Just one more thing I have in common with Debra Morgan.

If you don't know who Debra Morgan is, well, I just feel sorry for you not having experienced the wonder that is Dexter. I heart him like whoa, and I would so marry him and make Harrison a good mama.

Anywho.

So Sunday night was my date with drywall guy, and this date actually went rather well! I met him at a local brewery/pizzeria owned by a couple I know (sending business to the locals, ftw!) around 7. Yes, I texted my mom to let her know when I got there. Apparently by 9 she was beginning to get worried. Good thing beer has a direct line to my bladder, because I texted her when I was peeing and she relaxed a little.

We had a good date, it was low key, and there was beer and pizza... Which, hi? Awesome.

I told him I thought he sounded surprised when I called him last week, and he said that he was. He told me he was driving and thought it was a client calling, and had to pull off to the side of the road because he was so shocked. Yeah, I was totally 'awww'ing on the inside. :) So sweet.

I'm pretty sure he's around 40, which is what I have in common with Debra Morgan. He's kind of like my Special Agent Lundy. Except I haven't slept with him. The night ended in a hug, which was nice. He hasn't called yet, but I'm not too stressed out. If I don't hear from him by tomorrow I'll call him. There was some confusion, he may be waiting for me to call. I'd feel a little bad if that's the case!

I've been talking to a few guys from OkCupid, and they're all pretty cool so far. One in particular is hilarious, one is sweet, and the other is also a little older but witty and smart. So I've got a little rainbow of flavor going on.

God it's good to be keeping busy! Except this motherfucking cold that's creeping up on me. I wanna kick it in the taco so hard it's great grandchildren will be born walleyed.

Alright, I know it's a short post but I'm heading to bed now to try and whip this cold's ass. Tomorrow calls for vitamin C with a strong chance of hot tea.

Wow, 100 posts already!

Too bad I'm such a dipshit about writing new blogs. But at least I usually write about something entertaining! Right?...

*crickets* Ahem.

I have a complaint, kittens. I recently joined OkCupid for fun, hoping to meet some new people and maybe score a few dates. I have learned a hard lesson about dating websites. Because of course my first date from an online source would be stereotypical. Jesus. My complaint isn't about OkCupid (though some of their 'match questions' are seriously lame. WTF.), but about my first date.

I was messaged by a guy who had a nice, original message complimenting my profile and how he thought I put a lot of thought into it and thought I was funny. I already knew that. We started IMing, and his picture was cute and his profile was nice. He asked if I wanted to meet for coffee.

Well, I was sitting at home with nothing to do, so I figured why not. I told him I had to take a quick shower, then I'd be happy to meet him at a local coffee place. It's public and busy, so no real risk. I texted my mom letting her know my whereabouts so she could send the fuzz after me if I disappeared. Bases were covered.

I show up and I'm waiting for him, and not seeing anyone who looks like his profile picture. (Yeah, make your jokes about this sounding like a bad rom-com) A guy walks up to me and says, "Ashley?" Um, hi... You look nothing like your profile.

I now ask any guy I'm messaging with to send me a recent pic.

He's a fluffier than his pic, which wouldn't have been a problem. The problem was that he showed up unshaven (WTF, dude?) in a zip up hoodie sweatshirt and jeans. Seriously, I get it. It's a coffee date, I didn't dress up by any means, but would a nice t-shirt have been to much to ask? Or shaving? He had an hour and a half from the time we agreed to meet! Who is okay with letting that be their first impression on a first date?!

WHAT THE FUCK.

He was nice and funny, but I picked up a little of that clinger-ish vibe. He kept touching me, so it was very obvious that he was into me. I didn't feel any connection whatsoever. What really put me on the fence about the whole thing was when he reached down and stroked my leg (I wore a skirt), saying he was checking to see if I shaved my legs. Um, hells to the nos. Don't even be all critical over whether my legs are Sasquatch-y when you couldn't even shave your face or brush your teeth.

