44 on the 4th

I hadn't intended on mentioning my birthday on this blog, but that went right out the window when I found this little beauty sitting next to my computer when I got to work:

Yes. There are 44 candles in that puppy. About 20 minutes into the morning, the cake started to fall apart. You know you're getting old when the weight of your birthday candles causes your cake to implode.

With the help of a few coworkers, this was what was left by 9:00 or so:

Breakfast of champions, baby. Note how my nice, healthy clementine orange sits in the background with a rejected look on its face.

So as long as I'm putting it out there, I'll share the rest of the nice day with you. I got this:

And these:


And I learned about these, Egyptian scarabs, and was begifted the cute little dung beetle on the far right.


(LA) Lori's still in town for the holidays, so, a rare treat, we got to go out and celebrate. We had this for dinner:


Then we went to the Esquire, where this guy accused us of making fun of his hat. We had no intention of it, until he brought it up. Well, we still have no intention of it, we're not mean that way. That hat looks very....uh...well...warm. That's it. Warm.


Not pictured is the laminator that my mother got me for Christmas. Oh, boy! What will I laminate first? Lori and I have a history christening new appliances with a fig newton. Yes, we DO know what a salad shooter will do with a fig newton, thank you very much. But a laminator...We just don't know...

...yet.

The birthday is over, and I'm celebrated out of my gourd. The rest of the month—mark my words—is going to entail hanging around at home, not spending money, and rinsing celery down with club soda with lime. I will be svelt and rich by February 1. (I'm not saying which year.)

Not birthday related, this gorgeous hawk awaited me this morning, in front of my parking space at work. It's the birthday hawk. Not to be confused with the Sierra Mist Holiday Hawk.