I love birthdays. But, what I really mean to say is that I love MY Birthday. Always have, always will. Attention whore? Maybe. Love being spoiled and waited on? Definitely! Pigging out on birthday cake? Is the Pope Catholic? People singing a song to you with your name in it! Eff Shyeah!! Standing on chairs with salt and pepper shakers and shaking your butt? Apparently, a lot.

Only without the meth sores and tacky blanket wrapped around me, and the bad hair. I actually looked pretty damn good that night. Awesome dress, though it was a little too skimpy for jail. Turn up the heat in there yo! Great shoes. I had my hair did and everything.

Yesterday’s birthday was pretty mellow. I had a great dinner Saturday night with family and friends. Drank lots (way. too. much.) wine and was “surprised” (totally knew it was coming) with cotton candy in a HUGE martini glass with a sparkler on top (which I don’t recommend trying to blow out, especially in the direction of your friend sitting to the right of you. It totally does not work like a regular birthday candle).

Went to brunch yesterday morning at Hugo’s with friends. Took a long ass nap. I got some nice things – a beautiful framed picture of Luca and I, a pretty drapey cardigan from Anthropologie, oh, and a really bad cold from my kid and husband. I tried to act surprised when they gave me the cold:

Pretty good, eh? I totally don’t think they could tell I was on to them. Suckas! They are such naive, thoughtful, germ infested, booger covered, coughing, sweethearts.

Yesterday was the big 3-2. And don’t think I didn’t notice all the, “Happy birthday lady”, “Hey lady!”, “Have a great day lady!”, comments. Why the fuck am I lady all of a sudden at 32. I appreciate all the sentiments but I prefer to be called girl, chick, girlie, hottie, fine lookin thang, shit, even bitch is cool. But, I AM NOT A LADY! Understood?

My birthday is over. Another MY VERY OWN DAY has come and gone. I am sitting here with a cold coming on. I am one year older. And I am grateful. For all of it. For my family, my precious baby, my patient husband, my fabulous friends (near and far) who keep me somewhat sane. I am grateful for my jail hooker friends that taught me not to judge others by the tricks they turn, or the platform Lucite high heels they wear, but rather for the way they treat others (especially overly peppy, blonde, first time offenders, that won’t stop crying). I am totally thankful for bad track suits, salt and pepper shakers, and birthdays at Bennigans. Mostly, I am grateful I was able to celebrate another Birthday.

I can’t wait till the big 3-3. An entire year is FAR too long to wait to celebrate ALL THINGS ALLISON.