He messaged me asking for my cell number again (I had sent it to him in case he needed to reschedule for some reason) so I gave it to him. I figured I'll give him another chance, go on another date and see what happens. So he starts texting me and is getting more and more creeperish with every text. "You've told me what your pet peeves are, now I want to know what makes your heart melt" is not really appropriate after one date. Just, no.

So I bit the bullet and told him I didn't think it was such a good idea for us to see each other again, because really, it isn't fair if I'm not into it. A free latte and a few hours of good conversation are one thing, but knowingly going out with a guy for dinner when I'm not feeling it isn't something I can do. I can be a bitch when the situation calls for it, but I'm not a mean spirited person. He was less than pleased, of course. I felt horrible, but I refuse to lead a guy on.

So I got my first first date out of the way, let's hope the drywall guy date tonight goes a little better! :)

I've got a few other guys I've been talking to that seem nice. I'm going to message them for a while before meeting them though. Especially because one is from a town about an hour away and I would feel pretty shitty if he drove up here for a mediocre date. :)

Dating really is bullshit, but it's fun sometimes too.

The evolution of the girl formerly closed off from social interaction

It started back in May with a flirtation from a hot guy.

It progressed to making out with a guy I had just met (and nothing more).

Now, it will all culminate in the event I've been waiting for... My first date.

Yes, I've officially been invited out on my first real date. Jilly and I were out at the local Irish bar again last night, and a guy behind us told the bartender he would like to buy us a drink. Well fuck yeah, of course! We had a delicious shot made into a drink called the Ugly Betty, which is a specialty of theirs. And it is orgasmically good.

We got our drinks, turned around, cheered, introduced ourselves and continued on. I was, of course, totally flattered because I've never had a random guy buy me a drink before. Smiling like a fucking idiot working her diaper.

Speaking of crotchitals, I wore the most gorgeous 5" stilettos EVAR (Yes, I'm six feet tall and love wearing sky high heels). For your drooling pleasure, may I present my newest love, in pink. I had to pee (I swear beer is a damn diuretic), and when I sat down to pee I almost fell off the damn toilet because I forgot to account for the extra 5" drop. Not a mistake I made again the rest of the night, but it was funny as hell to sit on the toilet and have my knees come up to my knockers.

So after we finished our drinks and were waiting on a friend of Jilly's to show up so we could hit the titty bar again, the guy who bought the drinks came up behind us and asked if we were still thirsty. We politely declined, explaining that we were getting ready to leave. He turns to me and said something along the lines of, 'I don't normally do this but here is my card. I'd like to maybe take you out for drinks sometime. You have really beautiful eyes.'

I am pretty sure I turned purple, I blushed so hard. For being a dirty perv, I sure do blush like a prissy prude. Very annoying.

I took his card and we thanked him and went on enjoying the rest of the evening. I had my ass grabbed by a hot stripper, it was great.

When I got home, I Googled him... Sort of odd, but in this day and age it would be stupid not to take advantage of the opportunity. Nothing odd showed up, just a few blurbs about the business he owns - which I already knew from the card. So I figured what the hell, everyone deserves a fair shake, right? (Not that kind of shake, dirty kittens.)

I called him.

I have no idea if I broke some unspoken rule about how long you should wait to call a guy who gave you his card because zomg he'll think you're a desperate tramp if you call him right away but I'm pretty sure that might only apply to girls who call the guy like a half an hour after they last see them because that would be really stupid and if I don't know what the social rules are does it really matter if I've broken them because I can just sort of make up my own and I mean at least I waited until the following day right?

*deep breath down into the diaphragm*

Whatever. I did it. He sounded kind of surprised that I called, and it was a little awkward being all, 'So, um, you said you wanted to take me out for drinks... Are you still up for that?' I actually said something along the lines of, 'I wasn't sure if you were drunk enough not to remember me...'

