Or, rather, a few Smithwicks before I go to bed tonight. I'm now 31 and have given over to the quiet Saturday night.
Thanks to all for the compliments on my hair and stuff, which is not in anyway different than it was prior to turning 31, but nonetheless, looked fantastic on my birthday. Also, thanks for the birthday wishes.
The birthday was good. I got some sweaters, a hong kong phooey t-shirt (awesome), a teakettle and an ironing board, and so on. I got to kind of take the day off of work, which was nice, had dinner at one of my favorite restaurants in Denver, if not in the world, with 66% of my sisters. We followed dinner up with coffee and carrot cake at Paris at the Platte, the cafe where, as a teen, I spent a great deal of time trying to talk about Camus, or Jasper Johns, or whatever, so it was nice to come back full circle, and like, make me feel old and stuff on my birthday, but also, happy to be getting older and just so pleased to hang out with 66% of my sisters for the most mellow birthday in my adult life (wasn't that comma-riffic?).
But also, it's now St. Patrick's Day. Ireland, I love you: