while the power is off, Tom dumps over a container of sour cream onto the rug and suede couch. I’m pretty sure everyone wanted me to leave the premises. It’s okay, though, because Baby Isis gave me some smiles out of pity.

The NEXT day (I give myself an entire birthday week), all was redeemed as Allyson and I made this cake:



It’s a butter cake with chocolate-almond icing with toasted almonds. It’s bomb.

FIN.