Motherfucking linguistic master, that's me.

So anyways, he had me pick where I wanted to go and I picked a local pub that makes their own microbrews and some awesome pizza. Pizza and beer is a pretty low-key, casual first date. And what guy doesn't love a girl who likes pizza and beer? If nothing else, it will hopefully be a nice way to spend an evening. And it'll boost my ego into nosebleed territory.

My first date. Wow. Times, they are a'changin.

Fresh beginnings...

After a few hours of meaningless web surfing, I finally found a new blog template. I figure the refreshed availability of blog posting opportunity deserves a new design. And this one isn't nearly as dark as the old one and fits me much better. Pink diamonds? Hello? Yes! Plus, it looks sassy, and this is Sassy Pie after all.

This past week I had my first strip club experience. I know, right? I can't believe it took me until the age of 26 to hit a strip club either. I wanted to go much, much sooner, but Erf never wanted to go. I met a my friend Jilly out at a local Irish bar Tuesday night, and let me just say that apparently Irish bars are the places where hot guys hang out. Oh dear sweet baby Jesus, it was a veritable meat buffet in there. We decided to go to a local strip club that Jilly used to waitress at, and I was, of course, super excited. We walked in, and it was fairly tame. It was a Tuesday night, of course, so it was pretty much a bunch of regulars. We met a few of her guy friends there and hung out with them. They paid for our drinks, which, hello? Awesome!

Then I got to get a little dance from a cute stripper named Myth. She had a nice ass, a tight body and small tits. First she wrapped her leg around the back of my neck (hot!) and slapped my face with her thigh and ass. Then she got down on her knees and proceeded to praise my boobs... It was awesome. "Oh my god, these are Baywatch boobs! You could just see them running down a beach!" And then she snuggled into them, and told me they were so soft and comfortable she could just fall asleep on them. Yeah, that pretty much describes my rack. Next time I'll have to make sure I wear a really low cut shirt so I can have the stripper's face in my tits.

And holy mother lover, am I ever enjoying being single. It all began with the most interesting pickup line ever, and it's been nothing but fun (and sometimes awkward) times since then. From finding a talented friend with benefits to making out with a guy I've never met before, to getting free drinks at the bar, I've been loving every minute of it. I've always been a social creature, and during my years with Erf I became progressively introverted and someone who wasn't herself. It was like that chick from Titanic. I felt as if I was in the middle of a crowded room screaming, and no one even looked up. That feeling of being trapped inside someone who isn't you, it's terrifying. I'm returning more and more to myself, and a lot of that involves finding out new things I never knew. It's wonderful and scary, but necessary. I can't be someone I'm not.

Not anymore. :)

The little girl is growing up...

I've got big girl internet now! As in totally and completely mine, no one else can kype it. And I shall call my network, '404 Error'. I figure anyone in my apartment building that has any idea what it means will get a chuckle out of it.

And the sweet Southern technician was kind enough to give me the hookup of free basic cable. So now I also have 70 channels instead of the basic local channels. Which means I can freaking watch CAKE BOSS!!! Fuck yeah.

I have had a post in my head for quite some time now, the thoughts they have been bubbling and colliding and usually it just ends up with me getting a fucking headache. But now, my kittens, I can freaking post it!

This all began with a status update on Facebook. Something asking why, when people are asked what they would bring to a desert island, does no one ever respond with, 'a boat'? I proceeded to respond with a long rant about how stupid people can be. Because really? Why is it that people always respond to that question with something stupid like, 'OMGZ!!1 I can't live without my iPod!!!'

Honestly, a fucking mp3 player? For real? I mean I get that you want some form of entertainment, but how in the hell do you plan to recharge that iPod? You get to choose anything on the planet to bring with you, and you're choosing four or five hours of entertainment. And if you do manage to create some bastard child coconut invention that will recharge it, you're not ever going to have anything but your current playlist. Eventually you will be one of those crazy Castaway fuckers who is dancing about the island in a horribly assembled coconut bra and nothing else, dancing the 'Vogue'. And if by some chance you are encountered by rescuers, you'll probably run into the brush, curl up in the fetal position, and softly sing, 'Like A Prayer' to yourself in a soothing manner. Moral of the story? Life isn't a mystery. Pick something a little more realistic and sensible than temporary satisfaction.

The other people who entertain me are the ones who decide to bring their Chanel lipstick. Or whatever the fuck brand name crazy expensive tube of mashed up bug carcass they're attached to. Who the hell do you need to impress out there? The vultures who will surely be gnawing your rotting body? Because if you're going to be stupid enough to choose lipstick as your 'can't live without' item, you're definitely going to be dead within a month. Be practical and bring a water filtration system. Really.

Where are the practical people who choose things like water filtration systems, radios, boats, fat people to eat, solar charged vibrators, etc? I get that it's a metaphorical question, but why answer in a way that makes other people question your intelligence?

Well ain't that the shit?

So wow, I have once again fallen into the land of the Intarwebz-less. Whoever my fabulous neighbors were who had unlocked internet, I miss you. Come back.

Anywho, I've had a plot in my head for a post since Amy told me about a very innocent (and hilarious) comment her niece made.

Her niece asked her mom, "Do princesses poop?"

Yes, I cracked up laughing. Cause poop is fucking funny, ya'll.

Of course we all know that real princesses poop. It's not like Kate had her poop chute sewn up because it's not ladylike to lay a deuce. Nope, she sends a log right on down just like everyone else.

(At this point I'm wondering how many euphemisms I can come up with for pooping before I run out and need to turn to Dr. Google for help.)

My belief, however, is that a three year old mind is fairly unfettered when it comes to real life princesses. She more than likely was referring to princesses of the Disney variety. This led me to ask my co-workers their opinions on pooping princesses. (Dudes, that would be the funniest band name ever. The Pooping Princesses. I claim royalties. Ha! Get it? Royalties, princesses?)

Let's break it down, shall we? The first princess mentioned was Jasmine. Tony made the astute observation that, 'she's hot'. Yes, yes she is. But the real question is, does she poop? Can you imagine her looking at Al and being all, "Um, honey? Can you turn Carpet off the next exit? I need to drop the kids off at the pool. No, I'm not going for an abortion, you asshole. I just have to take a crap."

Then we pondered Ariel. That bitch has no identifiable brown eye. I don't see how she could poke a turtle head. I mean, really. Is there a colostomy bag inside that tail? Is that why she's got so much junk in the trunk? Because real fish have poopers. You always see at least one fish in the aquarium swimming around with a little string of doody.

How about Belle? I can't see her looking at Lumiere during a rousing rendition of, 'Be Our Guest' and telling him to pause the music because she's gotta take the Browns to the Superbowl.

And Sleeping Beauty? That bitch lives in the woods and eats a lot of fucking berries. You KNOW she goes #2. does Aurora shit in the woods? I bet she does.

Snow White... She lives with 7 little men, and you know those disgusting little bastards take some dwarf-sized dumps. She probably didn't have to worry about what they thought when she was collecting her thoughts.

What's your opinion, kittens? Do Disney princesses poop?

Why Helen Keller would not make a good girlfriend...

So everyone has heard the bemused meandering thoughts of the general male population about how someone like Helen Keller would make the perfect girlfriend. She's blind, deaf, and mute! Cut her off at the knees and every guy in the free world will be chasing after her.

Except, you know, she'd probably run into a wall attempting to run away from the hordes of admiring cock-wielders.

However, due to a conversation I had with a friend, I began thinking about how terrible of a girlfriend she really would make. No really, kittens; hear me out.

I assume that unless you're over the age of 50 or have been living in a goddamn cave, you've heard the phrase, 'bitch, get in the kitchen and make me a sandwich'. Now do me a favor, and imagine someone who is blind, mute and deaf making a sandwich.

How would she know the difference between turkey, ham, roast beef or salami? Between swiss and havarti? What the hell would happen if she cut herself? I mean, it's not like she can scream for help. She'd sit in the kitchen slowly bleeding to death, running into the wall in panic with an amputated thumb while you sit on the couch hungry.

And can you imagine how much of a pain it would be to have to either stomp your feet or throw something at her to get her attention? It's far too much of a pain in the ass to deal with. I mean, really, who has time to learn that sign language bullshit? Maybe you could create an abbreviated sign language. A slap on the ass means, 'on your knees, bitch.' A slap on the hand means, 'I'm hungry, go make me some food.' A slap on the face means, 'you're drooling, knock that shit off.' You get the gist of it...

And if you enjoy dirty talk in bed, fuggedaboutit.

No more, 'Oh yes, harder! Deeper! Fuck me with that huge cock, you porn star!' or 'Dear sweet jesus, no, not again!' or even, 'Rrruff, rruff... *whimper, whine*"

All you will be getting, good sir, is a bunch of muffled moaning that sounds like a zombie with a mouth full of pantyhose.

Enjoy that, along with your thumb-less, drooling sexual partner. Don't say I didn't tell you so.

The most interesting pickup line ever.

I was in top form this Monday night.

It probably didn't help (or maybe it did) that I was in a semi-pissy mood from yet ANOTHER GODDAMN MACHINE breaking down... Or at least, that I thought it had.

I was describing to my father (the same man who exclaimed, 'look at that gorgeous crushed velvet dress!' and, 'oh my god, that's a real Tiffany lamp!' watching Auntie Mame) the house my coworker rents a room in. The man who owns it has a house full of gorgeous antiques, and he can talk about them and their history like he's an appraiser. I was creaming my panties listening to the history of all these beautiful pieces. My dad can obviously appreciate my appreciation.

This somehow leads to this:

Me: "Dad, you are so gay."

Dad: "I'm not gay, I'm just happy."

Me: "Yeah, happy to have a dick in your mouth."

Mom: "She's in peak form tonight!"

Yes, I really do talk to my parents like this. And they're all for it. And things like this are just a few of the many reasons I love them and am so thankful I can be myself around them. So many of my friends have to censor themselves and put on a face for their parents. And it's not that I don't respect them, because I really do. I only make remarks like this in good humor.

Later on that night we were discussing my dating post, and my dad asks, "What's the worst pickup line ever?"

To which I respond, "Does this rag smell like chloroform to you?"

He cracks up laughing, because that's exactly what he was going to say.

The reason this is pertinent information, kittens, is because I actually used this line last night. It wasn't a real come-on, but I used it all the same. Felt like a douche the entire time.

My friend and I went out for apps and drinks at one of my favorite (and expensive) local bars last night. They have a fun drink menu, they play lots of old swing like Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra, and the atmosphere is just fabulous. As we're drinking, her coworker texts her telling her he is at a nearby bar. She invites him over for a drink. He shows, but doesn't see us snuggled in the comfy armchairs in the corner, and heads to the bar with his friends. My friend is blocked from his sight by the piano, but I am not. I'm laughing watching him scan the bar for us. I asked her if I should go get him using my 'chloroform' pickup line. She dares me.

Kittens, I cannot back down. I've got a mad dope street cred rep to uphold, yo.

I should be hanged, shot, drawn, quartered and dipped in boiling oil for typing that.

Anywho, I grab my napkin and walk over. I linger behind him as if perusing the bar contents, because I'm all blushy and nervous. My heart was pounding. I'm such a goddamn pussy.

I walk around to his side, and say, "Hi."

Motherfucking linguistic master, that's me.

He replies, "Hi there." But it was like one of those drawn out, "Hiiii there..." replies. Keep in mind that I am wearing a gorgeous dress that totally highlights copious amounts of cleavage. And I had on a pearl necklace. Not that kind, you dirty whores. One that dipped into said cleavage. And gorgeous 3 1/2" stilettos. Even my thick skull was registering that he found me attractive.

I blurt out something retarded like, "I am coming over on behalf of a friend who dared me to use this pickup line on you."

He tells me to go for it.

I hold up my napkin and say, "Does this smell like chloroform to you?"

He laughs. Women with him look annoyed. It's obvious neither is his girlfriend, and if they can't take a joke, fuck 'em.

Then I tell him friend and I are sitting over there *gestures to where friend is peeking over the top of the piano laughing* and he's welcome to join us.

He stops me and says, "Is that all you've got for me? No more pickup lines?"

I reply, "I'm not very good at the pickup lines, I'm better at witty comebacks."

He begins firing off hilarious lines like, "Is that a keg in your pants? Because I'd like to tap that ass." and, "Do you wash your pants with Windex, because I can see myself in them."

Thinking back, I should have fired back with something witty like, "Nice pants, they'd look great on my bedroom floor." But I was trying to gather my synapses to keep from turning into a giggly pile of girly jello simply from being flirted with, so I was understandably preoccupied.

He did end up joining us for a while, and he had the whole geek thing going on that I fall for. I have no idea what it is about men in (well-chosen, appropriate) glasses that makes my panties wet, but it just is.

Thus I had my first recognizable flirtation with a guy I've never met before. It was sort of like heroin... Now I can't shake the craving for it. :)

Dating and other random bullshit.

So remember how I said my parents would never set me up on Match.com?

Well, now I'm not so sure. Probably not on match.com, because they apparently don't want me to find someone to love... I was having my weekly Castle date with them on Monday, and we were talking about my blog and the entry where Amy threatened to set me up a profile. We began discussing my re-entry into the dating world -

Or, let's face it, it should be entry into the dating world. Erf and I met and began dating when I was 16, I've never really 'dated' anyone before.

- and I told my parents that I don't plan on getting married again anytime soon, and therefore I am not looking for someone to be in a real relationship with. I want, like any other sane (or insane) woman who finds herself single after being with one person for so long, to date. I want to be asked out on dates, I want someone who will buy me dinner, I want the confidence boost of knowing that I'm wanted by someone. If I ever do settle down again, I don't want the nagging fear and doubt following me wherever I go...

Am I with this person because I don't think anyone else could possibly want me? Is there anyone else who finds me attractive?

Not that I particularly find either of those statements to be in the resounding negative, but I've always wondered.

(Here comes the self-centered retrospective where I sound pathetic... FYI.)

Back in high school (which, in the words of a friend, high school fucking sucked anyway), I was hardly ever hit on. I had two serious boyfriends and one not very serious boyfriend. Maybe I radiated that oh-so-sexy, 'serial-monogamist' vibe. I have no idea. But whether the guy-like glitch in my brain just didn't pick up on it or it just wasn't there, I never saw longing glances. Never saw myself get checked out. Never noticed flirtation. There was a guy I was and still am good friends with that indicated interest, but he was pretty obvious about it. I couldn't have missed it if I tried.

So all of this planted that seed of doubt. Why didn't guys seem to check me out? Why have I never once been asked out since Erf? Not that I would have said yes while we were together, of course, but the sentiment would have counted. I would have been flattered. My head would have tilted from the inflation. Alas, nada.

Perhaps that guy-like glitch causes me to miss anything less subtle than a sledgehammer to the cerebral cortex. Or maybe I'm just over paranoid. I think I'm pretty, (and I'm not looking for reassurance here) and I see no reason why I shouldn't have been at least asked out once. I know I can be quite intimidating, but I've got a great rack and nice eyes. What the hell, guys?

So anywho, I want to know I'm wanted. That a guy found me and my charisma attractive enough to ask out. That my brash exuberance isn't a deterrent. Jesus, I sound like a fucking nutjob. I want to slap my own face and tell myself , 'Stop being such a fucking douche canoe!'

So my parents tell me that I should get married again... But this time, I should marry for money. Because dammit, someone needs to take care of them in their old age.

I responded that they should be nice to me, since I'll be the one picking their nursing home. And if they're nice, I'll put them in one with nice big rats they can chase down to eat.

Also, I'd like to give my awesome, fabulous parents a shout out. They gave me the coolest birthday gifts I never would have thought to ask for...

A bottle of Silver Patron and Jagermeister, and a coupon for $100 toward a new mattress that I've been needing since I moved in.

As they eloquently phrased it, 'Something to make you pass out, and something to pass out on.'

I love my parents. They are wicked awesome.

Erflet and I went hiking on a local trail, and my back and leg muscles are still a little stiff. I haven't done any real hiking since the fall, and I missed it so much. There were a few gorgeous scenic overlooks that we stopped at, all of them overlooking the bay and harbor of Lake Superior, the Aerial Lift Bridge and Ely's Peak. I can't wait to take him hiking again, I'm hoping that this Sunday it's gorgeous out. Or maybe next Wednesday, if I my new tech is comfortable enough to close alone.

I'm thinking of starting the Superior Hiking Trail at a different trail head, or perhaps wandering around Gooseberry Park up near Silver Bay.

Either way, its something fun, healthy, and a great bonding time for me and my son. I love that little guy so much. He's the love of my life... :)

Holy mother lover, another damn birthday already?

Birthdays. I have a serious love/hate relationship with them.

Not that stupid, 'Oh em gee, I'm getting older this sux!' sort of love/hate. The love of being adored for the day, of having people pay some miniscule amount of attention to you (cause if you can't tell by the fact that I, oh, BLOG, I am a bit of an attention whore), of everyone being curious 'what you're doing for your birthday'...

And the hate that for me, birthdays just never seem to pan out. I think it all began with my 18th birthday. Up until that 'magical' (read: bullshit) year, birthdays were pretty okay for me. Then my grandma died. And when the discussion for when her memorial was going on, my aunt suggested Thursday.

Any day but Thursday, I pleaded.

Why, they asked.

It's my birthday...

And I think that kind of ruined birthdays for me. My family felt terrible and did what they could to make it up to me. (Also, Molly Ringwald; fuck you and your sixteen candles) Of course I forgave them, and I hold no ill will, but my birthday track record kind of blows goats.

My 21st birthday was spent not being wished happy birthday by my fiancee, then cleaning the house and cooking dinner for my aunt and cousin.

My 25th was spent cleaning and cleaning up vomit. (Though I did get a job a few days prior - the one that made me a manager in less than a year - so that was a good gift)

My 24th had a great beginning... Met my parents for drinks at a local bar that I love, went to Applebees for dinner and was in the process of doing blowjob shots with my dad... Then my sister fell asleep babysitting and I had to rush home to make sure everything was ok because no one could reach her. Obviously I did not go back out after I got home.

This year, I have no idea what's in store for me. Tonight I picked up Erflet at my grandparents' house, and my grandpa had baked me a cake, and spelled out, 'HB' (for happy birthday) in Jelly Bellys. It was a lovely surprise. :) It's supposed to be in the low 60s and sunny, so I'm hoping to take Erflet for a hike. I haven't gone hiking since the fall, and I think we both need a dose of vitamin D. Besides, it will be a lovely way to spend the day with my little love.

Then I'm going to come home and bake chocolate bacon cupcakes. Fuck you, work people, it's my birthday and I want chocolatey pig for my birthday.

Also, on a similar note, I'm apparently trying to fatten up my co-workers. I brought a huge batch of homemade salsa (read: YUM. My salsa rocks) in to work on Wednesday. Monday, I'm bringing those bitches cupcakes. Bitches love cupcakes.