Obviously, there was the bombing at the Boston Marathon. This was unacfuckingceptable. Frightening, terrible and unacceptable. Marathon Monday is for two things: running like a crazy person** and celebrating those crazy bastards with day drinking. I think Colbert said it best:
Then there was my birthday. This was actually not a huge deal. There was the typical angst I've experienced every year on my birthday since I was 7 (I was a real hoot and a half as a kid), one glass of wine (I'm on a damn diet) and some lovely music and friends. There was also lots of looking at pictures of Helen Mirren to reassure myself about the onslaught of aging.
Then came the vomiting. Yup. The vomiting. Two and a half days of it. This was unacceptable.
Finally, I felt ready for solid food. So I ate an apple.
Then came the swelling of the face. Yup. Swollen face. Apparently, I am allergic to apples. As I stared into the mirror, watching my face contort with a morbid fascination, I may have said, "but it wath thuppothed to be my birthhhday!" (my tongue swelled up too).
But here's the thing: it wasn't really supposed to be my birthday. Not this year. There was a much more important birthday being had. That of my perfect, beautiful niece. Meet Calliope:
It's amazing what a birth can do. I mean, how crazy is it that this squishy ball of baby is going to learn and experience everything it is to be a human? Seeing her, I care a lot less about getting older and dying. I mean, I may be gone, but how great is it that she'll still be there to remember me? Babies really do bring all the hope and joy and crap that Louis Armstrong likes to sing about.
And yes, I've already ordered baby's first turban. And no, I'm not kidding. I'm Auntie Mame, bitch.
*Specifically this one: "this week's been a bad massage, I need a happy ending." Ok, so technically I quoted Kanye there, but I think you'll agree I'm still showing real restraint and growth.
**Did you know that many marathon runners cross the finish line with bloody nipples? BLOODY NIPPLES.
