Party Poop't

This has been a long week, amigos. Yes, I am aware that it is only Wednesday, and that it is technically a "short week" because everyone except the mall is closed on Friday, but I have felt every excruciating hour at the office drip by like drops in an IV bag. I still do not think I have recovered from my Eight Hour Birthday Festival. Even though I celebrated my own glorious presence until three o'clock Sunday morning, I didn't sleep in that day because my elderly body thinks that dawn is already noon, and that if we are not already up by then, WE HAVE LOST THE DAY, PEOPLE.*

Lawyer Boy and I had to clean up the house from what looked like a visit from Courtney Love & Co., resulting in the accumulation of 16 wine bottles and one bajillion beer bottles in the recycling bin out front. (The recycling people are never going to let their kids play with our kids.) After that, I found the energy to curl up with my shiny new porno, "The Art and Soul of Baking," and fantasized about croissants and baguettes for the rest of the day.

Coming back to work without the birthday princess card to play was, of course, a letdown, but really, is Monday morning ever not a total wart of a time period? This week at work I've been slap-happy slammed. For example, today I spent an unfortunately ginormous amount of time engaged in Celebrity Death Match: Grace Thoreau v. The Department of Labor. Experience has taught me that the DOL will likely claim victory in this battle, due to sheer size and strength. Also they pull hair.

In my copious free time, when I haven't been passed out from exhaustion or fishing for the rogue beer caps rattling in the dishwasher, I've been trying to get LB and I ready to haul it to Charleston, South Cackalacky this weekend for America's high holy day. Don't get me wrong; I'm super-stoked for the Fourth. I am rabidly, almost embarrassingly patriotic, but in order to get to the point where I get to cry while watching fireworks Saturday night, we have to get us, the Labradozer, and all the food I made across two state lines. Of course I made a ton of food for the trip. What else could I be doing to get ready? Laundry? LB's boxers could be walking themselves around our house, stealing food from the fridge, before it would occur to me to break from decorating a cake to wash them.

It has taken me this many words to wind around to the point that I came here to make, which is that you won't hear from me for the next few days. I'll be back next week to regale you with tales of my raucous patriotism and massive patriotic picnic, complete with Betsy Ross cap and corset.

And, if I may?

HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY, AND GOD BLESS AMERICA!

*Have you noticed I always refer to myself in the plural? I think that says a lot about what's going on upstairs.