The Big Four-Oh

Have I mentioned that I turned 40 last week? Quite a milestone, indeed. I’m almost done plastering my own face all over this blog, but my camera was in everyone’s hands except mine on that night, and I can’t help but force it on share it with you. So yes, I am in every one of the photos that I am about to post, but don’t worry, they’re not all flattering. And in one, you can pretty much see my whole ass. Sorry, mom.

I threw myself a little cocktail party downtown. I haven’t had a birthday party since I was about ten, I think. The partying started long before what you might consider a reasonable cocktail hour, so by the time Bill and I got dolled up and arrived at our venue, we were already all fired up.

I had a great time, because everywhere I looked I saw someone with whom I was desperate to converse and/or boogey

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Poor Missy didn't have any fun at all.

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I might be 40, but I am still totally immature enough to find my middle finger hilarious

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exhibit A:

exhibit B, hi Beth!:

and why doesn't someone slap me? exhibit C:

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In my hand above and being worshipped below is my passion and my undoing, the basil lemondrop

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Please note the world's homliest Christmas tree in the corner. Charlie Brown has nothing on that bad boy.

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Below is evidence of the fact that I acutally said “blah, blah, blah” during my drunken tirade gracious thank you speech. I was mocking anyone who couldn’t handle a Wednesday night party. Mocking and gratitude go hand in hand, right?

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Shortly thereafter, I became cheerfully paralyzed from the brain down.

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And when I finally fell into bed, some of my friends came with me. I was that magnetic.
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So, forty.

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When I was a kid, forty was so old, but we humans have obvioulsy evolved a great deal since I had that misconceived notion. If forty is old, why can't I put down Twilight? It says right there on the cover that it's for YOUNG ADULTS.

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But seriously, enough already about me. Let’s talk about you.
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What do you think of me?