Gratuitous birthday photo post

Around this time last year, I posted my usual moaning and groaning about the pain of having a birthday on the day before St. Patrick’s Day. Imagine my disgust when this year, in addition to still being the day before St. Pats, March 16th also fell on a Monday… leaving me to turn 27 in relative obscurity and delay the bee-day celebration until this Saturday night. The horror!

But, given that Monday was my real birthday, Brad and I still wanted to have a somewhat subdued, just-the-two-of-us celebration – a quiet dinner, a quick drink, and then an early bedtime. That was the plan.

Here I am, getting ready to go out, sporting a new haircut and lovely birthday necklace from Brad. At this point, the plan was going swimmingly.

(Necklace closeup!)

And here I am, wearing my birthday dress. (I don't like this picture, because I think it makes me look extremely self-conscious and awkward and also sort of fat, but I am posting it anyway because I want you to see the dress.) At this point, too, the plan was still intact.



Unfortunately, shortly after this picture was taken, something happened to the plan.

What happened?

Alas, I cannot really answer that question – I left my camera at home, and in the absence of photographic evidence of what went down, I can only surmise that there was bourbon involved.

However, I do have the answer to another, equally important question – the question of what happens when you come home shitfaced on a Monday night, and you really want to take a whole bunch of Last Night’s Party-style pictures of the awesome time you’re having, but there’s nobody around but your husband and your dog.

Namely, you check your digital camera the next morning and discover this:

(Me? Drunk?! NAHHH.)

And this...

AKA The most necessary and important photo ever taken. I mean, one so rarely has the opportunity to see what one looks like while eating baked goods! It is really illuminating.

Oh, and this. At this point, I believe that Brad grew weary of my shutterbugging...
... but the dog was still game.

Golden retriever, vogue. VOGUE!


Hurley plays the drunken frat boy to my sloppy lady-lush SO well.

And of course, there are many, many more photos like this -- the vast majority of which I do not remember taking and which I will not post here due to redundancy. But the last one (which, gratefully, came before I started losing articles of clothing) has to be my favorite.


Me: Passed out on my chin.*
Dog: Deeply troubled.

*I didn't even know this was possible, because my chin is pointy, and I distinctly recall that, at the end of the night, my head weighed approximately five hundred pounds. And yet, it happened! I know, because I woke up in that same exact position about 3 hours later! And then I threw up.

I have no good closing to this, except to say that the real birthday party is happening on Saturday, at which point I hope to share several photos that do not include dogs.

And also, that scientists say one's mental capacity begins to decline at age 27. So if this sucked, it's not my fault. It's BIOLOGY.