Oh man. I'm gonna be thirty in just five days and four hours. It just hit me in the last couple of days. I'm heading to my mom's to celebrate along with Mark and Matt whose birthdays are nearby meaning that we all qualify for the B-Day Consolidation Plan. Heather's parents may make it. And maybe Rusty. If you're reading this and you want to send some strippers and a hooker or two, just email me for the address.
Wow, I'm getting older. Not old. Just older. Important distinction. One generally only noticed by old people. Damn. Failed that test.
Tequila anybody?
I've got a built-in designated driver. She's pregnant but she's still a good driver. And hell, after a few shots of the ol' T it's not like I give much of a Xxxt who's driving anyways. As long as they're sober and I'm wearing a seatbelt.
How often do you have 30th birthdays? Like, once, right?
Ground rules: One shot of pure T every fifteen minutes, PLUS one shot every time my mother raises her voice in anger or strikes out at somebody with a kitchen implement (love ya' mom). Two shots if she draws blood or drops an F-bomb.
Given these rules, my continued survival will likely be based on Jo's ability to contain herself. Given that fact, there's a good chance I'll wake up on March 21st feeling a little out of it.
Heading to Doc with Terp