Happy Birthday to Me.

I woke up with a feeling of absolute dread - we've had only one guest confirm that she's coming tonight, and I don't think anyone else is going to be by. Oh well. If no one's there by 11:30, I'm going dancing. Fuckit.

Yesterday my parents took me to Taste of the Danforth for my birthday (they already bought me a bike, so no present required). My mother also brought a "beefcake" bachelorette party cake, the very same one that caused me to laugh hysterically when flipping through her 1986 cake-decorating book last week. When I saw this cake in the book, I was consumed by the inherent comedy of bringing this cake to every occasion in the calendar. I love it.

Taste of the Danforth was also very cool. We wandered along eating hot spicy meat & buttery corn, watching the trampoline acts and swimming upstream through increasingly dense crowds. It was just the thing for a pregnant girl - I got to eat little portions of different foods at five-minute intervals while ogling the many infants on display. We headed back to Dirk's house when the rain started and my headache kicked into high gear. My mother was flushed with Metaxa and my dad was sore from hauling garbage to the dump; they were more than happy to go home forthwith.

On the way up the stairs to Mount Olympus, I twisted to get around a wet-dry vac and pulled a muscle in my lower back. Took me hours to work it out before I could go to sleep, and I was in a very foul temper in the meantime. This added onto my frustration from earlier in the night, when I kept asking to go home and my mom kept finding other booths to be interested in. But I learned something yesterday: I can force cheerfulness if I have to. At least, I can force cheerfulness if my pride's on the line, other than that I'm a total brat.