Last week was my birthday. Shan and Evy and I took that as an excuse to invite pretty much everyone we know over. And pretty much all of them showed up, making us more or less the most popular people in town that night. We made pizza and cupcakes and I drank a lot of rum. More rum, I suspect, than I had drunk in the preceding year. I blame this on Arlie, who always did enjoy plying me with alcohol. I'm told, however, that my grammar remained perfect throughout the evening, removing all doubt that I am a giant nerd.
We spent the next day wandering around downtown, and then Shan and Evy and I lazed around in our pajamas all evening. We were totally unable to restrain our mockery as we watched "An Affair to Remember" but got all teary over the scene in "Anne of Avonlea" in which Gilbert Blythe nearly dies. I see you rolling your eyes, and I so don't want to hear about it. Evy and I also single-handedly dispatched the uneaten chocolate fondue that we had made for the party, although the scope of our indulgence didn't become clear to us until Evy speared the last apple slice, looked at the empty plate and said, "We made that for fifteen people, and we just ate it all." Awesome.
Sunday, for lack of anything better to do, Shan and I went to Ikea. On the way to the car, we were discussing the current stomped-upon state of her heart, and I told her to buck up because we were going to Ikea! Because obviously there's no solace like cuddling with a nice Ikea lamp when you're alone on a Friday night. "Yes," she said. "Men come and go, but Ikea furniture lasts at least five years." This caused me to stop and laugh like a hyena in the middle of the street.
At any rate, the weekend was a good way to mark a new year of life. I spent the rest of the week forgetting things and feeling otherwise senile, so I thought maybe I should document this in case someone has to commit me by the time I'm 30.
