Welcome to my 27th year.

So far, so good.

My weekend consisted of preparing for my birthday celebration and recovering from it, at times simultaneously. As usual, the party lasted over 12 hours and consisted of the usual suspects, some fresh blood, and 34 cartons of cigarettes.

I got some good gifts, let me tell you. In addition to a disco ball and a Crowded House DVD, the slew of Danes brought me the Xenophobe's Guide to Denmark. They told me that when I had finished reading it, I'd finally understand them. Hopefully it will shed some light on the strange hiccup-cure rituals and Danish music infiltrating my living room at 3:00 in the morning.

I received a birthday screw from my ex (which he apparently had loose), and a rubber duckie vibrator from another friend, both of which came in handy when I crawled into my bed at 6:30 AM, otherwise empty-handed. The rubber duckie came complete with batteries and the slogan, "It's not the beak, it's the motion." It's fully submersible and waterproof, so I'll be taking a lot of baths.

My kitchen is a wasteland of leftover Dairy Crack and Momma D's Bean Dip, which explains why I slept all day Sunday. This week is going to be painful.

I didn't take any pictures, but Genghis-Jon has a few gems up. Last time, he brought pork rinds, this time he brought snouts and feet, and next time I fear he will be graduating to a fleet of live potbellied pigs. I can't wait.

Aging like fine wine,
the joyful thing