Happy birthday to me

As of today, I’m a bouncing baby boy of 37. Fortunately, I’ve looked like I was 28 since I was 25 — we had a temp a few weeks ago who once again guessed that age — which just goes to show all those ex-girlfriends were totally wrong about my chronic immaturity.

The plan had been to grill up some of the Omaha steaks my grandmother sent me for Christmas, but Hesperia is having one of its rare rainstorms, squelching that idea.

We did go to Disneyland for approximately 14 hours yesterday — I felt well enough in the morning to go for it, but was a hobbling cripple by the end — and am now spending the day under one of the four electric blankets I got for Christmas. (Jenn was right that people were hungry to buy me something that wasn’t a book, CD or DVD). Amazingly, each electric blanket is different than the others: I have a regular one, a queen-sized with two separate controls, a small individual-sized one the size of a throw blanket, and one for the car (which was tested on the way and back from Disneyland and works great).

So the new plan is cake, homemade macaroni and cheese, beer and videogames or something.

Happy New Year, everyone!

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