OK, so it's Friday and I'm in San Fran and it's my birthday and my head hurts (for good reason) and I'm so deliriously happy and sad at the same time that my head just might explode. Fer realzs. Like messy alien-in-the-brain-who-needs-to-birth-it's-offspring head explosion. Know what I mean?
Anyhow, it's my arfing birthday and every time I look out the window I keep expecting a young Michael Douglas or maybe a super sexy Steve McQueen to come burning down the street in a super cool car at top speed with Gigi in the passenger seat yelling "FASTER". Perhaps, I should lay off the LSD. Speaking of LSD, I think I've got to find Haight-Ashbury because isn't that like a faux hippie kind of mecca? Holy run on sentence.
But like I said: it's my birthday so deal with it.
Oh crap, I'm babbling and if you think I suck because I'm screaming it's my birthday every two minutes, well I say this: If I don't tell people, they won't know to buy me drinks. Super simple, no?
OK - I'll shut it now but in case you are wondering, I once again molested Jenny The Bloggess at The People's Party last night (just like last year) and I'm really looking forward to her panel this afternoon because she was practising her speech in the bathroom this morning and she used the C word so many times, I felt the presence of my mother in the room and she was whittling a switch and lecturing us both on how proper ladies don't say c*nt.
Hey mom - I never claimed to be a proper lady.
And... did I mention it's my birthday?