No, I'm not. I have to work, boyfriend has to work, you have to work, everybody has to work. I tried to get it declared a national holiday so everybody could have the day off, but the Secret Service intercepted my messenger owl carrying my letter to Mr. Obama. Something about a 'no fly zone'. Stupid. That's fine. Sabotage if you want, Mr. President, that doesn't change the fact this is about ME.
Mmmm-hmmm. That girl right there is already in princess mode.
The boyfriend is probably THRILLED with my behavior already. Four more days, babe. Hang in there. He was smart enough to withhold gift giving until my actual birthday, ensuring somewhat manageable behavior from me this weekend. I hate him.
You know who plans on showing her ass with me this weekend? Mother Nature. 60% chance of rain? Guess how many things I planned on doing inside tomorrow? ZERO. The whole point of having a birthday in the summer is to celebrate it on a beach/river/lake. Go away Mother Nature.
You heard Gretchen, buzz off.
Try as you might, lady, I'm still getting hammered. Maybe I do it in the rain, maybe I do it in a bounce house. Either way, it's happening, and it's happening hard.
Whether you're here to celebrate with me or not, listen to Nene and get your drink on. Because if you run into me this weekend, or trip over me passed out on the ground, I'll be much more tolerable if you're buzzed. The only person that should refrain from that, is the cute little three year old who's celebrating his day of birth tomorrow as well (but I'm not your mother, drink if you want kiddo). Yes, I can share my day, I'm a grown up. If any of you guys see me push him over though, don't tell on me. So, put on your drinking Huggies, Jax, because it's on, and I'm going to win.
Over and out.
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