Tomorrow is my birthday.
I will be 34 years old.
Pretty Dang Old.
Not to be confused with PYT by Michael Jackson.
Things I do are rarely confused with songs by Michael Jackson.
Except for maybe Beat It.
I'd like to say that to my kids sometimes.
Wouldn't that be nice? Your kid is talking to you and you say, "Beat it! Beat it! No one wants to be defeated!"
Okay. Never mind.
So I've proven I'm senile. I'm almost 34, you know.
Today I am having a birthday party at my house for my family members. Sadly, we cannot go to Provino's tomorrow like we usually do because my adoring husband will be leaving on a jet plane (really just a regular plane, I was just being dramatic) for yet another business trip.
It's beginning to look a lot like Busy Season. Evvvverywhere you go....
I am making my own birthday cake for my party.
No one can rock out a chocolate cake like I can, and so if I want the best, I have to make it myself.
It's a small price to pay for a pan of goodness.
We're also getting pizza. Don't be jealous. I'm sure I'll have the weight gain to make up for the tastiness.
After all, everybody knows your metabolism slows waaay down at 30 anyway.